go down, soft sound

even more groans, like he’s drowning in it. “fuckin—just fuckin’ ride it, please.”

and you wouldn’t hide your smirk as you continued to drag your hips over him. your hand traveling down to play with his curls, pulling at the back of his head so you can push even further down on his nose: “you're so generous, baby.”

“want you happy,” he’d mumble against you. between harsh kisses to your clit, and sneaking a glance at you, “are you happy?”

you know better than to make him beg when he's glassy-eyed and sensitive.

it would be like that. but only if an afternoon matinee was like having his arm moving like a piston–fingers curling at just the right angle while toying with that spot inside you he’d never forget.

he could sail to the end of the world and back. it could take him a decade and he’d still find that little spot inside of you during your reunion.

the little one that has your abdomen flexing to force him out,

the one that has you twisting further into his arms,

the one that has you furrowing your brow at him as he watches you take three fingers while wearing that smile–like he’s impressed you’re lasting this long with him.

“nina, nina, nina–” he murmurs into your half-open lips that search for him eagerly. he tilts you back when you attempt to kiss him again, keeping himself just out of your reach. “you'll stay focused for me, won't you?”

he taunts you. and teases, while playing the cruel game of cat and mouse while avoiding your lips. offering his mouth if it’s the only way he can get you to chase him. and you'll follow him every time.