COLT
It's enough—to take him to the end of his desire, to give him something. It's a certain kind of pleasure in itself, viewing the way each careful movement elicits a tremor along him, how he feels so unyielding against all the pliability of her mouth. It might not be the infero that swept through her before, but it's a rich glow that gathers inside her, content to be useful, pleased to be a catalyst for his release.
The gradual unfurling of his midnight expanse earns a sideways glance, the focus on him stuttering with a hover of a question posed on her lips over the tip of him. As the prickle of sand vanishes beneath the darkness however, the question slips to a smile and she slides him back in with punctuation, as if to test the span of her hunger. It's then that the one tendril of shadow strikes a match against her, the unexpected touch razing up her spine with an involuntary hitch. It escapes her as a moan that hums around him, a vibration of want she thought she'd finally started to get a lid around.
His command is all the encouragement she needs to resume with newfound zeal, taking him against her tongue as if she might pull her own need through him. One hand flexes against his side, a steadying post as his phantom touch threatens to topple her with each wash of heat it fans into her. If not for the groans that break from her throat, quivering around him with all the same budding pressure in her core, she might choke on it.
The gradual unfurling of his midnight expanse earns a sideways glance, the focus on him stuttering with a hover of a question posed on her lips over the tip of him. As the prickle of sand vanishes beneath the darkness however, the question slips to a smile and she slides him back in with punctuation, as if to test the span of her hunger. It's then that the one tendril of shadow strikes a match against her, the unexpected touch razing up her spine with an involuntary hitch. It escapes her as a moan that hums around him, a vibration of want she thought she'd finally started to get a lid around.
His command is all the encouragement she needs to resume with newfound zeal, taking him against her tongue as if she might pull her own need through him. One hand flexes against his side, a steadying post as his phantom touch threatens to topple her with each wash of heat it fans into her. If not for the groans that break from her throat, quivering around him with all the same budding pressure in her core, she might choke on it.
Baby, don't fall for me, I'll tell you right now
You're gonna hate me when we hit the ground
Think you're gonna fix me, think we're making progress
You'll be broken with me somewhere in the process
You're gonna hate me when we hit the ground
Think you're gonna fix me, think we're making progress
You'll be broken with me somewhere in the process
Received a Gilded Market wig from Remi that resembles her usual hair and is enchanted to stay on better than most wigs | has a reverse centaur tattoo on her left hand with the legs going down her pointer and middle fingers that looks like this.
