Tragos growled low, and for a moment the only thing that mattered in the world was the motion of grinding his hips against her hand, pushing her hand further down his dick. “Marc-” he cut himself off, devouring her mouth with another kiss as he scrambled with her own waistband. He’d meant to pull her clothes off her entirely but as soon as the opportunity presented itself he was pressing his fingers between her legs, feeling the heat building up there for himself. “Fuck yes,” he whispered, sliding his fingers between her labia, his mouth still pressed against hers.
Even when Tragos was at work for a few days and they didn’t see each other for nearly a week, this moment where he touched her made Marcie melt every time. She bit her lip against making sound, and focused instead on pushing Tragos’ pants off his hips so she could free his dick and stroke it more easily. His fingers had produced a lot of pleasure for her- no no, gods no, don’t think past tense, think present, think now, and his mouth crushing against hers, tongues exploring and invading- She tilted her hips against his hand, trying to give him more space.
Few things felt more illicit than getting his hands into her panties, it might have been a hangover from how dangerous it had been to finger her in the hallway of the wedding, where any guest might have discovered them. But even now it was the hottest feeling, the fabric of her underwear against the back of his hand while his fingers stroked her. He slid each finger against her, till every one was as slippery as she was, parting her lips and teasing her entrance while he kissed her, growing harder and more intoxicated with every little restrained moan and pant of breath that escaped her throat. And then he was pulling back, tearing the last of her clothes off like the act would stop him falling off a cliff, not gently, just desperately, before his hand went straight back between her legs - faster now, much faster- and his mouth straight back onto her like they’d been separated for weeks.