Feeling: Ovaries are hungry

To Clark’s credit, there’s something about seeing your sweet little self up at that hour, the little bags under your eyes; your soft, noodle-like arms trying to wave at him; and god, that little slur in your voice, where you almost sound drunk, but it’s something more sugary sweet, meek, innocent and gentle, and he loves it. He wishes he could just bottle up the sound.

He’ll go shower, clean himself up. Sometimes he takes his time with it, because a long day doesn’t always just take a minute to fade away. But he’ll always end up right next to you, under those lush covers, holding you so close to his chest. You always wait for him, so patient, snuggling into him.

The best nights, though, are the ones where you can’t seem to just turn your brain off and fall asleep. When you just need a little coaxing, and a little loving on.

You tend to get really aroused at night, some nights more than others. Sometimes he can smell it on you, because it’s so potent. He loves that smell. It’s like rain over jasmine. Maybe it’s out of routine, because you’ve come to expect him to come home late and give you some sugar, and he’s inadvertently got you trained like a little love bunny.

“Clark?” you’ll say meekly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t fall asleep, Clark.”

He’ll smirk into your back, knowing that was coming. “Oh yeah, sleepy girl? Why don’t you just try?”

“Oh, but Clark…” you’ll pout, shifting to face him. “I really can’t sleep.”

“Oh, honey,” he’ll tut, giving you a baby-blue eyed look drenched in mock-pity. “Do you need me to get you down?”

You’ll bite your lip, and that’s enough confirmation for him.

Soon enough he’ll be stretching you out on his fingers, cooing about what a sweet girl you are until your body succumbs to the stimulating sensation. It never takes much—usually your imagination’s gotten you to the precipice, and he merely has to take you over the edge.

He likes to tease you then. “That was a big one, huh. Maybe it’s time for bed..?”

“Nooo,” you’ll pout, and then register his stupid smirk. “Why are you so mean to me?”

“I know, I know. I’m so mean, sweetness. Just terrible, huh,” he’ll play along, lining up with your wet, welcoming entrance.

“Yeah—yeahhhhhhhh,” your protest’ll fade into a delicious moan, one he swallows with his lips because fuck. You’re just too cute.

“You like that, honey? Being so full of me? Bet you’re not even thinking straight, huh, sleepy girl. Just taking whatever I have to give. Good girl,” he’ll say, spurring you on, making you feel just so damn good—

Needless to say, the second orgasm usually gets you down, syrupy and dopey with a lovestruck “I love you Clark” as you drift off to the comfort of him cleaning you up and tucking in, whispering back “I love you.”

Since the moment you joined the company, you never went out of your way to interact with him. You were cordial and professional when you had to be, but this job was just an obstacle between you and your freedom of going home.

You could tell it irked him when you swiftly moved on from your greeting with him to meet some of the other staff. His jaw clenched beneath his forced smile, hand tensing as you pulled away from the brief handshake.

After that first day, he made an effort to make his presence known. 

You didn't make it easy, though.

His friendly morning greetings -- which always included your name so you knew exactly who he was talking to -- were met with half-assed 'good morning everyone's, your eyes never leaving your PC monitor. His generous coffee runs seemed to conveniently clash with the days you decided to bring in your own tumblers of caffeine (Jimmy was grateful, though, since he got your coffee as a result). And all the times he would invite the team out for dinner, you'd always be too busy or tired to make it.

To you, this was just your typical introverted behavior.

You're used to an extroverted team manager trying to pull you out of your shell, but you've always made your intentions clear -- you're only at the company to work, not make friends. Like those past managers, you hoped Clark would eventually give up and move on from you.

It turns out that he was more committed to you than you originally thought.

---

A small tap on your desk pulls you away from your work. You already know who it is based on the subtle scent of his cologne. You look up, eyes meeting a very smiley Clark who clearly believes that what he has to say is more important than the task you were doing.

"Sorry to bother you." No, you're not. "I was just wondering if you had plans this weekend. The team is going to O'Malley's to celebrate Mike's promotion." Right, one of the interns is being brought on as a full-time employee. You knew Mike, sort of. Not enough to hold any conversation above the usual small talk.

Immediately, you search your brain for an excuse.

"Ah, I can't, I..." your eyes flick away from him as you quickly think up something convincing, "I'm going out of town to see my mom."

"Oh, that's alright." Clark nods understandingly, or at least tries to convince you that it doesn't bother him.

But then his demeanor shifts a bit as his cool blue eyes scan over the office surrounding the two of you.

Is he making sure that no one is paying attention to this conversation?

He slips his hands into his pockets, his voice lowering. "You always seem to be out of town these days." His tone is bordering on accusatory. His gaze lazily returns to you, waiting for a response. The only thing keeping his innocent persona intact is the wide-frame glasses that shield his intense stare.

You try to hide your uncomfortable shock with a small shrug, "yeah, I guess so."

"Maybe next time."

"Maybe."

---

After successfully dodging his invitation, you decide that you deserve to spend a lazy weekend at home -- which is exactly how you usually spend your weekends anyway. A warm, comfy sofa, a bottle of wine, and a show playing in the background while you scroll through your phone. Perfect Saturday plans.

Unfortunately, after repeating this routine for many Saturdays in a row, you're out of your usual wine and snacks. With how exhausted work leaves you at the end of the week, you decide to leave the warmth of your apartment after a quick rest.

You walk to a nearby corner store, one you're a regular at. Roaming the familiar aisles, you pick up an item here and there, building your late-night munchie list as you go. As you're choosing your wine for the night, you feel a presence at your side.

"Thought you were out of town." You turn to see a casually dressed Clark holding a six-pack of beers by his side. He looks even bigger in his plain T-shirt and jeans, the cotton fabric stretching over the broadness of his shoulders. 

You're suddenly conscious of the oversized hoodie and sweatpants you're wearing. None of your coworkers have seen what you normally wear outside of work, and that's on purpose. Being on the younger side, you want to be taken seriously at work, so you always wear professional clothing.

"Um, my mom cancelled on me." You place a random bottle of red in your basket, purposefully covering up the small pack of Minecraft gummies you (stupidly) decided to try.

Luckily, Clark doesn't seem too interested in your basket as his gaze stays steadily on your face. It seems the gentle persona he usually wears at the office fades away when he's no longer in work mode.

"Yeah?" He doesn't seem convinced, but lets it go.

"Yup." Your hands squeeze the handles of the shopping basket. "So what brings you to this side of town..."

"Same as you, I assume," he gestures to the wine you haphazardly picked out, "merlot fan?"

"Uh, yeah," you glance at the bottle, "it's, uh, a good one."

"If you like merlot, you should've picked out this one," he smoothly walks a few steps away and pulls out a more expensive bottle. He holds it out, and you feel like you have no other choice but to take it from him. "Let me know how it tastes."

