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Summary
“A-Ah… Zoey… mhmmphm…” Desperation paints Rumi’s tone as a hitching whimper crawls out of her throat. The sound warbles in the air, curling with high pitchy notes as flustered pleasure shudders its way through Rumi’s body.
“You’re so cute, unnie. Who knew how sensitive your horns were… Is this why you always hesitate in letting us touch them?” Playful curiosity unfurls across Zoey’s face as she peers down at Rumi, a gentle sheen of adoration and arousal shimmering in her eyes as she does so. It complements the constellation of freckles scattered across Zoey’s cheeks, her nose bridge, and Rumi’s throat goes dry as she admires how utterly pretty Zoey effortlessly is.
Rumi’s throat goes dry for another reason: Zoey maintains a slow pace, measured strokes along the length of those curved horns, cataloguing every reaction Rumi makes, mentally noting the locations that has her lover shivering or whining viscerally. The slow pace makes Rumi feel even more flustered, squirming from her lover’s undivided attention.