mike wheeler who can't help himself but indulge when he wants to go down on you.
you're sitting down while mike rests his chin on your knee from where he sits below you, looking up at you through long lashes. you insisted he sit with you, but he said he was fine right there. that the floor was more comfortable, apparently.
while you talk to him about your day like normal, looking down at him, you catch those puppy dog eyes—you mutter, "stop looking at me like that..."
"what? i'm not looking at you like anything." he shrugs, head tilting so hes resting his cheek against your inner thigh. his eyes say otherwise.
his face creeps closer with every story you tell until he's leaving fluttering kisses against your inner thigh. when your hand drops to tangle in his hair, he pauses to look up at you.
"i told you, i'm listening." he huffs before returning to kissing over the sensitive skin. "i mean, can't i just... kiss my girlfriend?"
that argument works until he's looking up at you with dark, beady eyes as you give into his pleads for more. when he watches you undo the button of your shorts, he's eager to help—tugging them down for you like he's been waiting for this.
"you're so annoying." you weakly mumble, cupping his cheek before tangling your hand back in the messy, black hair at the nape of his neck as his curved nose finally bumps against your clit.
"you're so mean to me." he glances up at you before finding purchase between your thighs, mouth thankfully too occupied to say any more.
