They’ll Never Listen

“Grace.”

“What’s up?”

“Where are your pants.”

He looks down as if he had only just noticed he wasn’t wearing any. “Oh, right. None of them are clean.”

You blink, extremely slowly, and try to stop yourself from glancing down at his bare thighs. “There is not a single pair of clean pants that you can wear? None at all?”

Your attempted restraint is not going unnoticed. Grace smirks a little when your eyes flick down again, and you would very much like to wipe the expression off of his face. Your hand twitches against your leg. “Well, technically I have a pair, but there’s a hole in them.”

“A hole.”

“Yep,” and he pops the ‘p’ very deliberately and shifts in the chair. The movement causes the hem of his boxers to hike up, revealing another sliver of his bare thigh. “Haven’t gotten around to patching them yet.”

“Of course. So the natural solution was to just walk around in your underwear.” You push yourself off the frame to stand straight up. He does not say anything when you look at his legs again, but his smile grows.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, just barely, and you know that it’s intentional. “They’re basically like shorts.”

Okay, you think, at least this is something to do. You look at the screens, then, and tilt your head toward them. “Can I take a look?” He blinks at that, because this is not where he was expecting you to take the conversation, but he nods anyway and starts to get up so you can sit. “Oh, no, you don’t need to get up.”

You cross the room, but instead of turning your attention to the screen, you slide your legs underneath the chair to sit on the footrest. His legs widen to accommodate you. It is…not a very comfortable place to sit, all things considered, but now you have a front-row seat to the pale skin of his inner thighs. “Ah. You didn’t want to look at our trajectory.”

“Nope.” He looks down and watches as you place your hands on his knees, smoothing the skin with your thumbs. The sight of him, his legs spread, looking down at you with reddening cheeks, the rise and fall of his chest, is so delicious that you wish you were holding a camera. You settle for taking a few mental pictures before you slide your hands forward, now resting midway up his quads, feeling the hairs on the tops of his thighs. Your fingers have almost reached the hem. “How fast are we going?”

“Uh—what?”

You look up at him through your eyelashes, smiling softly. Your finger starts to idly trace random shapes. “How fast are we going? What’s our speed?”

Grace clears his throat and shifts in the seat again. His boxers are already tenting. “You—already know this, but okay. We’re going ninety-two percent the speed of light.”

You nod at his answer and splay your fingers a little wider, so your thumbs reach down to the soft skin of his inner thigh. “And what’s that in miles?”

“Um, that’s—ninety-two percent of, hah,” he gasps, because you’ve just pressed a kiss to the side of his knee, “one hundred and eighty-six thousand, two hundred and eighty-two miles per second, so—about—”

You interrupt him sharply. “I didn’t ask for an estimate.” You look at his thigh, then, just above the crease of his knee, before leaning forward to gently graze your teeth against the spot. His hips shift up, and you glare at him, cheek pressed against his leg. “I didn’t ask you to move, either.”

“Sorry, sorry, I’m—okay, alright, mental math, not super easy at the moment—” His hands tighten their hold on the arm rests when you nip gently at his thigh in warning. “One hundred and seventy-one thousand, two hundred and eight-two point forty-four. Miles. Per, per second.” Grace is already panting slightly.

Pressing a kiss against the spot you just bit, you murmur, “Good. Now in meters?” There’s not actually any way for you to check his numbers, but you know he’s good at math. You trust that he’s giving you the right answers. He’s too much of a nerd not to.

His head falls back onto the headrest, but he keeps his legs and arms still. “You—you’re killing me here, you know that?”

You shift your head to his other leg, moving up a little, and you bite this new area of skin, still on his soft inner thigh. Grace keens, low and desperate, and you can imagine his knuckles turning white from gripping the arm rests so hard.

He is, apparently, not done with talking back. “If that’s the punishment,” he breathes, mouth curling up in a slight smile, “I might just, you know, keep giving the wrong answers.”

This is the wrong thing for him to say, and he realizes it as soon as the words leave his mouth, because then you’re leaning back and nodding, removing your hands from his legs. “I see. Then I probably shouldn’t bother, right?”

