when it's just the two of us, only the two of us
Isla isn't a selfish person by nature, but in this particular moment she's utterly consumed by her own desires. It has been so long since she's been able to feel, and now with Remi between her thighs, with his tongue pressing against all the right places, she's so undone by his touch that it's laughable. Her moan is a breathless thing, soft and quiet at first, only to rise in volume as he finds his rhythm. He doesn't need the verbal encouragement, but gods if it doesn't feel good to give it anyway, and she arches up and off the chaise lounge as he guides her hips.
"Oh gods, yes--" She gasps, urging him on with her fingers in his hair, apparently forgetting that he needs to breathe and she doesn't. Not that it particularly matters any more - his tongue has found a sweet, relentless cadence against her clit and it's building pressure in her core that she's heedless to ignore. "Don't stop--!" Clutching him closer, her hips roll into him again, and the rising approach of her climax is punctuated in a siren song of his name.
"Oh gods, yes--" She gasps, urging him on with her fingers in his hair, apparently forgetting that he needs to breathe and she doesn't. Not that it particularly matters any more - his tongue has found a sweet, relentless cadence against her clit and it's building pressure in her core that she's heedless to ignore. "Don't stop--!" Clutching him closer, her hips roll into him again, and the rising approach of her climax is punctuated in a siren song of his name.
i could die
Isla
