Harleen's eyes are the prettiest blue – a shade not unlike his own, but warmer somehow, ignited by her passionate nature. They're searing, hotter than her mouth on him, observing his every reaction. He's habitually quiet, but his fingers in her hair make her think he wants this.
She hums around him, lulled by pleasure. Until he forces her down his entire length.
Her throat opens easily enough, but then she seizes, surprised. He barely notices. The real pleasure lies in watching panic take hold, her flaring temper slowly smothered by a veil of tears. Nothing sets off her eyes better.