"Sure." Your attempt to take the bottle is stopped when he refuses to let go.

"Better yet, why don't we try it together?" His dimpled smile is charming, but not enough to quell your suspicions. 

"Together? Like tonight?"

"No time like the present." You pull at the bottle with a bit more force, and he finally lets go.

"Maybe another time." You carefully place the pricey wine next to your cheaper choice. Your basket is now two times heavier.

"You sure?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" A hint of defensiveness rings through your tone. 

"You know, Perry has been worried about you." He clicks his tongue. "Since you haven't been to any of the team outings, he thinks you aren't getting along with the others."

This is news to you.

You've tried hard to stay under the radar -- friendly enough at the office that you wouldn't be suspected of staying home during company get-togethers.

"Really? But there haven't been any issues..."

"I heard he might move you to a different department if something doesn't change soon."

"Why would he--"

"You're a hard worker, but part of being in a department is teamwork," he explains, speaking to you as if he's some kind of mentor. The vague condescension grates on you.

"Fine." You relent. "I'll try the wine with you."

---

Despite your refusals, he ended up paying for the high-end wine, claiming it's his treat since he was the one who picked it out in the first place. You awkwardly paid for the rest of your items, watching as the clerk took his time putting everything into a plastic bag.

Clark's apartment is closer to the store than you realized. You're surprised that you haven't run into him sooner. The elevator takes you up to the top floor, where Clark leads you to the apartment at the end of the hall. You start to wonder just how much he gets paid for his monthly interviews with Superman.

"Make yourself at home." He puts his beers in the fridge and goes to a cabinet to grab some wine glasses.

"Um, okay." You nervously sit at the edge of his sofa, placing your plastic bag full of junk food on the carpet next to you.

"Here." You're handed a glass of the merlot before he takes a seat next to you. "Try it." He watches you take a tentative sip and only takes his own once you've swallowed.

The wine coats your tongue with a savory richness that speaks for its high price. 

Okay fine, you'll admit that this one is pretty good.

"So?" Clark asks with a smug smile. Instead of responding, you take another, larger sip. "See? I told you."

"It's alright." You shrug, setting the now half-empty glass on the coffee table in front of you. "So about what Perry said--"

"What, you want to talk about work?"

"I mean, that's the reason why we're here, isn't it?"

Clark nods noncommittally before placing his glass next to yours, "Am I not cool enough to just hang out with?"

"Hang-out? No…This has nothing to do with how cool you are, Kent."

"Do you think I haven't noticed how you've tried to avoid me?" Clark smiles as his deep blue eyes bore into yours. That friendly expression that he often wears at the office is so clearly a farce in this setting. 

"I haven't been avoiding you." You mumble as you start to redirect your gaze so you don't feel so pressured under his stare. He sighs and places his hand gently underneath your chin to make you look up at him. The warmth from his fingers spreads against your jaw and you're starting to think that the wine is heading straight for your brain.

"See?" His tone is that of an owner softly disciplining their favorite pet, "You can't even look at me for more than a few minutes."

You pull your face away from his hand.

 "Eye contact just makes me uncomfortable..." You pick up your glass again, if only to give your hands -- and your eyes -- something to do. The distance doesn't seem to bother him, but you can see a crack within his blase attitude as he hesitates to settle back to his original spot on the couch.

"You'll have to get over that if you want to be head reporter at the Planet."

Great, you've summoned the manager within him. 

You take a sip while Clark starts rattling off reporter tips. Somewhere between his advice on interviews and making sources feel comfortable, it hits you that he still doesn't know. After all this time -- after every conversation, every attempt he's made to get to know you -- he still thinks you want to be a reporter. One of those prying nerds who salivates at the chance to hear Superman's voice with their own ears. The kind of reporter always chasing the next juicy piece of gossip to slap on the front page.

You don't though. You want to be an editor. 

Less interviewing. Less charm. Less him. 

You've always hoped that one day you'd be holed up in an office of your own with the only interaction between you and Clark being a few emails now and then. 

The wine sends a pleasant tingle through your body, warmth spreading from your core, gliding over your limbs, and finally sparking at your fingertips. His voice drifts into the background, and at some point you realize you've stopped sitting so stiffly, your body relaxing into the couch beside him. 

The more you drink, the less attention you give to the conversation. You've found that you enjoy looking at his face more than listening to his attempts to assert his superiority for being a front-page journalist.

You feel the warmth of his thigh press against yours. With every refill, he's gotten closer to your side, but it wasn't noticeable until now. 

After finishing the last drop in your glass, you look over at him and find that he's already looking at you. 

His blue eyes are glazed as he studies your face. 

When did he stop talking?

"What?" Your voice is weaker than you want it to be, almost like you didn't mean to say it out loud.

"Your face looks hot," he says it so casually you almost miss it -- but when it registers, your heart skips a beat.

"Um…hot?"

"Do you get the alcohol flush?" His lips curve into a lazy smile.

Oh. Hot -- as in temperature.

You glance back down at your nearly empty glass, oddly disappointed by the clarification. 

"Yeah, sometimes."

He lets out an amused huff of laughter. "You thought I was talking about how pretty you are?" The bluntness of it lands like a punch to the gut.

How pretty you are… he thinks you're pretty?

"What? No," you reply quickly, your face suddenly warmer than the wine could ever make it. 

"You sure?" His fingers skim your jaw before resting there, warm against your skin. The touch is light enough that you could pull away, but somehow that makes it harder to. When you don't move, his thumb traces the faintest arc beneath your cheek. "I thought you'd be a little more observant with how quickly Perry brought you onto the team…" His voice is soft, but the words sting.

You roll your eyes at the condescending remark. 

Whatever little flutter his accidental compliment caused is promptly buried beneath irritation.

It's nothing new. Being a young woman in an office means hearing offhand remarks like that often enough. 

Though this is the first time you've had a man say it directly to your face.

His grip tightens. "Why do you always do that?"

"Do what?"

"You never stand up for yourself. You just let people spew bullshit and go on with your day."

So he's noticed how the other guys talk about you in the break room, their voices carrying whenever you happen to walk by. He's known about it this whole time and done nothing.

And now he's lecturing you about standing up for yourself?

What a manager…

You look away, suddenly tired of the conversation. 

"I don't know. What's it going to change anyway?"

"Look at me." The softness in his voice catches you off guard. "You never... look at me."

You meet those intense blue eyes, now fully revealed without the glasses. He must have taken them off at some point, and you hadn't even noticed.

Why hadn't you noticed?

He looks familiar, but something about him feels completely different -- the darkness in his eyes, the bite behind his words. None of it feels like the man you're thinking of. 

"Why should I?" You challenge him, pulling away from his touch as your hazy mind finally catches up to the position you're in. "It's just a job. You're just a coworker -- You're my supervisor. Can't you and everyone else just let me live peacefully?"

