What do you think happens when you leave your panties on the windowsill, instead of the usual bread or milk?
Sweeney takes that as his cue, he knows what kind of sustenance you are offering tonight. He draws the window up in one large hand and fits his impressive frame through with only a small amount of stumbling, just a few curses muttered under his breath as he squeezes into your room.
There’s no need for words as he looms over your bed; while you’re trying to think of a witty quip about your pot of gold he’s already drawing the sheets to the side and settling himself between your knees. He watches your face as he slides his hands down to part your bare thighs though, making certain you really want this.
He savors you. First he tastes the wetness between your folds like you’re a new, exotic wine, and soon he’s sucking at you like this is his only real nourishment, little moans of gratitude punctuating the movements of lips and jaw. He is a magical creature after all, you suppose he really could be getting some form of sustenance out of this. Perhaps his being needs more gifts than just the humble ones your grandmother told you about.
Or maybe it’s just a while since he’s gotten laid.
Either way, he seems to want your pleasure as much as you do, and when he tells you a name to shout while you climax you do it joyfully, loud enough to wake the neighbors. He deserves it.
He seems surprised when you don’t let him leave right away, when you offer to return the favor. “Bless these modern women,” you hear him say under his breath as he strips off his clothes and climbs up the bed beside you.