“No, that’s—please don’t.” His eyes are wide with panic. “I’m sorry, you—do you still want our speed in meters? I can, I have the number.” You say nothing at that, instead slowly returning your hands to his thighs. “Oh, thank god, okay, it’s—it’s—two hundred and seventy-five million, six hundred and fifty-two thousand, three hundred and sixty-seven point one hundred and nineteen meters per second,” he rushes out.

It is very impressive, so you give him an appreciative squeeze and mouth against his skin gently, right on top of a little mole he has on his right leg. “Very good.” You can hear his head rest against the chair again at the praise. “How long is the journey from Tau Ceti to Erid?”

“It’s almost—” Your nails dig into his skin, not hard, just enough to make him whine. Grace is catching onto the game very quickly—he wants the sting that comes from your teeth and your fingernails, but he doesn’t want to push back so far in order to get it that you’ll stop, so he’s probing the boundaries of what you’ll let him do. “Sorry, you didn’t ask for an estimate, I know, it’s—wait. Do you want from our perspective or Earth’s?”

“Hm, good question,” your purr, sucking lightly on the same spot of this thigh. He whimpers, and you think he’s nodding. You wonder if his eyes are open or closed, but you are too busy to look. “Ours first.”

“A little less than four years.”

The edges of your mouth lift up in a smile, and you switch back to his other thigh and bite, farther up, a little harder than the last one, not enough to break skin, but enough for the imprints of your teeth to remain visible when you pull back. Your tongue darts out to soothe the spot as he groans, and you can just barely see his cock twitch underneath the fabric. “Why did I do that?”

He sucks in a breath through his teeth; he is trying very, very hard not to buck his hips up. “Because—because—you haven’t asked for an estimate, not once, so I shouldn’t have assumed, because you didn’t explicitly say.”

You gently brush your finger across the teeth marks indented in his skin. “That’s exactly right. So…?”

“Three point nine years from our perspective.” Your hands move up just a little bit more, the tips of your fingers now brushing up against the hem of his boxers. His hips shift, almost imperceptibly, but you decide that you will let him off the hook for that. For now. You toy with the edge of the fabric and look up at him. He’s waiting for you to ask how long the journey is from Earth’s perspective. You simply nod, and he exhales in relief. “Thirteen years. I’m sorry, that is an estimate, but I don’t, relativity is really hard—which, right now, feels very topical, I have to say, but ask me another question, please,” he begs.

Maybe on a different day, you might have been a little meaner, might have pointed out that he’s not the one who gets to decide how all of this happens, but right now you would like to keep biting and sucking on his bare thighs, so you show him a little mercy. “Alright. Would you like me to touch you now, Dr. Grace?”

This makes him moan, loudly, and it’s a good thing that Rocky is asleep (though, of course, he would have heard all of this anyway). “Yes, oh my gosh, yes—assuming you mean, well, where I think you mean,” and then he sees the look you give him and decides to stop talking for a few seconds.

First, you keep sliding one of your hands upward, still kissing and biting at his thighs, until you can feel his muscles quivering underneath your mouth from the strain of keeping still. Your fingers hit the crease of his hip and then stop. He looks so good like this, you think, sitting so nicely and waiting for you to do whatever you want with him.

Instead of moving the hand underneath his boxers where you know he would like it to be, you drag it downward, lightly scratching the top of his thigh. Your other hand moves up, over the top of the fabric, and finally, finally slides over his aching cock, and the groan he lets out shoots straight between your legs. You shift, just slightly, so the metal rod connecting the footrest to the chair presses against your core. Grace is too busy squeezing his eyes shut and gasping at the way you’re slowly palming him through his boxers.

“That’s—hah, so good, not exactly what I was thinking, but—”

You stop moving your hand and wait to speak until he’s looking down at you again. “I didn’t ask you to think,” and then you lower your head to bite at his inner thigh, just below the hem of his underwear.

He throws his head back against the chair again. You are slightly worried he might give himself a concussion at this rate. “You’re right, sorry—thank you, this is really good, amazing even, please—I can, are there more questions?”

