[ There's another whimper, then again, taking deep breaths and pathetic exhales with his name. She wants that so much; his face between her legs, tongue on her skin until it shines only with his saliva. Cellar doesn't have to speak for every other sound to say it out loud: she's coming, hips jutting forward, feet planted on the mattress as a shiver runs down her nape. Her hand and thighs are wet, muscles tense and so wonderfully overwhelmed where she climbed to an orgasm with nothing but her touch and his voice. ]
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Fuck... Fuck.