💫Sock’s fixations🌈

tamsy slips out of you all the time and lets it happen just enough for you to think it’s accidental. sometimes it really is. his hips messily meeting your ass, his focus slipping the rougher he gets with you. he starts pulling too far back trying to see how far he can get out of you before you start whining. and suddenly, there’s too much distance between the two of you and he slips. the interruption makes you jolt, breath catching in frustration while he curses softly under his breath before pulling you right back against him again.

but other times he does it on purpose. specifically when he notices you’re close. he knows the signs too well now: the way your breathing shortens, how your body starts to lock up around him, how you start to reach for the closest thing to you to ground you before you even say anything. he’s watching, he always is. with your head smashed into his pillow, your smushed lips fix themselves to tell him you’re close but— oopsy!

he slips accidentally, you think, but the emptiness lingers a bit longer than normal. so you start whining, pushing your ass back onto him instinctively. he’s admires you from above as if you’re doing something casual and innocent. all glassy-eyed frustration and desperate little movements, face warm from crying, trying to glance back at him through blurry vision just to figure out what taking him so long to put it back in. you’re so damn needy and he’s giving you heart eyes.

“isn’t that a shame?” he taughts. you glare weakly over your shoulder and he only smiles at it. “hey, don’t give me that look,” he says thumb brushing half hearted circles on your shaking hips. “not my fault. it wouldn’ slip out if you didn’t get so wet . . how pathetic.” you whine into the sheets at his remark. “you’re going to make it up to me,” he whispers, inching closer to your face, nuzzling his tip between your folds. “right?”

This was made with pure lust

The beauty traitor ও