[ the rain happens, like so many other things have while they've been on this damn ship, without warning; one second she's outside, mingling (or at least pretending to) at something that's been referred to as a garden fête and trying to ignore the heaviness of her dress, and the next the sky literally opens up over them. wynonna squints up toward the darkened clouds and feels the first few droplets pinging against her face, sharp and cold, and then the downpour happens and she's frantically looking around for somewhere to retreat to.
she's not as close to the main house as everyone else is, having wandered off toward the edge of the party a long time ago, and she has to remember to pick up her skirts before she starts running, trying to see through the sheets of rain that have started falling and eventually just moving at a blind tilt, stopping once she feels wooden boards beneath her feet. she's stumbled into some kind of gazebo or pavilion a ways off on the property, and instinctually she reaches up to pull her wet hair back from where it's sticking to the sides of her face, the style she'd pinned it back in completely ruined by the rain.
she glances down at herself, her sopping dress sticking to her skin, and flings her arms down, drops scattering in all directions. the sound of heavy footsteps on the floorboards prompts her to spin around, wet lashes sticking together as she blinks whoever it is that's just had the same idea she has into focus.
she's got a smart remark hovering right on the tip of her tongue, but it dies at the sight of him, droplets clinging to the line of his jaw, his shirt so damp she can practically see through the cotton to the shape of his frame, his muscles. even if she doesn't know how they keep ending up in these situations together, she'd be lying if she said he doesn't make for a fantastic view like this, and she can almost forget about whether she looks like a drowned rat or not.
so she just looks at him, still breathing a little harder from the adrenaline and maybe something else now, something she doesn't want to admit she feels even a fraction of every time he's on her mind. ]
[ this place isn't getting any easier to handle, but it beats the last planet they'd ended up on; as much as he doesn't necessarily mind the wilderness, snowy days out there could be quite hell, especially when he's got other people to deal with, either because they'd probably die of frost bite without him or because they just have a way of being so goddamn persistent in being around.
at least here, he has some privacy in the stable he takes care of, no company necessary save for a few horses, along with the privilege of a pub further along the road. avoiding the parties, he could at least ease up with a drink or two there in his down time, sneaking on back to work on his own schedule, mostly because no one cares about him enough to be so attentive.
the rain isn't much of a bother but eventually it picks up while he's on a track back to the stables, pelting down enough to even sting his eyes that he can't maintain enough focus to see his route. it steers him into the closest bit of shelter, something solid enough for him to wipe away from the water from his view, and maybe wait it out a bit before he continues his way back.
it's not like he has much to do that's important here anyway.
when he hears the heavy footsteps of someone following in behind him, he's already got a quiet swear muttered out of his mouth, hidden by the sounds of heavy rainfall, but he stills when he realizes which dress-drenched woman ended up here with him — and he almost swears again.
because it's not unusual by now to find her as often as he does, to see her and feel the prickling of annoyance that always steers somewhere else entirely that he doesn't want to be. for all that he wants to keep away, his eyes never seem to follow suit, catching the glance she sends his way and watching it with a heavy sigh of his breath, sight catching her soaked hair falling over wet shoulders and clinging tight to the skin.
he should step away, of course, but he's got nowhere to go, nowhere to run. except even that excuse doesn't work when he hasn't taken advantage of his escape routes before.
with a thoughtful brush of his tongue against his lips, he takes a step closer to her, boots quiet on the wooden boards, before he's close enough to caress the back of his hand against her cheek, using that motion to tuck back the wet strands tangled there. ]
[ she knows she doesn’t belong in these circles — fancy people who seem to get their rocks off dressing up and judging others, not to mention the punch is seriously too weak for her liking. the only way she’d be able to get through a party like this is to drink the entire time, and she can’t even successfully do that. but she realizes how much she needs the breather from it all when she’s finally ducked beneath the gazebo, barely able to see two feet outside of it thanks to the rain coming down in sheets. it’s so loud she almost can’t hear herself think, but it’s not like she’s thinking much about anything else by the time she figures out she’s got company here — and whose company it is.
for a second, she wonders if he’s just going to turn around and head back out into the thick of it to get away from her; she’s not under any illusions that she’s his favorite person here or anything, not by a long shot, but she can’t pretend she hasn’t been feeling differently around him since that night in the tent, a night she can’t take back and maybe doesn’t even want to.
