( she'd had a boyfriend for awhile, sure, and maybe some would argue that she's beautiful, that she's good with her words and flirty enough to make things happen--but when his tongue dips inside of her, threatens to lap through the damp heat there and push entirely inside, her thoughts are so far from any of it that she doesn't know what to do. had zack ever been so adventurous? had he ever wanted her so badly that it became such a carnal desire, like this, a determination to taste every inch of her instead of only the bare minimum to find satisfaction? no, he's not a terrible person--and certainly not a terrible lover, when he had been one. but this is drastically different, and if she had her head in a place able to think actual thoughts: that might even make her upset. not at midousuji, not at herself, though maybe she should be; but why has it taken this long, when she should have known what this would feel like long ago?
it feels ridiculous, but the tongue that works inside of her roots her to the moment--to the hard floor beneath her, to the distant whistle of the wind beyond the cottage, to the fact that she's in a strange land with the only person she learned how to trust, the only person she could rely on as a friend and, now, surprisingly, as a lover. it would probably scare him to speak it out loud; to make it real like that, especially when he's so focused on what's in front of him. her hands have long given up, now that midousuji's touch is precisely where it should be--where her breath falls from wet lips in little hiccups of gasps and jolts of pleasure, an instruction of its own. they reach for his shoulders and then, giving up, for the curve of his ears and then his hair, and for awhile, selfishly, she lets him continue on while the sensations build and build.
yes, it is selfish. yes, the whole reason this started had been something else entirely--and how has he lasted this long? uncomfortable, hard, wanting, sprawled out on the floor between her legs? despite her razor-sharp focus on drawing out the pleasure that his tongue and fingers give to her, dutifully, like this is another technique, another task that he has to master: she knows she shouldn't let it go all the way, that she shouldn't find herself spent and exhausted here, when he hasn't even had her own hands on him. turn about is fair play, give what one gets, all of that--but does he even want to?
her fingers curl, one hand twisting gently, reassuringly, into the short locks of hair between her knuckles--almost trying to get his attention, even as her hips arch up in urgent pleasure. )
All this and you don't even want to be inside me?
( it's teasing--her usual tone with him, soft and warm, and it's sort of a lie, isn't it? his tongue, intimate and purposeful, has already cleaved between her legs, dipped into the heat of her entrance there with more fervor than she thinks she's ever felt from anyone. )
I'll let you if you say please.
( another gentle pull of his hair, but this time, it's to get his attention: this time, it's to help draw his chin up and away from the wet heat between her thighs. )
YOU'RE TOTALLY FINE β₯
it feels ridiculous, but the tongue that works inside of her roots her to the moment--to the hard floor beneath her, to the distant whistle of the wind beyond the cottage, to the fact that she's in a strange land with the only person she learned how to trust, the only person she could rely on as a friend and, now, surprisingly, as a lover. it would probably scare him to speak it out loud; to make it real like that, especially when he's so focused on what's in front of him. her hands have long given up, now that midousuji's touch is precisely where it should be--where her breath falls from wet lips in little hiccups of gasps and jolts of pleasure, an instruction of its own. they reach for his shoulders and then, giving up, for the curve of his ears and then his hair, and for awhile, selfishly, she lets him continue on while the sensations build and build.
yes, it is selfish. yes, the whole reason this started had been something else entirely--and how has he lasted this long? uncomfortable, hard, wanting, sprawled out on the floor between her legs? despite her razor-sharp focus on drawing out the pleasure that his tongue and fingers give to her, dutifully, like this is another technique, another task that he has to master: she knows she shouldn't let it go all the way, that she shouldn't find herself spent and exhausted here, when he hasn't even had her own hands on him. turn about is fair play, give what one gets, all of that--but does he even want to?
her fingers curl, one hand twisting gently, reassuringly, into the short locks of hair between her knuckles--almost trying to get his attention, even as her hips arch up in urgent pleasure. )
All this and you don't even want to be inside me?
( it's teasing--her usual tone with him, soft and warm, and it's sort of a lie, isn't it? his tongue, intimate and purposeful, has already cleaved between her legs, dipped into the heat of her entrance there with more fervor than she thinks she's ever felt from anyone. )
I'll let you if you say please.
( another gentle pull of his hair, but this time, it's to get his attention: this time, it's to help draw his chin up and away from the wet heat between her thighs. )
Well~?