recs.

The smell of 2013 college basketball was a potent mix of stale popcorn, cheap body spray, floor wax, and the electric hum of a gym packed to the rafters. The neon lights of the scoreboard buzzed overhead, displaying a glowing victory for the university’s home team.

In the center of the court, Min Yoongi was basking in it.

He wore his jersey loose, the fabric damp with sweat, his snapback turned backward over messy black hair. He was the university’s star point guard, the guy whose face was on the campus flyers, and, worst of all, he knew exactly how good he was. He had a reputation that preceded him both on the court and off it: fast, ruthless, and entirely unapologetic. He was a playboy in the truest sense of the word, navigating the campus social scene with a lazy, cat-like grin that had half the student body falling over themselves just to get his attention.

He was currently laughing at something his teammate said, slinging a towel over his shoulder, when his eyes scanned the dispersing crowd.

That was when he saw you.

You were sitting near the top of the bleachers, clutching a heavy textbook to your chest like a shield. You wore an oversized cardigan that practically swallowed your hands, and your eyes were fixed firmly on the exit, trying to navigate the sea of rowdy students without making eye contact with a single soul. You were the epitome of the shy, quiet girl who accidentally wandered into a pep rally.

Yoongi stopped mid-sentence. His eyes narrowed, tracking your movement as you carefully stepped down the bleachers. There was something about the way you carried yourself—the quiet defiance of your existence in a room full of noise, the soft curve of your lips as you chewed on your inner cheek nervously.

He didn't just want you. He needed to have you.

"Hey, Yoongi, you coming to the after-party at the house?" his teammate asked, clapping him on the shoulder.

Yoongi didn't take his eyes off you. "Yeah. I'll be there. Just gotta take care of something first."

He knew your type. Safe. Innocent. The kind of girl who did her homework on Friday nights and got flustered when a guy asked for a pencil. A girl like you wouldn't be easy. You wouldn't fall for the usual lines, and you certainly wouldn't just jump into his bed because he wore a varsity jersey. But a smirk tugged at the corner of Yoongi’s lips. He was Min Yoongi.He liked a challenge, and more than that, he liked the thought of breaking down that quiet exterior until there was nothing left but his name on your lips.

It took him two weeks to finally get you in a space where you couldn't just walk away.

The university library was quiet, smelling of old paper and dust. You were tucked into a corner booth, a stack of research papers spread out in front of you, a glowing MacBook Pro casting a soft light on your face. You were completely in your element, focused and serene.

Until a heavy, leather varsity jacket slid onto the back of the chair opposite you.

You blinked, looking up from your laptop. Yoongi slid into the booth, his long legs stretching out under the small table, intentionally brushing his sneaker against your boot. He was wearing a grey hoodie, the hood pulled down, his dark eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat.

"You're hard to track down," he said, his voice a low, raspy drawl that vibrated straight to your core.

You swallowed hard, your grip tightening on your highlighter. You knew who he was. Everyone knew who he was. "Can I help you?" you whispered, your voice small, instantly betraying your nerves.

Yoongi’s smirk widened. He loved it. The way your cheeks flushed a faint pink just from him looking at you. "Yeah. You can tell me your name. I've seen you at the games."

"I... I only went to one. My roommate dragged me," you stammered, looking back down at your papers, hoping he would take the hint and leave. "I'm just trying to study."

"I'm Yoongi." He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, invading your space. The scent of him—something woody, masculine, and entirely intoxicating, it washed over you. "And I don't think I caught your name."

You hesitated, looking up through your eyelashes. You felt small beneath his gaze, exposed. "Y/N Name," you murmured.

"Beautiful," he purred, the word rolling off his tongue like dark honey. "You going to the bonfire this Friday, Y/N?"

"No. I don't really do... parties."

"Shame." Yoongi reached out, his long, pale fingers casually tapping the edge of your textbook. His knuckles were slightly scraped from practice, a detail that made your pulse quicken. "I guess I'll just have to keep finding you here, then."

"Why are you talking to me?" you asked, a sudden spark of defensive courage flickering in your chest. You weren't stupid. You knew his reputation. He was a heartbreaker, a guy who changed girls as often as he changed his sneakers. "Don't you have a hundred other people who actually want your attention?"

Yoongi’s eyes darkened, the smirk fading into a look of genuine, predatory interest. He liked that you had a little bit of bite behind that shy exterior. It made the anticipation even sweeter.

