[ Something almost fearful flutters in her stomach as he pins one of her hands overhead. She allows him, all the same. A timorous form of trust, extended gradually. The ensuing vulnerability prickles her the back of her neck. Her breath comes shorter, even as she relaxes incrementally to let him deeper, the distraction of his mouth on hers and his fingers at her breast allowing for it.
This continues until, with a whine, she starts to rock her hips with his. It starts with a squirming. A minute back-and-forth, micro-movements which ease the stretch and glide of his gradual thrust. But then he is seated within her, and Rey is left breathless, amazed that he has fit after all, but also quickly realizing that stillness is the enemy of her arousal.
She needs friction.
Coiling her legs around him, Rey tries to seize some kind of control, nudge him forward. She doesn't know how to give the reins over to him entirely. If she's not moving, if she's not doing, then she'll get bogged down in all of the things that Rey tries so hard not to slow down long enough to think about. That's the fear, at least, which drives her instincts. She tries to rock back and forth along him, but she can't get much wiggle room. Not pinned under his weight. Not with such a thin and unforgiving mattress.
The nature of their joining demands she actually speak instead of just acting. It's probably good for her. But it's uncomfortable and foreign. ]
Do you want to move? [ She hedges behind soliciting him for that. ] You can. [ She's red in the face. A fraction of it is embarrassment, but mostly it's arousal. She tries again. ] I want you to. [ Anxiety has started to tremble at the boundaries of her mind, the urgent hope that it be good for him too as the pain starts to lessen. ]
no subject
This continues until, with a whine, she starts to rock her hips with his. It starts with a squirming. A minute back-and-forth, micro-movements which ease the stretch and glide of his gradual thrust. But then he is seated within her, and Rey is left breathless, amazed that he has fit after all, but also quickly realizing that stillness is the enemy of her arousal.
She needs friction.
Coiling her legs around him, Rey tries to seize some kind of control, nudge him forward. She doesn't know how to give the reins over to him entirely. If she's not moving, if she's not doing, then she'll get bogged down in all of the things that Rey tries so hard not to slow down long enough to think about. That's the fear, at least, which drives her instincts. She tries to rock back and forth along him, but she can't get much wiggle room. Not pinned under his weight. Not with such a thin and unforgiving mattress.
The nature of their joining demands she actually speak instead of just acting. It's probably good for her. But it's uncomfortable and foreign. ]
Do you want to move? [ She hedges behind soliciting him for that. ] You can. [ She's red in the face. A fraction of it is embarrassment, but mostly it's arousal. She tries again. ] I want you to. [ Anxiety has started to tremble at the boundaries of her mind, the urgent hope that it be good for him too as the pain starts to lessen. ]