[He doesn’t need to know what he’s doing. Not really. Not when his companion is feeding off the raw, desperate heat of his desire and instinct more than she is skill or specific technique. His enthusiasm is intoxicating, the way he throws himself forward wrapped in newfound scraps of confidence and wit.
It’s cute.
Kiritsubo tips her head back for a throaty moan when her words inspire a deeper press of that ember-hot tongue, fingers tightening in his hair in obvious time with just how she takes her pleasure, urging him to taste more of the slick proof of her wants, the ever burning desire of a creature lusty by design and indulgent by nature. The tail, oh the tail, she almost laughs again but whines instead, canting up towards his hips with floor, wall, floor rhythm, more praise ready-
But she gets his name, and his eyes again. Meets them… and wants to kiss the slick off his lips. Patience… patience… her tongue slides over her own in mirrored desire before she smiles, soft and coy. (No matter her urge, the thought to… it would be more fun if she let him to “take” first.)]
Nice to meet you.
[Is it intentional, how she doesn’t give her own name back? Does she not care, is it something precious? Or is she simply caught off guard by his surge back over her, the way he slots himself between her legs and proceeds to grind almost helplessly against the source of her own heat? He can ask himself that later. For now… her palm lands on his chest, a gesture that might could be read as “stop”… if it didn’t immediately drag downwards, reversing with a twist of wrist to lead with fingertips until she gets to his waistband.]
Don’t worry. I know just how to thank you…
[The sultry sounds are somehow a whisper and somehow perfectly clear despite the other sounds competing for attention: mattress creaking, clothes rustling, breathing heavy. Fingers pluck at his trousers as if to say oh, dear, a stain when that stain is her own fluids darkening the fabric, but all too quickly… they expertly do away with any obstacle, an expert whether buckle, button, or zipper, and shamelessly winnow past to gently draw him out, biting into her bottom lip in anticipation. This—
She leans back onto the elbow still keeping her barely off her back, hooded eyes taking in the highstrung need of him before,]
It seems you’re lucky tonight, too… Fuuta.
[Fingertips with perfectly manicured red nails polish over the swelling bead of her clit… and then she shamelessly spreads herself in offer.]
no subject
It’s cute.
Kiritsubo tips her head back for a throaty moan when her words inspire a deeper press of that ember-hot tongue, fingers tightening in his hair in obvious time with just how she takes her pleasure, urging him to taste more of the slick proof of her wants, the ever burning desire of a creature lusty by design and indulgent by nature. The tail, oh the tail, she almost laughs again but whines instead, canting up towards his hips with floor, wall, floor rhythm, more praise ready-
But she gets his name, and his eyes again. Meets them… and wants to kiss the slick off his lips. Patience… patience… her tongue slides over her own in mirrored desire before she smiles, soft and coy. (No matter her urge, the thought to… it would be more fun if she let him to “take” first.)]
Nice to meet you.
[Is it intentional, how she doesn’t give her own name back? Does she not care, is it something precious? Or is she simply caught off guard by his surge back over her, the way he slots himself between her legs and proceeds to grind almost helplessly against the source of her own heat? He can ask himself that later. For now… her palm lands on his chest, a gesture that might could be read as “stop”… if it didn’t immediately drag downwards, reversing with a twist of wrist to lead with fingertips until she gets to his waistband.]
Don’t worry. I know just how to thank you…
[The sultry sounds are somehow a whisper and somehow perfectly clear despite the other sounds competing for attention: mattress creaking, clothes rustling, breathing heavy. Fingers pluck at his trousers as if to say oh, dear, a stain when that stain is her own fluids darkening the fabric, but all too quickly… they expertly do away with any obstacle, an expert whether buckle, button, or zipper, and shamelessly winnow past to gently draw him out, biting into her bottom lip in anticipation. This—
She leans back onto the elbow still keeping her barely off her back, hooded eyes taking in the highstrung need of him before,]
It seems you’re lucky tonight, too… Fuuta.
[Fingertips with perfectly manicured red nails polish over the swelling bead of her clit… and then she shamelessly spreads herself in offer.]