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[ Sprezzatura Vaux humps demurely, Mister Creel. you should know that! like now, as he pulls her closer to the edge without allowing her over. the next pop of her clit pulling from his mouth has her entire body jolting. the sheets feel hot and damp everywhere she touches them. ]

Oh, fuck—suck her again, Henry.

[Has she humped his face like this, demurely or otherwise, yet? It hardly matters; he loves her enthusiasm, though he takes a breath after pulling away and sliding his tongue along his bottom lip to taste.]

I thought you didn't want to come yet.

[...He says, as he obliges in the next moment, mouth sealing over her clit once more and sucking. Slowly, oh so slowly.]

[ she does love to see him lick his lips. does a woman's ego wonders. she rubs her hand over his hand over her breast, and up his wrist, towards his elbow, circling around there.

through another moan: ] I... don't...

[ she can hold on. must hold on, because she wants to experience this for as long as possible. ]

[Can she hold on? Henry trusts that she'll either tell him to stop when she edges too close to the precipice or she'll simply give in and spill over. It's exciting to guess at which.

He keeps his hands busy as he sucks at her clit again and again, licking and suckling and keeping that aching bud well-tended to. His fingers continue to collect the wetness of her cunt along his knuckles, and his other hand massages against her breast in an almost idle motion. The way he wants to tend to her each and every need, manifested in each way he can manage.]

[ oh, she's not sure which she'll do, either. her mind is a blissful haze, fuzzy and warm, meandering outward as Henry works at her. eventually, she slips her tail from his throat and wends it about his wrist, so that he keeps his fingering gentle. ]

Ohh... yes... yes. Da, kiss it. Oh, kiss—

[ somewhere in there, she's threading her fingers with his, which impedes the way he tropes her breast, but only a little. ]

[Harder to fondle, but not impossible. But more importantly: lacing his fingers together with hers makes his heart—already beating hard—perform yet one more eagersomersault in his chest. Little acts of attachment, connection, affection… He will always be weak to them. He will always welcome them, more than anything.

And in a different way, her tail looping around his wrist is yet one more example he chooses to interpret as such. All of this, coupled with her encouragement, bolsters him further. His hands please her; but his mouth… Oh, his mouth kisses and sucks as though to siphon some of her ecstasy for himself. He’ll keep going, too — he’s less and less concerned about tipping her over the edge than he was just a few moments ago, now.]

[ his mouth—

she makes a loud, painful whining sound and slams her other hand back down on his head, fisting up his hair with enough intensity to pull, hurt a little. her belly flutters, her thighs begin to tremble, and she feels it coming. that peak. he's never kissed her clit like this before—and that shouldn't surprise her, he's only kissed her clit so many times at all, but, maybe it's more that no one has kissed her clit like this before. not bleeding and not any other time.

her face, it's radiating heat. she hugs her thighs hard around his face, all but smothering, and humps in little jerky movements against his mouth. it's full-on grinding, nothing but instinct and the need to chase what's right there. right there. right there. right— ]

[Oh, what a reaction. A hard tug at his scalp, faint and stinging pain. The way her thighs practically trap him in place, his mouth “forced” to remain sealed around her clit. Her movements are base and quickened, as though she’s just chasing her pleasure, and Henry wonders if she’s close. He squeezes her breast in turn, followed by another sharp pinch of her nipple.

Now — a choice. Let her come, or leave her hanging in the cruelest fashion possible. Both appeal for different reasons, but…

He can’t deny her when she’s close. He loves to make her come undone. And so, as she grinds against his mouth, he presses his tongue flat against her in another long lick, and sucks generously again.]

Ye—eessssss—!

[ it's practically exultant, Mammon, she cries out so loudly that you'd think even Wrench might be able to hear. and it's a violent one, this one, all spasmodic limbs and a deep clutch around his fingers like her body'll never let them go. it goes on and on, taking the wind out of her and leaving her gasping and sweat-slick and jittering.

careful she doesn't break your nose, Henry. ]

[WHAT HAPPENED TO DEMURE HUMPING, HUH

He will ride every moment of it out with her. The way she sounds, god, it's loud and beautiful and a fraction of him hopes everyone in the house does hear it. Every part of Sprezzatura seems to shake, but most prevalently, her cunt clutches hard around his fingers, and even if he curls them in, the resistance is tighter than he's ever felt from her before.

Her body's a paroxysm, but he wants to encourage it, and he lifts his head just enough to spare his nose, his tongue slowly licking up to stimulate her soon-too-sensitive clit, and ending it with a grin. Red is smeared all over his lips and chin, wet and shining.]

Sorry, I couldn't resist. You're too beautiful, Sprezzatura.

[ the sound of her orgasm is long, lewd, loud. wet cunt, ragged voice. she's flushed and wobbly-legged by the time it's run its course through her, and she looks at him and his blood-stained mouth and starts to laugh. ]

You have made mess of yourself.

[ she feels like so much limp paper in the breeze. one shaking hand falls from his hair and lands on the bedspread, fingers twitchy. ah. like being underwater. ]

[She looks it, too: limp and lazy. Meanwhile, he's still hot and feeling as though he's bursting a little at the seams — or maybe that's just the untenable bulge in his underwear at this point.

But the sight of her is more important than chasing his own release just yet, and he practically sprawls out between her legs, his free hand sliding up and down her torso as his other hand slowly pulls out from her cunt. Very slowly.

Plops his cheek onto her thigh.]

What, you're saying I shouldn't go out like this?

Bloody-faced and so, so stiff between your thighs? Mmhh.

[ she massages her toes into the back of his shoulder. a little jolt shivering through her as his fingers withdraw.

oh, she feels wondrous. ]

Whoever is going to clean you off?

[Who, indeed. Those wet, warm fingers slide up her other thigh, leaving red streaks. She gets to enjoy herself a little mess, too.]

I wonder. Who could possibly clean me off with their own mouth?