The heat in the air is honey-thick and melts against your dewy skin, seeping deep into the marrow of your limbs as you lay stretched out and boneless on your cushioned sunlounge. It’s early July, and you’ve been spending the last couple of weeks spread out like a cat beside the large pool of your family home. You’ve also spent the last couple of weeks trying not to act a total fool around Dex, your dad’s best friend.

Sunglasses perched comfortably on the bridge of your nose, your eyes draw lines of interest across the glittering surface of the pool. It ripples and sparkles beneath the midday sun in a mosaic of blues and whites, but you’re not looking at the colours. You’re looking at where Dex leans against the tiled edge, muscular arms folded against the ground as he speaks with your father, who sits on the edge with his legs in the water.

From this angle, the muscles of Dex’s back are well-defined. Drops of water roll over the mounds of his shoulders, down between the dips of his shoulder blades, down further following the line of his spine. You know you’re staring, but you hope the sunglasses and the book in your hand are enough of a deterrent, especially when your father suddenly looks up and Dex moves to follow.

Your eyes find the page—page eighty-four, which you had been on for the last forty minutes—just as your dad calls your name. Feigning disinterest, you allow your sunglasses to slip down your nose as you peer at him over the rims.

“You mind grabbing a couple’a Heinekens?” Your dad asks, nodding towards the cooler a few yards from where you’re lying.

You shoot him an incredulous look.

“Please,” Dex adds, and your eyes find his. He offers you a charming smile, the one he had been offering you for the last couple of weeks. Embarrassingly enough, heat begins to eat away at the pit of your stomach, but you will yourself to ignore it as you put your book aside and pick yourself off the sunlounge with a groan. You hear Dex chuckle, “Thank you.”

You pull open the cooler and grab two beers from the icy depths, snatching the opener from the table nearby as you round the pool. You open your dad’s first, catching the cap and handing him the bottle. He accepts it with a small smile, before you uncap the other bottle. You miss the cap and it hits the ground with a light clatter as you lean down and offer it to Dex. You’re completely aware of the way your tits are practically spilling out of the top of your swimsuit as you lower the beer to him.

You hold back a smile as you notice the nearly imperceptible flicker of his eyes—down, then back up—and the gentle bob of his Adam’s apple. He takes the beer, fingers brushing yours, and maybe it’s the heat smothering your brain, but you swear they linger for longer than necessary.

“Anything else?” You ask, almost sarcastically, as you bend to pick the bottle cap from off of the cement tiles.

But Dex beats you to it. He grabs the cap between his middle and index finger, and precedes to thread it around his knuckles. You watch him curiously, as he flips it from forefinger to pinky, and back again. The entire time you watch the cap, Dex is watching you—his eyes quickly roaming down your legs as you stand up.

“No thank you,” your dad says, and you offer both men a small smile as you return to your side of the pool.

You settle back into your sunlounge, intent on actually reading your book. As you read, you listen to the distant calls of robins from amongst the tangled branches of a nearby oak, and the quiet conversation between your dad and his best friend. Dex was a bit younger than him, and truthfully, you didn’t know much about him. All you knew is that your dad, as gruff and stern and very FBI-suited as he was, seemed to really enjoy Dex’s company. Which is why the handsome FBI agent had spent the last few weeks of summer in the guest room.

After a while, the sliding door of your house opens and your mother pokes her head out. 

She addresses your father by name. “Someone’s on the phone asking for you.”

Your dad sighs loudly. “I’m on break.”

“They said it’s important.”

Your dad sighs again, but gets up. Wet footprints follow him as he disappears inside the house, the sliding door closing with a snap behind him. You continue your relaxation, finally onto a new chapter of your book, when the movement of water draws your eyes from the page.

Dex wades across the pool, water rippling over the muscles in his arms, before he folds them against the edge as he settles himself right across from you. Hiding a smile, you lift your sunglasses onto your head. He looks at you, watching, observing, a crooked sort of smile on his face.

“What’re you reading?” He asks, and that heat in the pit of your stomach flushes deeper through your diaphragm, warming your chest. He looks at you as if he’s known you a lot longer than three weeks, and you have to stop yourself squirming in your seat.

You lift your book, showing him the cover.

He hums. “Looks boring.”

You scoff. “It’s not boring.”

“You sure?” Dex cocks his head, nodding to where you rest it in your lap—against your bare thighs, which Dex is quite obviously looking at. “You haven’t made much progress since you picked it up… what, three weeks ago?”

“Mind your business,” you say, snapping the book shut. “I’m a slow reader.”

“Sure you are.” Dex looks around, and you realise he’s still fidgeting with the bottle cap. The empty beer bottle remains on the other side of the pool, but he’s still rolling the cap between his fingers. He looks back at you then, noticing the way you’re watching the cap move. He stops. “You want me to teach you?”

“Huh?” You look up.

Wordlessly, Dex pushes himself out of the pool. You have to stop yourself gaping as he slips the cap between his teeth to get two flat hands against the pool edge and hoist himself up, water falling down the length of his bare chest and abdomen. He grunts, and the sound goes straight between your legs, and you hiccup around a whimper as you trap it in your throat. Dex approaches, taking the cap from between his teeth.

You yelp when he plants himself right beside you on the sunlounge, and you toss your book away as he flicks water across you.

“Hey!” You exclaim, but Dex just chuckles. 

He sits slightly behind you, and as your annoyance clears, you’re suddenly aware of just how close he is. You can feel the water-coolness of his skin radiating in the heat around you.

“It’s easier with a coin, but you’ll be able to do it,” Dex begins, showing you his hand. You run your eyes along the bumps of his knuckles and the veins that press against the sun-kissed skin. He threads the bottle cap from his thumb, over his forefinger, then the middle, ring and pinky, then back again. “You start here, pushing with your thumb to start with, then move your other fingers in a scissor motion… see?”

He does it again, but faster.

You gape. “How do you do it that fast?”

“Practise,” he says, offering you the cap. 

You take it hesitantly, as though it’ll cut through your skin, and he smiles at you. You feel around the ridges, rolling it against the pad of your thumb and forefinger (totally not thinking about the fact it’s been between his teeth). Then, your breath catches in your chest as Dex reaches over and takes gentle hold of your wrist, steadying your hand.

“Don’t want you moving your wrist too much,” he whispers, and it’s so soft that you swear he’s saying it directly into your ear. With his other hand, he rolls the cap across your knuckles with a push of his finger. “You need to catch the edge of the cap with one finger, and flip it up with the other.”

Still holding your wrist, he takes the cap and positions it between your thumb and forefinger. Slowly, you do what he had said, using your thumb to push the cap over your knuckle and lifting your middle finger just enough to catch the edge of it. It flips over, but you lose it before you can lift your ring finger.

