horny loser cave

You smile to yourself. The act coming from a place of slight amusement. It was like routine with Dex, when you close the door, he'll pretend he needs something from the other side — make up some kind of ruse in order for you to open it. 

Making your way to his side of the bed, you look inside his nightstand drawer for the charger that's almost always there, though it isn't. The neatly segregated contents void of the charger he claims he needs to collect. And so you adjust the towel still wrapped around you and sit yourself down at the edge of the bed. You glance to the near empty nightstand and to the door, and it's then you decide to toy with him for a moment.

"I'll pass it to you, one second," you tease. You pretend to search and tap your feet on the floor; remaining in place so as to give the illusion you were actually looking. "It's not in here."

"Well," he sighs, seemingly panicking for an excuse. "It is."

"Where is it?" you question, playfully provoking him. "I'll get it."

"Can I just come in?" he remarks, growing annoyance clear in his tone. "I'll be quick," he adds, voice far softer — like he was prompt to correct himself.

You give him a hum in response, but it doesn't have to be particularly loud for him to hear it. All he needs is the slightest possible confirmation in order to open the door. And like it was an instant invitation, he pushes it open and steps inside. 

He lingers in the door frame for a moment, eyes falling from the exposed expanse of your shoulders and down to your bare legs. His gaze reluctantly pulls away for a quick moment and to the kitchen behind him, the hot pans on the stove reminding him of where his prior attention was. Though he's thankful to have been ahead with forethought, and it's when he finally hears the pans reduce to a quiet, inconsistent sizzle, he steps further into the room.

Your eyes meet his, peered up gaze following his stalk like movements as he grows closer and closer. And it's then that he halts, big broad frame pausing in front of you — intense hazel eyes cast down on you below. You were fine playing with him between a closed door, fine to tease when he didn't face you; but to have him directly ahead of you, watchful gaze locked on you, you no longer felt that same sense to toy with him like you did before.

His eyes lower and focus in on your lap for a moment. And it's then his head tilts aside, like you were supposed to know what it means. 

Though you do and you give him a small nod. Again, it was all he needed. 

He bends at the knee and lowers, movement slow and controlled. He's far closer to the level of your eyes, but still, it feels like he's looking down upon you. Dex places his palms on either of your thighs, hands spread wide as he guides your legs apart — separating you. 

The placement of his thumbs lower on either side of your thighs, the pads itching along the inners of each with faint little circles he draws into your skin. He sits further onto the heels of his feet, and it's then he looks up at you, eyes heavy as they study the growing want in your face. 

His gaze soon diverts from you, though yours remains on him — watching him intently as he dips between your thighs, face turning aside so he can press his lips to the inners of one. Breath hot as his mouth ghosts your skin. The trail of his lips rises higher and higher and in it's place, a litter of kisses are left behind. 

Your head involuntarily falls back, and the rest of you then follows. You adjust and push yourself further up the bed, scooching back so as to kindly make some space for Dex between you. He moves with you, lips remaining in place at the inner of your thigh like his mouth is fused to your skin.

Getting comfortable betwixt your thighs, he rests on his elbows — face subsequently itching in closer to your cunt. He shifts his weight a moment, arms coming up from their placement at the edge of the bed to wrap around you; arms encompassing your lower hips. His fingers paw at the squish of your inner thighs, pads sort of pulsing your skin as he pries your legs further apart.

He's slow and teasing. Like he's making you wait the way you did him a few moments before. But really, he's only taunting himself. 

Nuzzling inwards, he presses a kiss to crease of your inner thigh, and then another and another, though the more that follow, the closer they get to your cunt. And by the fourth, maybe fifth kiss he sears into you, his lips reach the ones of your pussy.

Your stomach shudders as a direct response to his touch and it's when you feel your back lift from the sheets, that your hands shoot down and for his hair. Bending your legs, you lift your feet and place them at the edge of the mattress. You hook them, heels digging into that rimmed cuff as an effort to fix yourself more comfortably.

He presses another kiss to you, but this time, slightly higher than the one before. His lips reach your clit and it's there he resumes a small series of faint, and just as lengthy kisses — each one making your thighs beside his head twitch from the gentle care. His tongue extends outwards and he licks a stripe from the middle of your cunt, to where his lips remain just below the mound of your clit.

And he repeats that — doing so over and over and over until all that coats your cunt is a slight sheen of his spit. Before long, those licks turn into suckles; mouth moving deliberately in one spot, focus honed in on where you're most sensitive. Your clit.

With his grip still encompassed over the uppers of your thighs, he adjusts you within his grasp — angling and tilting your hips so as to better nuzzle his face between. You too reposition; altering the placement of your legs so they can trail down the length of his back, the behinds of your thighs pressing into his shoulders, the heels of your feet hooked at his sides.

It's as if you've inadvertently entrapped him, caged him between your thighs. But he's quick to return the gesture — quick to ensure he's just as trapped as you'd involuntarily made him. 

Dex's hold withdraws from your thighs and instead roams upwards, hands flat, thumbs leading the way as he runs up the sides of you, movement slow and intentional. He pauses when he reaches your tits, and it's then that he cups them; holding each nice and firm as he uses them as a way to anchor himself to you. To keep you exactly as is.

His tongue curls between your folds, the once flat muscle now pointed and deliberate as he pushes it through your pussy's lips — pressure slight, yet apparent as it divides you. While his touch is light, your body processes it as anything but, and as the tip of his tongue knocks up against your clit, you jerk against him. Hips winding and bucking a couple times against his face like you had no control over it.

Your nails rake across his scalp, fingers pushing through his hair just moments before you grab fistfuls on either side. While it was an effort of control on your side, it only encourages him, it simply eggs him on to have you respond in such a distinct and albeit, forceful way. 

But there's only so much direct pleasure you can take, especially when his mouth is so concentrated on your nub of nerves. And when he begins to tweak your nipples between thumb and index, you find yourself eager to scamper from the gratification he brings you. 

The height within you hasn't yet been located, but with every lick and suck and kiss he presses into your cunt, you feel yourself aimlessly creeping closer and closer towards it. Though it begins to teeter into too much and your hips shudder against his tongue as a means to escape from the bottomless pit of pleasure.

He doesn't let you far, not when his grip tightens around you.

"No," he murmurs into you, the word muffled yet firm — voice reverberating against your cunt. "Stay."

But as much as you try, you just can't. You react instinctively, body responding through lack of self-control, and it's in the following moment where you feel yourself reach that edge. 

You feel it harsh and fast. 

Your back curves from the sheets as you cry out, panting out nonsensically as he continues to tongue fuck you through it.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you choke out, voice strained. Desperate. 

If you thought it felt too much before, you were surely mistaken; just blatantly erroneous. You make attempts to rid him from you — weakened hands pushing at his head, though it's no use, not when he further secures his grasp around you. 

"Keep still."

"Fuck," you whine. It's just shy of a mewl.

But when you really, seriously, genuinely try to flee, he lets up. He releases your shaking shuddering body and slowly stands, emerging from between your thighs. 

Dex leans over you, hands either side of you for support as he lowers atop, face itching in for yours. 

"Dinner's in fifteen," he hums against your lips, the taste of you on his tongue slight.

Even with his mouth ghosting yours, he neglects to press a kiss. Instead he pushes himself away from your bare body below and stands over you. His eyes trail over you a moment before he covers you with the towel that had fallen open from those ten-some minutes of tongue fucking. 

His absence grows larger, and as he heads for the door, he pauses — turning slightly to look back at you. Features stern, sort of like a warning. 

He taps at the door, head tilting so as to firm his expression.

"This stays open."

⎯ ☆ ⎯