“D-don’t kill me, okay?” Ellie laugh-moans nervously, hips rolling shallowly against you; unsure, even though you said she could do this. And, genuinely, she’s still in shambles.

“I- tilt your hips for- back, bac—! Yes!”

She throws her leg over your hip, whining obnoxiously loud once you finally get the angle right. Her body squirming to press flush against your backside, cheek squished against the soft curve of your throat. Breath hot and humid against your jugular, clawing at your ribs to try and find something to hold onto.

“God, don’t hate me. Don’t hate me, don’t hate me—!”