“Not at the moment,” you murmur, pressing a soft kiss against the bite mark you just left. Your hand resumes in its movements. God, the sounds he is making right now; maybe you could turn the camera on, start recording, and the next time Rocky sleeps again you could play it in the screen room, have two versions of Grace whining and moaning at the same time while you ride him.

It seems like a little too much effort, and you don’t want to pull away to set it all up, so you simply focus on sucking and nipping at his trembling thighs, twisting your hand and listening to the way he gasps when your palm moves over his tip.

You rock your hips forward a little as you consider your options. You could pull his boxers down and take him into your mouth—he really enjoys it when you do that—or, maybe, you could stand up and turn around, placing your hands on the console and let him fuck you. They are all pretty great, but then you wouldn’t get to watch in between bites and kisses as he grips the armrests, alternating between tipping his head back and looking down at you, face entirely flushed.

“I have another question,” you say, and you think he tries to respond, but all that comes out is a choked whimper. “Do you think you could come like this?”

It takes him a few shuddering breaths to gather himself enough for words. “Is that—that’s a rhetorical question, really, yes, yes I can, it won’t even take that long. Which, that might sound a little pathetic, but I have the feeling that you like when I’m—”

You cut him off by sucking another spot on his thigh, your nose brushing against the fabric. Your back is straining a little to lean forward like this, but it is so worth it for the reaction it pulls out of him. You are fairly certain, at this point, that you would probably be able to come like this, too, just from grinding into the footrest.

But that is a side benefit, really, while this is the main event, so you focus on grasping his cock and searching for the movements that make his hips stutter upward, because then you have a reason in this game the two of you have created to nip at his soft skin even more. Grace is right: it won’t take that long, if the way his control starts to deteriorate is anything to go off of.

He swallows hard and manages to whisper, “Can I—would it be alright, would you let me touch you?”

Technically, he’s still not supposed to be asking any questions here, but you nod (and then press your teeth into his thigh for it), and one of his hands lets go of the armrest to gently slide through your hair. He doesn’t grab or pull; he simply cards his fingers through your hair, so softly that it’s almost at odds with the way his cock feels in your hand and the positively obscene noises he’s making.

“So good,” you mumble into his skin, “you’re doing so good. Want you to come like this, whenever you want to, yeah?”

Grace nods feverishly and stops trying to keep his hips pressed against the chair. They jerk and stutter against your hand, and you keep palming him and sucking at his thighs, chasing the thing that you know is coming, the thing that you will watch and hear and tuck away in your mind to replay over and over again.

The sound he lets out when he finally comes is so broken that you might call it a sob. You guide him through it, still moving your hand, tenderly kissing and licking at all of the marks that you’ve left. Finally, you lean back a little to take it all in: the way his glasses have slid down his nose, the flushed tinge of his cheeks, the rise and fall of his chest as he pants, the red splotches you’ve sucked into his thighs, the indents from your teeth, the dark spot in his boxers.

You keep staring for a few moments before looking back up and meeting his eyes. A spark travels down your spine and sits in between your thighs at the thought of him watching you look over his body, taking stock of all of the ways that you have marked him. “So,” he finally says, “I hope you know that this means I will be walking around without pants, like, all the time.”

You simply smile at that and extract your legs from underneath the chair to stand, a little shaky, until he has to tilt his head back to keep looking at you. “I think I would probably lose it a little bit if you did that.”

“Is that a promise?” Grace returns your smile and raises his eyebrows a little bit. You grab his face then, softly, gently, only pressing your fingers in enough to see the way his skin dimples underneath them.

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A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

ryland thrivessss on aftercare! he really does. he’s a total cuddlebug, i think. he’s happy being the big or little spoon. he knows you just want held sometimes, and he loves to put his face in your hair and hold you so close. but he’ll also never say no to being held by you, either.

he’ll encourage you to drink water. such a teacher / responsible adult thing to do, and he knows it makes him sound like a stereotype, but he does not care. you will be getting up to pee, too (if you’re afab). UTI’s are evil!

forehead kisses. he massages your shoulders.

