( she wants him to move with her, as much as she appreciates him giving her something to rut herself against, some means of satisfying the tension that'd built within her figure, she wants him with her every little step toward her release. she's never been shy in her requests, and so it's an exhale of a whisper- ) Move against me, Baby. ( -that greets him, almost mindlessly, tongue lazy and on it's own request murmuring up.
she can feel his gaze on her, burning delightfully along her flesh, and for a moment she lets up on that grip to his arm to instead trail nails in a gentle graze toward the wrist beneath her shirt, mirroring her hand against the back of his. she gropes for him, with him, single brow knitting inward. there's nothing messy about her pace, nor is it filled with haste, but rather a precise knowing of exactly where she needs that touch, needs him to rub her, and those familiar warm tendrils begin their ascent along her spine as she works herself up. )
no subject
she can feel his gaze on her, burning delightfully along her flesh, and for a moment she lets up on that grip to his arm to instead trail nails in a gentle graze toward the wrist beneath her shirt, mirroring her hand against the back of his. she gropes for him, with him, single brow knitting inward. there's nothing messy about her pace, nor is it filled with haste, but rather a precise knowing of exactly where she needs that touch, needs him to rub her, and those familiar warm tendrils begin their ascent along her spine as she works herself up. )