She feels about to combust, the combined pressure of his hard-on and his fingers between her legs barely a ghost touch against the rumble of his ragged voice, the images conjured up by his words. She feels the pleasure rushing through her veins, and digging her nails into his shoulders she starts bucking her hips, jerkily undulating between his hand and his crotch. He keeps on talking, and she goes on whimpering.

“But I won’t fuck you in the street, Caroline,” he growls, his free hand roaming beneath her top, palming her breast over the slippery lace of her bra as he deftly rolls her nipple between his fingers. “You deserve better than a stinking, rotting alleyway, love. You deserve a palace.” He tugs. He licks. He thrusts. “You deserve a bed of roses, pert with sharp thorns that will prickle your skin, so I can lick each trickle of warm blood that pours out of you.” (x)

(Источник: theelliedoll из блога mckinnon-m)

(Источник: thecatwomantohisbatman из блога taniarus)