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B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

“uhmmm… i guess my hands, maybe? they do stuff…” — ryland, answering the question.

his favorite of his own is his hands. they’re practical. in bed and out. he can write and hold and grab. they’re useful for day to day life, and also for fingering you until you sob! he loves fingering more than he might admit…

if you have freckles, those might be his favorite physical feature of yours. i think he thinks they are just the most beautiful thing in the world. if not, it’s your hair. long or short, he simply adores to play with it. and pull it when you’re sucking him off, harder than he means to… he apologizes but it’s shaky. and petting it while you cuddle!

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C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

he’s very good at holding in his orgasms. he can keep himself contained for a very long time, only if it means prolonging your pleasure.

he cums a lot. just, like, a lot comes out of him, i guess. always been that way. messy messy boy.

although, alone, if it’s just him and his hand, sometimes he’s done in thirty seconds. depends on where his mind wanders to. depends on how pervy he lets himself be!

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D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

tooooootal slut during his college days. he was slamming beers and getting bitches #amenbrother. hooked up with a girl he didn’t know the name of at a frat party, then never spoke to her again. maybe im projecting my personal life onto him but i am really enjoying the thought of ryland grace at a frat house….

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E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

in college, again, he was kinda a slut. getting a doctorate is HARD and so was he. so it helped take some edge off. he was pretty experienced then, and he was known to be a selfless lover. he’s always been an eater.

once he graduated and calmed down, he still had that experience under his belt, but he’s a lot more shy about it now. he isn’t cocky, he actually can get quite anxious at times. usually he doesn’t though.

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F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

maybe it’s the teacher in him, but he thinks taking you over a desk is hot. or, getting bent over a desk.

when on a bed, though, he is quite the fan of missionary. he’ll usually end up putting your legs over his shoulders. he gets so so so deep. he likes to see your face, likes to hold you down, likes to see the bulge of him through your tummy. makes him dizzy.

honorable mention: anything in front of a mirror.

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G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

he’s goofy without realizing it or intending to be. he’s just such a dork. even when you’re rougher, even when he’s pounding into you or spanking you, or choking you, or fucking your throat… he’s giggly. he’s clumsy. his glasses fall off his face and he has to pull your mouth off his cock saying “hang on, angel, hang on—“

and ideas come to him out of nowhere. i saw a fic on here once, don’t remember from who unforch, but he got a math idea in the middle of eating you out and. well. yeah!

he’s not always funny on purpose. his comedic timing is just gold.

also, the whole ‘not swearing’ thing can make him sound almost corny at times. but it’s endearing also. awww so cute just a babeh 🥹🫰

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H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

blonde from his head to his toes. little curls. very well groomed. he takes pride in his hygiene, i think. maybe setting an example for the kids at school so they learn about deodorant.

not a lot of hair, but not hairless either- he trims, keeps it short, but nothing too fancy. very clean.

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I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

ryland can be so so romantic when he wants to be. he’ll break out candles and rose petals if that’s your thing, even though it’s not really his. he lives to please.

and he’s so goddamn sweet. so so sweet. he wants you to know you’re loved, he makes a point to tell you at least once per sex (per sex? idk). it’s so important for him to tell you how loved you are. because you are 🫰

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

sometimes he cums in thirty seconds like i said earlier. sometimes he edges himself lol. i think he likes to. he’s vocal with partners but on his own i think he is shy and very quiet. WHIMPERS! this boy WHIMPERS!

and he gets off with his imagination. he’s a creative boy, he doesn’t need the visuals. although he has found a few photos he’s enjoyed.

assuming you and him are together, he gets off to photos you send him, absolutely.

if you ever did a boudoir shoot for him, he would cum one billion times. lol.

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K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

dacryphilia (he’s a crier), overstim (on him or you), facesitting (pls sit on his face he’s begging), begging (you or him), roleplaying on the lowest of keys (he gets so hard the second you call him ‘dr. grace’), lingerie (if you’re in it), edging, kneeling, and he’s a TALKER. he’d make a good brat tamer when he’s the dominant one, i think. comes from being a teacher. he would absolutely be so down to dabble in puppyplay… puppyboy grace truth nuke. aaaalso i think he could be convinced to be pegged.

