[ Gods — yes. That's how she wants it. All that teasing building up to a satisfyingly hard pace, hard enough that she can hear how wet he has her — with his mouth and his hand, but the sight of him too, all the ways he fills her senses with they're like this. She watches him between her thighs with heavy-lidded eyes until that tension draws to a peak, her fingers twisting harshly in his hair as her thighs tighten up and her expression, so often stoic, falls into something honest and unguarded. Her lips part on a soft, strained syllable as she bends forward over him, holding out for another split second before her hips twitch and she shudders — ]
Fuck. [ It's a reverent whisper more than a curse. ] Oh, fuck. Poe.
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Fuck. [ It's a reverent whisper more than a curse. ] Oh, fuck. Poe.