Twelve: Your muse goes down on mine

His lips were sweet with wine and honey, soft and full, moving against her own in slow drawn out kisses. A gentle kiss to his lower lip, pulling away before he could respond. Tauriel was toying with Amrod, wanting to know just what he would do - how he would respond to her flightful behavior. 

It came quick, his lips upon her own; parted and tasting the other as if she were as sweet as honey itself. His hands folding into her hair, his body flush against her own pushing her backward until her back hit the wall. But it didn’t stop the kiss, if anything his tongue pushed further into her mouth, his labored breath mingling with her own as a burning feeling rose within her. 
Taken with animal like instincts, intoxicated on more things than one — she hardly took notice to the fact his hands were beneath her bottom, pulling her up high into the air with a desperate heave. 
Breaking from their kiss by logistics, she grasped  his hair within her hand as she felt uneasy being up so high in the air. 
“Amr—”
“Relax,” he cooed, his hands desperately slow upon her linen tunic, “Wrap your legs around my head." 
His words were demanding; instructions, and for a moment she grew nervous but saw no way out and felt only the burn grow and her stomach flare. Sculpted legs clad in red leggings hooked around his neck as she braced herself against the back. 
Bright eyes watched in horror and need as he managed to untie her pants, and slowly — ever so slowly, pulling the material down. Amrod cocked a brow followed in suite with a coy smirk; “You have never had this, have you?” He could see her inexperience on her cheeks; how they blazed red and her lips, swollen from intense kisses, puckered and fell open - he could almost imagine just how those lips would feel upon himself, but first. He would have to demonstrate. 

With his face so close to her core, he blew hot air upon her. Tauriel writhered in his arms, her muscles tensing. Not an area upon her he could not see, wanton eyes locked with her own as the tip of his tongue came to press upon her clit. The nerve firing off; Tauriel clenched her legs, mistakenly drawing him forward into her where he ravished her relentless with tongue and teeth. Licking, prodding, entering and flicking. The maiden on his shoulders nothing more than a needing female cooing both in pleasure and hate. The hate that he could do such things, that she could want such acts - the way she loved how he looked in between her legs, the sounds he made, how skilled he was; He could have been an amature herself, but, damn, it felt great.