( she can feel it behind the desperation of his hips, the way he starts rocking into her more with fervor than precision, breaths left messily against one another's mouths, and somehow he finds the means of catching one enough to rope her into another searing kiss. it momentarily allows her attention to share not only the way it feels to have him fucking into her, but to revel in the way his mouth tastes alongside it, how it sweetens to the rumbled sound of a groan he hides between her brims.
nails only furl tighter at the nape of his neck, a restless knead to convey what he's stirring within her that not even words, not even moans could—and just as so her opposite hand begins to mirror that clutch, breathily dropping from his arm to quickly find purchase at his side, grazing along to his back just above where calves keep him hitched to her. he steels a moment to himself, letting the senses better equipped to handle her, the way he feels with eyes closed and head craned, giving her the opportune and open canvas of his throat to decorate as she pleases.
she can't help herself, the way she ducks into the crook of his neck, relieves a pierced whimper against his pulse point as she stumbles to stay still enough in order to capture it, suckle a reddened, bruise-like hue to the surface. he asks her what she needs, asks her for her guidance and she's desperately trying to gather herself enough to tell him, show him, so instead she locks hips in a raise at an angle that causes him to brush against the swollen bed of her clit each time he drives forward into her, effect immediately pulling far less shy of a moan from her ribs. ) Just don't stop, cari.
( words are swallowed by a whine, blushed lips dragging across his ear, and it's all she can do to cling to him. try to keep herself grounded to feel the full impact of every collision of hips, every needy chase that grows all the more ragged as those threads that keep them together begin to maddeningly dwindle. a gasp, a testament to how closely she follows behind: ) Don't stop.
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nails only furl tighter at the nape of his neck, a restless knead to convey what he's stirring within her that not even words, not even moans could—and just as so her opposite hand begins to mirror that clutch, breathily dropping from his arm to quickly find purchase at his side, grazing along to his back just above where calves keep him hitched to her. he steels a moment to himself, letting the senses better equipped to handle her, the way he feels with eyes closed and head craned, giving her the opportune and open canvas of his throat to decorate as she pleases.
she can't help herself, the way she ducks into the crook of his neck, relieves a pierced whimper against his pulse point as she stumbles to stay still enough in order to capture it, suckle a reddened, bruise-like hue to the surface. he asks her what she needs, asks her for her guidance and she's desperately trying to gather herself enough to tell him, show him, so instead she locks hips in a raise at an angle that causes him to brush against the swollen bed of her clit each time he drives forward into her, effect immediately pulling far less shy of a moan from her ribs. ) Just don't stop, cari.
( words are swallowed by a whine, blushed lips dragging across his ear, and it's all she can do to cling to him. try to keep herself grounded to feel the full impact of every collision of hips, every needy chase that grows all the more ragged as those threads that keep them together begin to maddeningly dwindle. a gasp, a testament to how closely she follows behind: ) Don't stop.