There’s so much intimacy in the little parts of sex. running your hands up her inner thighs, feeling her breath hitch as your hands get closer and closer to her pussy. Watching her expression shift from down between her legs, how the curve of her stomach extends as she writhes under your touch. Soft warm breaths where the thigh meets the pelvis, kisses on the outer lips and seeing how wet she is for your touch, for your love. how softness turns to strength when you grab her just above the knees and slowly push her legs back and apart, exposing her to you. How she bites her finger and whimpers a half-hearted complaint. Eye contact, staring into her eyes as you hover inches over her, the soft harsh voice you use when you ask her to tell you how needy she is. the way your fingers dig into her thighs as you reward her for being so honest with you, telling you how good she is and how much you want to make her cry from pleasure. The way she blushes, tried to hide her face. The way you tell her firmly that you want to see her cheeks as they turn red. The minutes dragging like your tongue through her lips, the way her fingers pull your hair as you pull your name from her mouth. the grip you keep on her hips, arms under her legs and wrapping back around so you can pull her onto your tongue, spelling your name on her clit and listening to her whine it out over and over. The relief when you let go, drag yourself up her body. the way she melts when she tastes herself on your tongue. Teasing her with just the tip, asking her if she’s ready for you. she can’t even answer, just nods and grabs you with one hand, trying to guide you into her. The way you let her because as much as you want to tease her you want to fuck her just as badly. The soft shaking sigh of relief as you bury yourself to the hilt in her wet softness. Your growled moan mixing with her voice, your hands in her hair and her hands on your waist, the perfect parallel. the way your bodies move in tandem, upwards and downwards opposite each other. the marks she leaves on your back match the ones you leave on her neck. Your breath and hers, both rasping and faster and faster and faster and desperate as she moans your name and gods. Her back arching as she clenches around you, hard nails soft against you as she falls into the sheets. Brushing a hair from her face as you rest on your elbows above her. The softness of that gaze, her tired smile. The way she bites her lip when you lock eyes and start moving inside her again.