"It seems like more than just a job, sweetheart." His eyes drag slowly over your figure, taking in the sweats you'd thrown on for your late-night shopping trip.The scrutiny makes you feel exposed, even though you're fully covered. He pinches the extra fabric of your hoodie between his fingers. "I mean, look at you. You don't exactly look like someone with a busy social life."

"And you do, Kent?" you retort.

"That's it. Fight back." He grins, his pretty dimples at odds with the cruel twist of his smile. 

The sudden pause pulls you out of the stifling tension between you. Your eyes land on the empty wine bottle sitting on the coffee table, and you realize there's nothing keeping you here anymore.

You straighten in your seat, "I think I should get going."

Clark doesn't move.

"Got someone waiting for you at home?" he asks as though he already knows the answer. 

"It's late."

"It is."

"I think we've drunk too much tonight."

"I'm not drunk."

He's right. He looks perfectly sober, if a little worked up from the argument. 

Meanwhile, the wine has left your head hazy, making it harder to think clearly.

You try to push yourself up, but your body feels strangely heavy. Something has settled deep into your limbs, turning even the simple act of standing into an effort.

"I heard that you're a lightweight, but this is a bit much, isn't it?"

"I'm fine." 

"You can barely stand."

You glare at him, but the effort of pushing yourself upright only makes your head swim harder. Your knees wobble, and you instinctively reach for the back of the couch. Clark catches your arm before you can stumble, pulling you against his body as his hands settle around your waist to steady you.

"See?"

Something is wrong. 

"What…?" Your body isn't listening to you. Your limbs feel disconnected, like they belong to someone else. The room seems strangely distant, and for a moment you feel like you're watching yourself from somewhere outside your own body. "Kent." 

"It's Clark." A hand spreads over the back of your thigh, gently massaging your body through your clothes as he pulls you closer. Even through your clothes, you can feel the warmth of his body. Desire pulses through you in uneven waves, each one fading only long enough to warn you to pull away.

The scent of his cologne settles around you, masculine and distracting. You feel weak against him.

"What did you do?" You ask softly.

Your hand lands on his chest, but you can't muster enough energy to push him away. The muscles beneath his shirt tighten under your touch, and he leans closer, as if inviting you to feel more of him. 

"Looks like it's finally kicking in…"

—

Kissing him isn't supposed to feel good. 

It isn't supposed to make you melt against his body as he presses you down against the couch. It isn't supposed to make you tilt your head and chase his lips when he pulls away for air. And you definitely aren't supposed to pull him closer, guiding his hands underneath your hoodie as if you want him there.

But the heat coursing through you smothers every logical thought before it can take hold.

His large hands cup over your tits, squeezing them greedily as he captures your lips once more. You try desperately to hold back your moans, but your breath stutters when his thumbs flick over your sensitive nipples. 

You can feel his erection throbbing through his jeans. It presses against your stomach as he deepens the kiss. 

Clark pulls away, staring down at your flushed cheeks and glistening eyes with a satisfied look on his face. With every heated kiss, eager grope, and dulled moan, the fire within has burned hotter. Now, your body is begging for a release. 

"I thought you hated me." He brushes a few strands of hair away from your face. This would almost be romantic if Clark wasn't such a delusional freak. 

"I do." Your voice comes out weak and breathy.

"You keep saying that," he says quietly, "but you're still kissing back." 

"Because I'm hot, Clark."

"I know you are," he says smugly, "let me help you cool down." His hands slide to the hem of your hoodie, pushing it up just enough to expose your torso before one slips beneath the waistband of your sweatpants. "Didn't realize you get so wet for someone you hate." He teases, feeling the mess you've made of yourself. 

"Fuck you." You breathe out as his fingers slide through your folds. 

The words seem to piss him off because he isn't gentle when he pushes two fingers inside of you. Luckily, whatever pill he slipped into your drink already has you dripping down your thighs.

The stretch is immediate and has you gripping onto his arm to slow him down, but he ignores your pleading touch and starts pumping his fingers into your hole. The squelching sound has you burying your face against his shoulder, embarrassed of your body.

"Look at how easily you fall apart from me." He taunts. Your mouth gapes open as he reaches the soft spot within you, prodding at it incessantly until your thighs squeeze around his wrist. 

An unfamiliar ache builds between your legs, something intense. 

"Wait, s-something…" The angle of his fingers thrusting into you becomes too much. 

"Are you gonna cum around my fingers, baby?" His blue eyes drink you in and his hand speeds up, wanting to push your limits.

A broken moan is forced out of your throat as your climax hits. Ecstasy ripples over your body and your eyes roll back from the intensity. You feel your stomach tighten before you realize what's happening and you can feel yourself drench your panties.

Pretty stars dot your vision as you come back to yourself. 

Or are those tears?

"You made a mess of your sweatpants, honey." You feel him drag them down, but you don't have the energy to lift your hips to help him. He lets you recover a bit, using the pause to take off his shirt and unbutton his jeans.

You're breathing hard and you wish you could just go to sleep, but an itching arousal within you persists. 

He pulls himself out of his boxers, pumping himself lazily as his eyes wander over your half-covered body.

"You're so pretty, you know?" A hand pushes your hoodie up to reveal your chest, "Everything about you is pretty. Your handwriting, your voice, your eyes, your pussy..."

He leans over you, kissing down your chest before sucking a nipple into his mouth. Your body arches against his mouth, your fingers now finding their way into his curls.

He grasps at your other tit before moving down to languidly caress over your stomach and hips. This time he is taking it slow, working you up with his mouth and hands like a lover would do. 

But slow is the last thing you need right now. 

You pull at his hair, impatient. 

"What are you waiting for?" You groan, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull his lower body onto yours. 

A sharp pinch at your nipple makes you gasp. Did he just bite you?

"Be patient." He scolds, though he doesn't seem to mind the feeling of your wet cunt against the underside of his cock. He pushes himself between your folds, using your slick to easily move against you. His hips roll slowly as he takes your other nipple into his mouth, his tongue flicking over the bud teasingly. 

"Please, I-I need something."

"What do you need, baby?" he asks softly, as though he doesn''t already know the answer. His mouth has moved up to your throat, painting the delicate skin with suckled marks. 

You shake your head, refusing to verbalize it. 

"I can't help if you don't tell me what's wrong." You can feel his lips smile against your heated skin. 

"Clark -- Fuck." The blunt head of his cock teases at your entrance, and your desperate cunt flutters for more. "Please, just put it in." 

"Like this?"  He finally gives in, pushing into you gently so your body can open up for him. Blood rushes to your head as you feel him drag against your tender walls, forcing you to stretch out around him. 

"Oh." The size is nothing like you've experienced before. It fills you up so fully that you're unable to escape the overwhelming sensation of his cock finally bottoming out. 

