That's what she needs. Adora's moan, the desperate and quick rub of her into her thigh. The uncontrolled jerk and shudder of her leg all but giving out underneath Catra, Adora losing herself to her. It gets to Catra faster than anything else they've done before, and she keens again when Adora licks and sucks and scrapes with the blunt edges of her teeth, pushing her chest up into her mouth and pressuring Adora's head closer with her hand insistent on her scalp. The bite she'd left stings with every tug of Catra's skin, and it blends so perfectly with the rough treatment; gives a sharp, sparking edge to the quickly building layers of arousal, stacking them so high within her that toppling them can be her only drive.
"Yes," Catra groans back, rough and deep and primal. She sets the rhythm now, feeling the give under her claws as she pushes on the balls of her feet to lift and grind herself against Adora, shuddering at the pull of her tail as she forces herself up; angling herself to rub against the hard jut of Adora's hipbone with a short and high cry that echoes almost plaintively in the cavern. It hits her more directly than the pressure of her thigh, almost painful in its intensity, and Catra's hips stutter before working more frantically. How had she ever gotten by on fantasies, how had just imagining this ever been enough? Adora rutting gracelessly into her, her mouth hot and furious on her chest, her hand possessive and dangerous around her tail. The tang of arousal wafting from her, teasing on Catra's tongue with every ragged pant. It's so much more than Catra ever thought it could be. She doesn't want to ever let go of her. "--Everything."
She wants all of Adora, she needs more of her. Catra's hand drops from the gashes on her shoulder, shoving aside the torn rags of her clothing to palm at her breast; feeling the rigid bump of her nipple as she rubs it through the fabric of her glove, her fingers pressing into the curve of her flesh. That almost does it for her; almost sends those layers crashing, almost drowns her in the waves of climax.
"Look at me," she orders, hard and strained and breathless, keeping Adora's head in place with the press of her hand; claws scratching as she struggles to hold on. She wants to see the fire in Adora's darkened eyes, wants to see lust and yearning and Want, wants to pretend it's hers - all hers, like Adora's come back for her, like Adora's laying down a claim. Wants to pretend that Adora needs this as much as she does, as if they're connected again for the first time in years, in tune and in sync and together, competing and urging each-other towards their shared desires. She wants just -- a moment, one moment, to feel like they're each-other's again. Just like they used to be.
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"Yes," Catra groans back, rough and deep and primal. She sets the rhythm now, feeling the give under her claws as she pushes on the balls of her feet to lift and grind herself against Adora, shuddering at the pull of her tail as she forces herself up; angling herself to rub against the hard jut of Adora's hipbone with a short and high cry that echoes almost plaintively in the cavern. It hits her more directly than the pressure of her thigh, almost painful in its intensity, and Catra's hips stutter before working more frantically. How had she ever gotten by on fantasies, how had just imagining this ever been enough? Adora rutting gracelessly into her, her mouth hot and furious on her chest, her hand possessive and dangerous around her tail. The tang of arousal wafting from her, teasing on Catra's tongue with every ragged pant. It's so much more than Catra ever thought it could be. She doesn't want to ever let go of her. "--Everything."
She wants all of Adora, she needs more of her. Catra's hand drops from the gashes on her shoulder, shoving aside the torn rags of her clothing to palm at her breast; feeling the rigid bump of her nipple as she rubs it through the fabric of her glove, her fingers pressing into the curve of her flesh. That almost does it for her; almost sends those layers crashing, almost drowns her in the waves of climax.
"Look at me," she orders, hard and strained and breathless, keeping Adora's head in place with the press of her hand; claws scratching as she struggles to hold on. She wants to see the fire in Adora's darkened eyes, wants to see lust and yearning and Want, wants to pretend it's hers - all hers, like Adora's come back for her, like Adora's laying down a claim. Wants to pretend that Adora needs this as much as she does, as if they're connected again for the first time in years, in tune and in sync and together, competing and urging each-other towards their shared desires. She wants just -- a moment, one moment, to feel like they're each-other's again. Just like they used to be.