it's fine to fake it 'till you make it
Safrin’s head fell back, her breath catching in a soft gasp as Jack's mouth found its way between her thighs, her fingers tangling urgently into his hair. Her thighs tightened around him, starlight pulsing like a heartbeat across her exposed skin as pleasure radiated through her in celestial waves. She allowed her mind to open wider, filling Jack’s telepathy with a dizzying expanse of stars that pulsed and throbbed, raw with the possibility of creation; but it was a fragile, intricate system that required far more than mere skill to set ablaze.
The sensation of his tongue sliding over her, teasing and coaxing, sent flares of light through her cosmos, igniting clusters of sensation like meteors sparking against the vast darkness. Yet, for all his cleverness, a goddess required finesse beyond most mortals' understanding. Her fingers tangled more roughly into his hair, guiding him subtly—revealing just enough in that mental star map to hint at what might draw her closer to shattering.
Every flick and caress from him stirred the celestial tempest inside her, nebulae coiling tightly in anticipation. Stars trembled and asteroids shifted, balanced precariously on the edge of collapse and rebirth. Yet, each touch from the captain was merely a nudge against the greater universe of her pleasure; the tension was a force of nature itself, powerful and dangerous, begging Jack to push beyond cleverness, beyond instinct—to read her deeper, feel what she needed. Not unlike the good captain, Safrin got off on more than just mere physicality.
The sensation of his tongue sliding over her, teasing and coaxing, sent flares of light through her cosmos, igniting clusters of sensation like meteors sparking against the vast darkness. Yet, for all his cleverness, a goddess required finesse beyond most mortals' understanding. Her fingers tangled more roughly into his hair, guiding him subtly—revealing just enough in that mental star map to hint at what might draw her closer to shattering.
Every flick and caress from him stirred the celestial tempest inside her, nebulae coiling tightly in anticipation. Stars trembled and asteroids shifted, balanced precariously on the edge of collapse and rebirth. Yet, each touch from the captain was merely a nudge against the greater universe of her pleasure; the tension was a force of nature itself, powerful and dangerous, begging Jack to push beyond cleverness, beyond instinct—to read her deeper, feel what she needed. Not unlike the good captain, Safrin got off on more than just mere physicality.
'till you do. 'till it's true.
