This is a voyage through the possibilities of who he is and who he can be in various universes. I welcome you to a world of each and every characteristic of DeVanté is existing as a separate entity in its own universe.
created: 23 February, 2018
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Five.
Rotating hips drive themselves deep into the aquatic canal belonging to the writhing body underneath the lean stature of a man with an eight and a half inch external extension of the bountiful amounts of love that his heart has to give. The two lovers share the same complexion beneath the burning orange flickers of the wax towers that rest in glass holders beside the bed. Caramel tops caramel, a special glaze that's being shared in the place of natural lubrication keeping the strokes being delivered long and smooth. Bright bolts of electric shades of white and the loud clapping of clouds bumping into one another play as a subtle reminder to a part of how the two wound up in this position. It becomes more and more apparent that either could not and do not care any less about the treacherous weather outside the window... not when the sheets feel as if they've driven through two hurricanes of sweat, joyful tears, and passion.
Four.
Her hands reach out, opening and closing as her conflicted body is unsure what to do with them. "Fuck, that's my..." Her lungs temporarily constrict. When her breath is no longer stuck in her chest, a uncontrollable grunt is let out. Her frustrations of not knowing how to completely take the pleasure as a whole wrap her hands around her partner's biceps. She's squeezing hard enough to leave hand prints in skin but the positioning of her hands saves him from having his skin being broken by her long fingernails. "That's my..." For a second time, she fails to complete her sentence. Her lungs do not sabotage her this time. This time it is a high volumed whine that takes place of her usual moans.
"It's your spot, baby." His head lowers into the crook of her neck, hips grinding into her deeper than before with the repositioning of his body. "That's your spot," he repeats in a knowing tone. Lips brushing against her earlobe, he inquires, "So why you running then?" The taunting rhetorical question posed remains afloat in the air as she wraps her legs around the dip of his lower back.
Moaning, she replies. "I can't take it!"
"Yes, you can," he encourages.
Three.
Fever ridden, her body has a natural glow added as her temperature rises. She approaches the gates of a sinful heaven with every Fahrenheit degree that her blood stream surpasses. It begins with a tingle in the tips of her toes as they curl in attempt to subdue the building pleasures. The tingle runs up her legs and into her abdominal region. Every stroke into the pink plush interior of her walls is accompanied by a squelching echo, sending out a warning to both parties of the room. Her stomach tightens. The cramping butterflies that flutter throughout her rib cage convince her that they're angry wasps instead. In fact, they are the kind of wasp who've punctured her lungs in order to hinder her breathing. A lack of proper inhalation leaves her brain deprived, triggering a glitch in her motor system that leaves her arms unaware of where they belong.
Two.
His understanding of her bodily patterns confirm that he is touching her in all of the right ways. The first round was an accident. The second was about her and the third was about him. The fourth, and final, round was silently agreed to be about the both of them. Although he feels himself coming to the end of his journey, he knew he could not do it without her finishing first. He's a giver more than a taker. He's a gentleman.
