Re: Dance floor: Harl/Dami sexy warning
Her world was reduced to touch, to tension, contact, heat. The raw scrape of brick, biting through the sheer dress and into her shoulders and skull, the feral clutch of batboy's hands like red iron on her skin, raising teardrop blisters at every point of contact, the ache that she wanted more of as he fucked her against the wall, the pressure of her own fingers and the wetness of her lips as she bit down on them. Harl was looooooong gone. She couldn't even be spiteful in the moment—there was no smirk from her, no teasing bubble of giggles. Ya don't see it often, but every now and again, a rogue surrendered, and she did it here and now, n she didn't give a crap.
Harl climbed higher on the man with the sort of building, boiling desperation that comes at times like these, and she forced her mouth hungrily on his. She hadn't had a soul touch her in months, besides herself 'course, n she didn't have much control to begin with. Ever vulgar, her cuteness saccharine succor that could be licked away with a few laps, she worked herself on him, against him, until she came.
Yesyesyesyesyesysss
Whatever words passed her lips were fed into his, breathless and ragged and ever wanting. The delirium of pleasure buzzed through her body, tingling, lingering. It was only when that began to subside in low tide that she opened her eyes, hair sweat damp and her breath mingling with his.