[ This is how he makes love to you then: each stroke deep and full as his mouth travels to that sweet spot at your neck, the press of his body over yours as he breathes the scent of you in and tastes the salt of your skin on his tongue. The whispered murmurs and the smiles you might feel as his mouth leaves those kisses on your flesh; the pressure of his palms over your own.
There is nothing else, in the moment, outside of the two of you in this room. His attention has narrowed to just you. The way you look, the way you feel, the way you fit so agonizingly perfect against him. And it won't be long until you feel him tremble, as if the force of all that he feels is trying to crawl out from inside of him and hide away in your bones and in your blood, until your name is a prayer that he starts to say over and over again. ]
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There is nothing else, in the moment, outside of the two of you in this room. His attention has narrowed to just you. The way you look, the way you feel, the way you fit so agonizingly perfect against him. And it won't be long until you feel him tremble, as if the force of all that he feels is trying to crawl out from inside of him and hide away in your bones and in your blood, until your name is a prayer that he starts to say over and over again. ]