[ rey has always been passionate. every feeling she's ever known has been intense, surges of everything from fury to terror, relief and stubborn refusal; in this, too, she's always expected things to be overwhelming, tidal waves of want and desire that would take her too quickly to let her think.
that's what orientation had led her to believe, anyway. all those images flashing before her of men and women in the throes of passion, clothes ripped away or even left on, the reinforcement of roles and responsibilities, the suggestion of kink... nothing had been so soft as this, so delicate and gentle.
this is something rey doesn't know quite how to process. there's pleasure in it, but it isn't a roaring rapid or an exploding volcano — it's the steady swell of the sun overhead, warming her skin little by little, like sinking into a warm bath. his tongue drags across her, over and over, and with each pass, a new surge of heat and arousal pushes through her, a little more of that slickness pooling between her legs, now a sticky sensation that has her wriggling beneath his ministrations. ]
no subject
that's what orientation had led her to believe, anyway. all those images flashing before her of men and women in the throes of passion, clothes ripped away or even left on, the reinforcement of roles and responsibilities, the suggestion of kink... nothing had been so soft as this, so delicate and gentle.
this is something rey doesn't know quite how to process. there's pleasure in it, but it isn't a roaring rapid or an exploding volcano — it's the steady swell of the sun overhead, warming her skin little by little, like sinking into a warm bath. his tongue drags across her, over and over, and with each pass, a new surge of heat and arousal pushes through her, a little more of that slickness pooling between her legs, now a sticky sensation that has her wriggling beneath his ministrations. ]