"They're not you," he said softly, his voice dropping an octave, heavy with a promise that made a shiver run down your spine. "See you around, sweetheart."

He slid out of the booth as smoothly as he had entered, leaving you staring at the empty space, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird.

The slow burn was agonizing, and Yoongi played it beautifully.

For the next month, he was everywhere. He would pop up next to you in the campus coffee shop, buying your iced Americano before you could reach for your wallet. He would walk past your table in the student union, lingering just long enough to ruffle your hair or whisper something teasing in your ear that left you burning red for the rest of the afternoon.

He didn't rush you. He was breaking down your walls brick by brick, letting you get used to his presence, letting you crave the casual touches—the hand on the small of your back to guide you through a crowded hallway, the way he would lean close to whisper secrets in class, his hot breath brushing against your earlobe.

You tried to resist. You told yourself he was a playboy, that you were just a game to him. But the way he looked at you—like you were the only person in a crowded room—was a drug, and you were rapidly becoming an addict.

The tipping point came on a rainy Tuesday night in late November.

The campus was quiet, drenched in a cold autumn downpour. You were walking back from the late-night computer lab, shivering beneath your umbrella, when a sleek, dark car pulled up to the curb beside you. The window rolled down, revealing Yoongi behind the wheel.

"Get in," he commanded softly.

"Yoongi, I'm almost at my dorm—"

"I said get in, Y/N. It's freezing."

Defeated and shivering, you opened the door and climbed into the passenger seat. The warmth of the car hit you instantly, along with the heavy scent of his cologne. He immediately reached over, turning the heater up, his hand lingering near your knee for a second before he pulled back.

He didn't drive to your dorm. Instead, he drove toward the athletic complex, parking in the secluded, dark lot behind the old gym where the players usually kept their cars. The rain beat a frantic rhythm against the roof, creating an intense, suffocating bubble of privacy.

Yoongi turned off the engine, the sudden silence inside the car heavy and thick with tension. He turned in his seat, resting his arm on the steering wheel, his dark eyes boring into yours.

"You've been avoiding me this week," he stated, his voice quiet, dangerous.

"I haven't," you lied, looking down at your hands. "I've just been busy."

"Look at me."

The authority in his voice made you look up. He was staring at your lips, his jaw tight. The lazy, playful basketball star was gone; in his place was a man who was entirely out of patience.

"I've been good, haven't I?" Yoongi murmured, his voice dropping into that rough, gravelly register that always made your thighs press together. "I took it slow. I let you get comfortable. But I'm losing my mind here, Y/N. I think about you constantly. I want you so bad it hurts."

Your heart skipped a beat. Your breath hitched, your shy nature warring violently with the overwhelming desire pool in your lower belly. "Yoongi... you have so many girls..."

"I don't give a fuck about anyone else," he growled, leaning across the console. His hand shot out, his long fingers cupping your jaw, his thumb pressing firmly into your cheek to force you to stay focused on him. His touch was hot, electric. "Look at me. Tell me you don't want this. Tell me to leave you alone, and I'll walk away. Right now."

You looked into his dark, fierce eyes. You saw the raw hunger there, but you also saw something unyielding. You knew that if you said no, he would walk, and the thought of never having his attention again made your stomach drop.

"I don't want you to leave," you whispered, your voice trembling.

Yoongi let out a low, dark growl, and then he was moving.

He didn't just kiss you; he claimed you. His mouth crashed into yours with a fierce, burning hunger that took your breath away. His tongue slid into your mouth, dominant and possessive, tasting you deeply while his hand moved from your jaw to the back of your neck, gripping your hair gently to hold you still for the onslaught.

You let out a soft whimper into his mouth, your hands instantly flying up to grip the fabric of his hoodie, pulling him closer. The sheer contrast of your innocence against his raw, experienced dominance was intoxicating. He tasted like mint and heat, and you were completely helpless against it.

"Fuck," Yoongi groaned against your lips, breaking the kiss for just a fraction of a second to press his forehead against yours, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "My apartment. Now."

The drive to his off-campus apartment was a blur of rain-slicked streets and trembling hands. The moment the door to his place clicked shut behind you, the air exploded.

