[ He holds on tight and worships her, babbling and exploring the expanse of her chest. The attention to her nipple has her shoulders prickling, goosebumps racing across her skin, and she seethes out an exhale, heavy in the crook of his neck. Oh, so good. She almost says as much, but she bites it down, afraid of the honesty, afraid of giving away how much she wants him.
Kira cries out softly as she finally gets him all the way in, a fresh surge of slick helping her along on the heels of his ministrations. Her legs practically give out, letting her slump in his lap, shifting faintly to grow used to the fit. The stretch burns just slightly, but it's good, enticing rather than discouraging. The way working out can be, the promise of muscle well-used, strained past its limits only so that it can work harder next time.
It means pulling her breasts away from his mouth, or prompting an uncomfortable bend of his neck, now that she's all the way flush against his body, but it's worth it. She's so full with him, an alien sensation that she can hardly believe. Tentatively, Kira presses one hand to her abdomen, as though she might be able to feel him there. It seems somehow both absurd and reasonable that she might, with how it feels like he fills every inch of her, but no. The muscle of her abdomen is taut.
She draws back to meet his gaze, lifts her hand to cradle his chin as her thumb swipes against his lip. Oh, he's pretty like this, flushed and needy and awed. For the first time it feels like someone is seeing her the way she wants them to. ]
You make such sweet noises. [ She tells him before, kissing him, she begins to move again. At first it's a stilted thrust of her hips, lifting and settling back into his lap — were she going any faster, it might be called bouncing, but the muscles of her legs are unused to the rhythm and the motion itself, so she is stilted and unsteady. ]
no subject
Kira cries out softly as she finally gets him all the way in, a fresh surge of slick helping her along on the heels of his ministrations. Her legs practically give out, letting her slump in his lap, shifting faintly to grow used to the fit. The stretch burns just slightly, but it's good, enticing rather than discouraging. The way working out can be, the promise of muscle well-used, strained past its limits only so that it can work harder next time.
It means pulling her breasts away from his mouth, or prompting an uncomfortable bend of his neck, now that she's all the way flush against his body, but it's worth it. She's so full with him, an alien sensation that she can hardly believe. Tentatively, Kira presses one hand to her abdomen, as though she might be able to feel him there. It seems somehow both absurd and reasonable that she might, with how it feels like he fills every inch of her, but no. The muscle of her abdomen is taut.
She draws back to meet his gaze, lifts her hand to cradle his chin as her thumb swipes against his lip. Oh, he's pretty like this, flushed and needy and awed. For the first time it feels like someone is seeing her the way she wants them to. ]
You make such sweet noises. [ She tells him before, kissing him, she begins to move again. At first it's a stilted thrust of her hips, lifting and settling back into his lap — were she going any faster, it might be called bouncing, but the muscles of her legs are unused to the rhythm and the motion itself, so she is stilted and unsteady. ]