It takes a leap of faith

Amalia

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stop thinking so much

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She can feel his rising urgency, the tension of his body beneath her hips, the way he rises into her hips, filling her and pushing her, always avaricious for more and more and more. A laugh coils roughly from her chest, low and gravelly, coated in a moan. Stubborn, stalwart, she wants to win, to bring him all the way to the brink, to claim his pleasure as her own, holding out until the moment just after his break. Through teeth and lips and ministrations Amalia holds her own, gold hair wild on her shoulders, meeting him measure for measure, moan for moan, her mouth on his head, the shell of his ear, her body pressing closer to his as she seeks to feel him on both sets of lips.

She might have stood a chance against him, might have been able to withstand, were it not for the finger on her inner thigh, teasing its way closer and closer, a threat, a promise, in each caress. Another laugh, this one more guttural, barely anything other than a wanton moan; despite herself the girl bucks, her hips eager and needy as she searches for the impending onslaught, embracing and relishing in her imminent doom. "Deimos," she mewls as he meets his goal,  shudder coursing through her body, adoration and adulation in the rapacious grasping of her hands. And as his digits circles her clit she can feel the overwhelming tide, the drowning onslaught, and does not resist, pushing her lips against his skin, singing his praises, moaning his name as wave after wave of pleasure pushes through her, rocking the baker to her core.

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you're breaking your own heart

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