Maker, Alistair

Alistair grasped his erection with his right hand.  Maker, he was desperate for some kind of release.  The way her hand skimmed across chest when she spoke to him, how her eyes glinted in the light of the campfire.  Maker he was such a fool.  Why didn’t he just make love to her when she asked him to?  There had been someone before, someone who knew what it felt like to be inside of her.  He couldn’t help the surge of jealousy.

Whoever he was he knew what she looked like when she was at the mercy of a man.  He knew what she sounded like when she was being entered by a man.  Maker, he was such an idiot.  He stroked his cock with firm strokes.  He thought of the sweet sound of her laughter, her hushed moans when they kissed.  How soft her breasts were when she pressed her chest into his.  

She was absolutely beautiful.  Her raven hair flowed to the middle of her back.  Her green eyes, her cute little nose, her full pink lips, her pointed ears.  His strokes quickened and his breath caught.  Maker her beautiful pointed ears.  

He was standing in his tent, his back slightly hunched as he pulled the length of his cock.  Maker, she’s beautiful.  He moved fast and hunched over a little more.  The way she said his name, the way she snorted when she thought something was really funny.  He wanted to smack her backside, squeeze her breasts, bury himself inside her.  

He wanted her breathless and moaning under him, on top of him.  He wanted her trembling thighs around his head.  “Maker”, he said aloud.  He was so close to coming.  He rocked into his hand and squeezed his eyes shut wishing it was her small hand wrapped around his cock.  Or her lips around his swollen tip.