She still hears him. It's only a confirmation of what she knows is on his mind.
"I have so much to give. You could never take too much, my love," she murmurs, and her hand moves along the bedframe to bump into one of his. "You've never come close."
Rutting away at her for the second time tonight feels overwhelmingly good even without her speaking tenderly, and he briefly wishes he had four more arms so he could paw at every part of her. Her breasts, her mouth, her hips, all of it. He could cling to her and hold her close forever.
He shifts his grip on the headboard to clasp his hand over hers, fingers curling tight around hers. And then, with a gasp, he comes in her, pressing forward and deep, weight bearing down on her.
He takes his hand off hers just to wrap it around her waist and pull her into his lap as he sits back, keeping her snugly on his cock. He buries his face in the crook of her neck.
“I am happy,” he promises. “Please don’t ever think otherwise.”
Maneuvering her without slipping from her is a dream: he lifts her and turns her so he might at least hold her like a bride, but his cock slips out in the process, already softening. It doesn’t matter. Holding her is more important, as kissing her while he fingers her.
She's of a similar mind. She can kiss him and stroke his cheek and smother her moans against his mouth--and she does, particularly when he brings her to a trembling climax in his arms with ease.
"I could never have enough of you," she whispers, burying her face into his neck.
It’s wonderful to hold her through such moments, his heart hammering as feels her come apart. He kisses the side of her head briefly and holds her to his chest.
“It’s a start,” he promises, a sliver of shame in him, but he ignores it. He tips her over and goes with her, snuggling her into their bedding. “I want to know every part of you.”
"I just think about you constantly," she teases, though it's entirely true. "I'm always waiting for the next moment I can throw my arms around you and hear you speak to me."
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"I have so much to give. You could never take too much, my love," she murmurs, and her hand moves along the bedframe to bump into one of his. "You've never come close."
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He shifts his grip on the headboard to clasp his hand over hers, fingers curling tight around hers. And then, with a gasp, he comes in her, pressing forward and deep, weight bearing down on her.
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"I did as I was told," she says after a moment, smile in her voice. "I hope that pleased you."
Definitely the drive behind his hips.
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“You did,” he murmurs. “I love you, Jill. I wish I could be as good to you as you are to me…”
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"You're perfect, Clive. As long as you're happy."
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“I am happy,” he promises. “Please don’t ever think otherwise.”
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With her hands off the headboard, she reaches back to touch his hair, face tipping towards his. "I'm happy, too."
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“Then will you come again? For me?”
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He knows she likes to be able to look at him, kiss him, as they fuck.
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"I could never have enough of you," she whispers, burying her face into his neck.
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“I will always have more to give,” he promises.
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"I want you to, too. We have a lifetime together," she says, a way of telling him there's no rush. "When you're ready, I'll be willing."
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“It’s like training,” he murmurs. “One does not succeed if one does not try.”
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He gets a kiss on the side of his face for it.
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“Perhaps there’s another way,” he says. “Perhaps we take another outing together… this time to one of those shops.”
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"And then?"
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It’d help more than spit.
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"We'll be better prepared."
Impulsive as they can be, they're remarkably consistent with it.
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"I missed you terribly while you were out."
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“I think about you constantly when I go.”
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