worstsin: (a frost-covered field)
Geralt of Rivia ([personal profile] worstsin) wrote 2017-09-22 06:02 am (UTC)

When he knew he was there, he braided his fingers through Nina's hair, pressed her head forward to meet his mouth again, so that when he came he groaned, deep, into her mouth.

He thumped his free hand against the log, his spend landing on her hand, on the ground. It was off, like the rest of him, just slightly, but it always had been. A cleaner smell, sweeter.

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