[ There's no pretending when he pulls from her. The sharp fitful cry that works up from him. Because he's being slower, he's teasing, and then he's nothing at all and she hates that even more. But nor can she can get the leverage she wants to draw him back to her. Can only shut her eyes, take deep steadying breaths that whimper on the exhale.
That goes - goes - goes when he comes back to her and it's a direct press, quick and fast and jolts through her in a way that has her legs jerk against his shoulders. Would slip if he wasn't holding her in place like that. Can't come down of it, because he doesn't give her space to. The pressure is steady - there - too much. Her fingers tug, pull, yank in the sheets, her markings hum, the crackle in the air as she rolls and twists under him. A writhing live wire that can't hold herself together when he does this to her. Smells the faint burning where her marked hand grips again into the sheets and the sear that churns in her body leaves smoking fingerprints and - that's not fair either, means she can't even sink her fingers into his hair to stop him from parting from her, pull and tug at him. Not that she can tell if she wants to pull him closer or pull him away, but he's deciding enough for himself, right then.
Feels him catch her by her thigh again, hold her apart for him. Nothing to do but stay there under him and her sounds - pitch, higher, begging, almost, to just - ( god, god, god. ) Never been quiet, at the best of times, but she's not left with much else in the way he grips her, works her over, leaves her so open to him. ( parts of her that no one else gets to know - all his ). ]
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That goes - goes - goes when he comes back to her and it's a direct press, quick and fast and jolts through her in a way that has her legs jerk against his shoulders. Would slip if he wasn't holding her in place like that. Can't come down of it, because he doesn't give her space to. The pressure is steady - there - too much. Her fingers tug, pull, yank in the sheets, her markings hum, the crackle in the air as she rolls and twists under him. A writhing live wire that can't hold herself together when he does this to her. Smells the faint burning where her marked hand grips again into the sheets and the sear that churns in her body leaves smoking fingerprints and - that's not fair either, means she can't even sink her fingers into his hair to stop him from parting from her, pull and tug at him. Not that she can tell if she wants to pull him closer or pull him away, but he's deciding enough for himself, right then.
Feels him catch her by her thigh again, hold her apart for him. Nothing to do but stay there under him and her sounds - pitch, higher, begging, almost, to just - ( god, god, god. ) Never been quiet, at the best of times, but she's not left with much else in the way he grips her, works her over, leaves her so open to him. ( parts of her that no one else gets to know - all his ). ]