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L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

bed, please. i think he would like the idea of being sneaky in public but he’s so shy and anxious he just wouldn’t be able to get into it.

he would also like to get freaky on a beach. it’s a dream of his. but again, he is so so anxious, i don’t think he could muster the courage. he’s a TEACHER. if he get caught that would be the end of him.

on the hail mary, pre-rocky, however. once the whole ‘holy fuck i’m on a spaceship against my will im so fucking scared’ passes, he would soooo make use of the nooks and crannys. the don’t go crazy room? more like the. the. don’t get sexy. don’t uh. uhm. ok nevermind u get the vibe.

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M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

‘dr. grace’ , lol. intelligence as a whole. talking about something you’re passionate about, he loves it. he loves you.

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N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

he hates to be sticky. pls clean up afterwards 🩷 and being too mean. unless it’s in bed. ok

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O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

munch. eater. lover of his craft. i mean, duh, he’ll never say no to you going down on him lol! but god he just will beg you to spread your legs. prying your legs open pawing at them going pls pls pls.

also on the hail mary with zero gravity he absolutely has the strength to hold you in place so you dont um. float away. while he goes to town.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

he’s an adaptive guy, he can do both! usually he goes like medium i suppose? he likes going slower because he is just so romantic and he wants to make you feel good for as long as possible. but when he’s fast, he’s deep.

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Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

while he will always prefer the time for foreplay and paying attention to you and teasing you and aftercare, desperate times call for desperate measures.

he gets up sooo early for work and sleepy morning quickies happen pretty often hehe.

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R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

i think he’d actually be pretty open minded. he’s an anxious guy though so some things might take some convincing and planning. but all you have to do is tell him how good it might make you feel and he’s so on board. he is such a pleaser.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

okay lets be real. one or two most nights 🩷 he is a grown man and he can only do so much HOWEVER he can hold himself back for a loooong time which makes it feel like forever. he will edge himself just to give you another orgasm or two or three sometimes lol.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

vibrator’s are a man’s best friend. yes he knows ball. he also has some pretty rope specifically for tying you up if you’re into that kind of thing. and maybe he’d even let you tie him up hmmmmm…

he doesn’t like handcuffs. loses the key. theyre too much.

DOES like a collar. on him OR you. puppyboy grace GODDDD very important to me.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

he teases sometimes but he isn’t always in the mood for it. edging and overstim is fun but not like every time y’know? it depends on his mood (and, more importantly to him, yours). he does dirty talk though. even without swear words. lol. he stammers sometimes but by god does he do it. he does taunt with words a little bit though every time. like condescending praise. “oh, you’re so pathetic, aren’t you?” “you can do it, pretty girl.”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

RYLAND GRACE WHIMPERS SEND TWEET. god he’s so mouthy and loud. whimpers and cries and moans sooo much. and talks! stutters and stammers ESPECIALLY if you’re on top or being the dominant one. he gets flustered so easy. little pathetic whimpers while he twitches beneath you Sighhhh god i need him so effing bad.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

assuming you’re on the hail mary with him: you guys have to have The Talk. crash course on how to get freaky in 0g. sure there’s gravity a lot of the time but there’s also a novelty to it y’know.

the whiteboard. he draws little stick figure diagrams and you laugh so hard and he lights up.

and also sometimes he actually has good ideas that you guys try later. haha.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

hung smile… 😊

ummm listen i’m no dick expert. i cannot ‘catch print’. i can however say this man is #packing. 7 inches easy. good girth probably. he’s bigger than he thinks he is.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

he’s good at hiding it, he really is. but he’d have you all day every day if he could. sure, he needs a break between rounds, but that’s why there’s 24 hours in a day! that’s what giving you head is for! that’s what kissing you and holding you and praising you is for!