"Feel good?" Clark keeps himself pressed inside of you, letting you struggle with the intensity of being filled so completely. 

"So big."

"I know, sweetheart. I can see myself right here…" He groans, pressing a hand over your lower stomach, "Too much for you, hm?" Clark pulls out, slowly, watching as each inch of him leaves your body. He doesn't waste time pushing back into you until your thighs start shaking around him. 

"Move -- Please, just move." 

Clark pulls out for a second to push your knees against your chest, positioning you into a mating press. When he reenters your body, his cock hits your sweet spot even easier with the new angle.

His hips snap against yours, forcing you to take all of him with every thrust. His pace speeds up as your moans start to flow out of you, the couch squeaking with every harsh move. 

"It's like you were made for me." Clark pants, pushing through your slickened walls. "Weren't you?" 

"I-I…" 

Your answer doesn't quite satisfy him.

"Weren't you?" He tries again, burying himself inside of you until the head of his cock nudges the deepest parts of you. It's so intense that you wish you could tap out, but all you can do is take it. You start losing yourself in a heady mix of intoxicating sensations.

"Yes." You rasp out, head tilted back as you reel against the pressure. This time, you seem to say the right thing. Clark starts fucking into you again, lower body smacking against yours as he feeds you his cock. 

Your cunt starts sucking him back in when he tries to pull out, frantically clinging onto anything as your body starts to lose itself to pleasure.

His cock stays so deep within you that he's basically grinding against your clit with each thrust. You can't help the whimper that escapes you when he prods against your g-spot, almost feeling him in your stomach.

"Clark!" You can feel the pulsing of his cock within you -- all because you said his name. That's all it takes to have you rushing towards another climax.

"Already?" He can feel you tremble around him as he pushes into you. 

"I c-can't–" The walls of your cunt start to tighten around him, throbbing insistently as he continues his vigorous thrusts.

You felt it coming, but you weren't expecting how overwhelming it would be. Heat vibrates through your body as your vision whitens, disorienting all your senses at once. You could barely feel the way your whole body tenses, muscles straining in exhaustion.

His hips stutter right against you and warmth shoots into you several times, completely painting your insides. He continues to move inside of you with small thrusts.  You're so full that it starts to drip out -- down the sides of his cock and onto the couch. 

"Fuck," You groan, "I'm not on the pill."

"Good." He nuzzles his face against your sweaty neck. The weight of his body rests on top of yours. You listen to his breaths start to slow. He doesn't seem to care about how sticky you are, or the fact that he still hasn't pulled out. 

You look over at your bag of forgotten snacks. 

You were supposed to be eating those.

Instead, you're covered in sweat, your pants somewhere on the floor, and Clark is still holding you like this is exactly where you're supposed to be.

simon lets you unleash it all as he circles in the streets, adding in his two cents here and there when you take a second to breathe.

“so a fuckin’ knob then, huh? too bad you got all pretty for’a bloke like that… y’sure he wasn’t the 74-year-old?”

that last one pulls a laugh from you that makes simon think about that pub on the other side of town.

half an hour later, there you are, in the pub. still in your gown and veil. simon’s arm wrapped tight around your side as the two of you squish against the wood of the bar.

surrounding you is a clamoring of happy drunks, who toast loudly to the assumed “marriage” between simon and yourself. for some reason, you don’t correct them. nor does simon, who instead holds you tight and shoves his tongue into your mouth after the tenth chant of kiss! from the rest of the pub.

you kiss him back, groaning at the touch that reaches to grip your chin. when you pull away, simon holds his breath at the tipsy grin on your face, a warm feeling running through his cock when you turn back to your glass and chug until the top of your lip is covered in foam from the second beer he bought you.

“alright?”

you bob a nod at simon’s question as he thumbs away the mess at your lip with dark eyes.

fourteen minutes later…

the pub bathroom is already small enough. feels even smaller with simon hanging over your shoulder and yanking you back by the hips. the fastening of your dress has been ripped well past your ass, buttons scattered under the sink you're holding onto for dear life. squeezing the sides of the porcelain every time simon pumps into you.

“f-fuck…” you whine, and simon digs himself deeper. “ah!-there-there…”

his cock is hitting deep. heavy. wet and stretching you out in a way the man you’d abandoned earlier. (what was his name again?) he even uses the veil still tucked in your hair to keep the view of your face nice and clear for him to stare at you in the mirror. the sight of you, groaning with running mascara, makes it easy for simon to imagine another world where you're his new, pretty wife.

mrs. riley. his missus.

“y’know… i’ll eat supper whenever y’want. kiss ya right. don’t quite like ignoring pretty things either,” he grunts in your ear, balls smacking loudly in between the slurred sentences. the wet peck he gives you under the side of your ear precedes a tragic pause of his thrusts. while you take the break to catch simon’s gaze in the glass before you, he pants with deep huffs.

god, you look a right mess. make up ruined. lips swollen. veil scrunched and the top of your dress tugged low enough for your nipples to show. simon looks over it all at the same time before peeling his front from your back so he can watching something else.

there’s a ring of cream at the base of his cock that’s still stuck halfway inside your pussy. your lips are spread wide, properly stuffed, and pulsate with a gentle rhythm.

“…you memorize your vows?”

you blink at the low question, trying not to squirm anymore than you already are. “uh. y-yeah? i think. why?–"

“go on, then,” simon directs, one of his arms wrapping around your front. with a tight tug, he stuffs himself the rest of the way, clenching his teeth at the way your voice cracks in the middle of a loud moan. scrunching his nose, he sniffs. then resumes fucking you.

slower.

harder.

like a proper husband should.

it takes you a while to sputter the first few words. simon is patient enough because the pay off is better than he imagined.

the recited promises are broken, but there. real-sounding enough just over the wet plaps that simon can flutter his eyes shut and pretend he’s the one you wrote them about. that you’ll always give yourself to him, to laugh everyday with him, to love him through it all.

the man proves himself easily, that much is obvious by how you end up squirting on his cock and down his dress; the way you sob his name and accidentally blubber out delirious i love you’s; how the three words you chant out like a prayer cause him to spill deep inside you as he makes sounds he’s never made for anyone else.

simon loves you back. feels like it, at least, when he comes with shaking legs and can’t think of anything worse than a future without you. he ends up sure of the fact when the first thing you utter, in a tired, hoarse voice, after finally finding your breath is–

“i meant to ask earlier… do you have a smoke?”

simon grins a bit, almost laughing. red stains on his teeth from how hard you made him bite his lip.

You give him a tight smile when you sit on his couch. It’s not like you. He doesn’t say anything until you take a few puffs and your tense shoulders start to sag.

“What happened?”

