glory girl ♱

you were supposed to be reading. but it was hard when jay was sitting on the edge of the bed , tuning his guitar — it felt like he was taunting you , the way his fingers played the chords , tuning it to his liking. and you were just enjoying the show.

“you’re staring.” he suddenly stopped , making eye contact with you , a knowing smirk on his face. he had caught you in the act. “is your book not entertaining enough?” standing up to sit his prized guitar on its stand , making his way back to your shared bed.

“i wasn’t staring , yo-you playing the guitar was distracting me.” you tried to play it off , but your flustered state proved different.

“my guitar?” his eyebrows turned up in amusement , he enjoyed watching you torture yourself instead of just telling him what you want. “or my hands?”

before you could even try to defend yourself , he was tapping two fingers against your lips. “open up pretty.” he watched your lips slowly part , pushing his fingers inside your cavern. “that’s it , good girl.” pushing down on your tongue , you moaned around his digits. “pretty girl satisfied?”

he watched your eyes glaze over as you sucked on his fingers. “let’s try something else , let me make you feel good.” he removed his fingers much to your dismay , climbing on top of you , both his hands wrapping around your bare thighs pulling you down onto your back. “keep your legs open for me.”

he pressed his thumb down on your clothed clit , rubbing harsh circles against your bud. “ja-jay.” he wasted no more time , pulling your panties down your legs , his long fingers sinking into your cunt.

“you get so wet just from my fingers.” curling them against that spot that had your back arching off the bed , moaning his name like a mantra as he fingered you , your pussy dripping down his hands. “making such a mess.”

“jay.” you gasped. “i’m gonna cum.” he smiled sweetly down at you.

“yeah? gonna cum?” he cooed , his thumb rubbing against your clit as he scissored you open. “cum all over my hand , make a mess.”

the pleasure was intense when you came , you didn’t even realize you were squirting , jay cursed as your juices came out of you , his cock twitching in his slacks — he watched you come down from your high , pulling out of you. “taste yourself pretty.”

he pushed his fingers into your mouth , watching you lick and suck at his digits. “fuck you’re so pretty like this.” pulling them from your mouth , unbuckling his pants , freeing his cock.

“want to feel you on my cock.” pushing himself fully inside , you screamed at the sudden fullness. “that’s it baby.” letting his fingers back into your mouth.

“be a good girl and suck while i fuck you.”

reiner’s admiration is slow, wanton, drifting over every inch of bare warmed skin your tiny pajamas leave uncovered. he steps closer, the soft-bluish fridge light cutting across his bare broad chest and those ridiculous biceps.

the man’s forever shirtless around the house, so the temptation’s made casual to you. not that you’ve ever found a reason to complain.

he peers your way with eyes golden as the sun, looks you over like he’s starving, thumb dragging along his angled jaw of stubble as if he’s debating whether to be gentle or ruin you right here.

“c’mere,” he murmurs, voice scraped low, “you look too good to be walking around this late.”

“we gotta head back to bed, rei . . .” but you go to him willingly anyway, let his strong forearm curl around your waist. how could you not? with that sleepy grin playing on his lips, the cute mussed state of his blonde undercut, the way his torso flexes every time he shifts; subtle, unconscious, like even half-awake he’s built for the sake of your desire.

his hands are already on your hips, big palms claiming the curves of you for every inch. your little pair of sleep shorts ride higher when he lifts you onto the counter, his breath warm against your throat, his scruffy jaw rough enough to make you gasp.

“was just dreamin’ about those lips,” he grips your thighs and spreads them with effortless strength, wedging his solid body between them like he’s claiming the space. you mewl at the warmth, arms looping around the base of his neck.

