[ She's right, of course. He is more than a little wild, and when she's so polished and poised and careful about her appearance, well, how could he not delight in being the one person allowed - and more than that, eagerly encouraged - to leave her in delicious ruins? To make sure her hair is wild, her make up smeared, her body glistening with sweat and cum and dotted with all sorts of marks and bruises. Maybe if she was more fussy about it he'd hold himself back, let her be the elegant and untouchable goddess of thieves that she is with everyone else, but she's not going to stop him.
No, she's just going to encourage him, isn't she? ]
Flirt. [ He grins a little as she melts back, her hair falling in a dark halo around her head and her face awash in bliss and tension both. Her hips roll, twitch up against him, seeking more, and he presses in a little deeper, knowing what she's hunting for. What she craves so badly.
As he does, he trails a few kisses down her throat. There, he's more careful. He could sink his teeth down, bite until she's left with an angry red mark to remember him by, but he'd rather save that for softer, more supple skin. Places where she can hide it more easily - and where she can think about him every time they throb, every time she brushes them against her clothes, or with her fingers, and know that she was taken so thoroughly. ]
But you're right. Because you're mine, and I'm going to fuck you like it, pretty lady. Until you can't take it any more.
[There — between their combined efforts, his fingers finally brush just right and a low, keening moan spills from her lips as the pleasure of it rocks through her. It's a different sort of satisfaction than attention to her clit would be, less electric and more of a full, all-encompassing burn; it leaves her shivering with arousal that she wouldn't suppress even if she could, continuing to move with his fingers until she's as much fucking herself on them as he is toying with her.
Once she finds a rhythm — and while he's distracted enough with kissing her not to withhold it, hopefully — she sneaks a nimble hand between them and finds the hooks of her front-fastening bra, thumbing them open until the lace goes slack from the lack of tension. An invitation, for when he inevitably decides to move further down than her throat. Until then, she rakes that same hand through his hair, alternating between petting affection and holding on for dear life, depending on whether her pleasure is cresting or ebbing at the moment.]
Filthy. [She murmurs, in the exact same tone and inflection he'd used to call her a flirt, like they're just trading endearments one for one.] Better hurry, before I flip you over and take it myself —
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runstheworld) wrote2026-05-08 11:55 pm
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No, she's just going to encourage him, isn't she? ]
Flirt. [ He grins a little as she melts back, her hair falling in a dark halo around her head and her face awash in bliss and tension both. Her hips roll, twitch up against him, seeking more, and he presses in a little deeper, knowing what she's hunting for. What she craves so badly.
As he does, he trails a few kisses down her throat. There, he's more careful. He could sink his teeth down, bite until she's left with an angry red mark to remember him by, but he'd rather save that for softer, more supple skin. Places where she can hide it more easily - and where she can think about him every time they throb, every time she brushes them against her clothes, or with her fingers, and know that she was taken so thoroughly. ]
But you're right. Because you're mine, and I'm going to fuck you like it, pretty lady. Until you can't take it any more.
no subject
Once she finds a rhythm — and while he's distracted enough with kissing her not to withhold it, hopefully — she sneaks a nimble hand between them and finds the hooks of her front-fastening bra, thumbing them open until the lace goes slack from the lack of tension. An invitation, for when he inevitably decides to move further down than her throat. Until then, she rakes that same hand through his hair, alternating between petting affection and holding on for dear life, depending on whether her pleasure is cresting or ebbing at the moment.]
Filthy. [She murmurs, in the exact same tone and inflection he'd used to call her a flirt, like they're just trading endearments one for one.] Better hurry, before I flip you over and take it myself —