[When I want is a wonderful phrase, he thinks, whether it pertains to poetry or other things -- which, in this case, he is sorely betting on the latter. He places enough space between them that he can watch her face as he presses inside. The flutter of eyelids, the part of her lips --
The sounds. Oh, yes. The sounds. Not to be a musician about it all, but... it's still his favorite sort of music.
His lips move to her shoulder, kissing and nipping lightly with his teeth as a third finger joins the other two, coaxing a little more wetness out of her. It must be the herbs that makes the sensation so -- so much. Even just his fingers, buzzing with heat, and the heat is traveling up his arms. The weight of her shifts against him just right, and it's not only her making a noise.]
no subject
The sounds. Oh, yes. The sounds. Not to be a musician about it all, but... it's still his favorite sort of music.
His lips move to her shoulder, kissing and nipping lightly with his teeth as a third finger joins the other two, coaxing a little more wetness out of her. It must be the herbs that makes the sensation so -- so much. Even just his fingers, buzzing with heat, and the heat is traveling up his arms. The weight of her shifts against him just right, and it's not only her making a noise.]