“Boss was just being a dick all day.” You turn to give a real smile, eyes crinkling, “Good thing my drug dealers got a soft spot for me though, huh?”

“Who told you that?” He smirks, raising his eyebrows.

Your mouth drops in surprise, smacking his shoulder playfully.

“That’s mean.”

He laughs before continuing softly. “You’re my favorite client, you know that.”

That makes you smile, head rolling onto the back of the couch and he decides he likes making you do that. You close your eyes and when your chest starts to slowly raise with soft breathes, he decides to let you sleep.

The next time he sees you, you’re leaving the club, and when you recognize his car you jog over with an excited smile on your lips. You’ve got this little black dress on that makes it awfully hard to focus on anything else besides the curve of your hips.

“Simon! What are you doing here?”

“Bird? The hell you doing out here?”

“I went out with my friend.” You point to a man standing close by.

His jaw tenses, “Get in.”

“Huh?”

“Get in the car, bird. I’m not arguing.” He’s already climbing out of the driver's seat to open the passenger door for you.

“I’m not gonna just leave him, Simon!” You say, but you let him guide you into the car anyway.

“He’s a big boy. He’ll survive.”

When he gets to your house you turn to him with a mischievous smile, “Were you jealous?”

“Of who?”

“Don’t play dumb!”

“Just making sure you’re safe s’all.” He shrugs casually.

You lean across the center console, “It’s okay. I’m not interested in him.”

“Good.”

That makes you smile bigger, fingers playing with the collar of his shirt, “You gonna come in and smoke with me?”

“Course I am.”

You drag him inside giggling, stumbling a little over your high heels. You waste no time changing, pulling the dress over your head as you walk down the hallway, giving him a glimpse of your lacy covered ass before you disappear into your room.

You come back out in an oversized shirt and shorts. “Proper smoking fit now.”

“Could’ve stayed in the dress for me.”

You frown, “Was getting uncomfy.”

“Like you like this more anyways.”

That makes you smile shyly, sitting next to him on your couch. He’s already lit a joint, it’s pink, and the sight of his big hands around it makes you giggle.

“Couldn’t even wait for me to start?”

“C’mere.” He grunts, pulling you on to his lap.

It’s the first time you’ve been there since you begged to ride him. The memory makes him chub in his jeans.

He takes a big inhale before gripping your chin, dragging you to his lips, and exhales the smoke into your mouth. You squirm in his lap in surprise, fingers fisting his shirt with wide eyes, but you inhale as much as you can manage. You cough when he leans back casually, licking your lips like you were trying to chase the taste of him.

“Let me try.” You murmur.

He places the joint in your lips. You inhale before leaning forward nervously and blow the smoke into his mouth. It’s not as big as his hit and he swallows it easier than you had. Theres a long pause, the both of you staring at each other, your fingers smoothing the edges of his shirt you had bunched, before he puts the joint back in his mouth.

The two of you eventually take turns shotgunning the smoke into each other’s mouth. The pause between each inhale gets longer and longer, agonizingly so. Even more so when you keep your lips close, not kissing, just there. Breathes fanning over each other’s faces, your body becoming heavier and heavier on his thighs with each puff, the weed pulsing in your veins making you more lax than before.

The space between the two of you has gone a little hazy and you’re not entirely sure if it’s because of the joint or the smoke filling the room, but all the two of you can focus on is the other. You smell like tequila, and there’s a part of him who knows he shouldn’t be doing this when you’re drunk, but you’re so fucking pretty in his lap, eyes lidded and edges stained red, lips parted to take shaky breaths.

“‘s all gone.” He says, holding the tip.

“Yeah.” You whisper, but your eyes stay focused on his lips.

The corner of his mouth twitches, “That’s not a good idea. You’re drunk.”

“But you’re high now too, aren’t you? Evens it out.”

He chuckles, “I need more than just one j to be high, pretty.”

You frown.

“You were on a date anyway. Don’t think you want this.”

Your frown deepens, “Wasn’t a date. He’s just a friend.”

He hums, ignoring the irritation pulsing at his temples, fingers smoothing along your hips instead.

“Just a kiss?” You murmur, “Hold me over til I’m sober.”

He tuts his tongue, but he pulls you down anyway because he’s a man after all, he can only resist so much when you ask so sweetly. You smile against his lips, eyes fluttering shut and tugging him closer to you.

It’s slow, the both of your lips are a little numb from smoking, and the taste of the strawberry paper he buys for you has left a fruity taste in your mouths. His fingers tingle where they’re at your hips and there’s a pressure in his head from smoking. He can’t stop himself from deepening the kiss when you taste like that and sound so sweet against him, maybe it’s the weed in system that makes it harder to resist.

You let him lick into your mouth then, and your hips start to grind along his hardened length in his jeans when his tongue meets yours. You gasp against his lips every so often like you can’t seem to fill your lungs with enough air before diving back in impatiently because it’s such an inconvenience that you have to part in order to breathe.

He’s strong, god he’s strong because he manages to pull away, your lips stained a darker color, and you blink at him sadly when he stops your hips. All he can think about is how wet you probably are, just ruining your lacy panties, but he slides you off him anyway.

“Should drink some water and go to bed.” He says.

Your brows crease, pout on your lips, but you nod anyway.

You text him in the middle of the night two weeks later.

‘You up?’

‘For you.’

‘I think I’m greening out andd I’m rlly scared can you pls come pick me up?’

‘Where are you?’

‘I don’t knowww.’

‘Send me your location.’

You’re at some random party, and you give him a wobbly smile when you see him. That same friend at your side.

“Hi.”

“Hi, bird. Let’s go.”

You nod, your hands shaking when you lace your fingers with his and he drags you through the crowd. He takes you to his, helps you change into some of his clothes, and presses a glass of water to your lips. You chug it like you’re parched, barely saving any room to breathe.

“You’re gonna stress me out.”

You laugh quietly, “Sorry.”

“Gotta be careful smoking too much when you’re not somewhere you’re familiar with.” He sits you down on his bed.

“I know. It just kinda happened.”

“How you feeling?”

“Better with you.”

That makes his teeth show.

“You want me to put music on?”

You shake your head, “Just want to lay with you.”

He invites you over for a smoke session a few days later. You roll the joint between your thumbs nervously like theres something heavy on your mind.

“If you don’t wanna smoke we don’t have to. Just thought since it’s kinda our thing now.”

You smile big, “Our thing?”

“Mmhh.” He hums with a nod.

“That’s not what I was thinking about.” You murmur quietly.

“What’s it then?”

“You sleep with a lot of your clients?”

He chokes on the smoke he’s inhaled, coughing so much that tears well in his eyes.

“What?”

“Um, well. Have you fucked any of your other clients?” You bite at your bottom lip.

“Jesus, bird. No.” He coughs.

“Are you lying?” You squint.

“Never lie to you.”

