#evaspeaks

he still pissed you off though.

he pissed you off enough to make you say no when he asked to make it up to you, he pissed you off enough to leave you watching him, petting his hair while he tried to memorize the feeling of damp cotton in his mouth. he was going at it like he’d start to taste you at some point, burying his nose against you to try and quell the ache in his boxers. he just kept at it — his hips rocking into your bed and his hands kneading the skin of your thighs, the dull swipe of his tongue through layers of fabric leaving you less than impressed, him more than desperate.

him waiting at home all miserable and nervous that someone will steal you away from him, clambering to the door the second he hears the key turning in the front door’s lock. he’s quick to grab your bags and throw them somewhere, all too eager to get his hands on you. tan lines? he wants to kiss them. boardwalk henna? he’s always wanted to see you with ‘tattoos’. all he wants is to have you to himself after being forced to practically give you away for a week.

more importantly, he needs to release all those pent up hormones — jerking off to the bikini pics you’d send did not do the trick.

you’re up on the kitchen counter before you can even take your shoes off, his eager tongue down your throat. the whining is almost annoying, but he can’t help it. you taste different, you feel warmer, more tense. is it all in his mind, or was he replaced? the thought makes him nauseous, all his weight dropping to his knees, his shaky fingers working to unbutton your shorts. “you missed me… you missed me, yeah? c’mon say it.” he whines, his big, pretty eyes boring up into yours. he doesn’t wait for an answer before his mouth is buried in your cunt, nose nudging your clit as he laps at you desperately. it’s like he’s trying to mark his territory, stake his claim as if he lost what he knows is all his.