Catchy Title

Given that this was a fantasy, one partially led by Frey, there was no worry of the psuedo-Loren finishing too soon. Even so, the man above Phoebe gasped and trembled slightly against her, his head next to hers and his teeth upon her shoulder. Every muscle was tight as he moaned a sound belying his want to throw restraint by the wayside. "Gods, you're perfect." He whispered against her in a voice just as thick as the dildo within. Pulling his hips back and then sliding forwards again, Loren at first began with a rhythm that bordered on slow. Eventually though his thrusts became more frenzied, and though this fantasy didn't really occur in any specific setting, suddenly as Loren straightened, Phoebe would find herself on some sort of table. Grasping at her hips to pull her towards the edge of it, he let his hands slide down to her thighs, hitching them around his waist. "Gods Phoebe—" He moaned, bucking his hips against her. Though normally the angle would have been all wrong, as Loren lowered his finger to pulse against her clit in time with his thrusts, she'd find his ministrations absolutely perfect (if only because in reality, it was her hand doing all the work). Frey