[ It's the kind of kiss that knocks all of the air from her lungs, all-consuming and edged with desperation. The kind she continues long after her chest is burning with a need for oxygen and her head has gone light and hazy, a little like floating and a lot like — melting, like pouring every ounce of herself into him until it's been scorched away and there's nothing left for her to give. She draws back to heave in a quick breath, an anguished gasp, before her mouth seals itself back against his own with the same ardent passion that suggests she might implode into scattered pieces if she doesn't get to taste him again. ]
I like the way you sound, [ she murmurs with no shortage of sincerity, fingers sliding his zipper open without any rush, sure to brush her thumb along his shaft on its way down.
Maybe it isn't the deep baritone to his breathy praises. Maybe it's the glowing pride in knowing that she's caused them. Maybe it's the overwhelming realization that she's affected him so profoundly with just a few caresses of her fingertips. Maybe it's some combination of all of the above, but Rey doesn't stop to analyze herself. She's too interested in investigating him the same way she's examined sandy blueprints and scattered shipwrecks — keen, narrow-focused and determined. It's better because it's Ben, because she isn't calculating values in her head — how many portions a piece of equipment will net her, what's salvageable and what isn't. She's only interested in what makes his breath hitch the most, the smooth but rigid texture of his hard flesh, how it twitches against her palm.
Her thumb drags through the pre-cum at his head and spreads it across the underside, traveling along the vein until she's reached the base. It's there that her fingers wrap around him and lazily stroke upward, eyes dipping to watch the way her hand fits and squeezes around his shaft, flushed red and hard against his stomach when she releases his cock to still his wrist where it's wedged between her legs. ]
Show me how you do it. [ Her tongue darts out, wetting dry lips. ] How you touch yourself.
she's distracting w her beauty it's true
I like the way you sound, [ she murmurs with no shortage of sincerity, fingers sliding his zipper open without any rush, sure to brush her thumb along his shaft on its way down.
Maybe it isn't the deep baritone to his breathy praises. Maybe it's the glowing pride in knowing that she's caused them. Maybe it's the overwhelming realization that she's affected him so profoundly with just a few caresses of her fingertips. Maybe it's some combination of all of the above, but Rey doesn't stop to analyze herself. She's too interested in investigating him the same way she's examined sandy blueprints and scattered shipwrecks — keen, narrow-focused and determined. It's better because it's Ben, because she isn't calculating values in her head — how many portions a piece of equipment will net her, what's salvageable and what isn't. She's only interested in what makes his breath hitch the most, the smooth but rigid texture of his hard flesh, how it twitches against her palm.
Her thumb drags through the pre-cum at his head and spreads it across the underside, traveling along the vein until she's reached the base. It's there that her fingers wrap around him and lazily stroke upward, eyes dipping to watch the way her hand fits and squeezes around his shaft, flushed red and hard against his stomach when she releases his cock to still his wrist where it's wedged between her legs. ]
Show me how you do it. [ Her tongue darts out, wetting dry lips. ] How you touch yourself.