you shouldn't be the one huffing and puffing like you are, not when you're the one with your feet off the ground, but you are hot all over, so dizzied by lust that you draw each breath in a fierce squeeze of your lungs, out of sync and yet somehow still in sequence with the squeeze of your insides every time he thrusts into you.
"o-oh god... f-fuck... ugh...ahhh..." - barely coherent now, your cries of pleasures and the calling of his name are just mere utterances, a nonsensical song to sing as your body, greedy, milks out even more pleasure than what you've been given, but he's stopped trying to speak himself, focusing on dragging cock against warm and wet, slapping skin against skin, and chasing higher and higher pleasure in that lewd shape that is you, beloved.