Please read at your own risk ⚠️
You’d been on edge all week, snapping at little things, rolling your eyes at his suggestions, and giving him that sharp tone that made the air between you thick. Elijah noticed—hell, how could he not? But he didn’t push it with words. He wasn’t the type to talk it out endlessly. Instead, he watched, waited, and when Friday night hit, with you slamming the cabinet door in the kitchen a little too hard after dinner, he decided enough was enough.
He came up behind you while you were rinsing dishes, his hands sliding around your waist, pulling you back against him without a word. You felt the heat of his body, the solid press of his chest, and before you could mutter some sarcastic remark, his lips were at your ear. “You been actin’ up,” he murmured, voice low and steady, not accusing, just stating the fact. His fingers gripped your hips, firm but not rough, guiding you to turn around.
You opened your mouth to protest, but he kissed you—deep, claiming, his tongue sliding in like he owned the space. And fuck, he did. You melted a little despite yourself, hands fisting in his shirt as he backed you against the counter. When he pulled back, his eyes locked on yours, dark and intense. “Gon’ fix that attitude tonight,” he said, simple as that. No questions, no debate. He lifted you onto the counter with ease, his strength making it effortless, and spread your legs to step between them.
“Elijah…” you started, but he shook his head once, silencing you with a look. He didn’t need explanations. His hands were already under your shirt, pushing it up, exposing your skin to the cool air. He leaned in, mouth on your neck, sucking lightly at first, then harder, drawing a gasp from you. “That’s it,” he whispered against your skin. “Let me hear you.”
He stripped you right there in the kitchen, clothes hitting the floor in a heap. No rush, but no hesitation either—methodical, like he had all night, which he did. His shirt came off next, revealing the taut muscles you’d traced a hundred times before, and he pressed against you, his hardness evident through his jeans. “Feel that?” he said, grinding slow and deliberate. “That’s what your attitude does to me. Makes me wanna fuck it right out of you.”
You whimpered, nodding, but he wasn’t done. He dropped to his knees, hooking your legs over his shoulders, and buried his face between your thighs. No teasing buildup—just his tongue flat against you, licking long and deep, making you arch off the counter. “Fuck, Elijah,” you moaned, fingers tangling in his hair. He hummed in response, the vibration shooting through you, but he didn’t stop, didn’t slow. He sucked on your clit, fingers joining in, curling inside you just right, hitting that spot that made your vision blur.
“You so wet already,” he muttered, pulling back just enough to look up at you, lips glistening. “Been waitin’ for this, haven’t you? Actin’ all tough, but you need this dick to set you straight.” He dove back in, relentless, until you were shaking, coming hard on his tongue. He lapped it up, holding your thighs steady as you bucked.
But he didn’t give you a second to catch your breath. He stood, unbuckling his belt with one hand while the other kept you pinned. “We ain’t done,” he said, voice gravelly. He freed himself, thick and hard, and lined up at your entrance. One thrust, and he was buried deep, stretching you perfectly. You cried out, nails digging into his shoulders, but he just started moving—slow at first, letting you feel every inch.
“Take it,” he growled, picking up pace. “That’s my baby.” His hips snapped forward, each thrust deliberate, powerful, making the counter creak under you. He leaned down, capturing your mouth again, swallowing your moans as he fucked you harder. “You feel so good wrapped around me.”
You could barely form words, just gasps and his name, over and over. “Elijah… oh god…” He shifted, angling deeper, hitting that sweet spot with every stroke. “Yeah, say my name like that,” he said, breath hot against your ear. “Let me know who’s makin’ you feel this good. Who’s fuckin’ that attitude away.”
He didn’t let up, pounding into you until you came again, clenching around him, but he kept going, chasing his own release. “Gon’ fill you up,” he promised, voice strained but controlled. A few more thrusts, and he did, groaning low as he spilled inside you, holding you close through it.
You thought that might be it, your body limp and buzzing, but Elijah pulled out slowly, watching his cum drip from you with a satisfied look. “Up,” he said, helping you down from the counter. Your legs wobbled, but he steadied you, guiding you to the living room couch. No break, no water, just his hand on your lower back, pushing you forward gently.
He sat, pulling you onto his lap, facing him. “Ride me,” he instructed, already hard again—how the fuck was he ready so fast? But you didn’t question it, sinking down onto him with a moan. His hands gripped your ass, guiding your movements at first, then letting you set the pace. But when you slowed, catching your breath, he took over, thrusting up into you. “No stoppin’,” he said firmly. “Keep goin’. I want you cummin’ again.”
“Fuck, Elijah… I can’t…” you whispered, but he just smirked faintly, one hand sliding up to your breast, pinching your nipple just enough to make you gasp.
“You can,” he replied. “And you will. Look at you, bouncin’ on my dick like a good girl. That’s what you needed, huh? Me deep inside, stretchin’ you out.” His words were sparse but hit hard, each one sending heat through you. He flipped you suddenly, onto your back on the couch, never pulling out, and started fucking you missionary-style, legs hooked over his arms.
“Look at you, baby,” he murmured, eyes on yours. “All spread out for me, takin’ everything I give.” He went deeper, harder, the sound of skin slapping filling the room. You came again, stars bursting behind your eyes, but he powered through, grunting as he followed soon after, filling you a second time.
Still no break. He carried you to the bedroom, laying you on the bed face-down. “Ass up,” he said, voice calm but commanding. You complied, too spent to argue, and he slid in from behind, one hand on your hip, the other pressing your back down. “That’s it. Arch for me.” He started slow, building up, each thrust pushing you into the mattress.
“You doin’ so good,” he praised, leaning over you. “Takin’ my cock over and over. Fuck, you feel amazing.” He sped up, the angle perfect, making you sob into the pillow. “Come on, baby. One more. Give it to me.” And you did, shattering around him, but he kept going.
He flipped you onto your side next, spooning behind you, sliding back in effortlessly. His arm wrapped around you, hand between your legs, rubbing your clit in time with his thrusts. “Can’t get enough of this pussy,” he breathed. You climaxed again, trembling, and he came with you, holding you tight.
By the fourth round, you were in the shower—he’d carried you there, turning on the water without a word. Pressed against the tile, water cascading over you both, he took you standing, hands braced on the wall. “Last one,” he finally said, though his pace said otherwise. “Make it count.” He fucked you slow and deep, drawing it out, until you were begging incoherently. “That’s my girl,” he murmured. “Let go.”
When it was over, bodies spent and slick, he cleaned you up gently, no words needed. He tucked you into bed, pulling you against him, his silence comforting now. The attitude? Gone. Just peace, and him.
Idk, you can probably tell it was rushed. This is my first time writing smut; I am proud. 😝 Byeeeee 🧸