“had to come down here ‘n taste them for real.”

reiner takes you in for a deep kiss, so fervent it has your teeth clashing like that of pearls upon bone. he tastes you as if he’d been waiting all day, like your skin is the only thing that ever quiets him. the contrast of his pale, veined knuckles gripping your warm brown thighs is obscene yet beautiful altogether.

you feel yourself growing wetter by the second, a fast heat blooming shamefully easy just from the way he presses into you. his cock is already hard against your shorts, thick and insistent, caged by the restrictive cotton of his pajama bottoms.

he leans in, heavy and warm, and the first slow roll of his hips steals the breath from your lungs. the width of him grinds up against your soaked sleep shorts, thick and unforgiving beneath the thin fabric, shaft slotted just right and dragging right over the place that’s already pulsing for him.

“r—reiner!”

“mm, there she is,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice cracked with sleep and want. his palms tighten around your thighs, pulling you closer so he can do it again; slow, deliberate, a lazy stroke that leaves you trembling.

you whimper before you can stop yourself, the sound small and needy in the dark kitchen. he laughs softly, low and pleased, chest brushing yours as he presses in deeper. “yeah, i feel you,” he breathes, grinding up into you in another long, obscene push. “gettin’ wetter for me already . . . don’t wanna sleep anymore? you miss your papa that bad?”

“reiii, don’t stop, papa . .” soft and needy, you mewl at the marking nips he delivers to your throat, hips already arching into the delicious grind of him pressed against your center. his touch roams greedily over your full breasts, squeezing a handful through the fabric of your skimpy camisole, circling, kneading, teasing just enough to make you whine for more.

the friction is perfectly obscene; cotton pressed to cotton, bodies slicked together from beneath it, and it hits you all over again, how easily he ruins you. half-asleep, hair tousled, eyes barely open . . . and still, with just the slow, heavy grind of his hips, he has your body coming apart, trembling, leaking, every whimper soaked with want for him.

reiner leans closer, hot breath ghosting along your neck, sharp-edged teeth grazing the soft curve where your shoulder meets your his. deft fingers slide over your ribs, palming your breasts with a thorough hand, this time taking his thumbs to circle your hardened nipples and pinch until you mewl against him.

the grind intensifies, hips rolling with deliberate pressure, pressing you impossibly closer against him. every sloppy inch of movement makes you wetter, hotter, leaking all over him, and he hums low in approval, one hand tangling into the curls of your soft hair to tilt your head back toward his.

“god . . . you feel too good,” he rasps, lips brushing the sensitive skin behind your ear. “barely awake and still this needy for me already.”

then, with a sudden shift, he steadies your thighs onto the wide expanse of his strong shoulders, pressing himself fully between your legs and grinding harder— each movement calculated to drive you fucking insane. his mouth recaptures your soft, pillowy lips in a messy, wet kiss, tongues tangling, and your hands dig into the meat of his tan broad shoulders as your hips buck helplessly against him.

every moan you release, every shiver that wracks your body, he drinks in, murmuring filthy praise and warnings at the same time. “mine, all mine,” he growls, grinding into you with lazy, punishing insistence, proving that even while half asleep, your husband is all-consuming.

“aw, look at you,” reiner groans, dragging you closer until the swell of your full chest is pressed to his own, “my girl sittin’ here all sweet for me.” his mouth finds the hollow of your collarbone, sucking at the supple flesh all slow and hungry.

it’s with much haste— damning his already poor sleep schedule— that he slips both your shorts and pink soiled panties aside. his groan is low and rumbling as his eyes drink in the sight of you, pulsing and slick, already dripping for him. his pajama bottoms fall in a quick slide down the meat of his thighs, and his cock springs free; an arousing mauve-pink at the tip, hot and slippery with need, veins mapping the thick length, bobbing subtly under its own weight.

without hesitation, he slots himself between your lips, warm and heavy, and you gasp, mouth watering as your fingers tighten around his arms. the heat, the slick, the sheer size of him pressed into you; everything overwhelms your senses, leaving you trembling atop the marbled counter. he grunts out when he thrusts himself between your folds, throbbing cock laying heavy over your center.

“i— ooh, fuck . . should never let you out of my sight, honey.”

and in the effortless way he lines himself up, pulls you close, prepares you, like he’s about to eat every soft sound you make, you don’t want him to.