Love Me, Loathe Me.
he asks softly, his eyes staring into hers for any sign of discomfort.
Mavis nods, wrapping her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. "Perfect. Move, Lance, please."
He starts to move, pulling out almost all the way before thrusting back in. He sets a slow, steady rhythm, each stroke deep and deliberate.
He rolls his hips, grinding against her clit on every downstroke. It’s not frantic or rough, it’s a comfortable, familiar lovemaking that feels like coming home.
Mavis runs her hands over his back, feeling the muscles flex and bunch under his skin. She digs her nails in slightly, leaving red half moons on his shoulders.
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