𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐬 𝐈

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ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀɴᴅ sᴄʜᴏᴏʟ ʜᴀs ᴍᴇ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴄʜᴏᴋᴇʜᴏʟᴅ (ᴜɴᴡɪʟʟɪɴɢʟʏ) ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ᴄᴀᴋᴇ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ, ɪᴛs ᴀʟᴍᴏsᴛ ᴏᴠᴇʀ, ᴇхᴄᴇᴘᴛ ᴡᴏʀᴋ.

It was tender, the feel of your skin on his. Passionate, even. He had spent his life surrounded by anguish, his own skin was cold, rough, and even scarred, if only a little. Yours was soft, smooth. Untouched by what he had gone through.

His hands, calloused, would hold yours as gently as he could, not wanting to damage what good thing he had.

His hands over you, always lingering in places as he did so. His touch was tender, more so than yours.

His need for you raw, but soft.

He couldn't get enough of you. The feel of you, your smell... just you.

He had driven you over, time and time again, wanting to show you his gratefulness. The simplicity of you in his life.

Every chance he got, he took it slow, and it drove you over the edge every time. He relished that feeling. That he could do this, all with a few touches.

The look in your eyes, the sounds you made. He took them in, memorizing which place had made which sound. His gaze was locked on you, relishing the look on your face.

It was all because of him, and he enjoyed that.

Something so good in his life, and he had made it feel greater.

It had gone on for hours, and when he was sure you'd be tired, you pulled him in once more, the feel of his skin against yours sparking a fire.

This was bliss. To you, and to him.

This is why he had devoted himself to you.

——
Less words. I made myself sad over smth I wrote so I wrote this after.
This all you getting.

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⏰ Cập nhật Lần cuối: May 12 ⏰

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