Breath catches in her throat. She opens up to him easily, a testament to his gentleness and how ready she is, how badly she wants this, but even slow, it's such a new feeling and the pleasant stretch so intense that she reaches up to grip the back of his neck and holds him against her forehead.
Her warmth twitches around his fingers, tighter in how her body bears down around him, tension and nervousness making her resist the stretch once he's well and truly inside. But he keeps working her, carries her through, and a string of soft whines gets caught in the muffling sheet, which is soaked now with her saliva.
These little noises of approval — ah. Yes. Uh-huh — never amount to full thoughts. Those are beyond her grip. But she arches her back to press her breast into his hand, savoring the little pressure he applies which spreads through her to loosen her back up.
She's never felt so good.
It's like being sick with fever and drunk on pleasure all at the same time. Overheated despite her nudity, dizzy despite the fact that she is laying down and anchored to him, starving for touch despite the fact that no one else has ever felt more of her body than this.
And then his fingers curl into that spot again — once, twice, over and over, and she lets out a sharp keening sound in the back of her throat. Just a moment of it. A yelp that the sheet doesn't smother enough. The electrical pulse travels through her body, bringing a tremor with it, and she's digging her fingernails into the back of his neck and tensing up all over and —
Oh, it's sweeter than it's ever been on her own. She thrashes against him, bucking, fucking herself on his fingers while she comes apart, her muscles tensing and fluttering around him. A fresh flood of slick spend coats his fingers, drips out onto his hand and her thighs. Her breath is ripped from her, leaving her chest heaving unevenly to try and reclaim it.
Spots of color pollute her vision, which is darkened by the intensity of what he's given her. It doesn't feel real. Any minute now, she'll awaken, and Chewie will be shaking his head in the next bunk at her wantonness and she will have to face Ben this morning knowing she dreamt this. But it never falls away. She never wakes up. ]
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Breath catches in her throat. She opens up to him easily, a testament to his gentleness and how ready she is, how badly she wants this, but even slow, it's such a new feeling and the pleasant stretch so intense that she reaches up to grip the back of his neck and holds him against her forehead.
Her warmth twitches around his fingers, tighter in how her body bears down around him, tension and nervousness making her resist the stretch once he's well and truly inside. But he keeps working her, carries her through, and a string of soft whines gets caught in the muffling sheet, which is soaked now with her saliva.
These little noises of approval — ah. Yes. Uh-huh — never amount to full thoughts. Those are beyond her grip. But she arches her back to press her breast into his hand, savoring the little pressure he applies which spreads through her to loosen her back up.
She's never felt so good.
It's like being sick with fever and drunk on pleasure all at the same time. Overheated despite her nudity, dizzy despite the fact that she is laying down and anchored to him, starving for touch despite the fact that no one else has ever felt more of her body than this.
And then his fingers curl into that spot again — once, twice, over and over, and she lets out a sharp keening sound in the back of her throat. Just a moment of it. A yelp that the sheet doesn't smother enough. The electrical pulse travels through her body, bringing a tremor with it, and she's digging her fingernails into the back of his neck and tensing up all over and —
Oh, it's sweeter than it's ever been on her own. She thrashes against him, bucking, fucking herself on his fingers while she comes apart, her muscles tensing and fluttering around him. A fresh flood of slick spend coats his fingers, drips out onto his hand and her thighs. Her breath is ripped from her, leaving her chest heaving unevenly to try and reclaim it.
Spots of color pollute her vision, which is darkened by the intensity of what he's given her. It doesn't feel real. Any minute now, she'll awaken, and Chewie will be shaking his head in the next bunk at her wantonness and she will have to face Ben this morning knowing she dreamt this. But it never falls away. She never wakes up. ]