[It's so much. The need to mark him, have him, claim him overtakes her. "What's the point in thinking," indeed. Rin worries at her bottom lip as Fuuta takes her in further than intended. His throat adding pressure she didn't even dream of. The sensation grips her so thoroughly it makes looking at him clearly almost impossible. Yet she's able to keep her eyes open just enough to see him gaze up at her. That muddled grey-green peering at her almost makes her legs give out.]
You look so hot like this. You're so good... I want you. I want more...
[Her hips jerk forward — briefly pressing further into his throat before pulling back. Rin's hands grip fistfuls of his hair, but she doesn't tug. Instead she simply holds onto him as if he were her anchor and this lust a stormy sea they must both weather out. At first she only fucks him in short, shallow thrusts. Not fast, but still at a pace where it's clear she cannot handle being especially slow. The desire twists her expression with tension and yearning.]
Fuuta... [His name falls from her lips. Somewhere between a possessive growl and a desperate whine.]
no subject
[It's so much. The need to mark him, have him, claim him overtakes her. "What's the point in thinking," indeed. Rin worries at her bottom lip as Fuuta takes her in further than intended. His throat adding pressure she didn't even dream of. The sensation grips her so thoroughly it makes looking at him clearly almost impossible. Yet she's able to keep her eyes open just enough to see him gaze up at her. That muddled grey-green peering at her almost makes her legs give out.]
You look so hot like this. You're so good... I want you. I want more...
[Her hips jerk forward — briefly pressing further into his throat before pulling back. Rin's hands grip fistfuls of his hair, but she doesn't tug. Instead she simply holds onto him as if he were her anchor and this lust a stormy sea they must both weather out. At first she only fucks him in short, shallow thrusts. Not fast, but still at a pace where it's clear she cannot handle being especially slow. The desire twists her expression with tension and yearning.]
Fuuta... [His name falls from her lips. Somewhere between a possessive growl and a desperate whine.]