( she's barely able to fully appreciate that palm clutching at her bottom, too taken by the tendrils of fire that lace intoxicatingly through each limb, how he hits all too sweetly against that spot she direly needs him at, every thrust bringing her closer, closer, til once more she's suspended on that breathless edge and left grappling to any bit of stability she can find.
it's his groan, the way it sparks yet another pyre within her lower body, the way he chases her hips just as frantically as her own rock to his, and as unlikely as it's always been, always seemed to be pulled through an orgasm right along with another, she can't hold on with the way he sounds, how he breaks in her arms, cradling him all the while as she comes again for him, because of him.
even as those waves begin to dull, soften, she makes no effort to lessen her hold of him, fingers knotted within his hair turning to a smoothing pet, almost absentminded, forehead falling in to the side of his neck while eyes close, raggedly breathing around the rapidity of her heart. each of her muscles feels worn, delightfully worked, having part a mind to slip herself off of him—but she doesn't, not yet. not when they're still a stumbling of exhales in attempts to catch up, to still, sweat a thin gleam at her temples and both her skin and his own hot to the touch, painted in blushes of red. )
no subject
it's his groan, the way it sparks yet another pyre within her lower body, the way he chases her hips just as frantically as her own rock to his, and as unlikely as it's always been, always seemed to be pulled through an orgasm right along with another, she can't hold on with the way he sounds, how he breaks in her arms, cradling him all the while as she comes again for him, because of him.
even as those waves begin to dull, soften, she makes no effort to lessen her hold of him, fingers knotted within his hair turning to a smoothing pet, almost absentminded, forehead falling in to the side of his neck while eyes close, raggedly breathing around the rapidity of her heart. each of her muscles feels worn, delightfully worked, having part a mind to slip herself off of him—but she doesn't, not yet. not when they're still a stumbling of exhales in attempts to catch up, to still, sweat a thin gleam at her temples and both her skin and his own hot to the touch, painted in blushes of red. )