we're always running scared but holding knives
"Good," Isla whispers against his lips as she's pushed down into the bed, soon covered by the heat and weight of him. "We're all in agreement, then." Of wanting, of needing, of having to be had. The roll of his hips against her own drags a moan of surprise and need from her lips, one that's promptly swallowed up by Remi's kisses. Melting against him, the doctor willingly submits herself to his ministrations, her arms looping around him to press careful fingers down the length of his scarred back.
"Fuck, I want more of you," she whispers against his lips, her hands drifting lower to the waistband of his pants, making swift work of the buttons. "If you're expecting me to beg you to fuck me, you're getting very close," she adds with a dark smile, nipping gently at his lower lip.
"Fuck, I want more of you," she whispers against his lips, her hands drifting lower to the waistband of his pants, making swift work of the buttons. "If you're expecting me to beg you to fuck me, you're getting very close," she adds with a dark smile, nipping gently at his lower lip.
Isla
