Luther's touch is slower this time. Nothing like languid, but he takes his time. His mouth softer on her breast, fingers dipping in to stroke against her again, and her body gives several small jerks in an abortively searching reflex of her hips rolling up in his fingers, her body up into his mouth. Stopping only for that one word against her skin. Her name, and everything he knows it does to her.
Luther doesn't plead for anything, and Space would be dead before considering giving that much footing away in a fight, so there is an unmitigated high that comes with getting to hear the solid, firmness of his voice deteriorating at the edges. With just wanting her. Needing her. Like it's a crack down every veneer that he has, every part of who he is, no matter how public or private it is, with her name on it. The one exception that breaks all the rules of every steadfast, unshakable part of him.
"Hmm?" Is a question of a sound, purred somewhere between the back of her mouth and throat, something too aware to be innocent and yet tipped as though to question what his question could possibly be. Perhaps, even as if she was openly toying with whether she could force him to use his words. More words than just her name, before relenting.
But she doesn't expect him to hear it, or answer. None of that matters. Not when at the same second as that sound comes from her, very much on purpose, her fingertips ghost down the length of his cock against her, before looping into a cuff around him, hot and solid and silky all at once, and tightening as she pulls the curl of those fingers on him up much faster the opposite direction.
no subject
Luther doesn't plead for anything, and Space would be dead before considering giving that much footing away in a fight, so there is an unmitigated high that comes with getting to hear the solid, firmness of his voice deteriorating at the edges. With just wanting her. Needing her. Like it's a crack down every veneer that he has, every part of who he is, no matter how public or private it is, with her name on it. The one exception that breaks all the rules of every steadfast, unshakable part of him.
"Hmm?" Is a question of a sound, purred somewhere between the back of her mouth and throat, something too aware to be innocent and yet tipped as though to question what his question could possibly be. Perhaps, even as if she was openly toying with whether she could force him to use his words. More words than just her name, before relenting.
But she doesn't expect him to hear it, or answer. None of that matters. Not when at the same second as that sound comes from her, very much on purpose, her fingertips ghost down the length of his cock against her, before looping into a cuff around him, hot and solid and silky all at once, and tightening as she pulls the curl of those fingers on him up much faster the opposite direction.