Two and a Half Years Later #3
He pulls back enough to watch the flush spread across her cheeks and paint her neck, his favorite thing—it’s a sure sign that she’s about to surrender.
He tucks a curl behind her ear. “Because I should be allowed to unwrap a gift, too.”
She hardly has time to roll her eyes before he presses his mouth to hers, where he wants it almost always. He wants to make her feel good, wants to see her undone.
He slides her leggings down over her hips and settles himself between her thighs.
He’ll never tire of the noises she makes, the whimpers and whines when he first touches her, the moans she releases as she gets closer.
How wet she is around his fingers, the way she tastes on his tongue.
How she tangles her fingers in his hair, how he knows she loves his hair, loves grinding against his mouth.
He takes his time with her, whispering how he loves her, how good she is, how beautiful, stunning, electric she is. How he can’t get enough of her. How she makes him so hard.
They discovered her penchant for dirty talk early on, and it’s become his ongoing mission to see how hard he can make her come when he pairs his words with caresses, how ravenous he can make her for the things he spills from his mouth before he tips her over the edge.
After he makes her come with his tongue, he kisses down the column of her throat, his cock twitching at her whimpering gasps, her body still basking in the aftershocks of her pleasure.
“On your hands and knees, Rogers,” he whispers.
She complies, trusting him. Always trusting. Her hair tumbles over her shoulders, and she grips the arm of the sofa as he runs his hands down the length of her torso, curving around her waist, gripping her hips and the globes of her ass.
He smacks one cheek, smirking when she gasps.
Leaning over her, he nips her shoulder before turning her face to his and capturing her lips once more.
“Can I take you like this?”
She nods, her pupils blown wide.
When they discovered how responsive she was to this position, it opened a new world of possibilities. He’s made her come hundreds of times, and each one is for him.
He slides a finger up the column of her spine, his lips following close behind, and presses his length against her so she can feel all of him. She whines, and he slides one hand around her hip to her folds, running a finger along the slick seam.
“So wet for me, aren’t you?”
She pants, gasps a soft please, Wes, and he nearly obeys—his first name on her lips is like a spell, a drug. But he holds back, edging her further, ensuring that she’s pliant and needy.
It’s so easy being with her. Easier than he ever could have imagined.
Sliding his palms up her waist, he cups her breasts, pulling another whimper from her lips.
He groans into her neck, his fingers gripping her hair when he finally slides inside her.
He tells her she’s so good for him, so perfect, looks so good on his cock while he drives into her, while her moans and whines fill their apartment, their home.
He wants her to know she’s cherished, so loved, so desired.
Wants her to know how powerful she is, how incredible, that he’s the luckiest man because she chose him.
He takes his time with her because he has all the time in the world.
Tonight at dinner, he’ll hold her hand, an act he never knew could be so pleasurable, and he’ll make her laugh when he adopts a horrible French accent while attempting to pronounce the names of the wines.
He’ll listen to her talk about the latest podcast they were pitched exploring various kinks, about Syeda’s new girlfriend, about her speculations regarding the latest season of Love Island.
She’s still considering law school, but she’s not sure it’s what she wants anymore, since she’s busy building an empire around bodily autonomy and reducing sexual shame.
Tomorrow, he’ll sneak out early and pick up the doughnuts he preordered, and when he returns home, he’ll wake her up with his mouth on her neck, his hands on her breasts, and his face between her thighs, ensuring that she comes twice before Syeda and Emilia arrive from the airport to surprise her for her birthday.
After, and before they need to get ready for dinner, they stand next to each other at the kitchen counter wearing only their underwear, bodies brushing, her riot of hair tickling his chest, sharing one fork to eat her cake.
“You should keep buying me cake,” she says around a bite, passing him the fork.
He scoops up the last piece. “Yeah? Why’s that?”
“I might keep you around for a while if you do.” Her eyes crinkle at the corners at their shared joke.
“As long as you want me, Rogers.” He extends the fork containing the last bite. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Her eyes never leave his as she wraps her mouth around the fork. She swallows and licks a spot of frosting from the corner of her mouth, and then her lips curve into his favorite smile. “Promise?”
He laughs, unable to verbalize how unwilling he is to break a promise to her ever again.
He kisses her. “I promise.”