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The first time it happened, he was breathless –she was on top of him, descending on his erection as she held his wrists down against the bed and she asked him a question he hadn’t quite caught. She was biting her lip, smiling, taking her time and he murmured a prayer under his breath.
“Good answer, Cullen.” She sighs a moan, sliding his length into her in one swift movement that drew another Oh, Maker from his lips and she fucks him until they’re both undone.
The second time, she’s whispering in his ear –her fingers wrapped around his shaft and she’s asking if the Commander of her armies would fall to his knees and devote himself to her as he would to the Chantry. He chuckles, surprised at her question. He feels the surge of excitement run through him when she asks him again, and wonders where all this bravery comes from – usually he’s the one asking all the questions in bed. She nibbles on his lips and kisses down his jaw, waiting for his answer.
“Would you?” he asks her, his gaze meeting hers before he captures her lips in a kiss that curls her toes – her fingers are unbuttoning his shirt and she pulls it back, keeping his arms inside the sleeves and she ties the ends around his chair. He can’t free himself but, he doesn’t mind – he’s safe with her.
“Maker, Cullen. I already do,” she whispers. She pulls his trousers down over his hips and takes his length into her mouth, showing him just how devoted she is to him. Her name becomes a prayer from his lips while her nails rake down his thighs and she takes his pleasure with her own.
The third time she takes controls, he’s caught off guard –she gently grabs his hands and takes out the leather binds they’d tried once or twice on her before the previous week. She’s watching him, making sure he agrees and ties them around his wrists, loosely as she lays him onto the bed. She kisses down his chest and rubs her sex against his erection until he’s reaching out for her with need. She shakes her head, ties the ends to the bed posts and makes her way down and takes him in her mouth again, and again.
He’s whispering broken words of the Chant, arching his back against the bed and she’s digging her nails into his hips, her tongue swirling around his head and she suckles the tip until he comes, hard and without restraint. He’s panting, smiling as she crawls up his body, her wet sex against his and she rubs herself against him. Hips rolling, his hands straining against the binds and he feels himself grow hard again.
She leans down, biting her lip and whispers how she liked hearing him pray, he hums at her and softly murmurs the first canticle against her ear while she slips his erection inside of her and brings them home again.
He’s lost track of times they’ve traded places, traded roles and prayed to Andraste between each other’s legs – he’s lost track of the number of times he’d sunk to his knees and felt her heels dug at the base of his spine while she recited the words of the Maker and made him blush, made him come until the stars blurred through the hole in his ceiling.
He loved the sounds of her voice, the way the leather tied snugly around his wrists and feet – the way the chair creeks under him as she sits on his lap, erection sliding against her entrance – he fights the urge to fight the binds, he needs to touch her – he needs to hear her need.
Her fingers trace the length of his jaw, she bites his lower lip and pulls back slowly until she releases the flesh with a pop, and she rolls her hips just long enough to extract a moan from deep within his throat. She can feel his erection twitching between her legs, he’s fidgeting, eager to please her. She’s staring at him, half lidded gaze that makes her smile, she reaches down between them and takes his length into her hand, stroking him.
“Cullen,” she had his full attention, the tip of her tongue darts out as she considers her request, he mimics her, greedy for her kiss. She slips her thumb inside his mouth and presses his jaw down slightly, earning a smirk from him. He raises a brow, and she’s waiting for him to agree before she continues. He nods slightly, using his tongue to kiss her finger in his mouth.
She shivers, closing her eyes for the briefest of moments before gathering her wit, glaring at him. It’s not serious, he knows her too well. She repositions herself, the tip of his cock poised against her and she pushes it just a little bit inside of her –his breath hisses, he can’t move when she presses down on his hips to keep him in place with her thighs.
“Oh, no-“ she warns, he lets out a chuckle and closes his mouth around her thumb, sucking on the digit for a brief moment before she pulls it out. She leans forward, whispering – “Canticles of silence, third verse, Cullen.”
She bites his ear lobe, sucking on the skin and his eyes roll back at the sensation of her tongue, he obliges her, eagerly and she slides down on his shaft, slowly. “The old Gods will call to you,” his voice is steady and they’re staring at each other for the briefest of moments. “From their ancient prison, they will sing…”
Every word he speaks with a slow devotion that tortures her – she’s not sure just who is in control here. Her fingers travel down his chest, her teeth scrape the pulse points of his neck and she licks the skin that’s blushing under her touch and when he reaches the end of the verse, he’s fully inside of her and she grabs his shoulder, gazes locked as she rides him to the edge and back.