no rush. no harsh grip. just warm hands and quiet praise, slow kisses that melt into skin, fingers moving in rhythm with her breath. sheās already wet when i touch her, already trembling, already looking at me like iāve got her soul wrapped around my wrist
my fingers slip between her thighs, brushing her clit just barely, just enough to make her gasp. i donāt go faster. donāt go deeper. i want her on the edge, aching, sensitive, needing. i want to watch her unravel without ever pushing her over
slow circles. then lighter. then a pause, long enough to make her whine and shift beneath me. her hips try to chase the friction. her hands reach for something, anything. but i donāt let her have it. not yet. instead, i lean down and kiss her, slow and deep, until sheās moaning into my mouth and her thighs are clenching around my wrist.
every time she gets close, i ease off
she begs so sweetly like this. voice soft, cracked open, just barely holding together. please. donāt stop. please, iām so close. and still, i keep her there. trembling. gasping. teetering on that tight edge of release that never comes.
my other hand strokes her chest, her throat, her cheek. i keep whispering to her. telling her how perfect she is like this. how good she feels. how beautiful her desperation looks pressed into every line of her face. and she moans at every word, like the sound alone could tip her over
but i donāt let her fall
i edge her again. and again. and again. until sheās soaked, swollen, eyes glassy with need. until her whole body trembles at the thought of being touched. until her voice is gone and all thatās left are soft, broken sounds and the rise and fall of her chest under my hand
when i finally let her cum, itās slow. drawn out. shaking
not from pain. not from anything rough
just from the unbearable sweetness of ruined this gently
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