He is relentless, possessive of every cry he manages to rip from her when his tongue lashes her where it makes her thighs tremble and her spine twist and bend. Where Luffy doesn't know the names of all the different parts of her that make her sigh and moan and shake he remembers, like some kind of muscle memory, how to pick apart her composure.
The trick to it was to never stop when he's found out how to make her breath shudder in her breast, to thrash her until her thighs go taut and her moans tremble high, to bring her back down with the hungry, slow slide of it along the whole length of her sweet, slick lips. Saliva and the taste of her paints down his chin and throat and have started to leave a pool of damp on the bench between her thighs by the time one of his hands begin to wander.
To slide up under her clothing and grasp the generous swell of one breast, squeezing that softness, flitting the rough pad of his thumb across a damp nipple where his mouth had soaked through shirt and bra. Craving more of that taste, of the way her flesh trembles around his tongue he plunges it inside, once, twice, half a dozen times while his concentration's shared more with the way he rolls the hardening nipple between his fingertips, gives her breast one more affectionate squeeze.
Her hands feel good against his scalp, he likes the way her fingers urge him, and when he takes the long, strong stroke back towards the hood his exhale washes hot over her. When next his lips seal around that sensitive bud, it's with him rumbling a hum against her flesh.
It's not fair to tease, but even if the lash of his tongue makes her peak he only intends on bringing her back there again. It won't spoil the meal in the least.
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The trick to it was to never stop when he's found out how to make her breath shudder in her breast, to thrash her until her thighs go taut and her moans tremble high, to bring her back down with the hungry, slow slide of it along the whole length of her sweet, slick lips. Saliva and the taste of her paints down his chin and throat and have started to leave a pool of damp on the bench between her thighs by the time one of his hands begin to wander.
To slide up under her clothing and grasp the generous swell of one breast, squeezing that softness, flitting the rough pad of his thumb across a damp nipple where his mouth had soaked through shirt and bra. Craving more of that taste, of the way her flesh trembles around his tongue he plunges it inside, once, twice, half a dozen times while his concentration's shared more with the way he rolls the hardening nipple between his fingertips, gives her breast one more affectionate squeeze.
Her hands feel good against his scalp, he likes the way her fingers urge him, and when he takes the long, strong stroke back towards the hood his exhale washes hot over her. When next his lips seal around that sensitive bud, it's with him rumbling a hum against her flesh.
It's not fair to tease, but even if the lash of his tongue makes her peak he only intends on bringing her back there again. It won't spoil the meal in the least.