#nsfw22

Emma’s back starts to hurt and the brick wall behind her offers no relief. The smell of the alley is strong, part rotting garbage, part urine, part something else. But the smell of sex is stronger and Emma is sure that they could be heard on the streets as Clint grunts and she moans every time their bodies ground together.

Clint’s lips leave her mouth to travel to her ear then down her neck then...yes...to the curve of her collarbone to suck on a pressure point. Her legs are wrapped around him and his hands slide from her legs to her hips, pressing her downward to meet each stroke. He pulls out and slams back in, painfully banging her into the filthy wall. And Emma likes it. She likes the pain. She likes the thrill of it...even if they are just fucking in a dingy alley where someone could walk in on them. And there was something about Clint...the way he looked at her, the way the muscles in his arms and back moved...and the way he was filling her up right now just felt so….good.

His nails dig into her sensitive skin as he continues slamming his hips  against hers. Every thrust makes Emma cry out and she is pretty sure they could really be heard on the streets...but she doesn’t care. All she cares about is Clint’s dick pumping in and out of her pussy, the wet squelching sounds coming from her,  and the fact that it was driving her closer and closer to the edge. She closes her eyes to the trash and dirt, focusing on the pleasant fire building in her gut. She was close, so close. 

“Fuck, yes yes…” Emma gasps as Clint slams into her, his cock burying deep into her, driving her back harder against the wall. “Like that like--oh god!”

She shudders as she comes. Her arms slacken on his shoulders and she leans her head on him. Her mind is floating, the only thing keeping her slightly grounded is Clint’s cock still sliding in and out of her. 

Then Clint’ groans turn guttural and his thrusting quickens, making Emma gasp in surprise. Her hands clutch his shoulders as he fucks her with a new vigor. Her breath is short and ragged, syncopating against the sound of their flesh colliding. He thrusts into her one more time before she feels his cock throb hard inside, spilling his cum inside her. With a barely audible “fuck”, he falls against her until he’s finished.

“Next time,” Emma breathes after a moment of silence, her eyes still closed. “If you’re going to fuck me, fuck me on a bed.”

“Well,” Clint growls in her ear. “You should’ve left work when I fucking told you to.”

Emma rolls her eyes but whines softly at the loss of sensation when he pulls out of her. Then without warning, he presses his mouth to hers, hungry and bruising, his tongue lapping at her lips. Emma’s arms tighten around his neck as she opens her mouth to him. And she feels warmth spread through her from between her legs. She is about ready to go again but he pulls away and sets her down. Emma groans and tries to pull him back into a kiss but he holds her in place, his eyes are alight with hunger.  

Nobody’s going to know.

Ava quickly looked around the restaurant before bringing her eyes back to the menu. Luckily, most of the people were preoccupied with their food or conversation. Her eyes then flicked to Jasper who was sitting in front of her in the booth and busy thumbing an app on his phone. His eyes met her and he smiled sweetly at her. Nobody’s going to know.

Almost immediately, the low vibrations inside her increased, sending tingling waves of pleasure through her. She clenched her legs together and reached for the glass of water in front of her as inconspicuously as possible. When she raised the glass to her lips, another stronger wave rocked her body, causing her to gasp in surprise. Her wide eyes flicked to Jasper who looked away, though a smile was playing on his lips. This fucker. Ava could feel the blood rushing to her chest, the flush going dangerously close to her neckline. Her jacket, which she carefully chose to perfectly match her dress, seemed like a mistake now as her body felt like it would burn up.

A new particularly nice wave rushed through and it seemed to be blending her brain into mush inside her head. She closed her eyes and bit her lip, trying to regulate her breathing so no one would hear just how insane her boyfriend was making her feel at the moment. It didn’t help that she could sense Jasper’s eyes on her, watching her reactions probably with mild amusement. Just focus on something else. Ava eyes trained on the menu in front of her. What was she going to order? How much would she pay? Just focus on that. Unfortunately, the words started swimming before her as her mind wandered with each rise and fall of the vibrations, her insides instinctively clenching around the toy.

