It's perfect, breathless, demanding and perfect. Careful as she must be, even if not for herself, but not to jostle him too far on his injuries. But for a moment she drinks him in, watching him lose himself, feeling how he pulsed within her where he always made her so full. Taking those seconds and the adjusting movements to savour it.
But he needs more, and so does she, and she needs to balance herself. Cannot lean on him like she usually did. Instead she lent back, her hands bracing behind her as she tucked her knees better below her, and with it could take up a proper pace. An indulgence too, where he often had to coax her to he so open, she let herself sit so exposed to his view, her breasts heavy and full as she rocked with quick breathes, rising and falling to ride him, exposing him by only an inch to sink back down, snug and hot, as she felt herself clench around him readily when he's deep as he can be. Wanting every bit of him, a hitched moan each time that bleeds when she rises up again. A seamless haze that wants as much as it gives.
The relief palatable that washed through her. They were one again. It was all a lie, and this was where they both wanted to be.
Okay, so that's worth the pain. Every bounce of it. Sweeney's used to having her forward, which allows for her mouth against his skin and the beautiful friction of their bodies. But it's not an option, so he's committed to making do. He hadn't been prepared for the sight of her though, arched back and taking him.
Tits and belly swollen, symbols both of their love and how much he delights in being inside her, his hands dart up to her breasts. She's always too much, even for his large hands, but having them cradled now, they feel heavier still as they spill amply over the edges of his touch. Sweeney isn't thinking clearly enough to worry about the potential change in sensitivity; he just squeezes and massages as she rides, rolling and pinching her nipples as he does. He can't force himself to blink; he wants to remember every glorious moment of this encounter.
Oh, oh that is too much, in all the best way. Sensitive hardly covers the feeling, intense beyond what she could describe, painful and then sweet. The sob was louder than even she even expected, ragged and shark, as her head falling back to push into his hands eagerly. Rocking, shaking, selfishly sinking deep onto him all the way down, until she was as full as she could be, everything at once, after being away from him for too long, and all the furious feelings before.
Her release takes her by surprise, sharp and sudden that makes her have to catch herself only barely unless she fell from him, and louder than she let herself be from the sheer intensity. Her legs shaking as she squeezed his hips tightly to keep him close, until it finished with her.
Breathless, laughing in the aftermath as she got her balance back. Her eyes heavy lidded as she giggled, wetting her lips, her voice husky and rasping, as she tried to get it back. "Love you," her sated giggle tinging between her words.
Holy hell, the sounds she makes. Between those and the way her cunt clings to him, it's like being lost at sea. Sweeney struggles for focus, but the sensation keeps knocking him off-kilter. It doesn't help that he can't drive. On top of that, he can't even properly tug her hips without spikes of pain. So her orgasm is a gift, but also dumps him in an unfamiliar realm of vulnerability. She's giggling, and he's aching. Desperately.
"More--please--" Then he remembers what she's actually said.
"I love you--" he adds hastily, his touch sliding down from her breasts the swell of her hips. Sweeney's eyes plead, shortly before his tongue follows suit.
"Please--I need you--" He squirms beneath her, as if it will help.
To hear him so - how could she leave him wanting? Is this what he felt, when she pleaded for just a little more? It thrills up her back, as she gets her breathe back. But to give him what he needs, she rebalances herself, planting one hand squarely behind her, so the other can be free.
"Hold tightly," is the soft croon. Give her something to balance against, hold herself steady as she slips her fingers between her folds and parts herself, roughly swirling against her clit just to give her that echoing spasm around him.
That he liked to watch, that was clear, as she makes a show of it as thanks for all he gives her, a reason to come back every time. Lifting herself to let him slip half way up and then more slowly sink back down, inch by inch into her wet slit. She doesn't need to see that she's a mess, dripping around him from her releases, taught around him with how he always stretched her full. "Husband," she croons, all sea-song soft, "look how you fill me, filled me." As if there could be a doubt that he has, her belly growing every day. "I'm full of you, and I need more."
And she starts to roll her hips, not so forceful, smaller but quicker, short, sharp back and forth that picks up pace. But keeps herself open, that spectacle just for him. His wife, carrying his child, sinking onto him again and again. "Won't you come for me? It's tormented me while you were gone. You, filling me, claiming me, buried all the way deep inside of me, coming and flooding me, again and again, until I'm dripping below my skirts, saying my prayers, doing my stitches, with my husband leaking out from between my thighs. "
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thesunandthesea2025-06-09 03:32 am
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But he needs more, and so does she, and she needs to balance herself. Cannot lean on him like she usually did. Instead she lent back, her hands bracing behind her as she tucked her knees better below her, and with it could take up a proper pace. An indulgence too, where he often had to coax her to he so open, she let herself sit so exposed to his view, her breasts heavy and full as she rocked with quick breathes, rising and falling to ride him, exposing him by only an inch to sink back down, snug and hot, as she felt herself clench around him readily when he's deep as he can be. Wanting every bit of him, a hitched moan each time that bleeds when she rises up again. A seamless haze that wants as much as it gives.
The relief palatable that washed through her. They were one again. It was all a lie, and this was where they both wanted to be.
no subject
Tits and belly swollen, symbols both of their love and how much he delights in being inside her, his hands dart up to her breasts. She's always too much, even for his large hands, but having them cradled now, they feel heavier still as they spill amply over the edges of his touch. Sweeney isn't thinking clearly enough to worry about the potential change in sensitivity; he just squeezes and massages as she rides, rolling and pinching her nipples as he does. He can't force himself to blink; he wants to remember every glorious moment of this encounter.
no subject
Her release takes her by surprise, sharp and sudden that makes her have to catch herself only barely unless she fell from him, and louder than she let herself be from the sheer intensity. Her legs shaking as she squeezed his hips tightly to keep him close, until it finished with her.
Breathless, laughing in the aftermath as she got her balance back. Her eyes heavy lidded as she giggled, wetting her lips, her voice husky and rasping, as she tried to get it back. "Love you," her sated giggle tinging between her words.
no subject
"More--please--" Then he remembers what she's actually said.
"I love you--" he adds hastily, his touch sliding down from her breasts the swell of her hips. Sweeney's eyes plead, shortly before his tongue follows suit.
"Please--I need you--" He squirms beneath her, as if it will help.
"--please."
no subject
"Hold tightly," is the soft croon. Give her something to balance against, hold herself steady as she slips her fingers between her folds and parts herself, roughly swirling against her clit just to give her that echoing spasm around him.
That he liked to watch, that was clear, as she makes a show of it as thanks for all he gives her, a reason to come back every time. Lifting herself to let him slip half way up and then more slowly sink back down, inch by inch into her wet slit. She doesn't need to see that she's a mess, dripping around him from her releases, taught around him with how he always stretched her full. "Husband," she croons, all sea-song soft, "look how you fill me, filled me." As if there could be a doubt that he has, her belly growing every day. "I'm full of you, and I need more."
And she starts to roll her hips, not so forceful, smaller but quicker, short, sharp back and forth that picks up pace. But keeps herself open, that spectacle just for him. His wife, carrying his child, sinking onto him again and again. "Won't you come for me? It's tormented me while you were gone. You, filling me, claiming me, buried all the way deep inside of me, coming and flooding me, again and again, until I'm dripping below my skirts, saying my prayers, doing my stitches, with my husband leaking out from between my thighs. "