Pulse. Rhythm. Ebb and Flow. Movement creating things of passion found only in each others grasp. Rotate, grinding, position of weapon and plot to charge on through to achieve victory , not over the other, but equally in part to rock the realm from which love materialize. Waves pounding the edges repeatedly begging to break into their final form of peak and max, riding towards the moon and stars that shine brighter then nature intends with eyes blurred in ecstatic pulse.
Pressure, torque, insertion of what should push to further stoke the flames of passion already locked and ready to burst in explosions across superficial and mental realms. Bodies slick from the pointless tries to keep them cool, but plural is gone. They are one from love which connects.
Time speeds, breath and rate with the oncoming flush.
Success, orgasm, pleasure beyond measure made more potent with the love shared with these two bodies. Eyes connect once again after the darkness brought on through the a fore mentioned run. Kiss, caress, slumped upon each other, still tasting the ecstasy of their shared fate. Hands wonder, lips find each other, ready for round two?