Sweeney can't tell if the new pace is better or more perplexing. Probably both at the same time. In the end, he doesn't have enough blood in his brain to reason through it. He just knows he craves more, hungrily and increasingly desperate. The muscles in his thighs coil tight as he prepares to thrust, then tries to walk back down.
"Ná stad," he growls, his shoulders rolling. Sweeney snarls through a wince as his back tenses. "Níos mó. Níos crua."
The tendons of his neck strain taut. He presses his eyes shut.
no subject
Sweeney can't tell if the new pace is better or more perplexing. Probably both at the same time. In the end, he doesn't have enough blood in his brain to reason through it. He just knows he craves more, hungrily and increasingly desperate. The muscles in his thighs coil tight as he prepares to thrust, then tries to walk back down.
"Ná stad," he growls, his shoulders rolling. Sweeney snarls through a wince as his back tenses. "Níos mó. Níos crua."
The tendons of his neck strain taut. He presses his eyes shut.
"Ná stad."