"Fuck, yes," she hissed softly, arching her back and sliding her hand out of his hair to scratch lightly along his back, just as more encouragement. "That's so nice."
She was doing her best to keep to a whisper, but shushing glass houses shouldn't throw shushing stones, and other strained metaphors.
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She was doing her best to keep to a whisper, but shushing glass houses shouldn't throw shushing stones, and other strained metaphors.