whatever control he's clinging to is freed by the mere sensation of agile digits at the hem of his waistband. as if there was much control to start, it flees with a haste that he would be proud of, any other time at least. in light of this, all rational thought has been tossed out of the window, and his gluttony is poised to consume him. she is, after all, that which he covets, all that he has desired and all that can satisfy him in this particular capacity. hips jerk against smooth palms, his jaw slack while concentration is occupied elsewhere. he is acutely aware of the many things she can do to bring him to his knees, the mercy of which he now bows to blatant and unadulterated. he hates it, and he loves it. oh gods, does he love it. " yes. " because response appears inevitable although it has no place in the current state of things. his hands follow her lead, snapping to his waistband and unbuckling the his belt. it seems meaningless now. allowing the jeans to slip down to his knees, all action he'd taken prior to now appearing just the same; meaningless, wasteful. all he wants now is her approval, her validation. he hungers for it. " i don't think it - it'll ever be - enough for me, mckinnon. i think - i think yeh broke me. " sharp intake, staggered breath, fogged sight. he is the poster child for teenage hormones, and he can't seem to grasp that. he rolls and grinds against her palm now, desperate for that touch, his own fingers making their way towards the fabric which laces her thighs as he keeps searching for just enough friction to lead to release. hardening rapidly, his member presses against her inner thigh, but he has no shame left to offer. he's growing anxious. he's growing insatiable. " i want more. " and he'll work for it for as long as he needs to, but he isn't quite sure how long he will last. “ i need - i need you. ”
snowghoul
vaporwave
romaincrisis
baratheonpilled
jacobvanloon
