[The good news is, he doesn't taste like ash or soot. He tastes like cold, somehow. Even though the touch of him is still warm. The tendril wriggles a little against her lips, then withdraws to her shoulder.
He still doesn't enter her. Instead, he does as she asks, providing a finer little tendril to do the job. It searches until it finds the nub, and as she requests, he brushes against it like a finger or thumb to see what it does.
He repeats the action as soon as it becomes apparent what that is. Slowly, and no pulling, but he finely circles her clit with the slightest pressure.]
no subject
He still doesn't enter her. Instead, he does as she asks, providing a finer little tendril to do the job. It searches until it finds the nub, and as she requests, he brushes against it like a finger or thumb to see what it does.
He repeats the action as soon as it becomes apparent what that is. Slowly, and no pulling, but he finely circles her clit with the slightest pressure.]