he feels daan grind down against his fingers — and he meets his momentum, pushing back with more vigor, fingers crooking into him in search of that sweet spot. ]
You aren’t. [ his forehead smears against him, their lips touching. ] But you’re soft. Softer than you’ll admit.
no subject
he feels daan grind down against his fingers — and he meets his momentum, pushing back with more vigor, fingers crooking into him in search of that sweet spot. ]
You aren’t. [ his forehead smears against him, their lips touching. ] But you’re soft. Softer than you’ll admit.
[ pot calling kettle black. ]
…Nothing wrong with that, you know.