He created conflagration with his tongue, making her moan and tremble until she saw heaven. And when she begged him to stop, sure she could take no more, he merely smiled wolfishly and bent his head again.
The more she trusted him, the more she wanted his hands on her. In her hair and on her neck. She longed to be vulnerable in their custody.
—J.M. Storm
“We get so mired in sharing our problems it becomes like muscle memory, an addiction. Consider this your intervention. Let’s share what makes us smile instead. Let’s talk about our bliss.”
—
daily-esprit-descalier
Mischief's Muse 