He always did this too, I remembered. Playing with my clit until I could barely take it anymore, my pussy grinding against his hand and soaking wet. I...pushed my jeans down further, until they were completely off. I rolled onto my stomach and ground my clit against the floor, making me squirm. I could feel the first wave of orgasm coming, barely having even touched myself. Imagining my guy on top of me always had that power over me. I could feel orgasm happening thinking about his fingers. Or maybe it's another question? It's hard to tell.“’tis but a scratch,” I mumble, oddly touched by the fact that he cares enough to mention it.“You fought,” he says. Asks. Says.I wish he spoke more than a handful of words at a time. His voice is nice to listen to. Not as deep as one would expect from a male as tall and… well, dark gray as he is. Good enunciation, too, in spite of his rather long teeth, which tells a woman something about the flexibility of a man’s lips and tongue.“So did you,”. More

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