tsusaku drabble
The wanting gasp that she most definitely tears from your bruised lips seems to spur her on even further, since her fingers are branding bruises on your hip and upper thigh as she fumbles to find purchase when you're lilting this way and that. She kisses you, nibbles at that tiny bundle of nerves, sucks are parted lips, licks a burning line from top to bottom and then starts the whole process over again when you start making keening noises that sound suspiciously like "please" and "oh, more" and "pleasemoreohpleasemoreohpl-"
You're under her now, pressed between a scorching length of muscle and skin and heaving breaths. She wraps your legs around her waist and starts sucking at your neck, wanting to kiss you but wanting to hear those sinful little gasps even more. When her fingers press into you, you choke out her name like thankful curse - like she's a hurricane and you're a ship that's be still for so long that you're just so glad to move, even if moving will inevitably tear you apart. She sets a steady pace, constant and hard; you can't distinguish between the low moans she breathes into your ear and the ones that you gasp out with every pump of her strong hand. It feels delicious, the twisting of fingers before they pull out and push back in again.
You buck against her, against the fire burning in your veins and eyes and hands that are digging into her back desperately. You're moving restlessly now, rolling your hips in a pale echo of the tidal wave that her hand is, and she knows this if the smug smirk you feel against your marked neck is any indication. Suddenly you're sprawled on her lap and her strong hand is grasped onto your hip, moving them up and down and up and down til she's all but bouncing you, making you ride her fingers. You can't do anything, give back any, make her moan and writhe and beg, because she has all the control; so you arch your back and put your hands in her honey blonde hair and stain her lips with her name.
She answers likewise, moaning incomprehensible words and punctuating them by moving her hips in time with each hard thrust of her hand. You're so far gone now that one word is enough to send you over the edge and all at once a galaxy is formed between you both; a supernova has went off and you're both seeing stars, seeing each other; you flush and tremble and cry out graces to the graceless. When you've both stopped riding those final waves of pleasure, she rests her sweaty forehead against yours: simply living in exhales. An eternity later you feel air returning to your lungs and finally you kiss her, soft and tender and passionate. She sighs and you smile and somewhere along the line you realise she's still inside you and your heartbeat hasn't went down and she bites your bottom lip and growls; and like an unrepentant catalyst your body sets itself on fire again.
"I'm not the best but I'm not the worst," you hazily think as your hips start moving again, "but she is."