Yennefer could not swallow down the whole of his cock. And feeling him sink into her slick cunt she understands more completely that it was a perfect match to him. Lean, long and a good girth. It's an instrument like his lute and he plays up it's attributes. Standing was a perfect action, driving in deeply, hitting harder. "Darling--yes." She is not so floral with poetry and regularly she is not so audible.

Of course Jaskier proves to be a special case. The perfect friction and now teeth, his mouth, his hands. Yennefer surprises herself with a yelp and incoherent murmur. Once he is close enough, her finger lace into his stylishly short hair.

Moving--bouncing--glorious, breathless work. So diligent. And his eyes are sparkling. Can he be so sure that she's the one with stars in her eyes? Teased and pulled with his motion, her knees feel the tension climbing.

"Jaskier--" she cannot complete her thought. It was a want or a compliment. Maybe both? Each time he drives forward her cunt wants to hold him tighter, deeper. Yennefer's nails scratch his scalp, her other hand clawing at his shoulder to either keep him close or simply because she is helpless to do much else.