They were in time, the rising of her hips to the thrusting of his, a perfect ballet of movement. She was lithe and graceful and he had her. This work of art.
His hands slipped along her sides as he moved his lips to hers another time, and then down, soft caresses along her neck and up, a motion to just take in her skin.
Moving his back so that the muscles moved and contracted at her touch, he played with her skin in the same manner, brushing fingers along her side. His own release was coming, he could feel it, starting in his chest, burning there, though he was determined to make sure he had her one last time.