He’s deciding if he wants to ravish you against the wall..or in the floor.
There are words for people like you.
You’re a bad, bad person.
AND FUCK, BEFORE THIS EVENING I HAD OVARIES.
Just think, Cal, look at that little smirk.
He’s made up his mind, and now he’s thinking of all the ways he can make you scream.
And there are words for people like you.
Hands. Robert Carlyle’s hands.
OH BB ! OUR OVARIES ARE IMMORTAL !
Yes. Sucking her neck ?! Hmm, maybe a love bite here and there…oh, what about, a love bite down there…
Indeed there are XD
Ugh, Bobby’s hands. Those long, slim, clever fingers and aaaall the things he could do with them. Just sliding and pinching and rubbing and ooooh….
Yes, and then biting all down neck and collarbone, biting flesh and then soothing tongue and lower and lower…
Fuck, just look at his face. He knows what he could do to you and he LOVES it.
Yees, going further..searching for something with his fingers, and then…he hits that spot which makes us see the stars and the universe.
Lower, and lower, leaving a trail of saliva on your navel…
Bitch please, he’s eye fucking us.
Just such long, useful fingers, just searching and then yes, yes, there it is, slow and long and deep and guuuuuuuuuh….
Just biting and sucking skin and then swirling that tongue around and around, and finding little sensitive spots, smirking when you moan…
Yes, so much eyesex going on.
Oh, yes, there there. The pleasure that goes through you, makes your toes curl!
His sinful tongue, playing, teasing, never satisfied with one moan. He keeps going, and going. And then, yes, you moan until he shush you with one rough kiss, sucking your sweet little moans away…
His fingers hit and miss just the right place, and he knows it, and he smirks when you glare at him and just… there, all thought erased with one little shift…
He just keeps going, around and low and never quite where you need him, slow enough to make you moan and never enough to make you happy. And he enjoys every moment of it, dragging out the torture, kisses you to keep you quiet when you scream his name…
You want to slap that little bastard. Oh yes, wipe away that smirk that makes your knees go weak and beg him for undying pleasure.
There, just there. You shift your hips to hit that spot, and yes, the stars are back again, and the delightful shivers return. And he’s watching you. Studying your face, looking for the right moment…
…And just there, there, and you’re arching into him, unable to stop the hoarse, begging little sobs that pour from your mouth as he keeps pushing and twisting, drawing out the moment forever until you can’t hear, can’t think, can’t even breathe but to scream out his name at the top of your lungs. Your every nerve ending is on fire, alive under his clever, teasing fingers, his smirking, smug lips and restless tongue.