“Good girl, that was great,” Dex praises, retrieving the cap from your lap. His fingers are cold and wet against the warm flesh where your thighs press together. He pushes the cap back between your thumb and forefinger. “Try again.”

You do. Much the same happens, and the cap falls between your thighs again. Dex’s hand tightens on your wrist as he retrieves the cap, fingers tracing a deliberate line over the curve of your thigh.

“I don’t think I can do it,” you say, eyes dropping to where two fingers slide through dewyness of your skin, courtesy of your sunscreen, to where the cap sits in the valley of your thighs. He grabs it slowly as you continue, “S’too hard.”

“One more try,” Dex utters, and you’re sure he’s closer now. He hands you the cap. “There we go, one more try.”

You huff lightly, but do as you’re told. You push the bottle cap over your forefinger, catching it with the middle, flipping it, then catching it with your ring finger. It topples over the side of your pinky, but you’re beaming anyway, letting out a little noise of excitement as Dex finally removes his hand from your wrist.

“I did it!” You say with a broad, victorious smile across your face. It doesn’t matter you couldn’t bring it back around your hand, nor does it matter that the movements were slow and wobbly—you did it, and that’s all that matters.

Dex smiles, eyes flitting across your face. “You sure did, sweetheart. Good job.”

—✿—

The next day is much the same.

This time, you lay flat on your stomach, a plush towel beneath you as you rest under the sun. You’re only a few inches from the edge of the pool, eyes closed and listening to the gentle lap of the water against the side. You’re wearing a different swimsuit today, with the curve of your arse on full display, as well as the supple fat of the back of your thighs and the dip in your lower spine.

Dex likes this swimsuit. The colour is nice on your skin, he thinks. It’s nice on your body. He’d come to that conclusion when he looked out the window of the guest room and saw you laying like this, alone in the backyard. He’d stared for eight minutes before deciding to come down and join you. Your father had been called into work, and Dex was thrilled when his friend had informed him that No, Dex, stay here and enjoy the pool and the quiet. I’ll be back in the afternoon.

Outside, you stir from your sun-baked nap at the gentle padding of footsteps approaching. You already know who it is by the width of the shadow being cast.

“If you jump in and splash me, I’ll kill you,” you grumble, head buried against your forearms.

Dex chuckles. You feel his shadow shift around you, realising he was grabbing the bottle of sunscreen from the ground beside you. You listen blindly as he squirts some out onto his hands, then what you can only assume is him rubbing the coconut-scented cream across his arms and chest. After a moment, you feel him nudge your calf.

“D’you mind giving me a hand?” He asks, almost sheepishly as he turns, showing off the muscled mass of his back.

You look up, then get to your feet with a shallow huff. You take the bottle from him, gather a substantial amount on your palms, before pressing your hands to his back. You have to bite your lip to stop yourself from making a noise, the muscles beneath the skin contracting as your hands move in circles. A vibration shakes through the pads of your fingers, and you realise he’s letting out a contended groan as you work the sunscreen into the tight sinew of his shoulder blades.

“You need a massage, Jesus Christ…” You comment as, without thinking, you press your thumbs into the mound below his shoulders.

He hisses, then chuckles. “You offering?”

You retract your hands, going back to spreading the sunscreen down his spine. “You wish.”

A rumbling chuckle leaves him as your hands shift lower, smoothing the cream along his lower back. Your fingers brush the dimples right above his waistband. Your heart hammers violently in your chest when you take a step back and he turns, flexing his fingers while he takes in your appearance.

“Thanks,” he says around a smile, then steps forward. A couple of his fingers find the thin strap of your swimsuit and he pulls it away from your skin, only to let it go and grin as it hits your shoulder with a snap. “I like this, by the way.”

You want to curl up in a ball, or maybe cover your face with your hands. Instead, you take a breath and meet his gaze, ignoring the weight of your heart against your sternum and the thick heat spreading in your belly.

“My boyfriend bought it for me,” you lie, watching Dex’s eyes flit down your chest then back up.

Something squeezes tight in your chest at the way Dex smiles, the corner of his mouth dragging up into something more vulpine than human. His pupils expand a little beneath the blaring gold sun, and you find yourself taking a small step back—but he matches you. He steps forward, hand finding the strap of your swimsuit again, curling around the elastane and holding it firmly in the crook of his knuckle.

“You don’t have a boyfriend,” Dex states casually, but his tone is dark.

You scoff. “I do.”

“No point in lying, sweetheart,” he says, pulling the strap back and letting it go again. You gasp as it bites into your skin, stinging. “FBI, remember? I know everything about you.”

You swallow thickly. Dex takes a step forward.

“I know you’re top of your class,” he begins, eyes securely on your face. The eye contact is intense, and you find yourself blinking away. “I know your dorm faces east, and I know you and your friends vacationed in the Bahamas this time last year. I know you keep polaroids of your high school prom in a box on your desk—” He steps closer. “—and I know you have a pretty pink vibrator in the drawer of your bedside—”

The weight in your stomach becomes unbearable, so you grab his forearms and push him into the pool. But one strong hand encloses around your wrist as he topples to the side, and you shout out as he pulls you in with him.

The water is bitingly cold on your sun-soaked skin, and when you break the surface, Dex is already there. You scowl at him, sending a large wave of chlorinated water directly into his face. He takes it with a laugh.

“You’re a fucking freak,” you spit.

He laughs again. “Tell me something I don’t already know, sweetheart.”

You turn with a grunt, wading towards the edge of the pool. You get your palms onto the flat edge, ready to hoist yourself out, when the water shifts around you. You suck in a quiet gasp when Dex is suddenly behind you: the mass of his chest pressing to the sunscreen-slick skin of your back, his hands finding the edge of the pool and caging you against the wall.

“Where’re you going?” He asks, voice low.

You spare a glance down to where his forearms box you against the wall. Your eyes trace the veins that run beneath the skin. Your mouth goes dry.

Dex hums at your silence. “S’a matter, baby?”

“Don’t,” you whisper sternly, screwing your eyes shut. Goosebumps ripple along the exposed skin of your arms, water sliding over the curve of your forearms and dripping, each droplet catching like gemstones in the sunlight.

Dex laughs, and suddenly, his chin finds the curve of your shoulder as he hunches over you. His chest presses flush to your back, and you crack your eyes open just as his palms drag across the tiled edge. Strong fingers find yours, running gently over your pinkies, then across the bumps of your knuckles, until his hands are completely engulfing yours. The mass of his arms push up against yours too, and you realise how warm he is, how hot his blood pumps beneath his veins.

Your thighs clench beneath the water.

