[ A very manly squeak escapes him when groped, swatting at that hand and letting his go to town roaming Molly under the sheets, running up and down his sides and all over the flares of his hips, the swell of his ass. He's so nice to touch, scars and all. Literally hot as fuck; he's like a living ember and Fjord is happy to burn up against him. ]
A bra. On me? No. [ Way to make him huff and blush, rolling his eyes. ] On you, sure. I don't have the flair you pull off without trying.
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A bra. On me? No. [ Way to make him huff and blush, rolling his eyes. ] On you, sure. I don't have the flair you pull off without trying.