YOU ARE INSANE ON LUST FOR HER. It drives your every action, might honest to god be guiding every beat your heart takes. Your hands are everywhere, your mouth following a nanosecond behind. Her hands, in return, rove over your body. It's not a dance, not really — this is ritual, primal, animalistic and desperate. Flesh against flesh, a constant take and take from both sides. There is no give here, no pause for it, not when the two of you are so fucking hungry.
The gusset of her panties slip against the crotch of your trousers, and you're probably just dick driven, but the slide, a little bumpy thanks to the frantic push and pull between you, gets you a little dizzier. It's not enough, it won't be enough until you've got your cock buried in her pussy, inches deep, her sweet heat enveloping you, and even then it won't be enough, not really, because then you'll be gunning towards the end. Her pussy is heaven on Earth, and you never ever want to fucking leave.
Come on, she urges you, and you have to laugh, because you're so fucking there. You've been there since the beginning of the day, since she walked into the office, since you watched her bend down in that skirt, her bare calves acting like a siren's song. You've been there since before that, when it was skinny biceps attempting to pin you down on the floor, feral bites only meant as a defense against your gentle ribbing. It'd blossomed in you something dark, something deep, something primordial, this gaping need to have her, in whatever way you could. It's gotten a bit more focused since then, and in moments like this, there's only one ending you're happy with, and just the thought of it alone has you giddy. Makes you want to play games.
Ask me for more, you say, and it's maybe a little mean. You want her begging for it, gagging on your cock, tears springing up at the corner of her eyes, a fucking mess. You grind your hips against hers, groaning at the pressure there, a little shaky just thinking about what waits for you. God, it's hard to play games like this, because Rey has a nasty power over you, makes you forget yourself and your manners. You both love it.
You keep your distance, just enough to be able to see as you reach down, both hands going to her panties. A small pause as you pull them down her thighs. You're not gentle about it, and they rip right before you can get it past her knee. Oops. The fabric is balled up in one hand, and you can't help yourself — you bring it to your nose, inhaling deeply. Her musk is heady, enriching, a little earthy. Sweat, from her busy day. A little tang. You can't help the slight moan that slips out, and because, at the end of the day, you're a bit of a freak — you chew on the torn fabric of her panties, just for a second.
Rey is still wiggling under you, a sweet little mess that deserves to be wrecked, so you focus, slipping your fingers between her folds, gathering the wetness that's gathered there. ❛ Baby, you're fucking soaked. ❜
You sound amazed, because you are, every time. She drips for you, and fuck, you immediately want to dive in, mouth first, lapping up your fill. Your dick twitches in your boxers from the thought of tasting her alone. Your thumb moves to her clit, a slow circle of pressure, just enough to get her moaning. God, you want to fuck her so badly. You want her to cry for it.
❛ This pussy for me? ❜ You ask. You sound astonished, bamboozled. Fucking sweet present for a nasty man like you — it gets you riled the fuck up. You lean in, dragging your clothed dick against her bare cunt, straight up delighted at the sight of her juices darkening the fabric. Maybe it'll leave a stain. You have to bite back a gleeful giggle.
❛ Beg for it, sweetheart, ❜ you instruct, your index finger playing with her hole. You won't push in, not yet, because you want her a little more desperate, but, God, it's hard to remember the rules of your own game when she's under you like this. ❛ Tell me exactly what you want. I'll think about giving it to you. ❜
somewhere, in the back of her head, rey thinks she should be angry about the current state of her panties — ripped, balled up, destroyed. she thinks she ought to say something, yes, probably, but as her mouth opens to make her protest known: her panties, pressed to his face; leon, inhaling — words are molten, liquid on her tongue, any contestation being fitted instead into a guttural sound, their moans in tandem as his teeth take a bite at the destroyed fabric. it shouldn't do this to her, she knows — most people would find it creepy, twisted, downright perverted, but it makes her mouth water instead, her tongue peeking out to lick at the corners of her lips.
〝 yeah. you gonna do something about it? 〞 she asks, a little breathless, her eyes darkened and wide, pupils dilated as if she's on molly or coke or meth, but the drug that pumps through her vein instead is desire and leon, leon, leon fucking kennedy.
his finger, a hot pressure against her pussy that is as maddening as it is not enough — rey was raised on crumbs and leftovers, but she's always had the stomach of greed, lustful and hungry for more, always more. her pussy is throbbing, her heartbeat spiking and everything is so hot her vision is starting to get blurred, and she thinks she might cry if he doesn't touch her soon, if he doesn't shove one, two, three fingers inside of her, or his fat cock with no consideration for how it will or won't fit. she doesn't care — she just wants, and wanting is a dangerous thing for a woman like rey. it makes her delirious.
rey moans again — shameless and far-too-loud for the environment they're in, for the voices that she hears one, two, three doors away. she doesn't care — like it's been said: delirious. his hard cock against her wet pussy, and she can't help herself — rey lowers her head to see it through, to watch as the outline of him meets the nakedness of her, and she grinds her hips against it again and again and again, looking for any kind of friction, any semblance of relief. her eyes, rolled to the back of her skull, her head tucked into the crook of neck, right at the spot where it meets his shoulder. 〝 you know it is. 〞 she says, but it's mostly a whine, complaint and plea all in one. 〝 it's always for you. you know that. 〞
leon speaks and rey can't help it: she whines and whimpers, her hips fucking into the finger he won't slide in, desperate and greedy and needy. she might have said his name, or whined again, it doesn't fully matter — rey is trying to pleasure herself in the ways that she can, to fuck into what he gives her, to take more than is offered — greedy, desperate, needy. rey moves her face, her nose sliding against his sweat-slick neck, then his jaw, until she finds her mouth placed flush against his ear. she opens it, and takes a bite — strong enough to hurt, but weak enough that she knows he'll find pleasure in it.
〝 leon. leon please. 〞 rey whispers, her mouth pressed against his earlobe, and she's poking her tongue out, she's licking a stripe, she's biting it again. she presses her palm against his crotch, feeling the outline of his cock against it, pressing her hand against it, pressure. 〝 promise me you're gonna give me everything, leon . . . baby. please. 〞
