( it isn't difficult to tell by the way he moves against her, the way his hips feed into hers again and again, the way he clutches her as if in plea not to go anywhere but closer, just how good it is for him. there's a current that ignites amongst her spine as it sets in, as she lets herself wonder what he might look like coming apart, how he'd sound, how he'd manage to gasp and mew her name into the most broken melody of syllables, and she wants it for him. god, she does.
she presses her forehead to his own, glancing down between them to watch the rhythmic way in which he rocks into her, how he angles himself to rub up against her just how he needs it, just how it feels best—the amount of will it takes not to guide his hand beneath her denim instead, to the front where it's fastened and she's left aching. but it helps, to focus on him, to know that he's spiraling into that tell-tale end.
there's a moan that dares to break through her exhale, jaw clenched and instead a whimpering sounding around her swallow, nodding her head distractedly. digits fasten tighter in his hair, curling and tugging, curling and tugging again, working herself with him as to direct all of that luscious pressure right to the bundle between her hips. )
no subject
she presses her forehead to his own, glancing down between them to watch the rhythmic way in which he rocks into her, how he angles himself to rub up against her just how he needs it, just how it feels best—the amount of will it takes not to guide his hand beneath her denim instead, to the front where it's fastened and she's left aching. but it helps, to focus on him, to know that he's spiraling into that tell-tale end.
there's a moan that dares to break through her exhale, jaw clenched and instead a whimpering sounding around her swallow, nodding her head distractedly. digits fasten tighter in his hair, curling and tugging, curling and tugging again, working herself with him as to direct all of that luscious pressure right to the bundle between her hips. )