part of her envies him, where he’s ended up in this society; she wishes she could move freely and do whatever she wants, when she wants, and not have so many eyes on her, and maybe she feels part of that desire now — to be bold, to do something she shouldn’t, to behave badly. she knows what would happen if they were caught together here, what it would mean. and that feels like all the more reason to let herself take the risk.
his hand is warm against her rain-chilled skin and she shivers, but not completely from the cold; still, it’s not like this dress leaves much to the imagination now, plastered to her as it is, the points of her nipples sticking out through the sheer layers. she turns her face into his touch, cheek nudging the heel of his hand, and suddenly it’s like the tent was yesterday with how intensely she feels that returning spike of wanting him low in her center. she reaches up with a gloved hand to curl fingers at his neck, tugging herself in, and finds his mouth with a possessiveness that makes her gasp as soon as the heat of that kiss floods her body. ]
[ he's tried not to want anything, not here and not back home where he's continued to deny anything that could get close enough for him to hurt if he isn't careful. from the moment he'd first dropped in — and then dropped out, only to be sucked back up into this space trip all over again — he'd known keeping to himself would be the best course of action. unfortunately for him, things haven't always made that choice easy, especially when she's concerned.
the idea was that the tent would be a one-time thing, a choice to release a little bit of built up tension, something they likely both needed a bit of, having been trapped in this goddamn place for a while now. but forgetting is hard to do when something about the ship seems to keep their minds meddling together, impossible to split away the moment they get close enough.
because as soon as his fingers graze her cheek, something else stretches through him, a heated desire that he can't say with certainty is a cross over from whatever is going on in her head or if the fall of the rain paired with the sight of her in drenched fabric, shaping out her body rather intimately, gives swirl to that inspiration of thought.
he can't ignore her curves when she's this close, even if he tries to draw his eyes away, even if the sight of those tight buds against her dress remind him of when he'd pressed his mouth to them within the tent and sucked tenderly at that soft skin. for the brief moment that he considers drawing his hand back and stepping away from repeating this all over again, it's not enough before she's at his mouth, leaving no window for him to reconsider, his lips instantly responding with a mutual hunger, kiss hard with an eager curl of his tongue as strong palms grasp high at her hips, sloping up her sides, gripping at the soaked fabric of her dress. ]
[ she kisses him like she wants the taste of him in her mouth, hot and slick and salty with sweat, and also like she's trying to forget everything else — maybe up to and including that night they'd shed their layers and rolled against each other in the sleeping bag, when he'd made her gasp the first time he'd filled her up, when she'd kissed him to stifle her own cries as he'd driven her to come hard with the long strokes of his dick inside her.
she's tried to keep him out of her mind, but that's easier said than done when the ship is so damn small and they're sleeping side-by-side again with only a wall between them. she still wonders if he'd ever heard her that one night when she'd strafed a hand down her stomach and slipped it beneath the waistband of her panties, thrusting as many fingers as she could get inside herself to mimic his thickness and then biting her lip — but not before her own moans had inadvertently left her, sharp and plaintive when she'd finally made herself peak on a memory of the two of them fucking in the darkness.
she doesn't give herself a chance to second guess it now, and maybe he's thinking about pulling away too; there's that wink of doubt that flows through the empathy bond, but by the time her mouth finds his she can feel that need heightening hers and knows she's not alone in this. her hands are clutching at his face, the fabric of her gloves damp enough for her to feel the warmth of his skin through them, and when his touch docks at her hips it's enough to lead her in until she's pressed more closely against him, the heat of his body emanating through both layers of clothing to make her feel feverish, dizzy with her own arousal.
there's nothing proper about this, not when their tongues are already clashing, not when she's not-so-gently biting at his lower lip almost in a retaliatory gesture — like it's his fault for making her want him this much, so she's going to take it out on him a little — but she can hear the rush of the downpour on the roof above them and she knows she can keep getting lost in this, in him, at least for now. ]
[ even before all of this, frank had never been the type to so easily forget; for nearly a decade of his life, he'd devoted himself to one woman, never steering away to have another in his bed, and it was years after her death before he'd allowed himself the willingness to move forward with someone else. something like sex has never been, and likely never would be, as casual to him as most would believe it, and as much as he'd like to believe the night in the tent carried nothing but a chase of something easy, he knows it hardly falls that way.
