Eddie and fingering. Eddie and fingering. EDDIE .
AND.
FINGERING!!!!!
I think he’s the type to just get in there whenever lol
You’re sitting next to him on the couch, watching a movie, and the only indication of his intentions are the quiet movements of him slipping every ring off his fingers.
He’s slow and patient. His hands will wander, taking many minute-long pit stops before they eventually creep into your pants.
And he’ll remain slow and patient. Listening to every hitch in your breath, every sigh. He’ll feel your walls tighten around him when he curls the pads of his fingers into you. Grin as you spread your thighs, roll your hips—looking for more.
It’s subtle, and the pleasure drags, building up to formidable ache. You wish he’d go faster, but every time you sink your nails into his forearm, every time you buck against him, he stops.
Even your whining pleas do nothing to convince him to continue.
The only thing that does is the calming of your pulsing cunt. Because he can feel you getting worked up, and that’s not what he wants. He wants to walk you right up to the cliff, and walk you right off at the same pace.
He wants to feel you squeeze the life out of his two fingers—squeeze him like you’re missing the way he fills you. Marks you.
So he’ll be patient until the time comes when tears prick at your waterline and frustration battles the heat in your core. Until words die on your tongue, and shivers ripple through your pliant body.
And he’ll slip out, just as easy as he slipped in. And it’ll be his turn to relish your pleasure, to taste the fruits of his labor.
