( a short-lived smile captures her lips at that, kittenish and gleaming in the night.
she can already feel all of those little yet-to-bloom bruises from their rouse on the couch planted beneath her skin, all of those little expanses of skin already sensitive to the touch, and more than that gruff tone of his is hands commanding her hips — not necessarily with any sort of momentum, but be damned if he let them get any further. as raggedly as those words urge her otherwise, he doesn't seem to particularly mind her drawing this out, and maybe if she wasn't just as starved, she'd be able to a bit longer, edge him until she knew what that tongue sounded like around a plea.
as much as she'd claim to know herself, there's an entire study missing from the archives: pleasure; she tries for what she can to note these little things mentally, what digs itself beneath her skin, adding dog-ears to every reaction, every sound she's earned from his lips.
her wrist shifts, giving a prod of the tip of her thumb between his lips, taken by the way they part for her insistence, and she's hooking that digit against the lower row of his teeth, against the muscle of his tongue — gently, tentative, and she's humming something dark as her hips curl forward. it's enough for the rigid length of his cock to catch itself at the heart of her — and in a single rock she's sheathing him within her completely, iris' blossoming outward with a thick thud of her pulse, jaw falling slightly slack as every bit of air is forced from her lungs. )
no subject
she can already feel all of those little yet-to-bloom bruises from their rouse on the couch planted beneath her skin, all of those little expanses of skin already sensitive to the touch, and more than that gruff tone of his is hands commanding her hips — not necessarily with any sort of momentum, but be damned if he let them get any further. as raggedly as those words urge her otherwise, he doesn't seem to particularly mind her drawing this out, and maybe if she wasn't just as starved, she'd be able to a bit longer, edge him until she knew what that tongue sounded like around a plea.
as much as she'd claim to know herself, there's an entire study missing from the archives: pleasure; she tries for what she can to note these little things mentally, what digs itself beneath her skin, adding dog-ears to every reaction, every sound she's earned from his lips.
her wrist shifts, giving a prod of the tip of her thumb between his lips, taken by the way they part for her insistence, and she's hooking that digit against the lower row of his teeth, against the muscle of his tongue — gently, tentative, and she's humming something dark as her hips curl forward. it's enough for the rigid length of his cock to catch itself at the heart of her — and in a single rock she's sheathing him within her completely, iris' blossoming outward with a thick thud of her pulse, jaw falling slightly slack as every bit of air is forced from her lungs. )