[It is a little surprising just how much more this kiss is. For all the play that they love to do, there is always a very particular, very special care behind it all that Tifa knows is reserved for times like that... but there's something about this kiss that feels hungrier, more desperate, more possessive than usual as the bed's headboard and the chains rattle beneath her moan.
She thinks nothing more of it past that, of course, because she has no choice but to melt into it, eagerly accepting and even encouraging the rougher side of him to come out to play. She always did not-so-secretly love it when he took command like this, when he was just a little rough with her. When he'd take her hair and wrap it around his fist and bury her face into the mattress...
She parts her lips in invitation, and her legs squeeze together at the thought, that pressure already building again as her blood roars through her, the flowers at her wrists burning the deepest crimson they've ever held, their scent heavy in the air mixed with their own...
He could push her over the edge with this alone if he really wanted to, she thinks...]
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She thinks nothing more of it past that, of course, because she has no choice but to melt into it, eagerly accepting and even encouraging the rougher side of him to come out to play. She always did not-so-secretly love it when he took command like this, when he was just a little rough with her. When he'd take her hair and wrap it around his fist and bury her face into the mattress...
She parts her lips in invitation, and her legs squeeze together at the thought, that pressure already building again as her blood roars through her, the flowers at her wrists burning the deepest crimson they've ever held, their scent heavy in the air mixed with their own...
He could push her over the edge with this alone if he really wanted to, she thinks...]