A warm meal and a quiet night

KIADA curl your hands into fists, and sharpen your nails. She can feel him against her, taut like a string just as she is, burning and warm and flushed everywhere because of what he is doing to her. And she can’t help the slight shudder, the hum that accompanies it as she sends more of those feelings down the bond, letting him understand just how much she is enjoying this game. His thumb continues it’s light stroking, her back arching with it to press herself even further against him, and when she feels his cock pressed against her thigh, she almost zeroes in on him completely. Almost — because then he’s toying with her a small amount, a quiet growl slipping from her lips, all a part of the dance they’re partaking in. She’s slick, especially as he dares to slip that finger into her, her own hips moving on their own accord as if she’s to beg him for it without words, but there’s a better result waiting. Better, as he lines himself up and she shifts her legs a small amount, spreading them wide to make room for all of him. And she can feel him, toying her again — when had she started breathing so fast? — but she meets his gaze regardless, chest rising and falling with her sharpened breaths, breasts brushing against his chest with every movement. She finds his gaze, her own shadowed with lust and desire and almost a primal need as she settles back a bit. And then a thought hits her, something impulsive and roguish, shifting her hips a bit to better align herself to take all of him, and when she’s done with that, she pairs her movements with her mental voice. Please? It’s a cross between a prayer, a plea, a beg as she grinds her hips into his, hoping to sink him deep into her warmth, both her attuned voice and physical voice moaning out for him with the sensation. the next time a man tells you to smile, show him bloodstained teeth.