“Don’t… what?” Dex looks at where your hands press together over your shoulder. He turns his head slightly after a moment, his mouth skimming the thrumming pulse beneath your ear. “You think I don’t see you watching me, huh?”

“Dex,” you hiss.

He groans. It’s a low sound that carries from the back of his throat, and something dips in your belly as you feel it vibrate against the side of your neck.

“Watching me like I can’t fucking see you,” Dex whispers, face dropping until his lips press a chaste kiss to the junction where your neck and shoulder meet. He inclines his hips then, his pelvis flat against the fat of your arse, and you suck in a sharp breath feeling the imprint of him against the cleft. He continues, closer to you than before. “Watching me while I’m with your dad—really, baby? S’not something a good girl like you should be doing…”

His lips find your shoulder again, and this time, you can’t help it: your head falls to the side, baring the shining skin of your neck. You feel Dex grin against you as his mouth drags upwards, a couple of open-mouth kisses trailing the line of your jugular.

A little whine falls from your mouth when his teeth skim your skin and the hands over yours begin to trace up your forearms. You find yourself squeezing your thighs together again, and this time, Dex feels the movement as his pelvis pushes against the curve of your backside.

“Oh, my poor girl,” Dex murmurs, grinding himself against you. You gasp, eyes falling closed as you’re pressed up against the pool wall. His hands shift down your arms, down your ribs, skimming just below the line of your breasts, then trail south over your tummy. He pauses at your navel though, palming the soft flesh. “I’ve been ignoring you, haven’t I? Haven’t been giving you any attention…”

A shallow gasp leaves you. “Dex.”

“Tell me you want me, and I’ll give it to you—right here, sweetheart,” Dex whispers, and he’s more urgent now, as if only just realising his own built-up desire. He’s breathing hard behind you, and the little grunts that fall from his lips with each exhale have you heating up in his hold, the water like ice on your skin.

You open your eyes at his words. “Dex, please—”

The sliding door at the rear of the house shoves open, and it scares you how fast Dex pushes himself away. It’s like he knew it was coming. The heat of his body disappears, the water barely even rippling as he ducks back and puts enough space between you that you wonder if he was really that close to even begin with. Slowly, with his eyes on his phone, your dad walks out, and you take a breath before hoisting yourself out of the pool. You can almost feel Dex’s eyes on your backside as you clamber to your feet, and your dad looks up from his phone as you approach.

“Hi, honey,” he greets you, grabbing a towel from the chair nearby without being asked. He holds it out to you and you take it—you take Dex’s towel—before wrapping it around you and allowing your dad to plant a gentle kiss to the top of your head. His eyes flick up to Dex, then back to you, completely unaware. “Had enough of the pool for the day?”

“Yeah,” you say, casting a look over your shoulder. Dex leans back against the opposite side of the pool, a relaxed smile stretched across his handsome face. You want to roll your eyes.

—✿—

The only light on in your bedroom later that night is a cute little lamp on your bedside table. It casts the room in a honey-like gold, your bare legs flickering beneath shadows as you lounge across your bed, aimlessly scrolling on your phone. You couldn’t sleep, the warmth of summer having crept its way into your room and clung to your very limbs. You’d tossed restlessly, but had given up, throwing your sheets off and snatching your phone from the bedside table in defeat.

There’s a soft knock at your door.

You don’t think you hear it at first. It could have been anything. A creak of a distant floorboard, a tree branch scraping against the slanted roof, a car exhaust firing off somewhere down the street.

Another knock.

You sigh, annoyed, tossing your phone aside and pulling yourself out of bed. The silk of your pyjama shorts is pleasantly cold against the warm skin of your thighs, and you pad towards the door with sweat damp along the dip of your spine.

You open it and freeze, your joints fusing beneath the weight of your shock as you look up into the shadowed eyes of Dex, who peers down at you like he knew you’d open the door for him. Like he knew you’d do anything for him.

“Dex,” you manage to breathe out, looking up and down the hall. It’s pitch black and still, and that somehow scares you even more.

“Hi,” he says simply, one of his hands enclosing around the edge of your doorframe. He’s not wearing a shirt, and it takes every ounce of your self control not to follow the rippling of his bicep and forearm as he holds the doorframe. He cocks his head slightly, eyes falling down your body as if he hasn’t seen you in much less.

“What do you want?” You hiss, trying to sound annoyed, but it comes out whinier than intended. Heat fills your belly when he responds with a small smirk. You attempt a frown. “It’s late. I was asleep.”

“No, you weren’t,” Dex whispers. He reaches his other hand across the space that separates you, his fingers finding the soft, thin material of your shirt. He runs the seam of the collar beneath the pad of his thumb. “You gonna let me in?”

“My parents are asleep down the hall,” you whisper, tongue heavy in your mouth. 

There are butterflies in your stomach now, rabid and fast-moving and fluttering all the way up into your diaphragm. You clear your throat, eyes darting down the hall once more as he continues to fidget with the low-sitting neckline of your shirt.

“S’not what I asked,” he says, and it’s firm in a way that makes you want to draw back.

But you don’t.

You meet his eyes. “You’re my dad’s best friend.”

He doesn’t respond.

“You’re older than me.”

He still doesn’t respond, but the fingers on your shirt’s neckline shift up. The tips of his fingers drag up the front of your throat, and you can’t help but swallow nervously as he wraps his fingers, his palm pressing softly to the front. He doesn’t squeeze, but he holds you, his fingers right at the curve of your jaw so he can angle your head up and lock your attention onto him. You don’t know it, but he can feel your hammering pulse beneath his thumb.

“I am,” Dex whispers, his other hand moving off of the doorframe now. 

It finds your hip, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt and finding the soft skin just above the waistband of your shorts. He takes a careful step forward, and like a puppet at the end of a few very short strings, you let him move you one step back.

“This… we can’t do this,” you mutter, eyes tracing the lines of his face, now alight with gold as he takes another step into the ichored glow of your bedroom. You take another step back, and suddenly, he’s inside, and he can close the door gently with his foot. You swallow thickly. “Dex.”

His hand leaves your hip for just a second to twist the lock on your door. You hear it sink into place, a dull thunk, before his hand is on you again. This time, his thumb dips beneath the waistband and presses to the skin above your hipbone.

“Two things can happen,” Dex begins slowly, taking another step and pushing you back towards your bed. He only stops, his hand still on your throat, when the backs of your knees hit the edge of your bed. “One, you tell me to leave. And I’ll leave, baby, I promise. If you want me gone, I’ll go. Or two—” the hand on your throat gives you a tiny squeeze, “—you let me fuck you. You let me make you feel good.”

You have no doubt in your mind that your eyes have glazed over.

