April 15th, xxxy
AFTERCARE IS HOT AS fuck.
Granted it doesn't involve fucking, laboured breathing, pleasured cries but to be cozied up to your Dom—to his Baby after sex? Hot as fuck.
What's better is to be cozied under your Dom, stretched out, wrists tied to the bed above the bed, body lazily explored by your very patient Dom.
This is the position Precious is in. His voice, scratchy and hoarse from too much screaming, limbs languid from too much exertion (and cumming) and body sore from too may fucking.
Precious is content enough to be cared for, to be babied. He can not see all of him but he's aware he's a patchwork of hickeys, thumbprints, bite marks, and a cologne of clover, sage and sex. He is the definition of sated and owned.
Owned. The word prompts a giggle out of him. Kamil tuned to the sound from the cleft of his hip where his mouth is and flash Precious a smile.
