"Oh my God, how the fuck do you -"
Brendan inhales and breathes out, trying to get enough air into his lungs to say "Oh, right." Freya is licking her way up his cock - slowly. Very... very... slowly. It's perfect. It's the most perfect feeling ever, and none of his previous girlfriends had ever actually stopped to take their time like that, to do that for him. Which is what he blames his lack of brains on right now, because if Freya wasn’t so busy blowing his...mind...he'd have realized that oh, yeah! He's having sex with a telepath.
"So, just to - ah! - just to confirm, you can - pretty much -"
"Hear everything you're thinking even now, yeah," she finishes for him, and he has to close his eyes in order not to come all over her face -
- because the gleam in her eyes is just wicked. She is the hottest thing he's ever seen. Her black hair frames her face in long waves, tumbles down around her bare shoulders, brushes his thighs, his hips. It almost tickles, but the weight behind it gives it presence. He's fascinated by her hair – he remembers running his hands through it when they first kissed, or when she was on top of him, snapping his buttons off one by one. Right now, he can barely focus on it. Her hands are doing far more interesting things, things that he only, apparently, has to think, and then they happen. He’s losing his mind so fast, it might actually be dissolving.
As soon as he's thought it, she's back in his arms, her mouth hot over his, slick tongue meeting his own. His arms frame her slim torso completely - and, for a guy who isn't huge, he has definite moments of feeling like an oaf around her - and she moans as his hand starts sliding down her body, lower, slicking over sweaty skin, the soft dip just above her ass, then her ass itself – smooth and round and fucking perfect. She parts her legs and he slips a finger inside. She bites his lip as he slides his own body lower, the friction between them sweat-slicked, and then he can go in deeper, touch her better. She's stopped kissing him and he watches as she bites her lip, eyes closed, her breathing shallow and uneven. He watches her as he finds her clit with his thumb, rubbing it as best he can from the slightly awkward position; watches as she gasps. And then he's flipping her over, covering her body with his own, slipping inside easily, burying himself balls- and tongue-deep, moaning into her mouth, echoing her laughter.
Her laugh is low, throaty - all-knowing. She knows too much, knows everything, but for all that it still manages to freak him out, he thinks he likes it. He doesn't have to hide anything - can't, obviously. And he isn't a complicated guy. And all she has to know is all that he knows. And all that he knows right now is that he's never met anybody else like her in his entire life. And she already knows that.