Thinking about Wanda not even having to touch you to make you come undone for her.
She makes sure you’re intoxicated by her magic first thing in the morning. Her power overrides your brain before it begins to make sense of the world around you. Her chaos makes your body, softened by sleep, ever so pliable for her. Some mornings she'd creep into your dreams and play with your mind enough to ruin your panties before she even grazes your skin.
She'd rest her hand over your lower stomach, rubbing there as if stirring your arousal. Her touch alone would ignite a fire there. You’d whine for her, tell her how much you needed her. Your sleepy gasps and moans always got her so wet. She knew her best girl would beg to clean her up later.
She loved using her magic to get you all worked up for her. She never knew exactly what you felt, just that you withered beneath her, panting, whining, growing wetter by the second. Watching you squirm was enough.
Her fingers would twitch when she wanted the intensity to increase, when she wanted your hips to rock back into her, when she needed to watch your hips buck up all so she can force them down with a firm, glowing, palm.
In the end, her fist clenches above your skin and you hit your peak in her arms. Wanda watches you melt into the sheets and pillows beneath you, neck glistening from the heat of the moment, and eyes glazed over from the satisfaction. She wouldn't let you rest for long, not when she needed breakfast. Only she knew how delicious you were after a night of sleep.
