( the moment he gives that first thrust to meet her she's nearly toppling forward, miniature white sparks dancing in her vision at the way that impact feels — it's sharp and it's exact, and it leaves her hand darting to curl fingertips around the edge of that headboard. every time he pistons up to her she's meeting him, matching that need, the roughened energy that comes along with it, twin hips all too willing to fall into that instinctive chase. and so she's moving faster, yet, almost as if some unspoken challenge to see if he can keep up with her — she's well aware given his position and stamina alone he could well surpass her, but her commitment just might surprise him — mattress groaning in protest to their movements.
a crude moan works from her throat, laced between heavy breaths like a detached static, the exertion of using every bit of her weight to fuck herself on to him leaving her thighs quivering in their straddle. that veil of her that'd been worried about sounding or acting too indecent when he'd taken her against that couch is absent, here. like the dark offers her some sort of reprieve, forgiveness for that hungry, insatiable thing that lives within her.
she has to wonder if he knows what he's gotten himself into, letting her have this; and it seems as if the more she has of him, the more she wants.
lean, porcelain-bound muscles within her back flit as her shoulders pinch together, both of their gazes half-mast, tucked into their own little oblivion here in that room, and she's letting a bit more of her weight fall into every slap of their thighs, driven by the sound of it, rocking a little just before she lifts each time. )
no subject
a crude moan works from her throat, laced between heavy breaths like a detached static, the exertion of using every bit of her weight to fuck herself on to him leaving her thighs quivering in their straddle. that veil of her that'd been worried about sounding or acting too indecent when he'd taken her against that couch is absent, here. like the dark offers her some sort of reprieve, forgiveness for that hungry, insatiable thing that lives within her.
she has to wonder if he knows what he's gotten himself into, letting her have this; and it seems as if the more she has of him, the more she wants.
lean, porcelain-bound muscles within her back flit as her shoulders pinch together, both of their gazes half-mast, tucked into their own little oblivion here in that room, and she's letting a bit more of her weight fall into every slap of their thighs, driven by the sound of it, rocking a little just before she lifts each time. )