( for isabelle it's never been a matter of who came first, undoubtedly there will be times when she gets on her knees for him, when she takes him into the heat of a ruby-rimmed mouth and waits for him to weep his own finish just like he is now with her—it only shows how tightly wound she is with the need to hold some sort of power, how difficult it is to truly allow herself to lie there against his mouth and accept every praising swipe of his tongue. it's clear indication of all the stress she's swallowed, all she's carried around with her, how she slowly, breath by stumbling breath gives in to him, as if she'd ever had a choice.
his words register slowly, drawing teeth at her own lower lip, and it's the hand cupping at a single, full breast that leaves brows furrowing to a whimper. it's all the more encouragement to let go, let herself exist only as the climb of heat that burrows betwixt her hips, the way he effortlessly builds her with his dedication alone. a pant of an exhale, temple pressing to the side to glance down at him, mouth wet and gleaming with her as he moves. )
Keep touching me, Baby. ( a plea, solidified all the more by a single hand retreating from his hair, running fingertips up along the span of bicep, forearm, and gradually she begins to allow hips to give slight, rhythmic little waves up against his mouth, following the pace of a delving tongue, suckling lips, wherever he travels. opposite hand grasps with all the more fervor into his locks-not enough to steer him, for once all too content to follow. )
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his words register slowly, drawing teeth at her own lower lip, and it's the hand cupping at a single, full breast that leaves brows furrowing to a whimper. it's all the more encouragement to let go, let herself exist only as the climb of heat that burrows betwixt her hips, the way he effortlessly builds her with his dedication alone. a pant of an exhale, temple pressing to the side to glance down at him, mouth wet and gleaming with her as he moves. )
Keep touching me, Baby. ( a plea, solidified all the more by a single hand retreating from his hair, running fingertips up along the span of bicep, forearm, and gradually she begins to allow hips to give slight, rhythmic little waves up against his mouth, following the pace of a delving tongue, suckling lips, wherever he travels. opposite hand grasps with all the more fervor into his locks-not enough to steer him, for once all too content to follow. )