Tentatively, you reach your hands up and smooth them across the firm muscle of his abdomen, then up and over the curve of his pectorals. He groans at your touch, your hands burning hot against his bare torso. He dips then, and you let him slot his mouth to yours like it’s the easiest decision either of you have ever made.

He holds your throat firmly as he kisses you, his tongue quick to bully between the split of your lips. He licks inward, tastes the mint of your toothpaste in the grooves of your teeth and the way it lingers sweet in your saliva. It makes him groan quietly, a thick rumble in his chest, as he presses himself into you. You whimper in response, your fingers taking hold of his strong shoulders as your tongues meet. His lips are soft and warm and everything you imagined when you pressed your little pink vibrator to your clit this past week.

Dex is big as he crowds you. The hand on your throat is wide, and the hand beneath the waistband of your shorts is heavy. His hips jerk, pyjama bottoms thick with his half-hard cock as he rocks himself against your pelvis. Heat pools low in your belly at the breathless sound that leaves him, and you dig your nails into the skin of his shoulders as he deepens the kiss, your teeth knocking together.

A minute later, he’s helping you settle onto the edge of your bed. Mouths attached, swapping mint and spit. You spread your legs with a whimper as his hand slips from your throat, only to reattach at the nape of your neck. As he does that, he begins kissing down your jaw—warm, kiss-bruised lips dragging down the curve, sucking on warm skin, following the path of your fluttering pulse. His other hand hooks your waistband between two fingers and tugs. You lift your hips with a wistful sigh, helping him in pulling the silky material over the curve of your arse. Blindly, Dex flings your shorts away, before pulling back to find you bare against the bunched sheets of your bed.

A slow, cat-like smile spreads across his face. A shadow passes over his features as he dips, the light of your lamp catching a flash of teeth as he sinks to his knees, still grinning.

“No panties, huh?” His eyes flicker up to you for a second, before dragging back down to where you spread your legs for him. You grip the edge of your mattress, mewling his name quietly as his hands settle on the fat of your thighs, kneading as he presses a slow line of kisses from your knee, inwards.

When he gets close enough, Dex places one last kiss to your inner thigh before blowing a puff of air against your slick core. You’re burning hot and wet, and the flush of air makes you keen. You force your moan back down your throat, the silence of the night too loud in your ears as your heart knocks wildly against your sternum.

“Pretty baby,” he whispers, angling his head to press a gentle kiss to the bead of your clit. You suck in a breath, something pulling tight in the base of your tummy. He grumbles like he’s talking to himself, something about the fucking state of you, as he plants another kiss to the heat of your folds. “God, you’re pretty.”

He inhales then, nose pressing tight to your clit before his tongue splits you apart. A moan of his name lodges in your throat as your hips shift forward, pushing deeper, as you hold yourself up with one arm. Your other hand finds his hair, grabbing a fistful of the soft locks as he groans into your pussy, tongue flat and warm and heavy against you.

The sounds of his tongue moving across your core are obscene and embarrassingly wet. It makes your entire body burn up, heat thrumming through your veins as you tremble. Your dad’s best friend is buried between your thighs, his mouth on your pussy, and he’s really, really fucking good.

“Dex,” you whisper, rocking yourself against him. 

The slope of his nose catches against your clit as you grind yourself on him, his tongue spreading you apart before finding your hole. You can feel how wet you are, and if your body wasn’t strung up along the lines of pleasure, you may have cowered beneath your shame. His tongue curls inside you now, and you bite down hard on your lip as a whine rattles against your teeth.

One of his hands shifts from your thigh. It drags up your hip, then over your mound. Calloused and heavy, it rests across your mound, fingers spanning over the soft flesh above your womb too, as his thumb finds your clit. Dex presses hard, and you nearly choke on air as you draw in a startled gasp. You try to close your thighs, but the width of his shoulders keep them apart.

“Dex,” you moan, and the second it leaves your mouth you know it’s too loud.

Dex tuts as he pulls away, nuzzling the soft skin of your inner thigh and sucking the skin between his teeth before he speaks. “Not too loud, baby.”

He says this as his thumb presses deep circles against your puffy clit. And he says it before his mouth is back on you, tongue curling deep inside the tight heat of your cunt. Your head rolls on your shoulders, pressure sitting in the bottom of your tummy as he circles your clit with his thumb. His other fingers push down on your lower belly, right over your womb.

When his tongue shifts out of your cunt, his lips move across your folds as if he were kissing your mouth. Languid, claiming, rhythmic in the way they move. His tongue swipes through you, drawing lines as your heartbeat rises in your blood to meet his movements. A build-up of static follows the pressure in your tummy as he kisses from your clit, back to your hole, a deep grumble leaving his chest as he pushes his tongue back inside you, then out again. He draws shapes—letters, actually, and it’s a particular three over and over again, but you don’t know that—against the swollen pearl of your clit as he brings you towards your release.

You grip his hair tightly, whimpering, “Oh, Dex, Dex, oh my god.”

He hums, eyes watching you closely as your body pulls tight. Pressure builds and builds until you slam your teeth down into your bottom lip to stop yourself from crying out. Your release hits you hard and fast, and your pussy flutters tightly around the thick of Dex’s tongue. You swallow moan after moan, desperate to keep quiet in the golden-hued silence of your bedroom as he licks you through it. His head moves, coaxing you through it, and he only stops when you finally collapse back onto your bed with an almost pained sigh.

Dex kisses your clit once more, twice more, then kisses up your mound, over the curve of your belly. He dips his tongue into your navel, then kisses up over your stomach, then across your sternum as he gets to his feet. His hands caress your sides, surprisingly gentle after he’d practically ripped your orgasm from you and left you boneless tangled in your sheets.

He pulls back with one last kiss to your sternum, where your shirt bunches up beneath your breasts. He takes your wrist then and pulls you back into a sitting position, and he does so with no effort whatsoever despite your quiet groaning protests.

“Tongue,” he says, wet face pressing to your cheek as he nuzzles you.

You do what you’re told: sticking your tongue out, blinking up at him lazily as his head dips. You expect him to spit, but he doesn’t. He simply slides his own tongue against yours, back and forth a few times, before sliding his mouth to yours. It’s wet and messy and you can taste yourself as you come together. He moans into your mouth, and the sound has your heartbeat reigniting in your core. While he kisses you, his hands find the messed-up fabric of your shirt. He grabs it and pulls, shifting his head back just enough to pull it up and over your head and arms. He kisses you as he throws it aside, your breasts spilling out into the warm air of the room.

“Such a good listener,” Dex whispers when he pulls away, planting a kiss to the corner of your mouth. He cups your face in two large hands, cradling you softly. You sit on the edge of your bed, looking up at him with tears in your waterline and drool and slick spread across your lips. He hums, pressing a kiss to your sweat-damp forehead. “Such a good girl.”