especially when it'd been so hard to forget, nights in which he could feel her presence on the other side of that wall, enough that a surge of the empathy bond had gotten him hard enough to tent against his sweats, impossible to ignore and sleep off until he'd jerked his fist hard against it, thoughts of her riding hard and rough on his cock eventually steering him to spill thick and warm against his own belly.
the memory of it makes him feel a little guilty now too, knowing that he's given him in too easily to this, to her, and now that her mouth is on him, he's almost too selfish to consider giving it up, her body warm and wet all over as she curves up against his, gloved hands drawing him in to where it proves impossible to pull his lips away even if he wanted it.
if there's anything indecent about it, it proves hard to care with the pouring rain around them that shelters this place against whatever else is out there. his reputation here has never been a concern, and he's never really care much for hers either; if getting caught like this might be a damper in their circumstances otherwise, he doesn't debate it now, more guided by the quickly escalating heat of her hot mouth, palm sneaking up to caress against her breast, giving a squeeze as he groans against her lips. ]
[ she's just got done convincing herself that the night in the tent was a way for her to scratch an itch, to chase a much-needed release with someone who looked like he could get the job done for her. it hadn't meant anything, not just because she prefers having the chance to get some and get gone but because she doesn't need the inconvenience of getting more attached to anyone here. not when opening her heart to someone has always ended badly for her.
it only had to be once. just once, and then she'd have him out of her system. then she'd stop thinking about his mouth during really inconvenient times — or worse yet, stop thinking about the sensation of his roughened hands on her body until she'd been driven to touch herself to the memory of it, coming harder on her own fingers than she can ever recall at any other time she'd aimed for something quick and dirty to help her sleep. but it only takes looking at him again now, wet and in the flesh, for her to realize that she hasn't gotten over him at all.
she can taste the rainwater on his lips, cool and clean, but there's heat beneath it, that same warmth that had surged through her the night she'd rapidly stripped her clothes off and then fit herself to him in the darkness, skin rubbing against skin not just for needed friction but with the intensity of how hard he'd finally fucked her, driving in between the spread of her legs until she'd almost bit her lip enough to draw blood in her attempt to stifle the sounds of her own moaning. here, they have the rain to drown out her sighs, and she pants more roughly, more obviously against his mouth, as his hand palms over the curve of her breast through the soaked fabric of her dress, kneading firm enough for her to feel his warmth too.
she doesn't care about being caught, or at least that's not her biggest concern right now. honestly, she's sick of feeling like she has to behave, like she has to worry about being good, when all she wants is to give in to the first thing that feels good since she got here — and that's not dancing in some stuffy ballroom, either. instead, she clutches onto him, kisses him like she's drowning and the only thing that can keep her upright is his mouth, hers opening for that first sweep of tongue that makes her groan, makes her want to feel it elsewhere, and before she can think twice she's leading him over to where she can brace herself against the closest section of railing, spreading her knees to welcome him between them with one hand braced for leverage as the other starts to hike her skirts up. ]
[ somehow, once had really been all it took, considering he'd done a fair job at avoiding the risk of a mess prior to it, sticking to his own priorities, avoiding the frequent company, and not looking to deal with anyone's shit but his own. so he would easily put a lot of this blame on her, on her insistence for conversation, for being so damn keen towards neighborly engagement, so much so that the more he was around her, the more he could feel her presence on the other side of that wall.
but it's his fault too for giving in that night, for returning a kiss that led to the removal of layers, until there was nothing left between their bodies, nothing to stop her from spreading her legs for him as he filled her up, thick and hard until the grind came so slick, not only from how wet she was but how she'd managed to already make him come, enticing him enough to get going for a second round.
and right now, he's coaxed all over again, even if this time, she hardly needs to do anything at all, the power already in place when he feels the urge of palm at her breast, listening for her response as he massages with firm fingers, her breaths harsh and encouraging between the heat of their kiss.
but as she shuffles back, his body following her in kind, he can feel when she meets that edge, a stopping point that provides a decent support for what he's aching for next.
