God.
I swallow it back: every muttered curse, every plea, every keening moan. All the sounds I'd make if we were alone, safely locked in a room, away from these turning pages and tapping keys.
I choke it all back until it's clogging my throat and all I can do is wheeze out a single breath at a time, clutching Ki's shirt as he pumps one finger, then two, in and out of my slick channel. His thumb finds my c**t, swirling over and over it in relentless circles, and my body flashes hot, a wildfire charring my insides. Then my muscles lock and I'm clamping down on him, gripping and grinding, coming silently with air choked in my throat.
One breath.
Two.
A bead of sweat trickles down my spine.
I settle back into my body, and the floorboards creak under my feet. God, I'm sticky. Flushed brig