You whine, hands shooting forward and finding the drawstring of his pyjama bottoms. You unthread them and hastily push them down, leaving him in just his briefs. He hisses, hand on the nape of your neck once more as you lean forward.

“Easy, easy, baby…” Dex mutters as he kicks his pants away. You whine, eyelids drooping as you press an open-mouthed kiss to the front of his briefs, kissing the thick imprint of his hard cock. You mouth at the tent as he squeezes the back of your neck, and he lets you do this for a few long moments before he pulls you away. “S’enough of that.”

You pout. “Dex.”

“On the bed.”

You listen without another word, but you make sure Dex sees your pouting. He just shakes his head as he watches you clamber backwards onto your bed, head coming to rest against a mound of your pillows. Dex groans when you spread your legs, your hands trailing from your breasts, over your stomach, then down between your thighs. He hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his briefs and tugs them down, just as your fingers find your clit, and you whimper his name as his cock falls free.

He kicks his underwear away as you circle your puffy clit, writhing against the stack of pillows. You’re quiet, but you add an obvious lilt to your voice, “Oh, Dex, fuck—”

“Yeah, yeah, keep it up,” Dex grunts as he crawls onto the bed and settles between your spread legs. He watches you, not touching, as he snatches a pillow from the head of your bed and stuffs it beneath your hips, propping you up. You suddenly feel too exposed, too raw, and your finger drops from your clit as Dex mutters, “Oh, s’a matter, baby? Why’d you stop?”

You frown, heart in your throat. “Dex.”

“Don’t look at me like that. I’ll give you what you want,” Dex says, low and dark. 

It makes that knot in your belly tighten. He shuffles forward a little more then, gripping the base of his cock. It’s heavy in his hand, hanging forward under the weight, the head flushed a bruising red, slit wet with pre-cum as he clutches the base tight between his fingers. You can’t help but stare, eyes tracing the line of hair from his navel to the thatch at the base of his cock. You fist the sheets as his free hand spreads your thighs even further apart. With a subtle dip in his brow, he takes his cock and slaps the wet tip against your clit.

You keen. “Fuck.”

Dex’s hand drags over his shaft, and he hisses when he can press the tip of his thumb to the underside of the head. He holds himself there, breathing coming in shallow pants, as he drags himself through your folds, eyes transfixed on where slick webs between your folds as he splits them apart. His other hand continues to knead the fat of your thigh, flesh dimpling in his hold.

“You’re gonna ask me nicely,” he says quietly, eyes still on your pussy. He circles the head around your hole, where you flutter and drool for him, before he’s dragging it back up to nudge the base of your clit. His eyes flicker upwards when a tiny moan slips out between your lips. “Please, baby. Ask me nicely.”

You sigh, body shaking as he ruts the warm head of his cock through your folds. Tension tugs at the base of your womb, sweat wet along the line of your spine.

“Please, Dex,” you whisper. You almost don’t recognise your own voice.

“Please what?” Dex is panting like a dog, sweat beading high on his forehead as he notches the tip of his cock at your entrance—just enough to feel you clench around nothing, rim slick and warm against him. He bites off a groan as his balls twitch. “Oh, fuck, please, sweetheart, come on.”

You moan softly. “Please fuck me. Please put your—”

The first three words were enough of a trigger for him. Your dad’s best friend groans too loud above you as your cunt swallows the head of his cock. You’re tight and slick and everything he had imagined when he’d fucked his fist in the shower, and he can’t go back. He can’t stop now.

With another groan, quieter than the first, Dex pushes in. He pants the entire time, grunting out something that sounds like your name as he feeds the thick of his cock into you, pussy clenching tight around him. You sigh out, little whines and whimpers falling across his blushing ears, making something tick over in his brain.

“That’s it, that’s it, oh my god,” Dex mumbles as he enters you. 

He’s thick like the rest of him—cock spreading you apart as your thighs quiver. You arch your back, hips propped up by the pillow, as he slides in slowly. Your cunt opens up for him, and you feel each little ridge, each vein as he pushes deeper and deeper. It knocks the breath from you as he stretches you apart in the golden lamplight of your room. Your hands shoot up to find his shoulders as he leans over you now, hips meeting yours when he finally bottoms out. A thick groan falls out of his mouth, his jaw working as his balls settle against the curve of your backside. You’re so full, and you both release a shaky breath in unison as the air around you settles.

“Dex,” you whisper, drawing spirals against the skin of his shoulders. “You’re so big.”

“I know, I know, m’sorry,” he whispers, eyes shut. He speaks after a few seconds of desperate panting, his eyes opening to scan your face. “But you’re taking me so well, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” you reply, and you lift your head slightly.

He gets the message. Dipping, his mouth finds yours, and it’s his turn to moan into it as your tongues slide against one another. You feel his cock give a subtle jerk inside you, and you pull away to whine, head rolling against your pillows.

“Here we go,” Dex says, more to himself than to you, as he pitches his hips back and pulls his cock from you until just the tip rests inside.

He moves forward, shoving back in, and if it was even possible, his pupils blow wider. He chokes on a moan of your name as he settles into a rhythm, the wet clutch of your pussy sucking him in with embarrassingly loud patterns of plap, plap, plap—

“Dex,” you gasp, the head of his cock reaching so deep already, the angle of your hips pulling him towards the base of your cervix.

Dex groans, “My pretty baby, my sweet baby.”

You moan in response, heat pooling like molasses in the pit of your tummy. Your entire body is thrumming with pleasure as his cock splits you apart, nudging your g-spot every single time. Pin-point accuracy, it almost makes you scream. But you bite it down, settling for a pathetic little whimper of “Dex, baby, holy shit,” as he sets one hand on your waist, the other holding him up, as he fucks you into the mattress.

Your bed creaks just loud enough to make you worry, mattress groaning as he ruts into you. Your headboard, thankfully, is far enough from the wall that it misses the paint with each thrust of Dex over you. But either way, your noises are becoming harder and harder to trap in your throat, and you find yourself biting your lip so hard you split the skin as Dex’s cock leads you towards your next orgasm.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” Dex asks, hair messy and sticking to his forehead. His hips shift over and over, body hulking over yours. His cock reaches up towards the plug of your womb, a tight knot of pleasure building there as pressure builds in the base of your spine. Dex’s lip curls, almost in a snarl, as he rolls his hips, pitching his cock so deep it physically punches a moan from your chest. He grunts, “Come on, baby, fuck.”

Your body is on fire. Your room is too hot. You have never felt like this before.

“Yes, Dex,” you whimper, trying to keep your eyes open as the heat slowly becomes unbearable. Your heart is hammering against your ribs, the tension in your belly and spine eating away at you, forcing your limbs to tighten up. “Uh—ah, Dex, please, baby, please.”

