Forget going to be - Tifa's already feeling weak in the knees, positive that if it wasn't for Cloud's hold on her, she'd collapse straight to the floor. He moves around her body almost with more confidence than even she does, the knowledge of her future self more than evident in how he handles her. There's a slight whimper on her lips when his hands shift her arms, a heat that comes to her cheeks at the realization that he'll hear her more clearly now as she moans and gasps.
He knows her well, and as tightly-wound as she is, there's a part of her even now that feels like the sounds she makes are embarrassing, too raw, too revealing.
Not that she can help it, though; bent over and taking him fully, the sounds fall freely from her lips, no matter how desperately she tries to quiet herself. When she comes, it's with a cry of his name, a broken, shaky sob on her lips, her knees trembling under her weight as she shudders and presses down around his thrusts.
Cloud knew that this wasn't "his" Tifa per se; but there were so many welcoming similarities between the two that he just couldn't help feeling the same way with this one that he does with the one back home.
Like how being with her makes him feel so alive. With his issues, this calms and maintains the young man. He wasn't sure if he ought to use the word soothing to describe it, but what else could it be but that? She helped clear his head back home, and the same thing was happening now. Instead of dwelling on how to get back home, he was focusing on the way Tifa cried out.
Her voice, so soft and light, now so loud and sharp. Her hair falling about, dangling around her, moving in time with her breasts. He imagines them, large and pale, swaying along as he thrusts into her. The way her back arches just enough to put her whole figure on display.
His mouth feels dry; he licks his lips to wet them, eyes lowering to trembling cheeks he was pounding away at. Full, round--they shake with each strong push forward that he gives.
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sempiternals2019-11-07 04:27 pm
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He knows her well, and as tightly-wound as she is, there's a part of her even now that feels like the sounds she makes are embarrassing, too raw, too revealing.
Not that she can help it, though; bent over and taking him fully, the sounds fall freely from her lips, no matter how desperately she tries to quiet herself. When she comes, it's with a cry of his name, a broken, shaky sob on her lips, her knees trembling under her weight as she shudders and presses down around his thrusts.
no subject
Like how being with her makes him feel so alive. With his issues, this calms and maintains the young man. He wasn't sure if he ought to use the word soothing to describe it, but what else could it be but that? She helped clear his head back home, and the same thing was happening now. Instead of dwelling on how to get back home, he was focusing on the way Tifa cried out.
Her voice, so soft and light, now so loud and sharp. Her hair falling about, dangling around her, moving in time with her breasts. He imagines them, large and pale, swaying along as he thrusts into her. The way her back arches just enough to put her whole figure on display.
His mouth feels dry; he licks his lips to wet them, eyes lowering to trembling cheeks he was pounding away at. Full, round--they shake with each strong push forward that he gives.