[Every pass of Wanda's tongue is agonisingly, purposefully, slow. The texture and undulation as she curls her tongue spark individual pulses of electricity in his nerves. Pietro digs his fingers harder into the arm of the couch instead of her hair, keeping his hold there looser as he pulls with very little force. His abdomen tightens as he looks down to watch her mouth on his cock, and he lets out another low whine, pressing his toes into the floor hard to stop himself from giving in and pushing forward further into her mouth.]
You are infuriating.
[It's spoken affectionately, despite the scratchy whisper of a tone.]
no subject
You are infuriating.
[It's spoken affectionately, despite the scratchy whisper of a tone.]