simon ghost riley is the void, the inky blackness that haunts the darkened corners of your bedroom at nights, faint rustles of someone's feet shuffling on the parquet floor, your cotton sheets gripped by someone's arm, tugged, pulled off your body that lays vulnerable wholly under perilous black eyes, watching you, the goosebumps that run along your flesh.
something incomprehensible, a creature, lurking in your apartment, coming at deep nights needy, greedy for the warmth of human's warmth, or yours, but it's barely matters when there's a ghostly, cooling touch that sweeps along your body, everywhere, along your naked legs and to the suppleness of your thighs, the slope of your waist, and deeper, beneath the clothes.
on your naked skin, so warm, so delicate, untouched by this tar that drips down his arms like an wax, coating your skin where his touch dips beneath your sleeping shirt, long fingers splaying across the seam of your belly, inching up and pushing your clothes, away from your body, unraveling you like something he has a permission to have, something he waited for so long.
maybe anyone could have been in your place, but it's your plump breasts are squeezed in his rough palms, fat spilling from between his fingers, nipples pebbled and hardening under the cool touch of his calloused skin, feeling so natural, so right, in the way he caresses every sensitive spot on your body, a ghost of a breath on the curve of your neck, firm palm cupped at your clothed pussy, burrowed under your sleeping shorts.
it's only constant touching, long, thick fingers teasing against your neglected folds that hide beneath the cotton of your panties, calloused fingertips circling along your nipples, feeling the way your pussy flutters beneath his touch, seeping warm slick that simon get's addicted to, and each time he comes back, there's more groping, as it's gets beyond his fingers.
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