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Evie
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He arches to meet her, and Evie’s breath hiccups in her chest, tangling with the deep moan that coils in her stomach. The pace is far from languid; Evie wants one thing, and Deimos seems just as on board. Her head tilts back, spine an inverted arch as her hands leave the Sword’s chest to brace on his forearms instead, using the strength there to hasten her undulations.
There are no further words, just the hiccup of moans entangled with his name - and only his name. Her thighs tremble not because of fatigue, but pleasure; they do not often succumb to such ravenous, spontaneous desires, but the change is appealing. Even without any external stimulus she can already feel the hot pool in her naval. An almost embarrassingly fast response, but she doesn’t feel it. Only feels the heat and pressure of his hands on her hips, the ghost of his mouth on her neck, and the thickness of him inside her. don't let one be you |
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