Will this make it even better when he is finally allowed to seize Isopia beneath him and ravish her as she's never been ravished before? Delayed gratification is not a thing that Volterra usually engages in, but on this occasion he thinks it will make the event even more euphoric.

She seems surprised at his movement backwards, although she surely can't know how much it's killing him to do so. Moving away from her feels like punching breath from his lungs for no reason; it feels like cutting off his nose to spite his face, yet his pride will not allow him to be toyed with so easily. Let her have a taste of her own medicine, let her release be as delayed as his so it will be all the better when it eventually arrives. It's not long before she's in front of him again, her caresses finding fevered flesh and fuelling the fire that rages inside him. He returns each touch with one of his own, frenzied and ravenous, not tender and unsure like last time. They've both trodden this road before, and this time it's the heated touches of familiarity instead of the delicate trepedation of the unknown.

Her hindquarters are in front of him before he knows it, and the inevitability of the situation finally strikes him. All his questions are pointless now - there's no reason to apply words such as are you sure when her body has already given him the answers. There's no need to vocalise any doubts, because her movements are enough to dispel them.

Those words, those blessed, glorious words, only solidify his belief that this is the right thing to do. They both want it; denying it would be a cruel and unusual form of torture. She's his. She has always been his, and in a way, he has always been hers. He does not reply, because words are not enough; he merely summons another platform of earth to lend him the necessary height, and allows his body to say what his mouth cannot.

_______________-

To answer his earlier musing; yes, the delay did help to enhance everything he felt. It's better than he'd thought possible - how can such sensations exist inside their mortal flesh? How can such ecstasy be gained through such a carnal, simplistic act? He slips from her back to place himself beside her, his touches languid and relaxed now as he nuzzles that broad shoulder and presses his sweating, steaming bulk against her winged side. There's so much he wants to say; please, do not let this end like it did last time. I'm not going to let you out of my sight now. This is it, this is us. This time, it's for keeps. But as ever, Volterra's words fail him, as he simply cannot articulate everything he wants to. Silence will need to be enough, and he can only hope that his body has communicated everything else.