“ ебать. ” the low timbre to his voice, the growl when they're entangled., never fails to send rolling shiver along her spine. green eyes dart to reflection in the corner. old, speckled mirror, but good enough to see. see both of them — her, lips parted, irises wide and dark flush to her cheeks, him solid and steady draped over her back, their hips meeting harshly with every thrust of his hips. SHE LOOKS ABSOLUTELY WRECKED IN THE PRETTIEST WAY. sweat glides from hairline down her arched back, flanks heaving with each breath. more staccato as her fingers tighten in the wrinkled mess of sheets. " look how good you look inside me, james. " she pants, grinding her hips back against him. he was right — she's at the edge. right where her thighs are going to shake, loudest cry since they stumbled into this room locked together in a mess of limbs is going to burst in a sharp echo around empty bedroom. where her pretty cherry nails are going to tear into sheets with more force then she intended. that's how he always leaves her — a sated mess in the middle of their bed, half wrapped 'round him to sleep.
@rotstern: look how pretty you are when you're about to come.
