[ she enjoys knowing he can be moved by a few words -- sincerely said, no matter how carefully chosen. peggy bites down on a smile although, with him so intent between her thighs, the only real witness would be the ceiling above his bed. but there's something in how he trembles when she tells him truths. it does something to how her blood flows -- quick and eager through her veins. laying fuses through her body. and the renewed sensation of his mouth on her skin, teasing the inside of her thigh with a kiss, lights a few fires.
peggy listens -- eyes shut, hips shifting -- as he makes claims. and the coiling feeling just below her stomach helps her realize she can't discern her apprehension from anticipation. the word (frustrating) bleeds into something exciting. her instincts rebrand it. suddenly, viscerally, she wants to know exactly how he means it. she's about to continue their short-of-breath banter, to tell him to show her so, when the next sigh is stolen straight from her lungs.
god-damn-it rip. her fingers flex against his in earnest -- hands stretching, showing just how eager she is to get her grip elsewhere. with a huff of complaint, peggy's thoughts corkscrew around her desire to get a good grip on the back of his head. the instinct is a loud one, clamoring to be listened to. but she makes do with steadying a stocking-clad heel against the middle of rip's spine. her back curves; her body lifts. if she can't haul his head harder down against her then she can at least rise to meet him. kiss by kiss, lash by lash, there's less and less distinction between what's made wet by his tongue and what's her own arousal.
he's right. and that's the worst (best) of it -- one boast and one escalation and her frustrations have as good as doubled. but, oh, she's not ready to beg. not yet. ]
Your point's been proven enough.
[ but she will bargain. if not with words, but she still tries to free one hand -- convinced that all it will take is the right bit of leverage. the right burst of strength. anything, really, to win enough maneuverability to peel away the silk. to remove from him that instrument of frustration.
and when one hand does manage to twist free? peggy wastes a whole heartbeat in indecision -- to grab the back of his head, or to tear away her knickers? ]
no subject
peggy listens -- eyes shut, hips shifting -- as he makes claims. and the coiling feeling just below her stomach helps her realize she can't discern her apprehension from anticipation. the word (frustrating) bleeds into something exciting. her instincts rebrand it. suddenly, viscerally, she wants to know exactly how he means it. she's about to continue their short-of-breath banter, to tell him to show her so, when the next sigh is stolen straight from her lungs.
god-damn-it rip. her fingers flex against his in earnest -- hands stretching, showing just how eager she is to get her grip elsewhere. with a huff of complaint, peggy's thoughts corkscrew around her desire to get a good grip on the back of his head. the instinct is a loud one, clamoring to be listened to. but she makes do with steadying a stocking-clad heel against the middle of rip's spine. her back curves; her body lifts. if she can't haul his head harder down against her then she can at least rise to meet him. kiss by kiss, lash by lash, there's less and less distinction between what's made wet by his tongue and what's her own arousal.
he's right. and that's the worst (best) of it -- one boast and one escalation and her frustrations have as good as doubled. but, oh, she's not ready to beg. not yet. ]
Your point's been proven enough.
[ but she will bargain. if not with words, but she still tries to free one hand -- convinced that all it will take is the right bit of leverage. the right burst of strength. anything, really, to win enough maneuverability to peel away the silk. to remove from him that instrument of frustration.
and when one hand does manage to twist free? peggy wastes a whole heartbeat in indecision -- to grab the back of his head, or to tear away her knickers? ]