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Description
READ!!!

Strip goes with this, please read it.

Priscilla hastes in removing his shirt and Edward reaches to wrap his hands around her. There’s that look in her eyes again, the one Edward hasn’t figured out yet. He thinks it should bother him, but then he just thinks that it’s not fair how she still has her shirt on, wrinkled and disheveled too no thanks to his work. There are imprints of bite-marks on her collar and little dots of saliva soaking the fabric. The tantalizing line of her cleavage like always, beckons him. Edward eagerly moves to pick apart her shirt with long fingers and their rough, calloused tips. The offending shirt quickly relents, and drops to reveal two generous dollops of soft white flesh. His gold eyes drink in the sight of his wife; he’s entirely happy with how she’s not wearing a bra tonight.

Opening his lips to the shape of a circle, He presses his mouth over the hollow of her throat, over her collarbone, and then to her sternum -over the bone between her breasts and he hears her cry of relish.

She fists his hair with one hand and tugs at his ponytail with the other on instinct, giggling as the gold strands of hair tickle her chest. The scraping produced by her action leaves Edward with a soft hiss behind his teeth. Edward raises his face up to look at her.

There is a pressed smile on her lips he finds, before those lips are on his, and she’s shoving his back onto their bed, climbing over him with the mattress creaking under her knees. Edward tallies her force in fair play by coaxing her lips open and entering, stretching his tongue into her mouth as far as it will reach while slanting his jaw, covering her tongue with his and scraping the taste of her cool minty mouth. The sounds of their wet lips smacking together is addicting like hell.

She pulls apart, the red mass of her hair flying with her and he sees it again, that look. It’s a probing look that starts timid from his neck and ends bold at the scars curved over his right shoulder. She’s looking there too intently for it to be proper. And he thinks, damn it, because this is sex and not some examination, right? She’s not to go and pity him when she’s horny; when they’re both horny.

What’s more is that he really feels that the way she keeps doing this should bother him, yet for some reason it won’t.

When he decides to not look away as if mildly uncomfortable, deciding tonight to finally just look at her as she looks over the marks of his history, of his life as someone half-metal and all-alchemist, Edward finally realizes why.

This is sex. And in its purest form sex is nothing but exchange of information between bodies and minds. And Priscilla with her slate-blue eyes and that softly intent face follows the path of her own fingers as they trace along his scars, as they brush gently over the pinked tissues that will never, ever leave him. It’s not close to pity. The scars are telling her about him.

She’s learning.

By [link]

Priscilla's RP Blog: [link]

Description
READ!!!

Strip goes with this, please read it.

Priscilla hastes in removing his shirt and Edward reaches to wrap his hands around her. There’s that look in her eyes again, the one Edward hasn’t figured out yet. He thinks it should bother him, but then he just thinks that it’s not fair how she still has her shirt on, wrinkled and disheveled too no thanks to his work. There are imprints of bite-marks on her collar and little dots of saliva soaking the fabric. The tantalizing line of her cleavage like always, beckons him. Edward eagerly moves to pick apart her shirt with long fingers and their rough, calloused tips. The offending shirt quickly relents, and drops to reveal two generous dollops of soft white flesh. His gold eyes drink in the sight of his wife; he’s entirely happy with how she’s not wearing a bra tonight.

Opening his lips to the shape of a circle, He presses his mouth over the hollow of her throat, over her collarbone, and then to her sternum -over the bone between her breasts and he hears her cry of relish.

She fists his hair with one hand and tugs at his ponytail with the other on instinct, giggling as the gold strands of hair tickle her chest. The scraping produced by her action leaves Edward with a soft hiss behind his teeth. Edward raises his face up to look at her.

There is a pressed smile on her lips he finds, before those lips are on his, and she’s shoving his back onto their bed, climbing over him with the mattress creaking under her knees. Edward tallies her force in fair play by coaxing her lips open and entering, stretching his tongue into her mouth as far as it will reach while slanting his jaw, covering her tongue with his and scraping the taste of her cool minty mouth. The sounds of their wet lips smacking together is addicting like hell.

She pulls apart, the red mass of her hair flying with her and he sees it again, that look. It’s a probing look that starts timid from his neck and ends bold at the scars curved over his right shoulder. She’s looking there too intently for it to be proper. And he thinks, damn it, because this is sex and not some examination, right? She’s not to go and pity him when she’s horny; when they’re both horny.

What’s more is that he really feels that the way she keeps doing this should bother him, yet for some reason it won’t.

When he decides to not look away as if mildly uncomfortable, deciding tonight to finally just look at her as she looks over the marks of his history, of his life as someone half-metal and all-alchemist, Edward finally realizes why.

This is sex. And in its purest form sex is nothing but exchange of information between bodies and minds. And Priscilla with her slate-blue eyes and that softly intent face follows the path of her own fingers as they trace along his scars, as they brush gently over the pinked tissues that will never, ever leave him. It’s not close to pity. The scars are telling her about him.

She’s learning.

By [link]

Priscilla's RP Blog: [link]