because while he's caught up in the succulent slide of their mouths, tongue curling hungrily and generating a heat that counters the chill of wet clothes, her snagging of her skirts has him drawing away so he can bend down onto his knees, strong hands grasping the bundle of layers up to her hips. panting, he leans in to her exposed legs, taking charge for what he's desired in those late nights in his own room, pressing the flat of his tongue to the center of her still-clothed cunt. ]
[ it all feels like a dream, so many of these details completely out-of-place for them, like maybe if she pinches herself hard enough she'll wake up and she'll be back on the ship with him on the other side of that shared wall, hoping she hasn't been turned on enough for that to permeate through the barrier. she's never asked him if he can feel it when she touches herself, if her need is strong enough to affect him too. maybe a part of her doesn't want to know, because if she found out the truth one way or another she'd either be embarrassed or something deeper she doesn't want to address.
so much of this isn't going to happen again — soon enough they'll be off the damn planet and flying through space, onto the next place, and she won't be standing here in a white dress that's been rendered almost sheer by the rain still pelting down outside, the once-attempted updo of her hair hanging wet and across her shoulders. she wouldn't be able to see the brawn of his shoulders rippling through his damp shirt as he crouches down to settle on his knees in front of her.
she uses one hand to hold her skirts up and the other to brace against the railing behind herself; they're still mostly covered by the gazebo's roof, but the rain is a continued torrent, so loud it almost masks the sound of her own heavy breathing, but he can likely see her lips parted for it as she tilts her chin down to watch.
she wants to make sure she sees every second of this, even if it does turn out to just be a dream, but as soon as his tongue strokes her through the fabric of her underwear — she'd out-and-out refused to wear those ridiculous period-appropriate drawers, which probably is a scandal all on its own — the heat of it is so obvious in contrast to where she's chilled and wet from the rain that she instinctively rounds her hips toward him, gasping softly. suddenly she's not sure she's ever wanted anything more than she wants to feel his tongue delving between her folds, flicking her clit, fucking into her until her knees threaten to give out on her. ]
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action; rain thingggs
she's not as close to the main house as everyone else is, having wandered off toward the edge of the party a long time ago, and she has to remember to pick up her skirts before she starts running, trying to see through the sheets of rain that have started falling and eventually just moving at a blind tilt, stopping once she feels wooden boards beneath her feet. she's stumbled into some kind of gazebo or pavilion a ways off on the property, and instinctually she reaches up to pull her wet hair back from where it's sticking to the sides of her face, the style she'd pinned it back in completely ruined by the rain.
she glances down at herself, her sopping dress sticking to her skin, and flings her arms down, drops scattering in all directions. the sound of heavy footsteps on the floorboards prompts her to spin around, wet lashes sticking together as she blinks whoever it is that's just had the same idea she has into focus.
she's got a smart remark hovering right on the tip of her tongue, but it dies at the sight of him, droplets clinging to the line of his jaw, his shirt so damp she can practically see through the cotton to the shape of his frame, his muscles. even if she doesn't know how they keep ending up in these situations together, she'd be lying if she said he doesn't make for a fantastic view like this, and she can almost forget about whether she looks like a drowned rat or not.
so she just looks at him, still breathing a little harder from the adrenaline and maybe something else now, something she doesn't want to admit she feels even a fraction of every time he's on her mind. ]
no subject
at least here, he has some privacy in the stable he takes care of, no company necessary save for a few horses, along with the privilege of a pub further along the road. avoiding the parties, he could at least ease up with a drink or two there in his down time, sneaking on back to work on his own schedule, mostly because no one cares about him enough to be so attentive.
the rain isn't much of a bother but eventually it picks up while he's on a track back to the stables, pelting down enough to even sting his eyes that he can't maintain enough focus to see his route. it steers him into the closest bit of shelter, something solid enough for him to wipe away from the water from his view, and maybe wait it out a bit before he continues his way back.
it's not like he has much to do that's important here anyway.
when he hears the heavy footsteps of someone following in behind him, he's already got a quiet swear muttered out of his mouth, hidden by the sounds of heavy rainfall, but he stills when he realizes which dress-drenched woman ended up here with him — and he almost swears again.
because it's not unusual by now to find her as often as he does, to see her and feel the prickling of annoyance that always steers somewhere else entirely that he doesn't want to be. for all that he wants to keep away, his eyes never seem to follow suit, catching the glance she sends his way and watching it with a heavy sigh of his breath, sight catching her soaked hair falling over wet shoulders and clinging tight to the skin.
he should step away, of course, but he's got nowhere to go, nowhere to run. except even that excuse doesn't work when he hasn't taken advantage of his escape routes before.
