[ God she's still - still too warm - still coming down - still too sensitive, and it's too much, how slow he is with it makes it even worse. Drags on every too sharp part of her still as he presses into her. Bringing her fingers up to catch on his jaw as he looks at her, hard to look anywhere else - even if there's something vulnerable in it that she's never sure if she's used to. Because she can't look away and the sound she makes works up, quick and high in her throat, where he's just above her and just inside of her as he aligns himself to her. Arm caught between them and she can't say the things she means to say and can't demand anything but the little hitch that falls from parted lips in that one near second.
Then he shifts, and she does as well, slipping her hand back over his shoulder because - yes, she's over-sensitive and it's so hard to look at him, sometimes, where she's all open and easy to him. But the only thing worse - would be if he stopped right now, and as he pushes up, her fingers slip to his shoulder, palm flat to his shoulder blade in an absent need to touch - to do something as she feels everything pull tightly in and around him.
Presses into her, so, so slow and she can feel every inch of him that way and it's more and more and more, as her light brushing touch turns gripping. Her hand making sure he couldn't go much further from her until he's pressed deeply into her and her eyes fall shut. There's always something to being watched that she craves and cannot handle, wants and feels helpless too. Where he's part of her - and there's too much earnesty to it that she never allows anyone else to see that leaves her turning up into the soft little kiss, hips tilting as he begins to move and for one - one awful second, she's empty, and it's like she's lost him already and the noise she makes is pitiful. God, it's too much and it's not enough and as he begins to move, so deeply into her in torturous seconds her arms lock about him and her legs draw up close to him.
She needs him, and she has him as close as she can in the only way he lets them be whole together.
( she needs him, and he's leaving her and she moans breathlessly as he presses into her over again for the sweet sting of pain in leaves between her ribs that shouldn't feel as good as it does ) ]
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Then he shifts, and she does as well, slipping her hand back over his shoulder because - yes, she's over-sensitive and it's so hard to look at him, sometimes, where she's all open and easy to him. But the only thing worse - would be if he stopped right now, and as he pushes up, her fingers slip to his shoulder, palm flat to his shoulder blade in an absent need to touch - to do something as she feels everything pull tightly in and around him.
Presses into her, so, so slow and she can feel every inch of him that way and it's more and more and more, as her light brushing touch turns gripping. Her hand making sure he couldn't go much further from her until he's pressed deeply into her and her eyes fall shut. There's always something to being watched that she craves and cannot handle, wants and feels helpless too. Where he's part of her - and there's too much earnesty to it that she never allows anyone else to see that leaves her turning up into the soft little kiss, hips tilting as he begins to move and for one - one awful second, she's empty, and it's like she's lost him already and the noise she makes is pitiful. God, it's too much and it's not enough and as he begins to move, so deeply into her in torturous seconds her arms lock about him and her legs draw up close to him.
She needs him, and she has him as close as she can in the only way he lets them be whole together.
( she needs him, and he's leaving her and she moans breathlessly as he presses into her over again for the sweet sting of pain in leaves between her ribs that shouldn't feel as good as it does ) ]