[ She touches him with the knowing familiarity of a lover, her grasp stroking up the length of his hard cock before turning into a taunting caress of light fingertips over the head, the brief press of her thumb there before her fist closes back around him, sliding back down to the base before starting over again. Her touch only falters at that first hard press of his palm between her thighs, stalled by that friction — then the unconscious tightening of her grip when he bites her, drawing out a sharp breath.
Her back arches as she looks for leverage to grind back against his hand, shameless even through the barrier of her clothes. When she finally answers, her voice is low rough murmur, barely there: ]
no subject
Her back arches as she looks for leverage to grind back against his hand, shameless even through the barrier of her clothes. When she finally answers, her voice is low rough murmur, barely there: ]
I don't want another reckless pilot.