The bed shook slightly with her fall. Or was it only the heave of his own chest, drawing air into his lungs like the heat pump at a forge as his tongue took its pleasure? Vayne was not certain, and for a moment, not certain of much else, lost as he was in her sex. His tongue moved with more hunger than finesse, curling hard enough that the lips of her womanhood seemed to shape themselves around him. With a growl, Vayne pressed his face in and then rolled his jaw, swirling his tongue within her as though he were drawing a circle with a paintbrush.
Above, he could hear Tifa's gasps and strangled efforts at silence, the chorus of that private battle she was waging with herself. His own arousal was so great now it threatened to burst through the zipper, but Vayne Solidor would not have it said he lacked for will. Not now. Not ever. And not when he could feel how near the brink she was.
The arm trapping Tifa's thigh hefted it gently, draping it over one hard shoulder - and allowing his hand to curl over her leg, cross over her stomach, and rest on that tender expanse just above her slit. Vayne let it linger there a moment, just long enough for another leisurely lick to run through that wet seam. Then forefinger and middle finger pressed to either side of her opening, and slowly - with merciless precision - hooked into her sex, and spread back the small, pink hood beneath its crown.
There.
The night had deepened around them, but the moongleam from the window guided his eyes to where her clitoris lay bare, hot, and helpless between the V of his fingers. Vayne did not disguise the wanton shudder in his breath. He wanted her to hear it.
"You want this," he murmured, as if his words were the incantation for a spell. "You need this. You burn for this. And now I grant it to you...Tifa."
He leaned in, and lifted his chin, and brought his lips to claim that sweet Dalmascan pearl. The flat of his tongue followed at once, wedging beneath it to sup upon its heat...and then his cheeks caved in as Vayne drew her clitoris into his mouth with a hard, seething suckle.
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Above, he could hear Tifa's gasps and strangled efforts at silence, the chorus of that private battle she was waging with herself. His own arousal was so great now it threatened to burst through the zipper, but Vayne Solidor would not have it said he lacked for will. Not now. Not ever. And not when he could feel how near the brink she was.
The arm trapping Tifa's thigh hefted it gently, draping it over one hard shoulder - and allowing his hand to curl over her leg, cross over her stomach, and rest on that tender expanse just above her slit. Vayne let it linger there a moment, just long enough for another leisurely lick to run through that wet seam. Then forefinger and middle finger pressed to either side of her opening, and slowly - with merciless precision - hooked into her sex, and spread back the small, pink hood beneath its crown.
There.
The night had deepened around them, but the moongleam from the window guided his eyes to where her clitoris lay bare, hot, and helpless between the V of his fingers. Vayne did not disguise the wanton shudder in his breath. He wanted her to hear it.
"You want this," he murmured, as if his words were the incantation for a spell. "You need this. You burn for this. And now I grant it to you...Tifa."
He leaned in, and lifted his chin, and brought his lips to claim that sweet Dalmascan pearl. The flat of his tongue followed at once, wedging beneath it to sup upon its heat...and then his cheeks caved in as Vayne drew her clitoris into his mouth with a hard, seething suckle.