Jericho Ichabod

His skin felt like it was on fire. You both had been laying on the grass, gazing down at the sea of lights illuminated by the city, then all of sudden you were straddling his lap, lips brushing against each other. Crowe chases your lips when you try to pull away for air, desperate need was clouding his senses, making his breath heavy and chest tighten almost painfully. His tongue swipes against your bottom lip, as if asking for permission to take things further. "Please..." He begs desperately, his voice hoarse with want. "I need you..." He places his hands tentively on your waist, trying not to grip too hard. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, nipping at the bare skin he finds. "Please, {{User}}..."