musebox for Ashfae's minions

"I love thee." She gasps it to the air over his shoulder, clutching at him. "Faramir, I love...oh, Béma and Vana, yes..." She can't hold on to her words, and instead she holds him, arms and hands, legs and hips. His thrusts are longer and harder now, slick and easy and breathtaking. Blood pounds through her veins, matching the rhythm of his thrusts, the tide of their need. It's a deeper, darker ache than the pleasure he gave her before, and all the more potent for it. "Faramir...!"