[ the kiss might not necessarily be enough and yet somehow it still manages to be exactly that. it isn't what the heated pulsing of her body demands, not when it wants relief in the form of a massaged clit or the satisfying girth of something hard thrusted between her legs, but it seems to be so much of what she wants, how it proves that those lightly brushed kisses at the bar and along the ever winding path that brought them here had just been quick hors d'oeuvres, mere appetizers of the promises his lips could make. there's gentleness in it, like an everlasting thread through all that pairs with sanji, but there's an escalated intimacy too, how he can draw out a soft velvet rumble of a moan from her from he returns an offer of his tongue, just as daringly curious and hot with a light brush of saliva.
his arm curves around her to nestled her into his body, abandoning the previously friendly support of his hold during their long journeyed walk, for something that mirrors the demand of her own urgency, carefulness left behind in the wake of something far hungrier.
she really could kiss him like this all night if it were left to choice, but the hot press of his swelling lips, it feeds into a hunger that only expands her appetite, making her desire the slick of that tongue to find itself across other parts of her body.
his praise makes her chest swell with a surprising fill of satisfaction, as if her attempts to hold herself together from crumbling to her lust had all been some unintentional test to seek his approval, to be graded high with his rewarding kisses and tender brushes to her cheek. except she knows what the true prize is, nerves suddenly reawakening with their previous vibrations through her limbs as she watches the descent of his hand, sliding down to snake up beneath her dress and β
fuck.
seeing the shock in his eyes, her own mirror their widening surprise, her cheeks suddenly burning for reasons beyond the demand of heat, as embarrassment rushes the blood flow with the uncertainty that maybe she's done this all wrong, that the mess down between her legs is just flat out absurd to anyone to be that desperately needy. ]
S-sorry, I didn't think it wasβ [ before she could even figure out what it is she means to say, or what exactly she expects to apologize for, she's interrupted by the abrupt yank of her underwear, the burning drag of lace stretched down her thighs, the sticky cling of fabric pressed up to her cunt the last to draw away with the way it resists the pull with all that abundance of slick that nearly keeps it glued to skin. and then there's sanji's mouth, swallowing away all apologies and worries with the reassurance eagerness of want, so believable that tifa's surprised to find just how much she believes his kiss.
and there it is, the relief, the bare skin of his fingers finding the surface flesh of her soaking cunt, her lips helpless in the way they part with a shuddering breath nearly as loud as a gasp when he begins to stroke and examine her with his fingertips as if to put every sensation of her to memory. an arm darts up over his shoulder, fingers now clutching at the height of his back similar to their previous cling, only now it's for the sake of keeping her own legs from giving out at being touched. with every brush of fingers, every soothing caress of his kisses to her throat, she makes a soft sound, both pleading and satisfied, a shudder rolling up her spine when he begins to offer a more rhythmic set of strokes, her hips instinctively bucking forward to meet those digits.
and he's right, she is slick, because she can even hear it, the lewd echo of his fingers dragging across the slippery surface of her folds, how she can feel all those fluids of arousal from her cunt catching onto his skin, the sensation and awareness simply making her more wet, paired with his vocal enthusiasm that seems to only make her skin hotter. ]
Sanji, it'sβ you made me so wet. [ she responds in a breathless haze against his lips, panting as she tries to meet his eyes with her own half-lidded. ] Your touch isβ it's so good on me. Feels so good on my cunt, fuckβ Sanji, please, don't stop.
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his arm curves around her to nestled her into his body, abandoning the previously friendly support of his hold during their long journeyed walk, for something that mirrors the demand of her own urgency, carefulness left behind in the wake of something far hungrier.
she really could kiss him like this all night if it were left to choice, but the hot press of his swelling lips, it feeds into a hunger that only expands her appetite, making her desire the slick of that tongue to find itself across other parts of her body.
his praise makes her chest swell with a surprising fill of satisfaction, as if her attempts to hold herself together from crumbling to her lust had all been some unintentional test to seek his approval, to be graded high with his rewarding kisses and tender brushes to her cheek. except she knows what the true prize is, nerves suddenly reawakening with their previous vibrations through her limbs as she watches the descent of his hand, sliding down to snake up beneath her dress and β
fuck.
seeing the shock in his eyes, her own mirror their widening surprise, her cheeks suddenly burning for reasons beyond the demand of heat, as embarrassment rushes the blood flow with the uncertainty that maybe she's done this all wrong, that the mess down between her legs is just flat out absurd to anyone to be that desperately needy. ]
S-sorry, I didn't think it wasβ [ before she could even figure out what it is she means to say, or what exactly she expects to apologize for, she's interrupted by the abrupt yank of her underwear, the burning drag of lace stretched down her thighs, the sticky cling of fabric pressed up to her cunt the last to draw away with the way it resists the pull with all that abundance of slick that nearly keeps it glued to skin. and then there's sanji's mouth, swallowing away all apologies and worries with the reassurance eagerness of want, so believable that tifa's surprised to find just how much she believes his kiss.
and there it is, the relief, the bare skin of his fingers finding the surface flesh of her soaking cunt, her lips helpless in the way they part with a shuddering breath nearly as loud as a gasp when he begins to stroke and examine her with his fingertips as if to put every sensation of her to memory. an arm darts up over his shoulder, fingers now clutching at the height of his back similar to their previous cling, only now it's for the sake of keeping her own legs from giving out at being touched. with every brush of fingers, every soothing caress of his kisses to her throat, she makes a soft sound, both pleading and satisfied, a shudder rolling up her spine when he begins to offer a more rhythmic set of strokes, her hips instinctively bucking forward to meet those digits.
and he's right, she is slick, because she can even hear it, the lewd echo of his fingers dragging across the slippery surface of her folds, how she can feel all those fluids of arousal from her cunt catching onto his skin, the sensation and awareness simply making her more wet, paired with his vocal enthusiasm that seems to only make her skin hotter. ]
Sanji, it'sβ you made me so wet. [ she responds in a breathless haze against his lips, panting as she tries to meet his eyes with her own half-lidded. ] Your touch isβ it's so good on me. Feels so good on my cunt, fuckβ Sanji, please, don't stop.