[ She'd huff more at his cheekiness for twisting her words in a way that best suits him in this situation, but she can't say that she's particularly bothered by it. Not when it also benefits her too. Such was the nature of their back and forth. There were few times when they were together like this that they actually meant what they said and expected the other to abide by it. And even if she wouldn't have had any problem playing with herself while he watched, it's immediately lost in the form of a pleased hum when his weight shifts and his hands come to join hers in stretching the fabric even tighter.
Any clever quip or retort is lost to his dexterous fingers and warm mouth. Every slight menstruation against her folds and clit make it increasingly difficult not to moan and buck into his touch to the point where her mind forgets that her own fingers are still there. They're simply being moved by Claude's will. Her gaze is half-lidded as the dampness and need for him between her legs grows. A flush spreads down her chest as legs tighten around his waist, her other hand finding purchase in his hair at the nape of his neck so she can draw him close and press her lips to his.
The next quick touch against her swollen clit has her head pressing back against the pillow, eyes fluttering closed. Of course he knows what she wants. But she isn't about to beg yet. He hasn't done enough for that. ]
no subject
[ She'd huff more at his cheekiness for twisting her words in a way that best suits him in this situation, but she can't say that she's particularly bothered by it. Not when it also benefits her too. Such was the nature of their back and forth. There were few times when they were together like this that they actually meant what they said and expected the other to abide by it. And even if she wouldn't have had any problem playing with herself while he watched, it's immediately lost in the form of a pleased hum when his weight shifts and his hands come to join hers in stretching the fabric even tighter.
Any clever quip or retort is lost to his dexterous fingers and warm mouth. Every slight menstruation against her folds and clit make it increasingly difficult not to moan and buck into his touch to the point where her mind forgets that her own fingers are still there. They're simply being moved by Claude's will. Her gaze is half-lidded as the dampness and need for him between her legs grows. A flush spreads down her chest as legs tighten around his waist, her other hand finding purchase in his hair at the nape of his neck so she can draw him close and press her lips to his.
The next quick touch against her swollen clit has her head pressing back against the pillow, eyes fluttering closed. Of course he knows what she wants. But she isn't about to beg yet. He hasn't done enough for that. ]
You're awful. I thought you loved me.