Evie
Did you ever love her? Do you know?
Patience is a bygone trait for her in contrast. Why wait, why prolong, when they could simply do it again and again until they’d ticked every box and experienced every desire? She is a giver, she wants to give herself to him, have him take and devour. Unused to being faced with the same desire in mirror. Overwhelmed by the force of his patience, his intent.
A quick inhale of a gasp has her chest swelling as his mouth caresses her inner thigh, an area she’d never known could be so sensitive. They tremble where they slowly position themselves around and atop his shoulders, making room for him wherever he desires to go. Open, wanting, waiting. She makes the mistake of watching him, for as his eyes flick up to watch her, heated, she feels her cheeks flush red. The sight of him low between her legs wrenching a new level of heat into her navel. It unravels her, and then the touch of his tongue severs the threads of her control entirely.
His hands feel like they’re everywhere, so consumed is she by the long, testing stroke of his tongue. Her cry is the loudest yet, a warble of his name that breaks differently on every syllable. Her legs clutch and cling, hips arching, head tossed back and hands fisting the sheets as he laves her with attention. She’s dripping, and she knows she is, but she can’t find any measure of embarrassment in the plainness of her wanting.
A quick inhale of a gasp has her chest swelling as his mouth caresses her inner thigh, an area she’d never known could be so sensitive. They tremble where they slowly position themselves around and atop his shoulders, making room for him wherever he desires to go. Open, wanting, waiting. She makes the mistake of watching him, for as his eyes flick up to watch her, heated, she feels her cheeks flush red. The sight of him low between her legs wrenching a new level of heat into her navel. It unravels her, and then the touch of his tongue severs the threads of her control entirely.
His hands feel like they’re everywhere, so consumed is she by the long, testing stroke of his tongue. Her cry is the loudest yet, a warble of his name that breaks differently on every syllable. Her legs clutch and cling, hips arching, head tossed back and hands fisting the sheets as he laves her with attention. She’s dripping, and she knows she is, but she can’t find any measure of embarrassment in the plainness of her wanting.
Or did you just never want to be alone?
