I’m curled into your lap, the low hum of the documentary washing over us like distant thunder. My head nestles against your shoulder; the nape of my neck feels the warm press of your palm as you thread your fingers through my hair, tugging gently at the roots. The fabric of your shirt is soft beneath my cheek, and the faint scent of your perfume, vanilla, into my senses. For a moment, the world is nothing but this quiet, tender stillness.
Then I shift. First a subtle twist of my hips, then a more urgent shimmy that sends tremors through me. Every nerve fires to life. You barely glance at me, eyes fixed on the flickering screen. “What?” you murmur, voice low and calm.
“I need to go,” I whisper, voice tight, as I try to lift away. My arm slithers around your tors o, pulling you flush against my chest before you can slip free. It’s not violent just firm, insistently claiming you. “Sit still,” you say, the single syllable carrying an unspoken command.
I press back once, softer this time, but my will already fraying. Your hand drifts down my side, fingertips brushing over my hip, tracing the hollow at the top of my thigh before settling there. The warmth of your touch blooms inside me. You draw in a breath. “I’m serious,” I whisper, voice quivering, but my body goes slack against your grip. You lean closer, your lips grazing my ear. “I know you are baby,” you murmur. A heartbeat passes. “But you’re going to wait.”
The words settle over me like a tether pulling me home. I still, not because you’re forcing me, but because you’re giving me the choice to stay. Your hold tightens just enough to remind me of your strength and your thumb begins a slow, feather-light drag across my skin, watching the tiny shiver that ripples down my spine. “How bad?” you tease, tone playful yet utterly commanding.
My breath hitches, and you press a soft kiss to my neck, tasting my quickening pulse beneath your lips. “Use your words,” you murmur, breath warm and intimate against my skin. The television’s chatter fades into nothing. All that remains is the slick brush of your fingers on my bare thigh, the quick drum of my heartbeat in my ears.
When you slip two fingers inside me, my back arches like a bow bent to its limit. A soft gasp escapes sweet, vulnerable the very sound that makes you deepen your rhythm. My eyes flutter open at the small leall. “Sorry—” I begin, voice trembling, trying to wriggle free, but your other hand closes around my wrist, gentle yet unyielding. You know me too well: how far I’ll let you go, and exactly when to hold me still.
“Shh,” you murmur, sliding your fingers deeper. “You’re doing so good for me.” Heat floods my cheeks. I can feel the wetness pooling in your palm, warm and slick, but it only makes you harder. I fight each moan, nails marking your forearms as your fingers curl expertly inside me, coaxing every tremor.
Your free hand slides up to my lower belly, pressing flat to add pressure and anchor me as my hips roll helplessly against your palm. My thighs gleam with arousal in the dim light. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes when you find my swollen bundle of nerves, your thumb drawing languid circles that send lightning down through my spine.
I whimper, lips parting. “Baby, please—” My sobs come unbidden, raw and urgent, punctuated by your name. My body quakes around your fingers, every sensation magnified, every nerve alight. You lean forward, capturing my mouth in a deep, possessive kiss, drinking in my desperate little gasps.
When my orgasm crashes through me in shuddering waves, my pussy clenches reflexively, milking your fingers as my breath stutters between us. You hold me through each quake, your arms anchoring me until my body finally unravels and goes limp against you.
You withdraw your fingers slowly, coated in my release. I blink up at you, lashes heavy with unshed tears, chest heaving in slow, trembling breaths. “I—Im sorry,” I murmur, voice distant, shy.
You brush a stray lock of hair from my forehead, thumbs sweeping away a tear that slipped free. “Shh baby” you whisper, pressing a gentle kiss to my temple. “I’ve got you.” I melt into your arms, soft and spent, and you hold me there, exactly where I belong.
