( there's no choice to be had, even in the wet squeeze of her orgasm; the slightest brush at the fevered gland is like his finger on the pulse of a trigger, this — thing inside of her ricocheting like gunpowder, white-bright and explosive, narrowing down her scope of the world to shining, flesh-rending pleasure. she hiccups a sob through it — all the muscles in her body contracting into long, rigid seconds of ecstasy. the throes of a little death where everything seizes, where she can't possibly live past the voidless brink of that ecstasy —
only paul is still coming, and coming, and coming. incomprehensibly, alina think he might die from it, pour every last drop of water into her, evaporate to dust and desert. incomprehensibly, she thinks she might die if he doesn't — if she can't have him used up until there's nothing she can wring from him, nothing he hasn't given her, nothing that isn't hers. sloppily, his cum fucks back into her where they're joined, a messy spill of white alina collects around the swollen, split pink of her pussy. presses it back inside where they're joined, like fixing a ruined, artless painting — this is the missing touch it needs, see, to transform into a masterpiece. her snapping teeth in the meat of his shoulder is only the mark of her signature on the canvas, laving her tongue against the tattooed ink that says alina. )
Is it? ( beast or not — alina perks, like a doe hearing a twig snap underfoot, only the danger is his praise in her skin, the tight clutch of her cunt in delight. she licks the pinpricks of blood from her little canines, too small to tear as his do, too blunt not to hurt twice as much when she noses into his mating gland. the first attempt doesn't so much as break skin, despite the damp, eager puffs of breath against his pulse. she whines, suckles uselessly. ) Is it too good? You'll cum again?
( am i too good. like she isn't a terrible fit for a mate, toying with the idea of not knowing her place. like she isn't full of contradictions, latched onto his flesh even as she wriggles beneath him, tries to squirm away to escape the flood of his cum, leaves and bramble wound through her hair — kept under his shadow, persephone returned to fertile spring, only for hades' shadow to hunt her down. she moans at the catch of his knot, cunt throbbing, burrowing herself into his neck with a half-hearted headshake. )
You shouldn't. You can't. 'S too much. Too full. You need to — ah. ( her dainty ankles lock around him, forcing him to stay, empty himself deeper. beneath him, her hips can't stop circling — back, forth, whining every time his knot traps her. her teeth nip at his mating gland again, getting no further than a determined indent of teeth, speckles of blood among his freckles. not enough, yet. ) Stop. Please. Don't cum inside me again, or I'll — you'll get Mommy pregnant. Please, Paul.
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only paul is still coming, and coming, and coming. incomprehensibly, alina think he might die from it, pour every last drop of water into her, evaporate to dust and desert. incomprehensibly, she thinks she might die if he doesn't — if she can't have him used up until there's nothing she can wring from him, nothing he hasn't given her, nothing that isn't hers. sloppily, his cum fucks back into her where they're joined, a messy spill of white alina collects around the swollen, split pink of her pussy. presses it back inside where they're joined, like fixing a ruined, artless painting — this is the missing touch it needs, see, to transform into a masterpiece. her snapping teeth in the meat of his shoulder is only the mark of her signature on the canvas, laving her tongue against the tattooed ink that says alina. )
Is it? ( beast or not — alina perks, like a doe hearing a twig snap underfoot, only the danger is his praise in her skin, the tight clutch of her cunt in delight. she licks the pinpricks of blood from her little canines, too small to tear as his do, too blunt not to hurt twice as much when she noses into his mating gland. the first attempt doesn't so much as break skin, despite the damp, eager puffs of breath against his pulse. she whines, suckles uselessly. ) Is it too good? You'll cum again?
( am i too good. like she isn't a terrible fit for a mate, toying with the idea of not knowing her place. like she isn't full of contradictions, latched onto his flesh even as she wriggles beneath him, tries to squirm away to escape the flood of his cum, leaves and bramble wound through her hair — kept under his shadow, persephone returned to fertile spring, only for hades' shadow to hunt her down. she moans at the catch of his knot, cunt throbbing, burrowing herself into his neck with a half-hearted headshake. )
You shouldn't. You can't. 'S too much. Too full. You need to — ah. ( her dainty ankles lock around him, forcing him to stay, empty himself deeper. beneath him, her hips can't stop circling — back, forth, whining every time his knot traps her. her teeth nip at his mating gland again, getting no further than a determined indent of teeth, speckles of blood among his freckles. not enough, yet. ) Stop. Please. Don't cum inside me again, or I'll — you'll get Mommy pregnant. Please, Paul.