[It stings, a little more than it should, when she can't finish speaking what she yearns to say the most—worse, that he doesn't return the sentiment with an oath of his own. She tries her best to ward away those dark, troubling thoughts, pressing insistently to the forefront of her mind, encroaching in on the pleasure which keeps her tantalizingly on the edge, white sparks dancing before her eyes.
Her name slipping past his lips is as strong an aphrodisiac as any number of embraces and frenzied kisses they have shared, and she encourages him to speak more with the tilt of her white hips, but nothing else comes. His hand wanders from a plump breast to lower down, almost as if he were idolizing her, and the ache of denied completion makes her feel like a girl on the cusp of womanhood—a flower not yet in bloom, premature.
In spite of how his movements are steady, and strong, and what should be in every way satisfying—all the carnal delights she had reveled in just moments before are still not enough, to reach that elusive state of rapture. The sweat on her skin cools like dew, as if the magic hour is slipping away—she holds his hand tighter, her thighs tensing, receiving everything he offers her, and trying to give in return, but—
Something within her, some physical imperfection or flaw in her constitution, prevents her still.]
no subject
Her name slipping past his lips is as strong an aphrodisiac as any number of embraces and frenzied kisses they have shared, and she encourages him to speak more with the tilt of her white hips, but nothing else comes. His hand wanders from a plump breast to lower down, almost as if he were idolizing her, and the ache of denied completion makes her feel like a girl on the cusp of womanhood—a flower not yet in bloom, premature.
In spite of how his movements are steady, and strong, and what should be in every way satisfying—all the carnal delights she had reveled in just moments before are still not enough, to reach that elusive state of rapture. The sweat on her skin cools like dew, as if the magic hour is slipping away—she holds his hand tighter, her thighs tensing, receiving everything he offers her, and trying to give in return, but—
Something within her, some physical imperfection or flaw in her constitution, prevents her still.]