Yoongi didn't even turn on the lights. He threw his keys onto the counter, his hands instantly finding your waist, lifting you effortlessly up against the front door. The hard wood pressed into your back as his mouth found yours again, harder this time, more desperate.

"Yoongi—" you gasped as he tore his mouth away to bite down gently on the sensitive skin of your neck.

"You're so small," he muttered against your skin, his hands sliding up under your cardigan, his palms hot against your bare waist. "So fucking soft. I’ve been waiting a month to do this."

He carried you into his bedroom, throwing you onto the mattress. The room was dark, illuminated only by the orange glow of the streetlights outside his window. You looked up at him, your chest heaving, your hair wild against his pillows. He stood over the bed, his dark eyes drinking in the sight of you, before he reached down and pulled his hoodie over his head in one smooth motion, discarding it on the floor.

His body was lean, toned from hours on the court, his chest broad and his shoulders wide. You swallowed hard, a wave of shyness hitting you again as he crawled onto the bed, looming over you like a predator.

"Still nervous?" he whispered, his voice incredibly dirty, a wicked smirk returning to his lips. He reached down, unbuttoning your cardigan and pushing it off your shoulders, leaving you in just your thin camisole. "Don't be. I'm gonna take real good care of you, sweetheart. But I'm gonna make you scream."

He leaned down, kissing you thoroughly while his hands went to the button of your jeans. He undone them with practiced ease, his fingers sliding beneath the denim, making you gasp against his lips. He pulled the jeans down your legs, throwing them to the floor, leaving you completely exposed to his gaze.

Yoongi sat back on his heels, his eyes scanning your body. The sheer appreciation in his gaze made you want to hide, but he wouldn't let you. He grabbed your ankles, pulling you down to the edge of the bed.

"Look at you," he growled, his voice thick with lust. "Fucking perfect."

Without another word, he moved between your knees. He didn't hesitate; his hands gripped your thighs, spreading them wide, and he leaned down, burying his face between your legs.

The first touch of his tongue made your back arch completely off the bed. You let out a loud, high-pitched cry, your hands flying up to grip the headboard.

"Yoongi! Oh my god, wait—"

"Shh," he mumbled against your wet skin, his breath hot and damp. "Just take it."

He was ruthless. His tongue was heavy, stroke after stroke against your sensitive center, finding your rhythm instantly. He used his fingers, sliding two of them inside you, stretching you out while his mouth worked relentlessly on your clit. The combination was too much for your inexperienced body. You were burning up, twisting against the sheets, your hips moving involuntarily against his mouth.

"Please," you sobbed, the pleasure turning into a sweet, agonizing torture. "Yoongi, please, I can't—"

"Come for me," he demanded, looking up at you through his dark hair, his fingers working deep inside you. "Let me see it."

With a final, deep stroke of his tongue, you shattered. Your body went rigid, a loud, breathless scream tearing from your throat as your walls clamped down hard on his fingers. Yoongi watched every second of it, a look of pure, primal satisfaction on his face as you shook beneath him, completely undone.

He didn't give you time to recover.

Yoongi stood up, quickly stripping out of his own sweatpants and boxers. You caught a glimpse of him in the dim light—thick, heavy, and fully aroused—and your eyes widened. He looked monstrously large, and a spike of genuine fear mixed with desire hit your gut.

"Open your legs for me, sweetheart," he commanded, his voice dropping into a dirty, guttural rasp as he crawled back over you.

He didn't just slide in. He positioned himself at your entrance, rubbing his wet tip against you, making you whimper and writhe beneath him.

"You're so tight," he groaned, his jaw clenching as he pushed just the head inside. "Fuck, look at you. You're soaking wet for me."

"Yoongi, it's... it's a lot," you whispered, your hands gripping his broad shoulders, your knuckles white.

"I know. I'm gonna go slow," he promised, though the sweat tensing on his brow suggested otherwise. He gripped your hips, lifting you slightly, and with one smooth, heavy thrust, he buried himself to the hilt.

You let out a choked cry, your eyes flying open as a wave of fullness and intense friction washed over you. He stayed still for a moment, letting you adjust, his chest pressing down against yours, his mouth finding your ear.

"You feel so fucking good," he whispered, his dirty talk filling the quiet room. "Tight little thing. You're taking all of it so well."