“Okay.”

You smoke in silence after that. Your feet rest on his lap the entire time as you lean against the armrest. He runs his fingers along your ankles and up your calves to distract himself from the way your lips wrap around the joint. It’s innocent at first, he was being innocent at least, but then you nudge your toes on the bulge in his sweats and he raises his brows at you.

You shrug, a devilish smirk on your lips.

“Accident.”

But then your legs fall open a little, your pretty thighs parting slightly for him. It’s an invitation, an awfully tempting one and it all happens so fast, he almost doesn’t even realize he’s nosing along the wet patch of your underwear and placing your legs on his shoulders until you squeak in surprise. Foreplays not needed this time around, not when your drunken makeout session has weighed heavy at the recesses of your minds ever since.

Your panties come off easy enough and he beelines straight to the source. He kisses along your thighs once, twice, a third time and your breath gets faster with each approaching stamp of his lips. Except, his thumb finds your clit first, just soft strokes while his breath fans over your embarrassingly wet cunt.

When he does lick one flat swipe along your clit your back arches around the couch armrest. And then he dips lower and fucking groans into your pussy when he gets a real taste of you, eyes closed like he’s got sugar melting between his teeth and not you filling his senses. He indulges himself, just a little, slipping his tongue into your pussy, so he can lick the taste from the tap.

When he returns to your clit, your toes curl against his back, and your head slumps into the couch. You’ve got one hand stifling your moans and he’d make you take it off and sing for him, but he’s more concerned with laving at your swollen clit than anything else. He keeps his tongue gentle, each lick broad, to make sure he’s really smothering every inch of you.

You cry out when he takes the bead between his lips and sucks softly. Your mouth forms an o and the look you give him is so cute that he can’t help but smile into your pussy. Furrowed brows and big beady eyes, lashes wet at the edges like the stimulation was becoming too much.

You don’t try to pull away though, instead, you arch deeper into him, hand curling around the back of his head and pushing him closer to your clit. His big hands find your hips when you start to grind on his face messily, and it takes everything in him not to buck his own into his couch because he’s sure you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever fucked.

His nose bumps along your clit with each slow drag of your hips, and his face is drenched in juices down to his chin. He hopes the smell fucking sticks, hopes he can taste you on his tongue later tonight when you’re not there and he’s missing you.

You finish with his name on your lips and your thighs squeeze around his head tight. He licks it all up, lapping eagerly at your walls while your legs slowly relax, falling open onto his shoulders, and twitching with each followed lick in overstimulation.

When he comes up, your chest is heaving, like you were the one down there suffocated by your thighs and pussy. There’s this dopey smile on your lips and he can’t help but smile back, leaning down to kiss you with your arousal all over his face.

You don’t even scrunch your nose, you lick right into his mouth hungrily like he hadn’t just been feasting between your thighs.

“You’re fucking perfect.” He grunts between sloppy kisses, hands fumbling with his sweats.

He feels you smile, “You’re the one who just ate me out.”

You make a surprised noise when the fat of his head slips into your entrance unexpectedly, hands clambering to his shoulders to find purchase on anything. He slides right in, your pussy nice and lax from your orgasm or maybe its from the joint the two of your shared. He rests his forehead against yours when he bottoms out, eyes trained on your face. Your nails dig into his shoulders, eyes squeezed shut, and mouth popped open in pleasure.

“Fuckkk,” He drawls, “She feels so good.”

You whine, nodding against his forehead.

He starts with shallow thrusts, fucking into you just deep enough for you to get used to the stretch. When you start to impatiently arch into him for more, he hooks one of your legs over his shoulder and pushes forward.

The new angle makes you moan loudly and the pace Simon sets is brutal. He’s got your knee to your shoulder and theres this ugly feeling swirling in his chest from your antics all fucking month.

“Been fucking stressing me out all month, you know that?” He grits his teeth.

You shake your head, but he wasn’t really looking for a response.

“Can’t just fucking stay home, can you? Always gotta get yourself into some trouble, don’t you?” His fingers dig into the flesh of your thigh.

You whimper at his tone, “It’s not on purpose.”

“Asking if I sleep with other girls, like you aren’t smoking with other men.”

His hips slam into you hard at the end of his sentence, like he’s emphasizing his words.

“They fuck you like this? Huh?”

You shake your head again, “No! No, just you Simon.”

He’s not even sure where that came from when you guys have only fucked once, you’re not his, but you’re wrapped around him, pressing kisses against his neck because you think he’s mad and how can he not be jealous?

“You all mine?” He whispers, hips stuttering with his strength to not finish.

“Yes, yes, god, yes.”

A stream of white light cast over you as you settled into bed, the wind brushing gently through the window.

You and Ryland had spent the day conversing with the Eridian children and teaching them about various Earth science topics.

The little ones were very intelligent creatures, but they were also very talkative and have a lot of energy. (Which explains where Rocky got it from.)

You had been here on Erid for about two or three months, enjoying your time here before you had to go back home, but you had to admit it got a little tiring explaining things to energetic little rock children.

That's why you enjoyed your downtime at night. Once the sun had set and the moon had risen, it was just you and Ryland.

The two of you had been put on this mission together many years ago in attempt to save Earth and the rest of the planets affected by astrophage.

And now it was over.

You had all the time in the universe to do as you pleased.

Tonight was just like any night.

You had already gotten into bed, cozy in Rylands T-shirt that you had stolen. "I had potential," it said. It was one of your favorite shirts of his because the material was soft and held his smell.

He liked seeing you in it, the way it just barely passed your mid thigh. But not in an inherently sexual way. He loved being able to see your plush thighs, and being able to rest his head on your lap and feel the warmth of your skin.

He slid into bed beside you, instantly gravitating towards your body. He sighed, turning so he could lay himself against you and nuzzle his head into the crook of your neck.

"Mm.." he yawned, taking a deep breath to inhale your smell. "I'm so tired.."

You smiled softly, loving the sound of his sleepy voice. "I know, baby, me too." You said as you slid your hand into his hair, gently carding through it.

He nodded, pressing a soft kiss to below your jaw. "I missed you.." He whispered.

You couldn't help but giggle. "We were together all day, silly."

A sigh left his lips again and he shook his head. "Yeah, but we weren't... together," He lifted his head up. "We.. weren't alone together, y'know?"

You hummed. "I guess you're right."

"That's why I love getting into bed so much.." He admitted.

"Yeah?"

He nodded, pressing his hand to your cheek and brushing a stray hair behind your ear. "Mhm. I love being alone with you. I get you all to myself.."

You smiled at him, holding his gaze as your hand slid to the back of his neck.

"My pretty girl.." He said, gently brushing his thumb against your cheek.

"My sweet boy," you murmured before pulling him into you, kissing him gently.

He kissed back in only a few seconds, his lips meeting yours with equal passion.

