let me vibe on my spooky mountain. damn.

“Ooh, shit—“

The swear escapes you as a breathless huff, dissolving into the heat of the bedroom. You‘re riding Eddie to the very brink of exhaustion, straddling his hips as he lies pinned against the mattress. You‘re feeling particularly possessive tonight. You know exactly why, too, even if admitting it feels a little ridiculous. It’s the image of Chrissy Cunningham—perfect, polished Chrissy—approaching him for yet another stash of weed earlier today. Eddie hadn‘t been secretive about it; there was no reason to be. It was just business. Nothing more, nothing less.

Yet, you couldn't stop the intrusive loop in your mind of how she must have looked at him. You pictured the way her blue eyeshadow dusted her lids while she innocently blinked her lashes and waited for him to name a price. You imagined the way her cheer uniform would starkly contrast against his tattered denim. A part of you, terribly irrational and bold, whispered that maybe she wasn’t coming for the drugs anymore. Maybe she just wanted to see your boyfriend.

Chrissy‘s a sweet girl, truly. Perhaps a little too sweet. But the jealousy clawing at your brain can only be silenced like this: by claiming him. By you driving him into the sheets and keeping your mouth busy at the junction of his shoulder and his thick, pretty neck. Your mission is to leave an endless trail of purple reminders, a map of bruises that act as a testament of the only girl who gets to see him like this.

Eddie is blissfully unaware of the storm brewing inside your head. To him, the deal was just another regular Tuesday, but he isn’t about to complain about the sudden, riled-up intensity you’re bringing to bed. He’s too dazed, his brain turning to static the minute your lips brush across his throat. All he can do is lie there and take it, his fingers digging into your hips with enough force to leave marks of his own. His breath comes in ragged, uneven gasps, his pupils blown so wide they nearly swallow the warm chestnut–brown of his eyes. All coherent thoughts have dissolved into a slurred, mindless chant of “fuck—fuck—fuck—” against your collarbone every time you snap your hips down.

Chrissy? The weed deal? Gone. Erased from his brain—nothing exists but the slick grip of your pussy milking his cock raw, the scrape of your nails down his chest, and the way your thighs tremble when he suddenly bucks his hips up to meet you with a low groan. His silver rings catch the dim light as he palms your ass, spreading you wider and driving himself even deeper, relentlessly chasing that specific, hidden spot inside you that makes your jaw go slack every single time.

You lean down, biting the damp skin right over his pulse point, making him jolt beneath you. You soothe the sting with a slow, deliberate lick before pulling back just enough for your noses to brush.

"Shit—fuckin’—yes," Eddie hisses, his back arching off the bed when you roll your hips just so. His Adam's apple bobs and he gulps for air like a drowning man. One hand snakes up to tangle in your hair, making sure to wrench your mouth back down to his throat, non-verbally demanding more. His other hand slips between your bodies, his calloused thumb finding your twitching clit and beginning to rub it in tight strokes.

A whimper breaks from your throat at the sudden contact, but you don't lose your momentum. You couldn‘t if you tried with the amount of drive and adrenaline coarsing through you. ”God—Eddie, so… nh—perfect…” you breathe out, your tight, clammy walls milking him for everything he‘s worth. No one else gets to have him like this. Not Chrissy, not anyone. No one except you. The thought makes you smirk against his skin. ”Oh, you‘re so fucking mine."

Eddie lets out a sound that sits somewhere between a whine and a sob, his fingers tightening in your hair hard enough to pull as your teeth sink into his throat again. His hips jerk upward to meet yours, desperate and uncoordinated, his thighs trembling with the effort of keeping up. The bedframe rattles violently against the wall. "Fuck—fuck, yeah, baby, yours—always—" His words slur into a desperate, delirious hum as you clench around him.

“Yeah? Shit. Yeah—“ you moan, sensing him so deep inside of you that he might as well be reaching up to your throat. You lift your head away from his bite–littered throat just enough to be able to messily connect your lips with his in a sloppy, ungraceful kiss. His moan gets caught between your mouths, messy and wet as he kisses you back with matching desperation. His teeth catch your lips, his tongue sliding against yours like he's trying to taste every sound you make.

“Look so—ah—so good like this… could jus’… fuck you all day long, Eds, y‘know that?” you whine against his lips, slick with combined saliva.

His grip on your hair tightens again at your drunken praise, his breath hitching. "God—fuck, yes, please," he chokes out, his thrusts turning into short, frantic stutters. His hand between your legs moves faster, his touch borderline violent as he encourages you toward the edge. You moan at the friction and his dick twitches inside of you in response.

“Mine,” you echo your earlier vow, leaning down to whisper it directly into his ear. You’re so close now. He can feel it in the way your movements accelerate into a tight, frantic blur.

His body bows upward and his free arm wraps around your waist to haul you flush against him while he buries his face in the crook of your neck. "Sweetheart—" His voice cracks, his thrusts losing all pretense of rhythm as he‘s just barely managing to hold back his release, fingers desperately working your clit with relentless pressure. "Come for me, baby, come on, please—" He‘s slurring, breathless, his teeth sinking into your shoulder on pure instinct.

That‘s all the encouragement you need. You go utterly breathless, the sharp sting of his teeth sinking into your shoulder only heightening your mind–numbing high. Your thighs are cramping by now, but you could not care less. You keep bouncing on his spurting cock, babbling and whispering slurred praises and curses into his ear as your vision seems to white out for a moment.

”Oh, Jesus—fuckin', yes—" he pants, finally allowing himself his own orgasm just a couple seconds after yours. His muscles clench and he‘s driving into you sloppily, driven purely by the pleasure and the overwhelming need to chase his own release. His cum warms your walls from the inside out, a pearly offering you gladly accept and milk him of thoroughly.

As you both slowly start coming down,, your hips continue rolling in lazy, drowsy circles. His thumb slows on your clit but he doesn’t pull away completely. You’re both heaving, your skin slick with sweat and sticking together in the now–quiet room. Eventually, your trembling thighs can’t keep up with the effort anymore and you collapse pliantly onto his chest. His softening cock still rests inside of you. You‘re not ready to feel empty again just yet. Your kiss–swollen lips brush against the curve of his shoulder, your forehead resting on the pillow beside his head while your hands remain loosely curled around his biceps.

Honestly, now that you think about it, you could come to terms with Chrissy becoming a repeat customer. That is, as long as Eddie lets you take it out on him. And something about the completely blissed–out, fucked–out grin plastered across his face tells you that he wouldn‘t really mind all that much.

© linkykirby. All content is original and written by me. Please don’t repost, copy, or redistribute my work without explicit consent.

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