48.2 Turbo

Grant

I was about to part her legs carefully when Stormy took control of my body. He splayed her legs open and stared at her relaxed face through my glowing eyes before nuzzling down her jaw.

He drifted my tongue along her throat, settling on the crook of her neck and sniffing it deeply as if he wanted to inhale all her delicious scent and keep it forever in our lungs. That wasn’t a bad idea, and I too wanted to breathe her all the time.

Amidst her briskly shuddering, she giggled, “Stop! It’s tickling, it’s torture, Grant.” She tried to pull my body away, but Stormy didn’t relent. He only replaced my tongue with my teeth, grazing at her skin and sucking at it.

My vision fogged with the red hue of an instinctive reflex. I had to make her mine, but I couldn’t. Fuck. If I felt like this, it meant that Stormy’s control was dangling by a thin threat. Blinded by the overwhelming call of nature and desire, he was about to mark her without consent.

We could never do that to her, violating her