[ Unfortunately, Hei's way ahead of her where loopholes are concerned. After all, he never said he'd grant her clemency. He smiles when she lifts her chest toward him, to force more contact, but he raises his palm the same distance. Faster, he moves, lowering his hand just a bit. It's so little what he gives her, but it's something, at least. Friction. Pressure. Even as she whines, her self-consciousness at his words is apparent. It's habitual for him, the instinct for silence during sex. Mostly he's never seen the point of talking. Who wants a running commentary of something that -- at least in his experience -- is mechanical and passionless and barely worth mentioning, half the time. Adding a verbal layer to that simply emphasizes what a performance it is. ]
[ Not so here. ]
[ Lowering his hand a fraction of an inch, he moves it harder. Almost just barely enough. Faster, then faster still, his callused palm rasping against her tender nipple -- before he cups her breasts in both hands, squeezing them roughly, pulling at her breasts, long pulls that end with sharp pinches to her nipples. ]
Yeah. [ There's an edge of gravel in his tone, each syllable teasing. ] Just biology. Blame that when I make you wait until you're a sticky little mess.
no subject
[ Not so here. ]
[ Lowering his hand a fraction of an inch, he moves it harder. Almost just barely enough. Faster, then faster still, his callused palm rasping against her tender nipple -- before he cups her breasts in both hands, squeezing them roughly, pulling at her breasts, long pulls that end with sharp pinches to her nipples. ]
Yeah. [ There's an edge of gravel in his tone, each syllable teasing. ] Just biology. Blame that when I make you wait until you're a sticky little mess.