After a long moment, he pulled back, looking into your eyes with a sleepy expression.

"Sweetheart?"

"Mhm?"

"I love you so much."

You smiled, blush creeping onto your face. He said it a lot, but it always brought warmth to your heart.

"I love you too."

He hummed in content. He leaned back in, attacking your face with kisses and affection.

"Ry quit!" You giggled, despite the fact you absolutely did not want him to stop.

"Never." He grinned.

His kisses began to trail down your face, until they got to your neck. There he began to bite.. to suck gently on the sensitive skin there. You exhaled softly as he gently nipped, causing it to bruise almost instantly.

He did that for a couple minutes, leaving multiple purple bruises across your neck. He finally pulled back, admiring what he had done to you.

"Gorgeous."

"You think so?" You asked, tilting your head.

"Mhm" He nodded.

Silence waved over the two of you, you hand gently brushing through his blonde hair.

He pulled back, moving so he was sat by your legs. His hand brushed against your thigh, moving under the hem of the fabric on your body.

"Honey?" He asked.

"Yes, my love?"

"..Can I..?" He gestured to your legs.

You tilted your head. You knew what he wanted, he was a simple man.

"Aren't you tired?" You asked, teasing him.

"Baby pleaseeee?" He asked, giving you a small pout. "I just want to show you how much I love you."

You let out a small laugh and rolled your eyes.

"Okay, fine silly."

He grinned and immediately moved. He took your legs gently, spreading them apart before sitting up once more.

"Come over here, sweetheart" He said before moving to sit on the floor. You followed, sitting on the edge of the mattress.

It wasn't very long before his mouth was on you. He was kissing down you leg, starting at your knee until he got to your inner thigh.

He looked up at you once before finally suctioning his lips around your clit. You gasped softly, head tilting back as he then slid his tongue through your folds, drinking up the arousal that was there.

He circled around your entrance, teasing you before he pushed his tongue in.

"Oh fuck-" You whined softly, grabbing hold of his head.

You noticed that he was whimpering as well. You found that incredibly hot, of course.

He always got pussy drunk.

He was palming himself through his boxers below you as he shoved his tounge deeper inside you.

You began softly grinding into his face, only for him to grip your thigh tighter with his free hand.

"Mm- stay still baby-" He said, the sound muffled.

As you finally settled, he moved his hand, sliding it between the two of you. He took his middle finger and his ring finger and shoved them inside you.

You moaned, eyes rolling back as he slid his mouth back up. He circled your clit over and over, making sure he got a reaction out of you everytime.

You felt pleasure growing inside you, knees begining to close around his head. That only turned him on more.

He was whining into your pussy, grinding relentlessly into his hand that was palming him still.

"R-Ry-" You whined. Before you could say anything, he picked up his pace and made you cum only seconds after. You moaned out, legs clamping around his ears.

That pushed him over the edge and he came as well, right in his boxers.

You panted softly, looking down at him as you let your legs rest.

"Oh my god.." you breathed out. He was wrecked beneath you, breathing heavily against your thigh.

You sat there in silence for a few moments as you calmed down.

That was until he turned his head. He began to clean you up, but with his tongue. He was lapping up ever last drop of your cum, making sure nothing went to waste.

Once he was finally done, he got up. He was gone only a few seconds. He was in new boxers when he came back and he had a washcloth and a pair of your underwear in his hand.

He began to clean you up with the damp rag, making sure to prevent any infections of any sort and then he slid the clean under on you.

He finally got into the bed with you, you now under the covers with your head against the pillow.

He nuzzled his head into your neck again, breathing you in. "I love you, sweetheart." He mumbled, kissing again before slowly drifting off to sleep.

He stared at you without responding, and there was a long pause of silence before your smile dropped into something smaller.

“Wait? Do you not sell?” You covered your mouth, “Oh my gosh that’s so embarrassing, they told me they bought from you before!”

“Relax, bird. I do.”

“Oh! Great, that’s great. Um, how much for an eighth?”

“On the house.” He smirked, digging through the back of his car.

“What?”

“First time buyer, gotta guarantee you like it.”

You caught the bag he tossed you with a shy smile on your face, humming. “Okay, thank you!”

Ghost watched you jog to your friends after that, holding the bag out to them with a proud smirk.

The next time you bought from him, you were all by yourself, jean shorts showing off your pretty legs.

“Hi.”

He chuckled, “You’re back.”

You leaned into the window, low-cut shirt clinging to the swell of your breasts.

“I am.” You smiled, “How much for an eighth this time, for real?’

“Already have some pre-rolls, you can just have ‘em.”

“Huh? No, I didn’t pay you last time!”

“No one ever wants the pre-rolls anyway,” He shrugs, he lies. “They’re cherry flavored.”

That sparks your interest, “Really? I didn’t know they did that.”

You hand him your phone then, “Put your number in, yeah? So, I don’t have to hope to randomly run into you to buy more.”

When he hands the phone back you laugh after reading the contact name, “Ghost? That’s your drug dealer name? Really?”

“Do you want free weed or not?”

You laugh louder this time, “Yes! Yes! I was just teasing. Thank you!”

You text him two weeks later, a stupid meme at that with beady eyes, ‘more, please sir?’

He hates the way it makes the corners of his lips twitch.

He’s mobile that day, and you send him your address with one too many exclamation marks tagged on the end. You run out in leggings and slippers, a giddy smile on your lips.

“Hi.”

He laughs, “Hi, bird.”

“I liked the pre-rolls!” You say excitedly, leaning into the window, “Never had those before.”

“Yeah? What you need today?”

“You have any more?”

He frowns a little, “Get in with me, I’ll roll you some.”

You open his passenger side door too willingly, “Oh good. I don’t know how to roll,” You confess, “My friends usually do it for me.”

His mouth dips into a smirk, “Yeah? ‘Ts not that hard, watch.”

You lean closer, eyes wide like he’s actually teaching you valuable information and not how to roll a joint.

“Gotta make sure to take out all the seeds and stems before you grind it.” You watch him grind it enraptured. “Gotta roll up the tip first, then, wrap the paper tight.”

You nod eagerly.

“Fill it with your flower, roll it upwards with your thumb to make your shape. Then,” He licks across the paper, “Seal it with the glued edge, and twist the tip.”

He holds it out to you, “There you go.”

You take it between your fingers with a soft smile, “Thank you.”

You text him three days later, a picture of a lopsided joint that he definitely didn’t sell you.

‘How’d I do?’

‘Looks like shit.’

‘That’s mean :(‘

‘Come over, let me help.’

‘On my way!’

You show up an hour later, the crooked joint in your hands. You sit on his couch with a frown.

“You know, I didn’t think it came out that bad.”

“Give it here.” He laughs, “You packed it up wayyy too much. Got too much at the end here too, didn’t tap it out.”

