Clint looked up, lips curving upward as he continued to stroke his cock, watching her walk towards him. It was like he'd conjured her right out of his dreams and as she made her way toward him, he stroked harder, faster. "You're always welcome to give me a hand," he growled, watching her eyes watch him. This was something they hadn't done before and now Clint knew why. He wasn't so sure he had the patience to get himself off and know that he could be thrusting into her hot cunt. It was one of the moments where he had to decide what he wanted more. What she wanted more. Either way,, ,he was achingly hard.
Standing up, Clint walked towards her, each step a predatory move that had him carefully calculating just what he'd do when he reached her. Fuck. He'd missed her. Finally, within arms reach, Clint's hand banded around her wrist, gently tugging her closer, leading her small hand to wrap around him. "Fuck," he hissed, bending his head, capturing her lips, his free hand looking for any patch of warm skin to touch. He'd never wanted a woman more than he wanted her. Ever.
His kiss was deep, scorching and the feel of her lips under his was sublime. "God I missed you," he murmured, yanking at the buttons of her shirt, which, was his, apparently. They popped off, the large garment easily falling apart, exposing her perfectly round breasts. Bathed in the french moonlight, Clint could hardly control himself and it wasn't long before his head was ducking down, capturing a taught peak in his mouth, tugging with his teeth, murmuring sex terms, love terms, anything really, all in French.