He began to move, a slow, agonizingly deep rhythm that had you gasping for air. Every time he thrust into you, his lower abdomen slammed against yours, the sound of skin hitting skin loud and primal in the dark room. Yoongi wasn't the gentle, patient boy from the library anymore. He was a force of nature.

He changed the angle, lifting your legs onto his shoulders. The new position opened you up completely, allowing him to drive deeper, hitting a spot inside you that made your entire body tremble.

"Ah! Yoongi! Wait, right there—" you screamed, your fingers digging into his back, leaving red marks.

"Right here?" he growled, a wicked, triumphant look in his eyes. He began to hammer into that exact spot, his pace quickening, turning hard and fast. "You like it when I hit it like that? Huh? Tell me how my dick feels inside you."

"It's... it's too much, oh my god, Yoongi!" You were crying out, completely lost in the sensation, your head tossing from side to side on the pillow.

"Tell me," he demanded, his thrusts becoming savage, relentless. He was sweating now, his muscles rippling with every movement. "Say my name. Tell me who's fucking you."

"Yoongi! Yoongi, please!"

He let out a loud, guttural shout, his face contorting with pleasure. He flipped you over suddenly, forcing you onto your hands and knees. You barely had time to recover before his chest collapsed against your back, his heavy hand gripping your hip to pull you back against his thighs.

He entered you from behind with one brutal, deep thrust that made you buckle. He held you up by your waist, his fingers digging into your skin, leaving bruises that you knew would remind you of him for days. From this angle, he was hitting you deeper than before, his breath hot and ragged against the back of your neck.

"You're mine," he growled, his voice completely vulgar now, stripped of any filter. "Look at you, taking it like a good girl. I knew I'd break you. I knew I'd get you in my bed screaming for me."

The dirty talk was the final straw. The combination of his thick, heavy length stretching you out and the raw, dirty dominance of his words pushed you over the edge for the second time. You collapsed onto the pillows, your hips still bucking back against him as your body convulsed in a violent, messy orgasm.

Hearing your undone cries, Yoongi lost his grip on his own control. He let out a loud, animalistic groan, his thrusts becoming frantic and shallow as he drove himself into your contracting walls. With one final, deep slam, he buried himself inside you, his body tensing completely as he came, filling you with his heat.

He collapsed on top of you, his heavy, sweaty body crushing you into the mattress. The only sound in the room was the heavy rain outside and the frantic, ragged breathing of both of you.

An hour later, the rain had slowed to a gentle drizzle.

The room was cool, but beneath the heavy comforter, it was boiling. You were curled up against Yoongi's side, your head resting on his bare chest, listening to the steady, calming beat of his heart. His long arm was wrapped securely around your waist, pulling you so close that there was no space between you.

The shyness had returned slightly, the reality of what you had just done settling in. You stared at the dark wall, wondering if tomorrow you would just be another girl he ignored on campus.

As if reading your mind, Yoongi shifted. His hand moved up to your chin, gently tilting your face up so you had to look at him. The dark, predatory look was gone, replaced by something softer, warmer, but no less intense.

"Hey," he murmured, his thumb brushing over your lip. "Don't do that."

"Do what?" you whispered.

"Overthink it. I see it in your eyes." He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips—a stark contrast to the bruising kisses from earlier. "You're not a game, Y/N. I told you, I wanted you. And now that I have you, I'm not letting you go."

A soft, genuine smile broke across your face, the last of your fears melting away. You buried your face back into his chest, your hands curling into his skin.

Ryland had always been struck by your beauty even before you two became a couple, but nothing could have ever prepared him for when you first cried out of pleasure during sex. His first reaction was one of worry; he thought he’d hurt you, but after you assured him that you were crying because you were feeling so, so good, it just… flipped a switch inside of him. There you were; your lashes decorated by glimmering, miniscule pearls; cheeks and nose flushed and heated, and your lips kiss-swollen, letting your soft sniffles stream through like it was the sweetest song to ever grace his ears.

Ryland would stop moving. He’s transfixed; so taken by the vision of you weeping from the bliss to which he was bestowing upon you… Your pleading for him to continue the onslaught works like a charm, and he’s heeding every demand you have for him. He’ll do anything. Anything to make you cry even more, knowing he’s the one making you feel this way.

He either loves to kiss them away or lick them (hehe). If the first, it’s when the tears have barely made it past the apex of your cheek. He plants his lips upon each of the droplets to keep them from staining your pretty face; he murmurs praises against your skin as he does so, telling you that you’re doing so well for him and that he knows you can take more. 