“Tightest little pussy,” Dex whispers, then a little louder, “Pretty baby letting me fuck her raw, huh? Want my cum that bad?”

Your legs tighten around him, your fingers on his shoulder pressing bright red crescents as you hold him, teetering too close to the edge of release. It’s giving you vertigo. You’re dizzy with it as pleasure seeps into the marrow of your bones, the tension in your belly growing and growing, pushing right up against your womb as he fucks you into your mattress.

“Dex,” you gasp out, his cock twitching inside you as it slides right up beside your cervix. “Dex, m’gonna—oh my god, m’gonna—”

“I know, I know, sweet girl, I can feel you,” Dex moans, and this one echoes in your room. But you’re both too far gone to care now. Dex’s thrusts pick up, deep and rolling, as the hair at the base of his cock rubs against your swollen clit. He groans as you clench around him, fluttering like you don’t want to let him go. “Let me have it, baby. C’mon, you can do it, let me feel it.”

The tension inside you reaches breaking point, and it snaps so violently you see stars above you. Gold flashes, glints of ivory, as you moan and topple into your orgasm. You bite most of it back, but it’s loud enough for him—loud enough to make him smile like he owns it as you come around his cock. Your pussy squeezes tight, milking around the thick of him as your entire body shakes, thighs trembling where they lazily bracket his hips. Your back arches off the bed, arms shaking as you grip onto him, claws embedded in his skin as you whimper his name over and over again.

You’ll draw blood, and the thought has Dex’s balls drawing up tight as his cock gives another jerk inside you, the walls of your cunt wet and warm and so fucking tight.

“M’coming,” he whispers just as you fizzle down from your own high. He’s grunting and groaning, and your name is a prayer on his lips. “Take it all, pretty baby. M’gonna—”

He collapses onto you as he comes, hips jerking as he buries his face into your neck and moans, trapping the sound against your soft, dewy skin. His cock twitches deep against the plug of your womb as he comes in hot spurts, and you feel it fill you—hot and sticky and claiming in your belly. You whine as it happens, and he mimics the sound right back, grinding his hips as he empties himself with a few last pathetic twitches. The heat in his body washes out of his system as he takes a deep breath, committing your smell to memory, his cock softening slowly inside of you.

But he has no plans of pulling out just yet.

“You okay, sweetheart?” He whispers tenderly, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

You hum, trapped beneath him. “Mhm.”

He kisses your cheek again. “You did such a good job.”

You hum again.

Dex kisses you again. “And m’so proud of you.”

That makes you clench around him, and he chuckles, hand finding your throat again so he can angle your head to the side and slot his mouth to yours. The kiss is lazy and uncoordinated, but you can’t help but whine into it. You smile to yourself when you take his bottom lip and nip it lightly.

“Sorry,” you whisper, not sorry at all.

Dex pulls away with something flashing in his eyes. “Give me five minutes and I’ll give that mouth something to do.”

Your heart jumps in your chest and you kiss again.

———

hey siri how to be a coin

tags 🌿

the second— no, actually … the third time—

bobby doesn’t seem to care anymore.

he’s terrible at this, he’s admitted it every single time you whine at him and try to stop it from happening, before it becomes an even bigger habit. you can only get lucky so many times. something is bound to take. but he shushes you when you start whimpering for him to pull out, distracting you with sloppy kisses and sweet rubs on your clit that have your brain all fuzzy and useless for the moment. something to keep you on the edge and close to cumming yet again.

“bobby, you cant keep doing this,” you whimper into his mouth just as he presses his hands into the backs of your thighs and spreads you out some more. a sign that he’s about to lose control. you can feel every inch of him, can hear every lewd sound that comes from between your thighs and every deep groan falling past his lips. he nuzzles his face into the side of your own, ignoring your hiccuping and babbling entirely. you’re trying so hard to get him to listen with your slurred and breathy words, it almost makes him feel bad, “you have t’pull out.”

“baby, baby— don’t make me.” he chokes out, sweaty forehead resting against your temple as he triples his efforts. he ruts into you as he rambles, sloppy but practiced enough to have your toes curling and your brain liquifying in your skull, “i fuckin’ can’t. i can’t do it. you feel so fuckin’ good, baby … gotta stay right here in this perfect pussy.”

he knows he’s got you the second your nails claw over his shoulders and down his back with no intent other than begging him for more. the sharp sting forces a growl out of his throat before he muffles himself with your mouth, his tongue rubbing against your own as he spills his messy load in you with stuttering movements.

“fuuuck—” he breathes over your lips that are covered in a mix of his saliva and your own, nearly whining as the aftershocks take over and bite at his heels. he grunts, pressing into you like his life depends on it. his gaze drops between your thighs, seeing a mess of white that makes him shudder, “i’ll clean you up after, baby, i swear. jus’ let me have this, pretty girl. give me a second. please.”

you huff under him, mewling as your used up cunt milks him without trying. like it’s second nature, devastatingly.

he was in the same state now as he walked closer, his blue eyes wide, captivated by the way your skirts hitched just so as you moved, pupils dilated, the adrenaline from the fight still thrumming through his veins, woven in with the simmering yearning for you, for this moment.

"my princess," he breathed, chest heaving under his breastplate, grimy hands twitching, as if wanting to touch but not allowing himself to just yet. "have i pleased you?"

and oh, those words made your cunt flutter. so, so earnest, your sweet knight. so ready to seek your favor, even after having proven himself so valiantly on the field, bringing honor and renown to your house and your name, to you.

"yes, ser," you affirmed, smile softening as you watched dunk kneel between your parted thighs, broad shoulders keeping them spread. "you have pleased me greatly. i enjoyed watching you joust."

"yeah?" dunk's voice dipped, barely above a whisper, baby blues never leaving your face, memorizing every twitch and movement, wanting nothing more than to lose himself in the face of the woman who acclaimed him so readily.

"yeah," you parroted, one of your hands lifting to cup his cheek, thumb brushing over the dirt caked onto his skin, but you gave it no mind. you couldn't care less, not when dunk's lashes fluttered, and a sound akin to a wounded animal punched out of his chest, breath brushing your wrist.

he leaned into your touch like a man starved, pressing his gauntlet-clad palm onto yours to keep you there. watching him rub his cheek against your skin, nuzzling you with almost childlike eagerness, made warmth spread in your chest and throughout your body like simmering fire.

it was easy to bring dunk's face closer and press a soft kiss to his mouth, making another one of those delicious, aborted sounds fall from his bloody lips. you wanted the proof of his strength, the proof of his endurance onto you. seeing the red smeared across your skin, he shook his head, his other hand reaching out to brush the crimson away, but you stopped him gently, shaking your head.

