( each languid movement draws a reaction from rene, whether he likes it or not. and — dios, does he like this, like everything about her. he dwells a fine line between utterly spent and riding on his lingering adrenaline rush, tries desperately to favor one or the other.
isabelle makes it impossible for him not to give into that need for more, that need to chase the leftover energy that still buzzes through him, ever-present. it's impossible when her hips grind over him just so, and he can feel how hot, how wet she still is, pressing needily over his length, makes his grip on her tighten, eyelids shut as the overwhelming feel of her and her breath, hot in his ear, take over.
eyes closed, it takes all of rene's effort to attempt steadying his breathing, chest rising and falling quickly beneath her lips, beneath bruising kisses that graze lower, over his ribcage, make his stomach jump again involuntarily. he's aware of her question, her challenge — even opens his mouth to try answering, but he ends up wetting his lips instead, suppressing a low groan as he feels her tongue graze against his skin through a kiss above his navel. his head spins, thoughts an incoherent blend of languages and phrases that'd earn him a slap across the face from his mama if she ever heard.
the pause in contact that follows is enough to make him blink his eyes open again, eyelids heavily, peering down at her as though in a daze; his hands, having followed the trail of her skin as far as he could, have nowhere but the sheets below to hold, the other hand finding at his ribcage. ruby lips linger dangerously close to his thighs, so close to his cock he can feel her breath hot against him as she exhales. his gaze meets hers for only a moment before she curls her fingers around him, lips pressing a kiss to his swollen head, and rene can't — cannot — look away, enraptured by the sight of it.
that damn lipstick —
a groan, low and heady, leaves him at the sound of her voice, the mere thought of his cock disappearing past reddened, kiss-swollen lips is nearly enough to make his cock stir, let alone the sensation of her kiss. another swipe of his tongue over his lips, another hard swallow, and he manages, voice roughened and scratchy, ) Ain't nothing I can't handle.
no subject
isabelle makes it impossible for him not to give into that need for more, that need to chase the leftover energy that still buzzes through him, ever-present. it's impossible when her hips grind over him just so, and he can feel how hot, how wet she still is, pressing needily over his length, makes his grip on her tighten, eyelids shut as the overwhelming feel of her and her breath, hot in his ear, take over.
eyes closed, it takes all of rene's effort to attempt steadying his breathing, chest rising and falling quickly beneath her lips, beneath bruising kisses that graze lower, over his ribcage, make his stomach jump again involuntarily. he's aware of her question, her challenge — even opens his mouth to try answering, but he ends up wetting his lips instead, suppressing a low groan as he feels her tongue graze against his skin through a kiss above his navel. his head spins, thoughts an incoherent blend of languages and phrases that'd earn him a slap across the face from his mama if she ever heard.
the pause in contact that follows is enough to make him blink his eyes open again, eyelids heavily, peering down at her as though in a daze; his hands, having followed the trail of her skin as far as he could, have nowhere but the sheets below to hold, the other hand finding at his ribcage. ruby lips linger dangerously close to his thighs, so close to his cock he can feel her breath hot against him as she exhales. his gaze meets hers for only a moment before she curls her fingers around him, lips pressing a kiss to his swollen head, and rene can't — cannot — look away, enraptured by the sight of it.
that damn lipstick —
a groan, low and heady, leaves him at the sound of her voice, the mere thought of his cock disappearing past reddened, kiss-swollen lips is nearly enough to make his cock stir, let alone the sensation of her kiss. another swipe of his tongue over his lips, another hard swallow, and he manages, voice roughened and scratchy, ) Ain't nothing I can't handle.