i can make the badguys good for a weekend
Charlie’s fangs graze Jack's lip as she laughs, the sound dark and delighted, her breath hot between them. "Oh, I bet they do." The words curl with amusement, but her mind flashes something sharper beneath it; the knowledge that men like Jack Barclay collect insults the way others collect scars. Slurs, challenges, grudges a plenty, and threaded through all of them, was something covetous. The wanting. The need to either have him or be him, or to best him just once so they could carry the story like a trophy. She sees it clearly, that kernel of envy and desire beneath all the names, and it only makes her smile wider.
When he draws her forward, it’s seamless, with Charlie hooking her legs around his waist without thought or hesitation, body fitting to his like it's something they've done before (and she hopes to do again). When he fills the space between them she moans his name openly, the sound vibrating against his mouth as her head tips back, suspended in the feeling of him filling her. She is light in his arms, easy to lift and hold, but there is nothing insubstantial about her; not in the way her thighs tighten, skilled and deliberate, nor in how she moves with confident intent, lifting herself up off of his cock and then rolling back down with a rhythm that is entirely her own.
She moves like someone who knows her body, knows what it can do, and enjoys every second of proving it. Her tail curls and tightens, a living, teasing line of heat that tracks along him like a wayward fingertip. As she rolls her hips back, at the apex of this arc, she presses her mouth to his again, kiss deep and hungry, her tongue a slow, filthy echo of the way she moves against him.
When he draws her forward, it’s seamless, with Charlie hooking her legs around his waist without thought or hesitation, body fitting to his like it's something they've done before (and she hopes to do again). When he fills the space between them she moans his name openly, the sound vibrating against his mouth as her head tips back, suspended in the feeling of him filling her. She is light in his arms, easy to lift and hold, but there is nothing insubstantial about her; not in the way her thighs tighten, skilled and deliberate, nor in how she moves with confident intent, lifting herself up off of his cock and then rolling back down with a rhythm that is entirely her own.
She moves like someone who knows her body, knows what it can do, and enjoys every second of proving it. Her tail curls and tightens, a living, teasing line of heat that tracks along him like a wayward fingertip. As she rolls her hips back, at the apex of this arc, she presses her mouth to his again, kiss deep and hungry, her tongue a slow, filthy echo of the way she moves against him.
.
Hella golden retriever energy. Small unrefined horns made of ruby. Regular spade-shaped tail.
