She's totally gotten away with it, and Catra smirks into the kiss even as she drags her tongue smugly against Adora's. She didn't realize it would be so easy to distract her with this, or that Adora would be so quick to give in - which, like, of course Catra's going to snicker at that almost immediate moan, huffing her laugh against Adora's lips before redoubling her efforts.
Her shoulders are still shaking with that laughter when Adora's hands come up again, cutting off abruptly into a sharp, surprised noise as her fingers finish searching through her fur and close around her nipples. Catra's own hands jerk as her hips stutter in response, rolling down to seek the pressure and friction of Adora's leg. Practically sitting on Adora like this doesn't make for a good angle; it's just enough to take the needy edge away from the demand that's been building low in her core this entire time, each move of Adora's fingers adding to the slick heat smouldering between Catra's legs.
Giving herself in to the moment isn't a conscious choice Catra makes. It's just that Adora's lips and tongue and mouth are familiar, now, and Catra doesn't have to think to kiss her. Doesn't have to think about her hands on Adora's breasts, either; doesn't have to wonder how a flick of her thumb feels or a drag of her palm, because Adora is following her, showing her each pleasurable sensation in turn. All Catra has to do is feel, and that's such an easy thing to do when every nerve in her body is sparking and singing, and she pushes closer; her body feeling alive in every point of contact with Adora's flushed skin. They're finally getting somewhere with all of this.
--Adora's skin grazes across her nipples, and a high-pitched noise of protest escapes Catra's throat when that's it, and Adora breaks their kiss to pant against her cheek. The fact that she's light-headed herself, her breaths coming shallow and uneven, escapes Catra's notice: because Adora can't just take this away from her. Not when Catra's feeling so good, not when every bit of her is craving and wanting.
"Adora," she groans, bumping the side of her head against Adora's in frustration, ears flicking down. Catra's not dealing with it if she's choosing now to flip out about her top, she can't. Her hands turn on Adora's breasts, the flat of her palms covering across her nipples as she presses the tips of her fingers into the base of each curve, squeezing light but insistent. "Why'd you stop?"
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Her shoulders are still shaking with that laughter when Adora's hands come up again, cutting off abruptly into a sharp, surprised noise as her fingers finish searching through her fur and close around her nipples. Catra's own hands jerk as her hips stutter in response, rolling down to seek the pressure and friction of Adora's leg. Practically sitting on Adora like this doesn't make for a good angle; it's just enough to take the needy edge away from the demand that's been building low in her core this entire time, each move of Adora's fingers adding to the slick heat smouldering between Catra's legs.
Giving herself in to the moment isn't a conscious choice Catra makes. It's just that Adora's lips and tongue and mouth are familiar, now, and Catra doesn't have to think to kiss her. Doesn't have to think about her hands on Adora's breasts, either; doesn't have to wonder how a flick of her thumb feels or a drag of her palm, because Adora is following her, showing her each pleasurable sensation in turn. All Catra has to do is feel, and that's such an easy thing to do when every nerve in her body is sparking and singing, and she pushes closer; her body feeling alive in every point of contact with Adora's flushed skin. They're finally getting somewhere with all of this.
--Adora's skin grazes across her nipples, and a high-pitched noise of protest escapes Catra's throat when that's it, and Adora breaks their kiss to pant against her cheek. The fact that she's light-headed herself, her breaths coming shallow and uneven, escapes Catra's notice: because Adora can't just take this away from her. Not when Catra's feeling so good, not when every bit of her is craving and wanting.
"Adora," she groans, bumping the side of her head against Adora's in frustration, ears flicking down. Catra's not dealing with it if she's choosing now to flip out about her top, she can't. Her hands turn on Adora's breasts, the flat of her palms covering across her nipples as she presses the tips of her fingers into the base of each curve, squeezing light but insistent. "Why'd you stop?"