Ghanima removed the pins from her hair, letting it tumble across her shoulders and down her back like a gilt wave, tiny grains of sand falling in a stream from it, miming the long-unheard sound of rainfall on the marble floor. Her silk robe followed in a shimmering billow, pooling at her feet and leaving her exposed to the harsh caress of the hot wind against her tanned skin.
His hand was rough against her breast, his clasp, from behind, stronger than Leto’s had ever been, and yet intimate in so many different ways. She turned quickly to catch his wrist, her motions a blur but he shares something in common with Leto: They are the only two she whose movements and reactions are faster than her own. His progress was a mere shadow, a vague impression, as he deflected her capture, his fingertips a simple insinuation against her forearm, tickling the fine hair there.
In the blink of an eye, their dance had played out and he was standing before her, once more stilled, his coarse hands on her waist, her own placed against his chest as if to keep him at an arm’s length. His muscles were taut, the wiry hair that dusted his bare flesh was both smooth and prickling, as the sand that he himself felt speckled across his skin. “Harq al'Ada,” she murmured softly as he ran his palms up her body, cupping gently the sides of her breasts before moving to her hair where his fingers tangled, drawing her head back as he drew her forward into a kiss.
His lips were soft; he was learning the gentleness of love making. He is still an unknown to Ghanima, so used to her ancestral memories, to her own brother. When she was with Farad’n, it was only ever the two of them, his touch alone. It both excited and frightened her. She laughed as, with a gust of air that blew her hair about her, she found herself on the opulent bed, straddling his thick waist. “You do not waste time on talk,” she observed slyly and he grinned lazily in response.
“I know you talk well,” he chuckled. “And now is not the time for talk beside.” With deliberate slowness he once again cupped her breasts in his palms, running the pads of his thumbs in circles around the rigid nubs of her nipples, following the sensitive rosy flesh of her areola, making her gasp. Physical sensation: she was learning just how stimulating it could be when cultivated, prolonged. She was more aware of it now than ever she had been in her short life of hyper-consciousness.
Especially when his fingers plied apart the soft petals of flesh between her legs, when they moved inside to stroke her, finding the aching little stem within; even more so when he put his mouth there, his tongue lapping, dipping deeply and with relish into her wellspring. He kindled the heat of the sun in her belly and her hips moved intuitively against his lips as he supped from her, bringing her ever closer to her moment of crisis.
It felt as if she were burning inside as he entered her, his hard cock sliding into her private places, oiled in her arousal, with only the least bit of resistance, making his breach all the more pleasurable as his manhood lingered in those snug places. His strong grasp pinned her to the mattress as he mounted her, starting at a leisurely pace and then quickening as they bucked against each other, the primal urge for release seizing hold of them both. He filled her again and again, warm and solid like moist velvet over steel.
She arched her back violently when her moment arrived, a fierce and blazing corona erupting within her, pouring forth in a deluge of her juice a moment before he spilled, his seed fiery as it furiously filled her womb. They lay entangled for a long time, breathing heavily, the warm evening air filling their gasping lungs. Sweat clung to their skin like dew but did not cool in the dry, heated draft. Sand clung to them both, settled on their trembling flesh, carried on that sultry breeze that blew endlessly across the surface of Arrakis.