with a thoughtful brush of his tongue against his lips, he takes a step closer to her, boots quiet on the wooden boards, before he's close enough to caress the back of his hand against her cheek, using that motion to tuck back the wet strands tangled there. ]
no subject
for a second, she wonders if he’s just going to turn around and head back out into the thick of it to get away from her; she’s not under any illusions that she’s his favorite person here or anything, not by a long shot, but she can’t pretend she hasn’t been feeling differently around him since that night in the tent, a night she can’t take back and maybe doesn’t even want to.
part of her envies him, where he’s ended up in this society; she wishes she could move freely and do whatever she wants, when she wants, and not have so many eyes on her, and maybe she feels part of that desire now — to be bold, to do something she shouldn’t, to behave badly. she knows what would happen if they were caught together here, what it would mean. and that feels like all the more reason to let herself take the risk.
his hand is warm against her rain-chilled skin and she shivers, but not completely from the cold; still, it’s not like this dress leaves much to the imagination now, plastered to her as it is, the points of her nipples sticking out through the sheer layers. she turns her face into his touch, cheek nudging the heel of his hand, and suddenly it’s like the tent was yesterday with how intensely she feels that returning spike of wanting him low in her center. she reaches up with a gloved hand to curl fingers at his neck, tugging herself in, and finds his mouth with a possessiveness that makes her gasp as soon as the heat of that kiss floods her body. ]
no subject
the idea was that the tent would be a one-time thing, a choice to release a little bit of built up tension, something they likely both needed a bit of, having been trapped in this goddamn place for a while now. but forgetting is hard to do when something about the ship seems to keep their minds meddling together, impossible to split away the moment they get close enough.
because as soon as his fingers graze her cheek, something else stretches through him, a heated desire that he can't say with certainty is a cross over from whatever is going on in her head or if the fall of the rain paired with the sight of her in drenched fabric, shaping out her body rather intimately, gives swirl to that inspiration of thought.
he can't ignore her curves when she's this close, even if he tries to draw his eyes away, even if the sight of those tight buds against her dress remind him of when he'd pressed his mouth to them within the tent and sucked tenderly at that soft skin. for the brief moment that he considers drawing his hand back and stepping away from repeating this all over again, it's not enough before she's at his mouth, leaving no window for him to reconsider, his lips instantly responding with a mutual hunger, kiss hard with an eager curl of his tongue as strong palms grasp high at her hips, sloping up her sides, gripping at the soaked fabric of her dress. ]
no subject
she's tried to keep him out of her mind, but that's easier said than done when the ship is so damn small and they're sleeping side-by-side again with only a wall between them. she still wonders if he'd ever heard her that one night when she'd strafed a hand down her stomach and slipped it beneath the waistband of her panties, thrusting as many fingers as she could get inside herself to mimic his thickness and then biting her lip — but not before her own moans had inadvertently left her, sharp and plaintive when she'd finally made herself peak on a memory of the two of them fucking in the darkness.
she doesn't give herself a chance to second guess it now, and maybe he's thinking about pulling away too; there's that wink of doubt that flows through the empathy bond, but by the time her mouth finds his she can feel that need heightening hers and knows she's not alone in this. her hands are clutching at his face, the fabric of her gloves damp enough for her to feel the warmth of his skin through them, and when his touch docks at her hips it's enough to lead her in until she's pressed more closely against him, the heat of his body emanating through both layers of clothing to make her feel feverish, dizzy with her own arousal.
there's nothing proper about this, not when their tongues are already clashing, not when she's not-so-gently biting at his lower lip almost in a retaliatory gesture — like it's his fault for making her want him this much, so she's going to take it out on him a little — but she can hear the rush of the downpour on the roof above them and she knows she can keep getting lost in this, in him, at least for now. ]
no subject
especially when it'd been so hard to forget, nights in which he could feel her presence on the other side of that wall, enough that a surge of the empathy bond had gotten him hard enough to tent against his sweats, impossible to ignore and sleep off until he'd jerked his fist hard against it, thoughts of her riding hard and rough on his cock eventually steering him to spill thick and warm against his own belly.
the memory of it makes him feel a little guilty now too, knowing that he's given him in too easily to this, to her, and now that her mouth is on him, he's almost too selfish to consider giving it up, her body warm and wet all over as she curves up against his, gloved hands drawing him in to where it proves impossible to pull his lips away even if he wanted it.
