#deathnote

His dark eyes were locked onto your face where you were pressed into the mattress below him - your black police issue slacks long discarded, white button up splayed open, bra tugged limply up, resting beneath your collarbones to expose your bare breasts to him.

Despite the frankly obscene sight you were sure your body was painting below - his eyes had hardly left your face.

L seemed entirely focussed on tracking and cataloging each little contorted micro expression, each puff of air huffed out from between your bitten lips, each choked swallow hiding a moan, every lone twitch of your furrowed brows, every little movement of your eyes, softened and glassy as you tried to keep them from rolling back into your skull.

Without warning the steady rhythm he had set changed. Slow, shallow thrusts interrupted as he angled his hips, and suddenly each pump was longer, deeper - zeroed in on that sweet little spot inside that had you clawing at the freshly laundered sheets.

The resulting affect was immediate. Your jaw dropped open, slack with the sudden overwhelming throbs of pleasure searing down your limbs. Your eyes rolled back behind eyelids already fluttered closed.

Your hand flew to your face, slapped hard over your mouth to cover the tail end of an unexpected, spineless cry that escaped your throat.

“I’d prefer if you didn’t cover your face during this. Please look at me, Detective.”

His voice was deep and flat when it curled over your ears, the raw sound only stoking the blazing fire in your belly until you thought it might burn you alive.

You managed to wink an eye open enough to find that L was still peering at you with that black, devouring gaze. The only indication that he felt any of what he was doing to you was the subtle wash of pink dusted over his pale cheeks.

“I want to hear you.” He stated plainly.

Your fingers bit into the mattress below you, jostled lightly with each roll of his hips.

“It’s embarras-…-haaaa….” You tried, words trailing off into a feeble moan when you felt his hand slip between your parted thighs.

Slender fingers splayed over your fevered skin, above where he was pumping into you. His thumb eased down into your slick heat to draw slow, wide circles over your clit.

“It’s embarrassing?…” He echoed, finishing your sentence for you, tone one of mild intrigue.