Sweeney's recollection of shit isn't great on a good day. It's worse when there isn't much blood in his brain. Leaves him improvising, which he's guessing will be close enough for her.
He curls up to sitting, then slides his hand up her spine and tangles it in her hair. His grip tightens sharply, and he yanks her head back. Sweeney runs his tongue hotly from the dip of her throat to the tip of her chin, his other hand grasping hard on her hip to keep her in place.
His grip twisting a touch, more from angle than direct cruelty, he bends her back, arching her chest up so he bite roughly at her unmarked skin.
She wants to be purple, he's committed to doing what he's able. And to loving every minute of it.
no subject
Sweeney's recollection of shit isn't great on a good day. It's worse when there isn't much blood in his brain. Leaves him improvising, which he's guessing will be close enough for her.
He curls up to sitting, then slides his hand up her spine and tangles it in her hair. His grip tightens sharply, and he yanks her head back. Sweeney runs his tongue hotly from the dip of her throat to the tip of her chin, his other hand grasping hard on her hip to keep her in place.
His grip twisting a touch, more from angle than direct cruelty, he bends her back, arching her chest up so he bite roughly at her unmarked skin.
She wants to be purple, he's committed to doing what he's able. And to loving every minute of it.