[It's permission, it's power, it's -- exactly what Koby had needed, the rumble of Quentin's voice, coupled with the praise, you've been so good, licking through his veins like liquid fire, like electricity, like the jolt of almost-too-sharp pleasure when Quentin's mouth finds his clit again. Koby sobs out a gasp, back arching off the sheets, stomach and thighs and cunt clenching, throbbing, an unmistakable peak, soaking Quentin's face, his chin with the pulse of his climax. It's even harder than he'd come in the bath, worked into oversensitivity, dizzy with the potential promised by Quentin's hands, his mouth, all the ways that Koby's body can feel this good.
And it lasts, legs shuddering, breath coming in pitchy, shuddering moans, guided up to a peak and lingering longer than Koby's used to. He's accustomed to finishing quick and dirty and silent, used to tucking his face against a pillow and silencing his own ragged breath. This is -- different, luxurious, the swell of an undertow crashing again and again, until Koby's fingers loosen and he presses weakly at Quentin, a shuddering whimpering sound, twitchy and oversensitive.
It's suddenly too much, but -- but Quentin hasn't come yet, and his mouth is divine, his fingers impossible, but Koby's aching inside, hungry and greedy, even as his stomach shivers, and his thighs shudder on the aftershocks of his climax. But he still spreads them wide, tugs weakly at Quentin's hair, free hand slipping down through the mess of his own slick, his own throbbing cunt, spreading wide and inviting, even as his hips twitch with overstimulation.] C'mon, you -- I-I want you inside, p-please, don't -- [A whine, trembling fingers tracing the route of Quentin's tongue, through his folds, over his clit, inside his clenching entrance.] -- don't make me wait.
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And it lasts, legs shuddering, breath coming in pitchy, shuddering moans, guided up to a peak and lingering longer than Koby's used to. He's accustomed to finishing quick and dirty and silent, used to tucking his face against a pillow and silencing his own ragged breath. This is -- different, luxurious, the swell of an undertow crashing again and again, until Koby's fingers loosen and he presses weakly at Quentin, a shuddering whimpering sound, twitchy and oversensitive.
It's suddenly too much, but -- but Quentin hasn't come yet, and his mouth is divine, his fingers impossible, but Koby's aching inside, hungry and greedy, even as his stomach shivers, and his thighs shudder on the aftershocks of his climax. But he still spreads them wide, tugs weakly at Quentin's hair, free hand slipping down through the mess of his own slick, his own throbbing cunt, spreading wide and inviting, even as his hips twitch with overstimulation.] C'mon, you -- I-I want you inside, p-please, don't -- [A whine, trembling fingers tracing the route of Quentin's tongue, through his folds, over his clit, inside his clenching entrance.] -- don't make me wait.