Vanilla
Just like he often did, he found himself imagining what kind of soothing the sense would offer—the raised, brown bumps warm beneath his touch, the girl's straining eyes struggling to follow.
It was a texture he wished existed, something that deepened his favourite feature to something a little more than just a discolouration, physically. It was an odd desire to hold.
"...Maybe you shouldn't go today," The girl's voice was low as she spoke, dark lips slow to speak and heart even slower and heavier beneath her breasts, pumping through each vein and lacing through each begging bone. The pulse was as libidinous as her gaze as their eye contact never failed, eyes unmoving—only to a quick blink.
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