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36. “were you just touching yourself?” 

                𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐙𝐄𝐒. An impish smile pulls her lips to the side. As if the shock of being caught wet-handed, so to speak, wasn’t enough to shame her into stopping, Daphne’s fingers tease her dewy lips beneath the cotton sheets, only the quiet rustles and the shadows of her movements giving her away. Harry’s eyes have yet to move. To blink

They’re hooked on her fingers. 

Her breath is ripped out of her when he pulls the sheets away like a magic trick. Ta da! she almost wants to say, but her index finger has met her clit and her hips cannot help but to arch into her own TOUCH and god damn does this feel so good

His gaze on her, on her slow-moving hips and the wetness between her thighs, how it gathers on her fingertips like honey from a pot, how DIVINE it looks when smeared across her lips and on her tongue. She’s yet to press more than a finger inside her, and the second Daphne does, a low whine has her mouth falling open, and her head falling back on his waiting chest. He’s looking down at her like something strange and wonderful and heavenly that’s fallen into his lap. 

No she breathes out, wearing her lie as a strawberry smear on her cheeks.  I’m not.. doing anything like that… ❜ 

SMUT STARTERS || accepting

  1. archivedforslaugher reblogged this from dangeress
  2. archivedforslaugher said: WET-HANDED . COIN THAT IM DYING
  3. dangeress posted this