I like shiny things, but I'd marry you with paper rings
The sound of his voice splits her open, the sound low and teasing, rich with promise and sin. It rips straight through her spine like torn silk and wildfire, a low, vibrating purr that leaves her trembling before he even moves. Her breath catches as his lips press to her thigh, reverent and claiming, and it’s all she can do not to grind herself against his mouth and beg for more than kisses.
She braces herself as he lifts her higher, arms straining against the bed, curls sticking to her damp temples beneath the hat. "Please," she whispers again, soft and shaky, the word barely formed around the hunger that claws at her throat. She can’t see much through the haze of her pleasure and the angle of her body, but she looks up at him anyway, back arched, legs trembling, heart slamming against her ribs. Every muscle in her is drawn taut with need, as though desire alone is holding her together.
And then—gods. The slow, thick slide of him inside her is devastating. There’s no friction, no resistance, only the perfect, all-consuming stretch that leaves her breathless. Slick from the way he kissed her, from how long she’s wanted this, she takes him in completely, with a gasp that punches from her lungs and a cry of his name torn ragged from her throat. Her hips tilt instinctively, chasing more, wanting all of him, until there’s not a single part of her left untouched, unclaimed, and undone by him.
Satisfaction crashes through her like surf against rocks, beautiful and violent, but it's not enough. Already her body is tightening again, greedy and aching and desperate for more. "Fuck," she moans, head thrown back as her shoulders lift slightly off the bed, her limbs shaking with the force of her arousal. The praise he gives her only feeds the flames, his voice stroking down her spine like another set of hands. "Gods, you're everything," she gasps, nails dragging against the sheets before one hand reaches for him; for his face, his shoulder, anything she can touch. She ends up clutching at the muscle of his arm, fingers digging in as he begins to move.
And gods, when he does—when he starts to fuck her with real intent—it’s like a spell breaks. Her moans turn rhythmic, matching the steady, relentless thrust of his hips, her voice high and breathless and utterly shameless. Pleasure lights up her nerve endings in dazzling bursts, and there’s nothing quiet or polite about the way she takes it; every sound she makes is a prayer and a promise and a plea.
"Harder," she begs between moans, drowning in the feel of him, her body wracked with pleasure so sharp it borders on unbearable. "Please, Kai—fuck, don’t stop."
She braces herself as he lifts her higher, arms straining against the bed, curls sticking to her damp temples beneath the hat. "Please," she whispers again, soft and shaky, the word barely formed around the hunger that claws at her throat. She can’t see much through the haze of her pleasure and the angle of her body, but she looks up at him anyway, back arched, legs trembling, heart slamming against her ribs. Every muscle in her is drawn taut with need, as though desire alone is holding her together.
And then—gods. The slow, thick slide of him inside her is devastating. There’s no friction, no resistance, only the perfect, all-consuming stretch that leaves her breathless. Slick from the way he kissed her, from how long she’s wanted this, she takes him in completely, with a gasp that punches from her lungs and a cry of his name torn ragged from her throat. Her hips tilt instinctively, chasing more, wanting all of him, until there’s not a single part of her left untouched, unclaimed, and undone by him.
Satisfaction crashes through her like surf against rocks, beautiful and violent, but it's not enough. Already her body is tightening again, greedy and aching and desperate for more. "Fuck," she moans, head thrown back as her shoulders lift slightly off the bed, her limbs shaking with the force of her arousal. The praise he gives her only feeds the flames, his voice stroking down her spine like another set of hands. "Gods, you're everything," she gasps, nails dragging against the sheets before one hand reaches for him; for his face, his shoulder, anything she can touch. She ends up clutching at the muscle of his arm, fingers digging in as he begins to move.
And gods, when he does—when he starts to fuck her with real intent—it’s like a spell breaks. Her moans turn rhythmic, matching the steady, relentless thrust of his hips, her voice high and breathless and utterly shameless. Pleasure lights up her nerve endings in dazzling bursts, and there’s nothing quiet or polite about the way she takes it; every sound she makes is a prayer and a promise and a plea.
"Harder," she begs between moans, drowning in the feel of him, her body wracked with pleasure so sharp it borders on unbearable. "Please, Kai—fuck, don’t stop."
and I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this