In the second case, Ryland usually does this when things are beginning to lead to the end, that is, your release. He’s a little more sensitive, more affected than a few minutes ago, and so the impetus that guides him no longer abides by his usual sweet demeanor. This is not to say that he turns rough; it’s that he’s just as overcome with pleasure as you are, and his mind is no longer operating on a daintier criteria. He’s all impulse and instinct, and they’re telling him to lick kittenishly at your tears as they run down the curves of your cheeks. Don’t worry; he’ll end each lap with a kiss — Ryland’s still loving even in his haziest moments.

Definitely the type to thrust harder when he sees you crying. He can’t help it, and oftentimes that’s what’s going to drive you higher and higher up the cliff of your orgasm. He complements it by rubbing your clit or stroking your cock; he’s whispering promises to you that he’ll take you there; you’ll cum and it’ll be so rewarding when he does. He tells you to let it all out, because you deserve to let go of your inhibitions and join him in this pursuit of ecstasy even just for a while. 

"Sweetheart I- Ohh fudg- fuck..." Ryland hissed as his head careened back against the headrest. Words tangled in his throat as you wrapped a hand around his length and lined the tip of his cock with your entrance before taking him in inch by inch, pacing slowly as he stretched you out.

Good lord the stretch... for being such a smart man he was blissfully unaware at how big he really was. You almost choke before remembering to breathe as you bottom out, forehead now buried into his shoulder and nails digging crescents into his biceps as you immediately honed in on the little clicks and creaks that resonated from Mary's hull to ground yourself.

Sitting in the pilots seat was your comfort zone, a place where every other time you didn't need to focus but right now, the thought of riding Ryland in a place you considered a space sacred and special to you, only you, was a whole new experience to the senses that warranted a moment to take in what was happening.

Neither of you move, only able to sit there in silence breathing heavily in sync as you adjust to his girth that quite frankly, took you very much by surprise.

"Give me a second, Ry... jesus, you're so fucking big-"

"No yeah, no I'm- you're all good."

A smile beaming with pride quietly left his lips, a little secret kept between him and Mary as he gazed up at the hull high off of how good he felt just sitting there with his cock being warmed by you.

His trembling hands hovered over your hips, hesitant to touch as if the two of you hadn't secretly wished you'd somehow end up in this exact situation for months now after waking from the coma.

The quick looks the of you exchanged along with fumbled apologies and flushed cheeks when his hand accidentally landed on yours while you handled the flight stick as you showed him how to pilot Mary... The way you showed a little too much concern for his safety everytime he went on a EVA walk or tripped over the bulkhead door...

"Oh my go- are you sure you want to do this, I mean- yeah I want to, but do YOU want-"

He can't be fucking serious right now...

You quickly lift your head from his shoulder only able to let out a breathy chuckle as a response. He truly never shuts up and does not think clearly at all when he's flustered.

Placing a hand on his cheek, thumb on one side, four fingers on the other, you lift his head and manage to land a kiss between his words, teeth clicking together as he was mid ramble and still would be if you hadn't intervened.

Pulling back you notice his face was now bright red and eyes looking every direction but yours, trying to find something to say but failing each time he opened his mouth.

"Ryland Grace, if I didn't want to do this I wouldn't be sitting on you in MY pilot seat with your dick in me right now. So please, for the love of God, just shut up and let me ride you."

His attention quickly snapped back to you at your words, accidentally shifting his hips in the process.

The next breath you took hitched in your throat as you felt his cock twitch between your walls, your hand now leaving his cheek to thread your fingers in his hair, tugging at the cowlick on the back of his head that you loved so much. His hands now gripped tight on your waist before relaxing to help guide and keep you steady as you begin to rock your hips.

Your hand left the back of his head to brace yourself on the headrest to better angle your hips in a way that allowed him get a deeper reach in you. Ryland wrapped his arms around you now, pulling you even closer to him, desperate for full contact with your body and let out a gutteral moan into the crook of your neck the moment he felt his tip brush against your cervix with the rut of his hips.

"S' pretty.... holy moly you're beautiful taking me so well, sweetheart"

Ryland sat back in the seat, studying the soft features of your face, the way your eyes lovingly gaze into his keeping steady eye contact, analyzing how your head rolled back every now and then to call out his name and putting to memory the way it rolled off your lips with a soft moan to his ears like honey.

