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Summary
“You’re so wet,” he says, sounding almost fascinated as he opens you up with another finger, scissoring and stretching you apart. Your back arches, struggling for air as you feel his fingers scraping against your walls. You constantly forget just how thick his fingers are; just two of them are enough to have you desperately riding in a search for more, eyelids fluttering as you throw your head back, hips rolling.
“Baby,” you gasp, hands grasping his hair. “That’s good, that’s good, good boy.” His fingers curve just right, hitting that soft spot, drawing out a long moan that makes him audibly gulp. His gaze is intense, almost predatory as he stretches you open, the squelching noises reverberating around the room.
“You’re so pretty,” he whispers, as you grasp frantically at his wrist, your liquids coating his fingers obscenely.
(i.e.; your lover has a praise kink that he’s a bit afraid to show, and you’d do anything to get those pretty noises out of him.)