[At least one of them is capable of doing something steadily because Stan sure the hell isn't. His breath hitches at the apex of every steady little thrust, fingers digging into her back when she hits that spot again.]
G-good. Hate to think you're- goin' to all this trouble for me a-and not gettin' nothin' out of it.
[He half-moans, bites it off and swallows it down with a whimper of need.]
no subject
G-good. Hate to think you're- goin' to all this trouble for me a-and not gettin' nothin' out of it.
[He half-moans, bites it off and swallows it down with a whimper of need.]