"Just focus," he urges her, placing one hand (the one that is not busy at the moment) flat on her chest, his palm easily picking up the racing rhythm of her heart. "Breathe with me, as I touch you."
He fully understands, and her arousal and the waves of energy she is putting off as she begs for him is enough to make him feel as if he has just had several shots of strong liquor.
(In his mind, it is familiar, but only in the way that the roles are somehow reversed - as if she should be the one telling him to breathe.)
With his own focus growing stronger, he pulls in a deep breath, holds it briefly, wordlessly trying to coax her to mimic him - before he exhales. With his other hand, he obliges her want, her ache, sliding his fingers inside of her, setting a rhythm with his touch that matches the way her hips desperately move against his hand.
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He fully understands, and her arousal and the waves of energy she is putting off as she begs for him is enough to make him feel as if he has just had several shots of strong liquor.
(In his mind, it is familiar, but only in the way that the roles are somehow reversed - as if she should be the one telling him to breathe.)
With his own focus growing stronger, he pulls in a deep breath, holds it briefly, wordlessly trying to coax her to mimic him - before he exhales. With his other hand, he obliges her want, her ache, sliding his fingers inside of her, setting a rhythm with his touch that matches the way her hips desperately move against his hand.