❪ he can tell by that smirk alone that she doesn't need to be handled delicately, and while there's no part of him with any intent to harm her, there's a certain edge it tempts him over seeing that dark glaze glimmer across her eyes, over the way she cranes her head back to give him access, a canvas in offering to mark up and devour as he pleases—as it pleases her.
regardless of how selfish he's always been, there was no denying that getting another off had always come with far more satisfaction than merely mindlessly getting himself there. there's fingers raveled in his hair, tugging and encouraging and he picks up on every little sound that's hidden in her throat, every hitch of breath as he easily supports her weight, every notch of her spine that curves to allow those wicked hips to roll enticingly against his own.
and so he doesn't hide, either, not the growl that seeps up from the bed of his chest in response to the friction, muffled against her skin before he's sucking it between his teeth, marring open-mouthed affections down til he's at her collar. and it's reflexive the way his body replies, palming at her thigh—fingertips digging in to the flesh—hitching her up just a bit higher so he can slot perfectly between them and administer a far more direct grind where they meet.
there's already a degree of sloppiness to it, a haste that doesn't lack consideration, tips of his ears singing a red flush and teeth grazing to the exposure of her throat; another bite, another rock of hips. ❫
no subject
regardless of how selfish he's always been, there was no denying that getting another off had always come with far more satisfaction than merely mindlessly getting himself there. there's fingers raveled in his hair, tugging and encouraging and he picks up on every little sound that's hidden in her throat, every hitch of breath as he easily supports her weight, every notch of her spine that curves to allow those wicked hips to roll enticingly against his own.
and so he doesn't hide, either, not the growl that seeps up from the bed of his chest in response to the friction, muffled against her skin before he's sucking it between his teeth, marring open-mouthed affections down til he's at her collar. and it's reflexive the way his body replies, palming at her thigh—fingertips digging in to the flesh—hitching her up just a bit higher so he can slot perfectly between them and administer a far more direct grind where they meet.
there's already a degree of sloppiness to it, a haste that doesn't lack consideration, tips of his ears singing a red flush and teeth grazing to the exposure of her throat; another bite, another rock of hips. ❫