Still, he lights it, holding it out for you to smoke. You take it between your fingers, inhaling a small amount before coughing slightly. He smirks at your watery eyes, taking the joint from you to smoke it.

“Sorry,” You say, “I got my lip gloss on it.”

He chuckles, the tip glistening with the gloss, placing it in the corner of his lips, “Doesn’t matter.”

It tastes like your lip gloss. Strawberries and weed.

You take turns smoking it. Simon watches you the whole time, with lidded eyes, focused on the way your pretty lips curl around the joint. The way your chest rises with each inhale, your eyes becoming heavier and heavier, a lazy smile smeared across your lips as you lean closer to him on his old couch.

All he can think about is those lips wrapped around his cock and not the tip of the joint. And he’s definitely rock hard in his sweats, but he doesn’t care if you notice, not when you keep giggling at every bad joke he cracks.

He jerks himself off when you leave, promising you’ll be safe and text him when you get home. He finishes when your message pops at the top of his screen ‘made it safe :)’

He invites you over himself a week later because he’s got random inventory, he ordered them himself, of strawberry wraps and he’s certain you’ll like them.

You do like them. You’re melted into his couch, blinking lazily at him.

“How come you never charge me?” It’s a whisper.

He looks at you, the room dizzy with smoke and your pretty gaze.

“Never make pretty girls pay.”

“Oh?” You sound disappointed, “So, you give it free to other girls?”

He shakes his head, “Just you.”

You squint, “Are you only giving me free weed so you can get a lay?”

He smirks, “Is it working?”

You scoff, smacking him in the shoulder, “Unbelievable.”

He catches your wrist.

“You giving it to my friends for free too?”

“Careful,” He smirks, “You’re starting to sound jealous.”

You roll your eyes, trying to pull away from him. He keeps you close, tugging you into his lap so fast you have no choice but to slip onto his thighs. You don’t look at him, eyes focused to the side.

“Just you.”

You peer down at him then, “Huh?”

His fingers find your cheek, still burning from the embers of the joint, “You’re the only one I don’t charge.”

“Yeah?” You whisper.

“C’mere already.” He murmurs, pulling you down to kiss him.

You make a noise of surprise, like you hadn’t expected your smoke sessions to lead to this, with his cock pressed between your thighs eagerly, grip on your chin and hip to keep you close to him.

You kiss him back earnestly, smaller hands finding his shoulders. He loves it, fuck he loves the way your hands shake against his skin, the vibrations that leave your chest and fill his. He’s been dreaming about this since the moment you walked over in your tiny skirt.

Your bottom lip pops away from his, glistening with his saliva and not the lip gloss you insist on wearing.

“Wanted you to do that for ages.”

He chuckles against your lips, “Yeah?”

Your hips grind against his then, “Only reason my friends made me go was because I wouldn’t shut up about how hot you were.”

He presses his teeth against your neck, fingers making quick work of your belt and pants. “Came over with your ass and tits out, been jerking off to the memory ever since.”

You inhale sharply, “Fuck.”

Your eyes flutter when his fingers find your cunt, squelching with the sound of your arousal. He dips one finger in, drawing a whimper from you, and god you’re so fucking warm. The weeds got you nice and lax, a small grin on your lips as he coaxes you with one thick finger and he's sure he's never wanted to fuck someone more.

Your grin turns into a broken cry when he adds another, lips quivering around the shape of his name. Ghost. Ghost?

His thumbs already on your lips, gaze strong on you, “Simon.”

You nod in quiet understanding, “Simon.”

There’s a sticky strip of arousal that clings to your panties when he slides them off your thighs and it takes everything in him not to bury his face below and smell.

You scramble to his sweats, tugging them down impatiently. He lifts his hips willingly, lets his strained cock smack against his abdomen angrily. You lick your lips when you see it, eyes wide at the sight.

He grips it by the base, thumb coming up to wipe at the precum spilling from the tip.

“Oh my god.” You groan, “Let me ride you, please.”

He slides lower on the couch, tapping your hips casually in agreement like he hadn’t been picturing you on top of him for weeks, “Go on.”

You rise to your knees above him, shaking hand grabbing his cock so lightly it makes his eyes flutter. You glide his tip along your seams until it snags at your entrance, and you make a soft noise when he pops through. You slide down eagerly as much as he holds your hips and grits through his teeth to take it slow.

Your head falls to his shoulder when you sink to the base, his head rolling to the back of the couch because you’re so fucking warm and tight, and the weed definitely isn’t helping because he’s feeling everything ten times worse.

And when you lift your hips, he swears he sees heaven between your thighs when you drop back down and your pussy makes an obscene squelch.

You bury your face in his neck, arms around his shoulders and just fucking go at it. Ass slamming against his so fast the room echoes with each slap. You whine high-pitched with each thrust like you aren’t the one setting the pace, like you aren’t the fucking yourself raw around his cock.

“Jesus, bird, slow down.” He grunts, fingers dimpling your skin.

He says it because your legs are shaking and there’s sweat beading on your chest, whimpers falling from your lips endlessly, but more so because he doesn’t want it to end this soon. When he hasn’t even laid you back properly to fuck you the way he had hoped.

You don’t listen well.

You just keep sloppily fucking yourself onto his cock because you’ve found the sweet spot, the one that has you on the brink of an orgasm.

His lips on your neck do it for you, your toes curling into his shitty ass couch when you break. You soak his balls then, pussy clenching so tight around him he has to bite down on his cheek so he doesn’t bust.

He’s already moving you to your back, finding a home between your thighs when you come back down. You don’t even argue, like the perfect thing you are, folding your own legs to his shoulders, and arching into the couch.

He slides in slow, and your pussy spreads for him so prettily.

“Fuck,” he drawls, “Listen to her, just fuckin dying for me to fuck her.”

You whine loud at that, hips bucking to get him to move. He doesn’t wait a second longer, thrusts so hard into you, you feel it in your toes and your legs straighten out in shock.

He fucks you slow and hard, pace languid from the weed pulsing in his veins. You like it, at least he thinks you do from the way you keep writhing under him, the beginning syllables of his name broken on your lips between every thrust.

When he leans forward, pressing your knees to your shoulders, you gasp in shock from the stretch, but then his tip snags against that spot in your cunt that melts your brain into mush, and your eyes just roll into the back of your head.

He smirks proudly, bullying his length against that spot until you’re pushing at hips, murmuring something along the lines that it’s too much.

He doesn’t stop.

You pulse around him when you cum a second time, sweet voice ripped from your throat, and turned into blinded pleasure when he stamps his thumb against your swollen clit. Your feet tense at his shoulders, fingers tight against the cushions.

He finishes inside of you then, head falling to your shoulder with a deep groan, hips fucking into you with each pump.