( she fixes on the way that row of teeth takes to the tip of her thumb, the briefness in which it disappears into his mouth before it's dragging to his chin, and his forearm props itself beside her temple promisingly. she doesn't have a chance to brace for it — but she'd only asked for it — how quickly he picks up his pace, leaves her jarring against the cushions, and it's the eagerness to which he complies with every plea that ghosts her lips that has her toes curling, thigh clutching against his side. what's more is the way he watches her, hovering above her as if he's intent to memorize the way he leaves her gasping for some semblance of a breath, like a pupil proud of his efforts.
that hand from his chin flees up to the edge of his arm beside her, grips him there for some sort of leverage to keep herself in place, to ensure she saps every bit of impact she can from the way he fucks her. there isn't a single sound he forces from her tongue that finds completion, all pierced at some point with a cacophony of cries — small pieces of whimpers, small pieces of her shattering when he gives her exactly what she'd asked for, exactly what she needs.
there's certain gives to this sort of thing no matter how long it's been: the way his pace shifts from something strong and sure to unpredictable, the way the weight of him begins to tremor, that internal war of an ember that's begging to be stoked. he tightens his jaw like an apology and despite being half-lidded, throat worked with harsh breaths as forehead seeks refuge against her own, she wants it for him. and there's a sort of ecstasy that blooms through her like a sweet, darkened ink that he comes with her name on his tongue, that he wrings himself dry between the hug of her thighs, to her moans that soften to croons as his own flames slowly, slowly snuff out.
he stills and she's still throbbing, that slick channel of hers still sensitively aware of him, and when he apologizes some blissful, hazy sort of smile shrines across her lips, bears her teeth that no sooner snare at her own lower brim. )
Don't be sorry, hey... ( there's a sincerity there, even with tone worn by those sounds he'd milked from her. ) It's okay.
( a beat, an added whisper, shifting a little beneath him, finally relieving the pressure of nails at his back. ) Really.
no subject
that hand from his chin flees up to the edge of his arm beside her, grips him there for some sort of leverage to keep herself in place, to ensure she saps every bit of impact she can from the way he fucks her. there isn't a single sound he forces from her tongue that finds completion, all pierced at some point with a cacophony of cries — small pieces of whimpers, small pieces of her shattering when he gives her exactly what she'd asked for, exactly what she needs.
there's certain gives to this sort of thing no matter how long it's been: the way his pace shifts from something strong and sure to unpredictable, the way the weight of him begins to tremor, that internal war of an ember that's begging to be stoked. he tightens his jaw like an apology and despite being half-lidded, throat worked with harsh breaths as forehead seeks refuge against her own, she wants it for him. and there's a sort of ecstasy that blooms through her like a sweet, darkened ink that he comes with her name on his tongue, that he wrings himself dry between the hug of her thighs, to her moans that soften to croons as his own flames slowly, slowly snuff out.
he stills and she's still throbbing, that slick channel of hers still sensitively aware of him, and when he apologizes some blissful, hazy sort of smile shrines across her lips, bears her teeth that no sooner snare at her own lower brim. )
Don't be sorry, hey... ( there's a sincerity there, even with tone worn by those sounds he'd milked from her. ) It's okay.
( a beat, an added whisper, shifting a little beneath him, finally relieving the pressure of nails at his back. ) Really.