Maeve
Do you trust me? The words are exhaled against her ear, warming her skin as she shudders beneath him, goosebumps rising along her flesh. Hips press up against his finger, desperately chasing the exquisite pressure he applies to her clit even as his hand tightens on her throat, a flush spreading over her cheeks. It stands out starkly against pale skin, highlighted by the dappled sunlight that finds them beneath the shade of the tree they're under, shaded from the world outside of this canopy. He might not think this is special, that she's this way only for him, but it is special for her. He's special. If he wanted to be cynical about it nothing they do when it comes to sex is special. It's impossible given her line of work, but Maeve doesn't think of it like that.
She swallows thickly, throat bobbing against the press of his palm against her throat, nodding as the words push past her lips, "I trust you. With everything." Even through the haze of pleasure and the breathy nature of her voice, there isn't a lie to be found. These aren't words said just to soothe his ego and to make him complacent. Maeve means them. The Madame might not know what game he's playing at, but she's a willing participant, needing it just as badly as he does even if she's unaware of that fact.
She swallows thickly, throat bobbing against the press of his palm against her throat, nodding as the words push past her lips, "I trust you. With everything." Even through the haze of pleasure and the breathy nature of her voice, there isn't a lie to be found. These aren't words said just to soothe his ego and to make him complacent. Maeve means them. The Madame might not know what game he's playing at, but she's a willing participant, needing it just as badly as he does even if she's unaware of that fact.
But I don't like a gold rush, gold rush
I don't like slow motion double vision in rose blush
I don't like slow motion double vision in rose blush
