He really doesn't give a fuck about boobs. Boobs are boobs, and Quinn never really let him touch hers - and, halfway through her pregnancy, if he even tried, she'd get funky wet circles on her shirt, so he stopped trying - and Santana's boobs were fake, so he really honestly likes Rachel's Jew Boobies better. She knows the way that she wants him to touch them, and she forms his hands around her skin, whimpering when he gets it just right. He squeezes, rubbing his palms in circles over her nipples again, twisting his hips in the same circular rhythm.
It's fucking hot to see her own hands moving beneath the jersey and knowing that she's stroking herself, his hands on her hips yanking her as he rocks and she makes sweet little sobs and gasps that signal him. More. More. Please. Please, Noah. They're words that he loves to hear, especially when they spill from Rachel's lips. He throbs inside her, and he knows that she can feel it. Fucking condom, because she's hot, and he can feel her through the latex, and she's so wet that he can feel her dripping on his bare skin, and it feels so fucking good that he can't stand it. "Ride me," he pants. "Just fucking bounce."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2011-11-27 01:31 pm (UTC)It's fucking hot to see her own hands moving beneath the jersey and knowing that she's stroking herself, his hands on her hips yanking her as he rocks and she makes sweet little sobs and gasps that signal him. More. More. Please. Please, Noah. They're words that he loves to hear, especially when they spill from Rachel's lips. He throbs inside her, and he knows that she can feel it. Fucking condom, because she's hot, and he can feel her through the latex, and she's so wet that he can feel her dripping on his bare skin, and it feels so fucking good that he can't stand it. "Ride me," he pants. "Just fucking bounce."