You know that look and have seen it many times before. The look he gets when he's lost in thought, his mind running a million miles a minute running every hypothesis possible and you can't help but smile taking in the sight below you. Pupils blown, glasses askew and his mind rapidly dizzying from the way your movements were now synced together, two undernourished egos that have been starved for this moment.

im gna go crazy and say… YES to the breeding kink. But like it’s 1940 everyone’s down to have kids as soon as you can, but for Noah it’s like half because of the risk and half because he actually loves you so much he wants to have babies with you

passionate passionate sex... he's winding you up just so you'll fuck him extra hard that night LMAO. Think of the scene where he grabs allie's face. It's like that, but you do it to him too

Equally likes you on top as much as he likes positions where he's more in control. Honestly I'm thinking because he works a back breaking job he probs prefers you on top (but he 100% does it in a way that he's guiding your hips and effectively has all the control. SIGH).

Absolutely is partial to truck sex. Anywhere outdoor where you probably shouldnt be fucking-kink. Back of his truck under the stars? Yes. A desk in the sawmill office? Yes. The bathroom at a dinner party or lunch with your family? YES.

I don't think hes NASTY NASTY but i do think he's putting a thumb in your mouth or a whole hand over your mouth on such occasions as fucking where you're not supposed to be fucking

He's fingering you on the fairground ride and you're telling him to behave himself and he curls his fingers and you gasp and he's like "what? you want me to stop? you sure?" HELP!!!

Idk what the name of the position is but youre sat on his lap, he's sitting up from lying down and putting hickeys EVERYWHEREEE. I think he likes marking you and equally likes a couple of hickeys, but ideally below the collar so he doesn't get ripped into by the guys at the mill. sometimes during angry sex you give him a hickey there just to piss him off.

maybe its because you're younger that Holland dotes on you so much. the age difference isn't too big, maybe 7-8 years, but its enough for Holland to act like he's wildly more mature than you (in reality, he barely is)

won't let you do anything around the house. he cooks (and is surprisingly good at it considering his anosmia), he cleans, he reaches up for the top shelf to grab you treats when you're working late.

he also loves massaging your feet and tickling your legs for some reason. like he's not one of those boyfriends who need prompting, he literally takes your feet, plops them in his lap and tickles them for hours. its almost therapeutic for him.

hand on your thigh while he's driving

really hates it when you smoke cigarettes, constantly reminding you how bad they are, sulks when you tell him he's a hypocrite. also hates that you look GOOD with a cig between your lips which leaves him super conflicted.

hand on you at all times. when you're out around time, walking down the street, shopping at the mall, he's always got his hand on your back. Just a reminder that he's there.

he tries to order at restaurants for you, like to show he's a gentleman, but that stopped pretty soon after you started glaring and interrupting him every time he did it

"What? but its a nice thing to do- and you order the pasta every time, I know that-"

"Holland, I am a strong independent woman, I can order my own food."

"Hm. Fine, kill me for being a gentleman i guess-"

He literally pouts all night about it. only stops sulking when you suck his cock as hes driving home

nsfw from now on

holland is the type to really lean into taking care of you during sex

and I mean that in a way that sometimes hes really fucking condescending and patronising, but you're often too fucked out of your mind to care

his dirty talk is very much based on praise and filth

"You're so pretty, baby... gonna let me take care of you? gonna let daddy take care of that pretty pussy?"

and he does, to his credit. his big hands are always soft against your cunt, making sure you're stupidly wet before his cock goes near you

and often that means edging you multiple times, encouraging you that you can go just one more time for him, before he finally fucks you

he's constantly pressing kisses to your face, your temples, your nose, his moustache tickling your sensitive skin. he strokes your hair, murmurs praises right into your ear as he's stroking your pussy gently

when he finally does get round to fucking you, he's a little more rough - he's been trying to hold back for a while,and there's only so long a man can wait

but still, his words are at a complete contrast to his movements. balls slapping hard against your ass, fingers gripping your hips so hard its going to bruise, biting into the meat of your shoulder. and yet he's still talking you through his, even if his voice is a little more strained now

"that's it, baby, so good for me, taking me so fucking well, arent you? thats right, just a little longer, keep those legs open for me, atta girl..."