[ Tseng’s fingers graze the slick warmth at her core, coaxing soft gasps from her lips that he’s sure he’ll commit to memory. The way her body responds to his touch—arching, pressing, seeking—sends another pulse of heat through him, and he feels the faint tremor of Aerith’s thighs squeezing tighter around his hips. Tseng wonders what she thinks it might take to convince him to stay in this space, or whether she already knows. The idea takes root in a place that’s always been pragmatic, logical, controlled. But as her hands slide over his skin, her lips part with a softness that speaks of how much she’s already taken with an effortless grace.
The deliberate grind of her hips steals a guttural sound from Tseng’s throat. That small movement is his undoing. He’s no Turk in this moment; just a man consumed by the woman in his arms. His lips slide away from her mouth to nudge her jaw, before seeping into the crook of her neck where her pulse flutters wildly against his tongue. In a display of patience now followed by impatience, Tseng shifts his hips, and his cock aligns with the heat between Aerith’s thighs. He feels everything around him narrow to a single point—her. His breath catches, sharp and audible, landing against her collarbone as she surrounds him with her tight, yielding warmth. Her name escapes him as though it’s the only word he knows anymore.
Tseng’s eyes lift to hers, the green of them impossibly vibrant, lit with something that matches the sensation throbbing through his chest and pooling again low in his body in an instant, fuelling the way he moves. He braces one hand beneath her, cradling her back as though she’s something fragile. The other roams, mapping Aerith in ways no chart could capture. He runs his palm along the side of her chest, the curve of her waist, the dip of her hip, the soft, trembling expanse of her thigh.
Soon enough, even the thin barrier of air left between them is too much. Tseng draws her leg higher over his hip as he angles his body to hers, a slow, rolling motion that lets him slide deeper. He presses a series of searing, open-mouthed kisses against Aerith’s skin. The rhythm he sets is unhurried but consuming, rocking his thrusts into her. ]
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The deliberate grind of her hips steals a guttural sound from Tseng’s throat. That small movement is his undoing. He’s no Turk in this moment; just a man consumed by the woman in his arms. His lips slide away from her mouth to nudge her jaw, before seeping into the crook of her neck where her pulse flutters wildly against his tongue. In a display of patience now followed by impatience, Tseng shifts his hips, and his cock aligns with the heat between Aerith’s thighs. He feels everything around him narrow to a single point—her. His breath catches, sharp and audible, landing against her collarbone as she surrounds him with her tight, yielding warmth. Her name escapes him as though it’s the only word he knows anymore.
Tseng’s eyes lift to hers, the green of them impossibly vibrant, lit with something that matches the sensation throbbing through his chest and pooling again low in his body in an instant, fuelling the way he moves. He braces one hand beneath her, cradling her back as though she’s something fragile. The other roams, mapping Aerith in ways no chart could capture. He runs his palm along the side of her chest, the curve of her waist, the dip of her hip, the soft, trembling expanse of her thigh.
Soon enough, even the thin barrier of air left between them is too much. Tseng draws her leg higher over his hip as he angles his body to hers, a slow, rolling motion that lets him slide deeper. He presses a series of searing, open-mouthed kisses against Aerith’s skin. The rhythm he sets is unhurried but consuming, rocking his thrusts into her. ]