Holland March

it takes so long to get to the bed because he simply can’t move, you feel too good, smell so intoxicating, his drunken brain is barely registering his actions yet they seem oddly coordinated. he whines when you push him to actually get on the bed, muttering out a small “w—wait….m’not done..” at the small loss of touch. of course, he really needs to see your body, so he pins you down the bed. eyes glow with awe and lust, admiring just how perfect you are despite barely knowing you. how is an angel like you in his bed?

he moves down to your bare thighs, his hands grasping at your hips. you let him do his own thing, because fuck, it feels great to be wanted like this. the thumbs digging into your skin are making small circles, wet lips kissing and biting at your thighs. he’s gentle with the bites though, he doesn’t want to mark the perfect skin and mess it up, maybe later. the words he’s whispering bring tingles up your back, his voice is low but whiny “so fuckin’ pretty… I can’t believe you’re real… I wan’ you to be mine..”