(Under his fingertips, he can feel her thighs' gentle spasms as they're looping the pleasure through their synapses. Her legs are going to be so sore later, not to mention that her knees are going to be alarmingly weak once she has to walk but this time, she's not going to bitch about it. She really can't, her entire brain has melted, and her body is struggling to bring her back to some form of stability — she can certify that she, too, is dying.
Her forehead does not rest against his shoulder to hide from his view, but so she can rest for a second as she at least manages to get the air in her lungs more consistently, and she'll do him the solid of syncing it perfectly to his so they can calm the fuck down for a second. All the effort in the world is then put in moving so he can slide out of her, hands squeezing his shoulders for support, and he could use the opportunity to bring his pants back up if his brain considers it. Other than that, this is the most she can do at this precise moment.
It's only when he quips that Sophie finds some strength to distance, a weak laugh accompanied by the brightest beam, even if she looks, well, very messy. She's not even going to bother running her hands through her hair to smooth it out, she's just got different priorities right now, which are whatever her puddled, dopamine-filled, sparkling, elated brain wants out of her.)
Right? I knew the shirt thing would end up growing on you.
no subject
Her forehead does not rest against his shoulder to hide from his view, but so she can rest for a second as she at least manages to get the air in her lungs more consistently, and she'll do him the solid of syncing it perfectly to his so they can calm the fuck down for a second. All the effort in the world is then put in moving so he can slide out of her, hands squeezing his shoulders for support, and he could use the opportunity to bring his pants back up if his brain considers it. Other than that, this is the most she can do at this precise moment.
It's only when he quips that Sophie finds some strength to distance, a weak laugh accompanied by the brightest beam, even if she looks, well, very messy. She's not even going to bother running her hands through her hair to smooth it out, she's just got different priorities right now, which are whatever her puddled, dopamine-filled, sparkling, elated brain wants out of her.)
Right? I knew the shirt thing would end up growing on you.