
It can’t happen all the time, but a frenetic fuck session like this can really throw a nice curveball into a couple’s sex life.

It can’t happen all the time, but a frenetic fuck session like this can really throw a nice curveball into a couple’s sex life.

There’s a decent chance I’ve reblogged this before. At least, if I came across it once before, there’s no way I didn’t reblog it. That stare is incredible.

I don’t even care about the photo. The words are enough.
He’d stripped her down, but left her underwear on. There was something about leaving that hidden that he was enamoured with. It meant that it was still a mystery, something that he could build up to. And she was just as in love with the build. Crescendos were his forte.
He started at the top, as was only right, and worked his way down. They kissed, hungrily, feasting on one another, tongues lapping and tasting, lips mushing in the messiest way. His hands around her wrists, her wrists above her head, her breasts elevated just enough to make those nipples stir and rise. Her hands would stay there as his descended, tracing down her slender arms and against those thin nubs. His mouth would follow suit.
He’d linger there, a rest stop on the way to his destination. Neither of them minded the pause, his tongue doing laps around each nipple in turn, before his teeth descended in, first running lightly over them, a momentary tease, and then biting, just hard enough to make her gasp. And then, again, south.
He called them handlebars. Not to her. In his head. In his head they were handlebars, and in reality he used them as such. Clumps of cloth in his hand, twisted and grabbed, pressed hard against his palm as his hand made a fist at her hips. He’d pull her, slide her across the bed, propelled by the hold on her panties. The laugh she squealed made him swell. Made him not want to wait. But, of his two minds, the one above his waist was the stronger.
And so he’d put that mouth back to good use, and he’d hold her by that twin grip all the while, her arms fixed above her head, a victim of habit. Lips against flimsy fabric, and then lips against skin, fabric pushed aside by frustrated nose, hungry mouth. Her back would arch, aided by a sudden shove from those hands. And his tongue would dart forth.
And then it would lance out. And she’d squeal again.
Reblogging for the words as much as the photo. <3
The feedback is well worth it. The moaning is damn hot!
sorry about the feedback! if i had turned the sound off you wouldn’t have been able to hear me moaning ;)
(if this gets 50 notes by 3/31 I’ll do one with my vibrator! 100 and i’ll squirt)