He bit down on the curve of her shoulder. Just enough.
She gasped.
His mouth traveled. Down the arch of her collarbone. Down the swell of her chest. His hand was still cupping her breast, pressing it upward slightly, and when his lips found her nipple—when he drew it into his mouth and 'sucked'—
"'—MNNGH~!!'"
The sound that came out of her was embarrassing. Too high. Too soft. Something between a protest and a 'please.'
His tongue circled the hard peak. His teeth grazed. He sucked again, harder this time, cheeks hollowing, and she felt the pull of it radiating down through her chest to her core where he was still 'moving', still slamming into her in deep, measured strokes that never quite let the pleasure crest.
"Stop—'stop'—" She was crying again. Couldn't tell when she'd started. "'Please—'"
The 'please' came out wrong.
Not like she meant it to.
He heard it too. She felt the way his grip tightened—the way his pace changed.
"'Again,'" he said, and it wasn't a question.
