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Winry’s gasping, her skin flushing up pink and she’s almost helpless – no, not helpless – not with her fingers digging into your shoulders, her nails cutting into your skin. You don’t care – she could claw a hole in your back and you wouldn’t care – not now, not when she’s writhing underneath you, and moaning your name.
You twist your hips against hers. Her breath catches, so you grin, doing it again. “Brat,” she says, but she says it the good way this time. Leaning down, you lip her nipple, rolling the tip of your tongue around it. Winry gasps, digging her fingers into your hair, back arching. You love how sensitive her nipples are and she loves you playing with them. You suck one hard, drumming your tongue against it, making her squeal, then groan when you thrust so deep inside her.
The sounds she makes are your tutorial, guiding you to the release you both want.
“Ed,” she moans, fisting your hair and dragging your face up to kiss you. Her mouth is sweet and hot and kissing her like this, when you’re buried in her body, with her fingers digging in your hair, makes sparks rip through your body. You feel them gathering in the small of your back and you whine, not wanting this to end, even if your hips are thrusting erratically, even if you’re bruising her hips with your grip.
You bury your face in the crook of her neck as you come, muffling your scream against her skin. She tips over the edge, her groan reverberating in your ear. You hold her tight, breathing her in as she laughs, a soft, familiar sound. Her fingers loosen in your hair and she pets it, whispering, “Love you.”
That sound is the most special one she makes.
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