Final Fantasy VII, Vincent/Yuffie, mercenary (Part 3)
Vincent jerks back, startled. She was wearing lingerie to match her bra: a white garter belt makes a ring around her hips, what he assumed were socks are stockings as fine as spider webbing clinging to her lithe thighs. She's more muscle and sinew than curves, and the stockings emphasis the lean length of her body; like a sword, Vincent thinks as he gazes at her. The curls of her pubic hair are dark under the underwear and when she crosses her legs, he catches a scent of spice perfume and arousal. His heart jerks and spirals in his chest, and he clenches his hand and claw hard around her thighs to keep himself from shaking. He nips at the exposed flesh between the garter belt and the stocks, presses his tongue against the lace. Yuffie sighs and lifts her hips -
She moves faster than lightning, dropping to the ground and dragging him down with her, over her. The floor's cool under his palms, but her body's fever hot. She scissors her legs around his waist and grinds his erection against her, making them both moan. She's still wearing the damn underwear - Vincent slips his finger under it to tug it down, but Yuffie growls in annoyance.
"Dammit, just rip 'em! That's an order!"
He shreds them, though the garter belt and silky stockings he is careful to avoid. Yuffie chuckles between gasps and rubs her knees over his sides. "More," she murmurs in his ear before moving her mouth down his throat, her kisses scalding him.
He works his arm under her and pulls her up, then captures one of her breasts in his mouth and flicks his tongue over her nipple. She makes fists in his hair and yanks him down hard as she buckles. He breaths a laugh against her wet skin.
Yuffie tilts her pelvis and jams her knees into him, he cups her ass as their bodies finally meet. He thrusts into her in a single slick motion and she wraps her arms tight around his shoulders and kisses him hard, ramming her tongue into his mouth. His eyes squeeze shut against the pleasure as they move together. It's almost too much; if it weren't for instinct guiding his movements, he'd be lost completely in her, crazed and weak. Her fingers rasp over his spine, ribs, to his chest and then down to his stomach, then over his hips to grip him harder, pull him in deeper. She's a furnance around him and Vincent shudders and sinks and rises and sinks and rises and sinks into her.
She bites his shoulder when she comes, setting his own orgasm off like a crack of thunder after her lightning. She pants, limp in his arms as he sits up, pulling her with him. She settles on his lap, the muscles of her vaginal canal still gripping him to keep him in her. He strokes her hair and closes his eyes.
"So you like them? The garter belt and stuff, I mean."