"Is it okay here?"
Although he always thought of her as Sophie Foster, when it came to action he still sought her opinion. His girl, as pure and clean as a blank sheet of paper, was just beginning to experience life— he couldn't scare her.
In the vast space, Nicholas Croft's voice was low and magnetic, very pleasing. At this moment, Beatrice Hargrave was already kissed to the point of her entire body becoming limp and powerless. With her eyes closed, she murmured an "Mm," uncertain if it was a moan or an agreement.
"Heh," a soft laugh, Nicholas Croft's lips and tongue moved down, landing where he cherished most. His tongue's movements had technique, and upon hearing her soft cries, his large hand gripped her waist, lifting her, and naturally he arched his body as he placed her down.
