need to nasty fuck frenchie. like shit where you're both sweaty, the adrenaline rushing through his body is natural, but it feels artificial for both of you.
he can feel it surging down through him, creating lightning in his fingertips. and you're there with him, albeit a little more exhausted than him. your head hanging down, but not for long as frenchie wraps his hand around your hair, pulling your head back. you can hear the grit in his teeth when he speaks, a command in french pushed through clenched teeth. in the reflection of the window in front of you, you can barely see his face, but it's enough of a sight to notice the sweat coating his face, and the way it shines along his neck, bringing even more attention to the pronounced vein in his neck.
"are you tired, bichette?" his other hand digs into your waist, rough fingertips pressed into your skin. you don't even have to consider the possibility of it bruising come morning, you already know it will.
you shake your head, eyebrows pinched shut and your eyes squinted as you focus on the feeling of yet another orgasm brewing. frenchie laughs from behind you, his chest resting on your shoulder, his hips refusing to stall their pace even for a second. you start to consider the possibility that his adrenaline is artificial.
"non?" he echos you, "then you can do another, right?"
it's not like you have much choice. when you're this far gone, if you gave up now you would feel off for the rest of the day. the only logical solution is to let frenchie fuck you until neither of you could take it anymore.