if there's anything indecent about it, it proves hard to care with the pouring rain around them that shelters this place against whatever else is out there. his reputation here has never been a concern, and he's never really care much for hers either; if getting caught like this might be a damper in their circumstances otherwise, he doesn't debate it now, more guided by the quickly escalating heat of her hot mouth, palm sneaking up to caress against her breast, giving a squeeze as he groans against her lips. ]
no subject
it only had to be once. just once, and then she'd have him out of her system. then she'd stop thinking about his mouth during really inconvenient times — or worse yet, stop thinking about the sensation of his roughened hands on her body until she'd been driven to touch herself to the memory of it, coming harder on her own fingers than she can ever recall at any other time she'd aimed for something quick and dirty to help her sleep. but it only takes looking at him again now, wet and in the flesh, for her to realize that she hasn't gotten over him at all.
she can taste the rainwater on his lips, cool and clean, but there's heat beneath it, that same warmth that had surged through her the night she'd rapidly stripped her clothes off and then fit herself to him in the darkness, skin rubbing against skin not just for needed friction but with the intensity of how hard he'd finally fucked her, driving in between the spread of her legs until she'd almost bit her lip enough to draw blood in her attempt to stifle the sounds of her own moaning. here, they have the rain to drown out her sighs, and she pants more roughly, more obviously against his mouth, as his hand palms over the curve of her breast through the soaked fabric of her dress, kneading firm enough for her to feel his warmth too.
she doesn't care about being caught, or at least that's not her biggest concern right now. honestly, she's sick of feeling like she has to behave, like she has to worry about being good, when all she wants is to give in to the first thing that feels good since she got here — and that's not dancing in some stuffy ballroom, either. instead, she clutches onto him, kisses him like she's drowning and the only thing that can keep her upright is his mouth, hers opening for that first sweep of tongue that makes her groan, makes her want to feel it elsewhere, and before she can think twice she's leading him over to where she can brace herself against the closest section of railing, spreading her knees to welcome him between them with one hand braced for leverage as the other starts to hike her skirts up. ]
no subject
but it's his fault too for giving in that night, for returning a kiss that led to the removal of layers, until there was nothing left between their bodies, nothing to stop her from spreading her legs for him as he filled her up, thick and hard until the grind came so slick, not only from how wet she was but how she'd managed to already make him come, enticing him enough to get going for a second round.
and right now, he's coaxed all over again, even if this time, she hardly needs to do anything at all, the power already in place when he feels the urge of palm at her breast, listening for her response as he massages with firm fingers, her breaths harsh and encouraging between the heat of their kiss.
but as she shuffles back, his body following her in kind, he can feel when she meets that edge, a stopping point that provides a decent support for what he's aching for next.
because while he's caught up in the succulent slide of their mouths, tongue curling hungrily and generating a heat that counters the chill of wet clothes, her snagging of her skirts has him drawing away so he can bend down onto his knees, strong hands grasping the bundle of layers up to her hips. panting, he leans in to her exposed legs, taking charge for what he's desired in those late nights in his own room, pressing the flat of his tongue to the center of her still-clothed cunt. ]
no subject
so much of this isn't going to happen again — soon enough they'll be off the damn planet and flying through space, onto the next place, and she won't be standing here in a white dress that's been rendered almost sheer by the rain still pelting down outside, the once-attempted updo of her hair hanging wet and across her shoulders. she wouldn't be able to see the brawn of his shoulders rippling through his damp shirt as he crouches down to settle on his knees in front of her.
she uses one hand to hold her skirts up and the other to brace against the railing behind herself; they're still mostly covered by the gazebo's roof, but the rain is a continued torrent, so loud it almost masks the sound of her own heavy breathing, but he can likely see her lips parted for it as she tilts her chin down to watch.
she wants to make sure she sees every second of this, even if it does turn out to just be a dream, but as soon as his tongue strokes her through the fabric of her underwear — she'd out-and-out refused to wear those ridiculous period-appropriate drawers, which probably is a scandal all on its own — the heat of it is so obvious in contrast to where she's chilled and wet from the rain that she instinctively rounds her hips toward him, gasping softly. suddenly she's not sure she's ever wanted anything more than she wants to feel his tongue delving between her folds, flicking her clit, fucking into her until her knees threaten to give out on her. ]