What is it about the way he says good girl that makes it feel like she's been struck by lightning, like she's been pulled out by a riptide, like she's walked into a fire and she would thank the storm, the seas, the blazing forest for the opportunity to feel something so big before being totally consumed by it.
She shudders, a full-bodied, quivering shudder that arcs totally through her, from her head to the tips of her fingers and toes. He knocks the wind out of her, and she accepts it gladly — to be so filled for just this
A mouthful of his shirt and shoulder muffle the bulk of the way she cries out, yes just let her be good, yes just let her be wanted, unfiltered and uncensored for something she wants to give so freely. Nothing else matters than being good for him. Her nails dig into his back, her teeth find his flesh even through fabric making little red marks that will fade easily enough but for a moment she knows they belong to each other. Pulsing around him, she grips him as if to squeeze ever drop she can from him, holding desperately onto a moment that passes far too quickly.
She collapses against him, letting him hold all of her weight, her feet dangling loosely in the air. Shifting in his grip, she can feel his spend warm and thick slide over her thigh and drip uselessly onto the tile. She marks it with an indistinct murmur, wiping sweat from her brow on the top of his shoulder. ]
That was... [ She trails off, not having fully caught her breath. ] I didn't know I would like that so much. Being called that.
no subject
Oh.
What is it about the way he says good girl that makes it feel like she's been struck by lightning, like she's been pulled out by a riptide, like she's walked into a fire and she would thank the storm, the seas, the blazing forest for the opportunity to feel something so big before being totally consumed by it.
She shudders, a full-bodied, quivering shudder that arcs totally through her, from her head to the tips of her fingers and toes. He knocks the wind out of her, and she accepts it gladly — to be so filled for just this
A mouthful of his shirt and shoulder muffle the bulk of the way she cries out, yes just let her be good, yes just let her be wanted, unfiltered and uncensored for something she wants to give so freely. Nothing else matters than being good for him. Her nails dig into his back, her teeth find his flesh even through fabric making little red marks that will fade easily enough but for a moment she knows they belong to each other. Pulsing around him, she grips him as if to squeeze ever drop she can from him, holding desperately onto a moment that passes far too quickly.
She collapses against him, letting him hold all of her weight, her feet dangling loosely in the air. Shifting in his grip, she can feel his spend warm and thick slide over her thigh and drip uselessly onto the tile. She marks it with an indistinct murmur, wiping sweat from her brow on the top of his shoulder. ]
That was... [ She trails off, not having fully caught her breath. ] I didn't know I would like that so much. Being called that.