Drystan tries to be as gentle as possible so as to keep Ercilia from feeling any sort of pain.
Her body pulls him in, urging a gasp from him which he releases into her neck. She is soft and hard and liquid fire in his arms, the broken murmur of his name on her tongue like death and renascence all at once.
It would be all too easy to lose himself in her like this, and if he has been a lesser man with less restraint, he would have a long time ago.
But the way her brow creases in beautiful agony as he rocks slowly in and out of her keeps him at a sedate pace, if only to witness her breathtaking facial expressions. She digs her nails into his shoulders, heels hooked around his lower back to urge him on. Still, he resists her, refuses her, and thus, it is the limn of their dynamic, the give and take that have resided there since the beginning.
'Warm,' he managed to think of in his fuzzy state of bliss. 'So warm.'