"no, ser," you said. "let me have proof of your valiance, for you have suffered and bled for me today," a pause, as you guided his hand onto your skirts, right where the hem brushed your stocking-covered ankle. "and i wish to reward you."

a ragged breath left him as soon as his fingers brushed against your clothed skin, trembling; not from inhibition, but desperation. pure, unadulterated need to hike up your skirts and dive tongue first into your pussy like an animal without an owner. and gods, he wanted to.

has been thinking about it since he stepped foot onto the jousting field. even when he knew he had to focus on not being unhorsed, or tilting his spear right, or holding his shield up to block sword and mace alike. all he could think about was how good your cunt would smell, would taste once he was allowed to be between your legs again, once he deserved to feast at the altar of your sweetness, if the gods granted him victory. and they did, and yet—

"are you sure, my—"

"lift my skirts, ser duncan," you interrupted, thumb brushing his cheek anew, ceasing his delay. you knew what he wanted and understood why he was hesitating, even though you two had been in this same predicament plenty of times before.

after every prevailed joust, you offered duncan what he craved: a place between your thighs and unrestricted passage to your pussy. when he first asked for it, still green in his sexual desires, face almost as red as a freshly plucked strawberry, you were more than delighted to offer yourself over to him. after all, you had been waiting to get the knight into your bed since your father had assigned him to guard your every move. all those nights where you ordered him to stay vigilant as a sentinel at your door while you pleasured yourself loud enough for him to hear truly worked wonders. a siren song to an unassuming sailor.

"claim your prize, ser," you persisted, letting the pad of your thumb skim his bloody bottom lip, tugging it lightly, enough to bare his teeth to you, the sight of his crimson canines making the ache between your thighs mount. "you've kept me waiting long enough," you chided, eyes sharpening enough to watch the way his own widened, as if the mere thought of displeasing you brought a sense of urgency, weaving into the marrow of his bones and kicking his senses into obeying every single one of your whims.

he moved.

not fast enough to startle, but with the conviction of a man who stopped reigning in his heart's desire and started taking.

his broad, armored palms brushed against your ankles, bunching up your skirts and lifting the flurry of flowy fabric, letting the cold steel chill your clothed skin. he hoisted it up, up, until he gathered it at your waist, allowing him to have a good look at—

"princess—," he gasped, fingers tightening into your skirts, moments from tearing the material to shreds as feelings overwhelmed him, feeling more beast than man in the face of such a pretty picture.

you were bare.

no small clothes to cover your dignity, your pussy spread open and dripping, your hole throbbing around nothing, clenching shamelessly, as if urging him closer. calling to his cock or his fingers or his mouth to heel. and gods, dunk wanted nothing more than to answer.

the view was obscene. his broad shoulders and the hulk of his body kept you splayed open. thighs on each side of him allowed him to see every inch of the sweet reward he was given.

"pretty?"

your voice snapped him out of his reverie, barely able to drag his gaze away from the gorgeous spread of your cunt, blinking as his eyes met yours, feeling a ruddy flush creep up his neck as he saw the pleased curl of your lips as you watched him. he swallowed, nodding, so, so earnest, his armor shifting and clanking with the movement, making you let out a small laugh.

"a—always, my princess," dunk whispered, not being able to keep steady any longer, steel clad fingers curling into the lace band of your stockings and pulling, dragging the material down your thighs, using the grip to bring you closer to the edge of the bed along with it. "so bloody pretty," he praised, dipping his face until it was level with your mound and breathing you in, lashes fluttering at the tangy musk of your cunt.

his tongue darted out to taste without preamble, not being able to hold back, the scent of you intoxicating beyond measure, calling to him like a siren song. steel fingers dimpled the fat of your thighs as he brought you even closer, pressing your cunt against his face, muffling a deep, guttural groan into the heated, slick flesh, moving his head from side to side, unashamed, nuzzling into your pussy, face mushed into you, spreading your juices onto his nose, cheeks, and chin.

it made you moan, hands seeking the top of his head, fingers tangling into his dirty hair, tugging him even deeper against your heat, hips twitching, already meaning to grind against his face. "oh, my sweet knight," you lilted, breathy and airy as you felt the tip of his nose nudge your throbbing clit, the movement of his head granting you delicious friction. "always so eager, so good for me."

the words had the desired effect, feeling as another groan muted against your heat, dunk's tongue laving broad, firm strokes along your wet folds, spreading you open, lapping at every inch of your cunt like a dog would water. it felt divine. it always did.

dunk might not be versed in many things, but wielding a sword and eating pussy were two that he could boast about until the end of his days and would never fail to ring true.

"taste s' good, my princess, my lady," he moaned against you, head swiveling incessantly between your thighs, clumsy and eager and so, so good, creating a flurry of depraved, loud wet noises that made you flush.

your fingers tightened into his hair and pulled, tugging, eliciting more debauched sounds from him, before appeasing the slight sting you knew you caused, petting at his dirty strands as you cooed. "yeah? does it taste better than your victory, ser?"

perhaps it was a wicked, ungrateful question. but the way dunk nodded not even a moment after, baby blues half lidded as he looked up at you, tongue still licking between your folds, already pussy drunk and lax with pleasure, was more worth it than every gold coin in the seven kingdoms.

"won jus' to taste you, princess," he babbled, mouth drenched with a mixture of blood and your slick, the view making you moan as your eyes drifted down, seeing streaks of crimson along your cunt and inner thighs, from where dunk's blood marked you. gods, you couldn't help but throb and clench around nothing at the sight. having your sweet knight's spilled blood onto your skin, smeared onto your pussy, pleasure mixed with honor. the honor he fought so hard for today in the joust. "jus' to have her again."

you couldn't help the grind of your hips at his words, feeling the telltale sign of your peak beginning to build at the base of your spine, moans spilling freely from your lips, the sloppier dunk got, slobbering all over your cunt, tongue flicking against your clit before wrapping his lips around it and sucking gently, cheeks hollowing.

"ser—," you gasped, broken and wanton, fingers tugging harder at his hair as your hips humped forward, greedy and twitching against the suction. "my good ser," the praise fell from your lips like a benediction, washing over dunk in waves, body warming up from the inside like a flame kindling.

he did not even realize his own hips ground forward, armor clinking louder as the fervor mounted, his clothed cock brushing against the bed frame as his mouth feasted on your cunt, hard as steel and leaking in his breeches and armor. but he did not care, not when you felt this heavenly, when the taste of you cloyed the back of his throat and invaded every sense. he pulled back just enough to see how the blood smeared all over your pussy and inner thighs, his eyes glazed over with heat. dunk loved the sight. loved that it was his blood. his pain. his proof of victory.

his tongue rolled around his mouth for a moment before he spat onto your pussy, letting saliva and blood drip down your folds obscenely, making his breath hitch noisily into his throat. it made you moan. his cock twitched in his breeches, hips grounding even harder against the bed, the depravity of it all making all the blood rush to his face, blush bleeding down to his throat.

