Honey wherever you go, I know
Already fighting against the cruel containment of his pants, it's a wonder the hard tip of his dick doesn't cleave right through the fabric the instant he takes her weight and she grinds into him. Instead, desire hisses through his teeth, as though bearing these pants is the greatest agony he's had to endure. "I should have followed your rules," he laments, words half broken with an erratic grasp on breath.
Any thought of further words withers instantly beneath her lips, needing every bit of air he's got to meet her and survive it. The taste of her still on his mouth, the way she pours every bit of herself into the contact and drags each part of him out with, exchanging souls instead of passion—it yanks the last threads of control from his body. He sighs into her, rough and guttural, hands clamping around her hips as she presses herself onto him further, a shudder of anticipation rolling through him.
Her whisper is the last snip on his control. Near mad, his hands hoist her closer to his chest and he reaches back to fumble with his belt buckle and buttons behind her. It’s clumsy and frantic, the soaked fabric and continuous water offering no assistance to his plight, but he needs her bare against him, now. The pants split around the zipper track and his cock springs free, thick and aching, chasing the wet invitation of her that'd just been so near.
He doesn’t wait—he can’t. His palms press back on her, guiding her down onto him, filling her slow enough to savor the stretch but urgent enough to tremble with the restraint. The sensation rips a moan from his throat, head falling back, "Fuck—Flora." He drags his gaze to hers again, barely able to see her as he loses himself to the feel of her perfectly taking him. His hands cradle her, holding her tight as if she might vanish, and he thrusts up into her with a shuddering groan.
Any thought of further words withers instantly beneath her lips, needing every bit of air he's got to meet her and survive it. The taste of her still on his mouth, the way she pours every bit of herself into the contact and drags each part of him out with, exchanging souls instead of passion—it yanks the last threads of control from his body. He sighs into her, rough and guttural, hands clamping around her hips as she presses herself onto him further, a shudder of anticipation rolling through him.
Her whisper is the last snip on his control. Near mad, his hands hoist her closer to his chest and he reaches back to fumble with his belt buckle and buttons behind her. It’s clumsy and frantic, the soaked fabric and continuous water offering no assistance to his plight, but he needs her bare against him, now. The pants split around the zipper track and his cock springs free, thick and aching, chasing the wet invitation of her that'd just been so near.
He doesn’t wait—he can’t. His palms press back on her, guiding her down onto him, filling her slow enough to savor the stretch but urgent enough to tremble with the restraint. The sensation rips a moan from his throat, head falling back, "Fuck—Flora." He drags his gaze to hers again, barely able to see her as he loses himself to the feel of her perfectly taking him. His hands cradle her, holding her tight as if she might vanish, and he thrusts up into her with a shuddering groan.
Kaisel
I'd give up half of forever, just to be with you
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
