She moans against his mouth, shifts to pull her legs up and wriggle out of her panties, all the while still kissing him. It's a long moment before she can realize, feel, the difference in his movements, the way it isn't rushed or cursory just so that she's ready enough. It makes her brow furrow, her grip on him tightening.
And then he pulls away and she is transfixed as he moves down, because even the mere movement is almost foreign to her, something she has seen only a handful of times throughout her relationships, the men she has allowed into her bed, and every time has seemed more like an obligation than anything else, until she pushes them away and silently condones a rejection of her own satisfaction because it seems like an inconvenience.
no subject
And then he pulls away and she is transfixed as he moves down, because even the mere movement is almost foreign to her, something she has seen only a handful of times throughout her relationships, the men she has allowed into her bed, and every time has seemed more like an obligation than anything else, until she pushes them away and silently condones a rejection of her own satisfaction because it seems like an inconvenience.
She's shaking again.