"she's so wet f' me, my princess," he groaned, the sound ripped from his chest as he watched the crimson drip further. "so pretty."

the sight was enough for him to dive right in with renowned fervor, steel fingers gripping your thighs and pulling you harder against his face, aiding you to hump your hips against his mouth, drenching him in your juices.

it was too much. you have been wet since the joust. since you watched him barrelling into men left and right, knocking them down effortlessly, his size and broadness eclipsing any other knight on the field. the throbbing of your pussy never ceased as he fought so valiantly, only making you press your thighs together beneath your skirts and keeping in soft moans of wonder as you watched your sweet knight make his way to victory.

"duncan," you moaned, broken and high, feeling the thread about to snap, only getting a muffled moan in response to his name being spoken by you, fingers tugging at his hair, needing something to tether yourself to before shattering. "my sweet duncan, don't stop—"

"i got you, my princess," was muffled into your folds, his efforts doubling, feeling the way your thighs shook, his scalp stinging at the relentless way you held onto him, but he did not mind. he wanted you to use him. wanted you to always use him to feel good. "let me have it," he pleaded, tongue lapping at your throbbing clit, moving his head from side to side, the stimulation making a full body shake run through you. "please, princess, please—"

you were powerless to his pleading, to the way he looked between your thighs, eyes glazed, shining with so much devotion, your slick smeared all over the bottom of his face. gods, it was a sight that'll keep you awake and wound up for nights to come.

it unraveled you now, peak unfurling in the bottom of your tummy, gushing into dunk's mouth, crying out his name again and again as he continued to lap at the juices flowing against his chin, cheek and on his tongue, moaning like it was the nectar of the gods. "thank you," your sweet knight whimpered, panting into your pussy, his hips rutting faster and faster against the bed as he lapped up all of your slick. "thank you, princess, thank you, thank—"

the words broke off into a long, punched-out moan, a full-body tremor bowing his hulking frame forward as he followed suit, cumming in his breeches, dirtying the inside of his armor. his forehead pressed to the top of your mound, tongue lolling out to softly lick the remnants of what he couldn't prior, cleaning you, sated and boneless between your thighs.

your chest heaved with soft pants, watching him, gaze so achingly tender it could drizzle honey in its wake. the fingers that tugged at his hair gentled, petting soothingly, scraping at his scalp in slow, deliberate motions, making dunk hum in delight against you, leaning into your touch like a flower towards sunlight.

"thank you, my sweet ser," you whispered, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to his damp hairline, wanting him to know how grateful you are for him, getting a small, bashful smile in return as he turned towards your mouth, baby blues mirroring every feeling that resided inside your heart, making your chest ache.

your sweet knight. your sweet duncan. all yours.

he in turn holds you close, large hands settled on your waist — grip directing your winds and grinds over his aching cock. the inners of his thighs hook at the outers of your own, legs bent and pressure firm as if to keep you close, close as humanly possible with his lounged position against the headboard.

your grip intensifies around the lower of his face, and it's then your thumb and fingers dip further into the hollows of his — pressure making his lips part against yours. his breath is ragged against you, pants hot and desperate in a way that matches your own. 

you itch in slightly and brush your lips over his. though you don't connect them, instead they ghost his, mouth agape as he swallows the gasps he earns from you with each pump he fucks up into you with. each upward wind making you splutter on choked-out whines.

with your mouths merely connecting, you swipe your tongue over his bottom lip and then nip at it, latching on lightly. you hold it between either set of your teeth, tugging on it with the most gentle of pressure. he chuckles, noise low and lewd while his pawing tightens around your waist, his grasp growing with extremity. desperate hold guiding you down on onto the cock he dicks up inside you.

you release your toothed hold from his bottom lip and press a kiss to where you had momentarily bitten into, giving him something slightly sweet and heartfelt. though your kisses drift from his bottom lip and teeter outwards, reaching his cheek. pointing your tongue, you trace over his scar — trailing the joined fusion of skin. haste non-existent.

but that's short lived and you soon feel absence grow around your upper hips. 

instead, he places them around your neck, one on the side, one nearing the back as he directs you to meet his eyes once more. he's mindful as he tugs you, thick fingers encompassing the base of your throat like it was no effort at all. he lowers you down, making you meet his lips so he can speak against them. 

"you're my dream girl," he utters, voice low and gruff. it sounded honest. or as honest as you believe dex to be capable of.

"yeah?" you hum, smiling against his lips.

the hand around the back of your neck itches upwards, fingers swirling at the root of your hair at the base of your neck. and it's then that he gives it a considerate tug. his hold like an effort to keep you close, to keep you right there.

"yeah," dex affirms, eyes cast up at you — gaze heavy and wanting. He nips at his own lip, it's like a redirectional effort for the slipping self-control, you believe.

his hands snake from their placement and pause at the either side of your face, grasp encompassing your head within two of his very thick hands. he retains your position and itches up to meet your lips; the connection rough and sort of desperate as deep breaths muffle between from either one of you.

your winds grind to a gradual halt when you feel dex's hips still beneath you, the motion of his upward fucking ceasing completely. you pull back to look over him, like it was to question the reasoning for such a sudden stop. though by the time you're able to figure out what his expression meant, he's pushing you backwards, grip firm on you as he repositions with you — cock still plugged inside you. 

he lays you down, pushing you back just under 180 degrees so the position you're each in is the same, only reversed. he's on top, like how you were only a mere moment ago.

his hands have since retracted from the sides of your face and one instead finds itself anchoring your pinned wrists into the mattress, his hold keeping your interlocked pinkies above your head. though the other has situated itself at the top of your throat, just under your jaw. he angles your face, making you look him in the eye as he rebuilds the pattern of thrusts from before. each one grows, and a system of deep and equally strategic pumps fall into place. 

dex keeps his eyes cast down on you below, gaze focusing on your growing fucked-out expression — the one that he's a direct cause of. and it's then that he nods down at you, encouragement building across his features as he gives your lower cheek a few light taps. ones that were again, some means of encouragement.

his thumb slips aside and reaches for your mouth, and it's there that he hooks onto your bottom lip, tugging on it slightly so as to keep your gasping mouth agape. he leans in nice and close, lips brushing past yours as he spits between them, laying saliva on your tongue for you to swallow. 

"attagirl," he coos against your parted lips, eyes as smitten as he can manage. "attagirl."