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

unless he has something to do afterwards, he’s asleep within the hour. he gives good aftercare and talks to you until he falls asleep mid-sentence. he is so sweet but so sleepy. so old and fragile. and he falls asleep with his glasses on a lot so you get to take them off and put them on the bedside table for him so he doesn’t break them in his sleep lol.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

“kendall some of these are inaccurate!!! thats not like him at all!!!!” I D G A F ! “kendall ur mischaracterizing him!!l I DONT GIVE A GAF

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Now you find yourself being filled with your best friend's cock while watching a movie that was over 2 hours long for 100 dollars. You were mentally kicking yourself for letting Colt choose the movie because now you weren't even an hour in and you were already aching for Colt to move.

He had warmed you up during the opening credits and the first 30 minutes with a heavy and distracting make-out session and then split you open with his fingers, making you have your first orgasm of the night. You couldn't even shift your hips with how Colt's strong arms were wrapped around your hips to keep your back glued to his chest.

But you knew Colt was just as affected as you were. You could feel his chest rise and fall on your back as he took sharp breaths, and you could feel him twitch occasionally when you attempted but failed to shift your hips. The two of you were partially clothed; Colt's sweatpants weren't even off of his legs, just tugged down to his thighs, while he had a white tank top on, and you had stripped yourself of your bottoms completely and just had one of Colt's old shirts on.

You clenched around Colt unintentionally, and he let out a low grunt. "Shit, you can't do that. That's not fair." Colt's voice was strained as he hissed in your ear.

"I didn't mean to." You said as you did it again, this time on purpose. He groaned again. Colt's forehead fell on your shoulder as the grip on your hips tightened.

"Stop it." Colt said through gritted teeth. You were really testing him. All he wanted to do was move and ram his hips against yours since he had sheathed himself in your tight warmth. But it was against his nature to want to lose a bet, especially to you.

"You know if you want to get this over with, you can just move." You moved your hand to the back of his head and started to scratch at his scalp. You could feel how wet you were, even with Colt being inside of you, and all you wanted Colt to do was move and finally reach the relief that the two of you wanted.

Colt leaned back into your hands, but then stopped. He grabbed your arm and ripped it away from his head. "You're playing dirty. That's not allowed."

"You never said we couldn't." You couldn't help but taunt Colt. You shouldn't goad him, but if it was the only way to distract you from how his cock was carving out a space in your cunt and making itself a home in you.

Colt shut his eyes before taking a deep and composed breath. "Watch the damn movie."

"What's the magic word?" You teased.

"You're so—" He cut himself off with a low moan. You had intentionally squeezed around him again. "I hate you."

You chuckled lowly. "I can feel how much you don't."

"Please, watch the movie." Colt's tone was low and filled with warning.

You didn't say anything but lean back further into Colt. The small movement made his thick cock shift slightly inside of you and was now pressing against your g-spot and you let out a breathy 'fuck' right into his ear.

You saw a muscle in his jaw twitch, which made you smirk, but he kept his eyes on the screen in front of the two of you. Your eyes had focused on the screen for a couple of minutes before you let your fingertips dance along his forearms, which were lying on your stomach and hips.

Colt ignored your touch despite the goosebumps that rose on his arms. You traced shapes into his skin before your hands moved away from Colt, making him let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. One of your hands landed on your thighs before the other wandered towards your heated core.

You let out a low moan of relief as you started to rub at your clit, finally seeking respite, and the flame in your lower belly grew steadily. God, you already felt like you were close to cumming with how Colt filled you to the brim.

Colt couldn't take it anymore and let out a groan at the feeling of you clenching around him.

"God, you're such a brat," Colt growled out as he ripped your hand off of your cunt, and you felt him wrap his arms firmly around your waist.

He stood up from the couch, slipping out of you, and you found yourself bracing yourself against the arm of the couch with your hands, and your knees sank into the cushions. You felt Colt's hands land on your hips, and he quickly slid back into you without any resistance, making the two of you moan loudly at the feeling of him filling you once more.

Colt didn't spare you any mercy as he began to roughly thrust in and out of you, both of your moans filling the apartment, mixing with the slapping of skin against each other, the two of you uncaring about the movie that was still playing in the background.

Yeah, it didn't matter who moved first; neither of you cared about the money anymore.