[ The front of his underwear are damp. Just like hers. It's an exaggeration, of course — she can only barely feel a wet spot as she pushes at the fabric to get to his cock, but the principle is the same, and there's a steady recognition in it. No wonder he doubted his ability to stop himself. If this felt half as good to him as it felt to her ... She didn't want to imagine stopping either.
Fears of Snoke had flown far from her mind, and in their place, only instant gratification.
She gets her fist around him just in time to whine into the attention he laves upon her neck. Kira's head tips and she squeezes around the velvety shaft of his cock. The skin there is softer, she notices, and elastic. She pumps her fist flat along the shaft without paying mind to the shining head, red and engorged.
But when she opens her mouth to make some comment, to taunt him with that touch, she feels his fingers brush bare skin and her hips twitch forward, a broken, unearthly sound slipping straight out of her lungs. It's miles apart from when she has satisfied her own urges in the quiet dark of her room, sparsely and with only attention to the physical need. Ben is something else entirely.
No. She's never felt anything like Ben Solo's touch against the bare skin of her abdomen. She shudders. There's a distinctive lack of pushing beyond this fumbling and groping. She has every plan to examine him, and no impetus to rush the matter further or strip herself entirely bare. It's just as effective, and more economical, to handle it like this, hands stuffed down one another's pants. ]
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Fears of Snoke had flown far from her mind, and in their place, only instant gratification.
She gets her fist around him just in time to whine into the attention he laves upon her neck. Kira's head tips and she squeezes around the velvety shaft of his cock. The skin there is softer, she notices, and elastic. She pumps her fist flat along the shaft without paying mind to the shining head, red and engorged.
But when she opens her mouth to make some comment, to taunt him with that touch, she feels his fingers brush bare skin and her hips twitch forward, a broken, unearthly sound slipping straight out of her lungs. It's miles apart from when she has satisfied her own urges in the quiet dark of her room, sparsely and with only attention to the physical need. Ben is something else entirely.
No. She's never felt anything like Ben Solo's touch against the bare skin of her abdomen. She shudders. There's a distinctive lack of pushing beyond this fumbling and groping. She has every plan to examine him, and no impetus to rush the matter further or strip herself entirely bare. It's just as effective, and more economical, to handle it like this, hands stuffed down one another's pants. ]