( 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.
( she doesn't miss even the slightest of reactions she elicits from him; the way scarred-over hands furl themselves in her sheets, leave another tousle behind that'll hold them til morning, leave a map of their night behind come morning when ( she expects ) he drifts from that mattress, when she's left with no more than a ghost of memories and rippling, wanton aches along her figure. the way he looks at her, awe and perhaps even a bit of hesitancy, aware that his body undoubtedly thrummed from the orgasm that'd wrung through them no more than a few moments prior.
it's why she's gentle, why she doesn't immediately wrap her lips around him and take him into that hot cave of her mouth, why she draws it out, ensures he'll feel nothing but relief the moment she does give in, rather than discomfort. she's at least sincere, despite her tenacity, that leonine way in which she goes about getting what it is she wants.
it's nowhere near as enjoyable if he doesn't want it just as badly, but with the way his cock twitches within her grasp, the way his stomach and ribs cave and jump to her tiny affections. he still raises his voice up to her with that bravado faintly in tact, hinting with a fracture just present enough for her to pick up on, teeth baring in a grin that could almost be deemed counteractive given how close to his length they are, but she remains delicate. almost impossibly so, swiping her thumb over his tip to smear the pre that'd drizzled there down along the upper of his shaft, running lips and tongue in unison down along the rest to slick it just enough for a first, smooth stroke of her fist.
even she exhales with it, finds lashes giving a lazed flutter that lasts a second or two, how her own thighs already give a clench together to deliver a bit of friction to her core, ridden with mini contractions that mimic her pulse rate. it's painfully clear she wasn't doing this just to please him, that there's a hunger all the same that she's doing this for herself in the flare of her eyes.
unoccupied hand grazes it's nails against the lower of his abdomen, and she moans sweetly the moment she dips back up to make a show of curling her tongue around his head, tasting herself and him, before lips close around and suck with a quiet pop as cheeks hollow, curling her fist as it works back up to join with the ring of her mouth. the next time it glides down against him, her lips are right behind. )
( that curve of her lips, the flash of her teeth in a grin that's so utterly pleased with herself, with the state that she's left him in, would be enough to get him riled up on a normal night. but this isn't a normal night, passed that point the moment that notification popped up on his phone screen.
he can't do what he'd normally do in that situation and turn the tables right back on her, wipe that smirky grin off of her face with a move to flip her beneath him instead, with his fingers inside of her, with a tongue on her swollen clit. he'd had his moment of sheer control earlier, let his sheer instincts loose on her, palm against bare skin, and now it seems as though isabelle has decided to have her turn, make it so he writhes beneath her mouth just as she had squirmed on top of his lap.
she's succeeding, that much is for sure. there's already precome leaking from his head before he can even realize what's happening, slicked down along his shaft by velvet lips, the flat of her tongue, a tantalizing taste of what's to come. ) God damn, baby, ( comes his groan, chin tipped back and his hips flexing as her curled fist strokes him at long last.
every nerve ending in rene's body is alight, oversensitive almost to a fault, but he doesn't care — he wants, needs more. a hand reaches forward, fingers carding through her hair and against her scalp, grip tightening as her own nails graze beneath his navel. half-lidded eyes peer down as her, tug messy hair out of his line of vision, so he can watch the way her tongue languishes around his width, savors the taste for a moment until she decides to indulge him at long last; her mouth's warm and hot, hollowed cheeks concaving against the head of his cock as her palm strokes upwards and —
she takes his length fully, leans her head down so those ruby lips can chase the curl of her fingers as she sinks down over him, a moan carried past his lips. isabelle feels so fucking good, is so good at this, it's unreal — he can't help but let out the steady stream of words flow out of him, feeling kinda nonsensical: ) Mamí — Isabelle — dios, baby, you feel so fucking good — Me estás volviendo loco —
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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
it's why she's gentle, why she doesn't immediately wrap her lips around him and take him into that hot cave of her mouth, why she draws it out, ensures he'll feel nothing but relief the moment she does give in, rather than discomfort. she's at least sincere, despite her tenacity, that leonine way in which she goes about getting what it is she wants.
it's nowhere near as enjoyable if he doesn't want it just as badly, but with the way his cock twitches within her grasp, the way his stomach and ribs cave and jump to her tiny affections. he still raises his voice up to her with that bravado faintly in tact, hinting with a fracture just present enough for her to pick up on, teeth baring in a grin that could almost be deemed counteractive given how close to his length they are, but she remains delicate. almost impossibly so, swiping her thumb over his tip to smear the pre that'd drizzled there down along the upper of his shaft, running lips and tongue in unison down along the rest to slick it just enough for a first, smooth stroke of her fist.
even she exhales with it, finds lashes giving a lazed flutter that lasts a second or two, how her own thighs already give a clench together to deliver a bit of friction to her core, ridden with mini contractions that mimic her pulse rate. it's painfully clear she wasn't doing this just to please him, that there's a hunger all the same that she's doing this for herself in the flare of her eyes.
unoccupied hand grazes it's nails against the lower of his abdomen, and she moans sweetly the moment she dips back up to make a show of curling her tongue around his head, tasting herself and him, before lips close around and suck with a quiet pop as cheeks hollow, curling her fist as it works back up to join with the ring of her mouth. the next time it glides down against him, her lips are right behind. )
no subject
he can't do what he'd normally do in that situation and turn the tables right back on her, wipe that smirky grin off of her face with a move to flip her beneath him instead, with his fingers inside of her, with a tongue on her swollen clit. he'd had his moment of sheer control earlier, let his sheer instincts loose on her, palm against bare skin, and now it seems as though isabelle has decided to have her turn, make it so he writhes beneath her mouth just as she had squirmed on top of his lap.
she's succeeding, that much is for sure. there's already precome leaking from his head before he can even realize what's happening, slicked down along his shaft by velvet lips, the flat of her tongue, a tantalizing taste of what's to come. ) God damn, baby, ( comes his groan, chin tipped back and his hips flexing as her curled fist strokes him at long last.
every nerve ending in rene's body is alight, oversensitive almost to a fault, but he doesn't care — he wants, needs more. a hand reaches forward, fingers carding through her hair and against her scalp, grip tightening as her own nails graze beneath his navel. half-lidded eyes peer down as her, tug messy hair out of his line of vision, so he can watch the way her tongue languishes around his width, savors the taste for a moment until she decides to indulge him at long last; her mouth's warm and hot, hollowed cheeks concaving against the head of his cock as her palm strokes upwards and —
she takes his length fully, leans her head down so those ruby lips can chase the curl of her fingers as she sinks down over him, a moan carried past his lips. isabelle feels so fucking good, is so good at this, it's unreal — he can't help but let out the steady stream of words flow out of him, feeling kinda nonsensical: ) Mamí — Isabelle — dios, baby, you feel so fucking good — Me estás volviendo loco —