All while staring right up at him, the orange glow disappearing briefly under lowered eyelids when he gives a hum around two fingers, tongue lapping out around them. And there's a faint curl to his lips when he feels him stutter, when he knows he's watching and feeling the strain.

But then those lips pop off with the barest string of saliva, rounding into an 'o' as those thrusts start to wear. That sensitivity is starting to tip, to take a rougher edge. Even with all the lube it still feels like too much, pounding away against nerves already raw and crackling.