The toy started humming a start-stop rhythm and Ava’s mind really started to wander. All of a sudden, Jasper seemed very present to her. He still had his phone in one hand, the screen displaying the app for the little motor inside her. But his attention was at the menu before him. She was suddenly aware of the pleasant curve of his jaw, the breadth of his shoulders under his clothes, the subtle muscle of his arms. And his hands. Ava pursed her lips together, stopping the moan trying to escape from them. Jasper’s hands, though calloused and scarred, never failed to bring her pleasure. She rubbed her palms against her legs as the vibrations continued. She just knew that if she was sitting next to him right now, he’d trail his fingers up her leg. And she would let him. She would let him snake his hand up, up her thigh, under her skirt...

And as quick as the vibrations had come, they were gone. Ava nearly let out a whine at the loss of sensation but quickly covered it up with a cough and another sip of water. Releasing a breath, she shook out the haze and refocused her attention on deciding what to order.

“Having fun?” Jasper’s chin rested on his hand, an innocent smile on his face.

Ava rolled her eyes at him. “Don’t you know the answer to that question?”

“So lovely,” Diana purrs, stroking her fingers down the line of Jacques’ jaw.The vampire, to her credit, only whimpers slightly. Diana smirks, tangling her fingers in Jacques’ short hair.

She circles the vampire, admiring her arms bound behind her with a simple silk tie, on her knees against the plush carpet of Jacques’ personal library. Diana smirks, as she twists her fingers tightly in Jacques’ hair, pulling. The vampire breathes in sharply, and Diana tugs her head again, Jacques eyes looking up to meet hers.

“I love that I can make you breathe,ma petite lapine,” Diana chuckles, bending in her corset as she drags her other hand down Jacques’ throat. “You’re so good for me, aren’t you?”

“Yes, yes, I’m good,” Jacques pants, her hands clasping together behind her back in their tie, ”Please, let me be good.”

Diana walks around to face Jacques, the heel of her stiletto digging into the carpet in front of Jacques as she bends, meeting Jacques’ eyes as she slides a finger into the metal ring on the front of the black collar Jacques wears, tugging her forward on her knees with only a crook of her fingers.

“So desperate,” Diana sighs, sitting back in Jacques’ favourite leather armchair, as Jacques whines, moving forward on her knees, “Very well. Show me just how good you can be,” she drawls, setting her arms on the chair, spreading her legs slowly for Jacques, who sighs with a moan.

***

Anya can’t help the smirk that sits on her lips as her husband - husband! - blushes a bright red under the spray of the shower.

“Ah, Doc, aren’t- won’t your knees hurt?” he asks as she settles on her knees in front of him on the tile in the absurdly large shower in their village. 

“I’ll be fine, Lucas,” she says with a laugh, glancing at the separate soaker tub she’ll definitely take a soak in after, before dragging her hands over the planes of his sculpted abs, pressing a kiss to the juncture of his hip and thigh.

He gasps above her, and Anya smiles up at him through her lashes, lifting a hand to wipe some of the water out of her eyes before dropping her hand to wrap loosely around his rapidly hardening cock.

“Oh- oh, Anya,” he moans, resting a hand on her head. He tenses, squeezes slightly before pulling back, swallowing hard as he looks down at her, biting his lip in a way that makes her want to kiss him.

“You’re good, solnishko,” she assures him instead, shifting her posture, tilting her head downwards, “Just don’t push.”

She looks up at him, enjoys how his eyes widen and fingers tighten in her wet hair as she takes him in her mouth, reveling in his strangled moan.

Well worth the wait to the honeymoon, she thinks.

***

If she’s not careful she’s going to rip apart the duvet balled up on the bed behind her.

Teale’s eyes roll back in her head and she lets out a long moan, her fangs biting into her lip.

“Babe,” she whines, drawing it out as she looks down at Rhonda, on her knees, between the vampire’s thighs, “Please!”

Rhonda pulls away from her centre with a grin, pressing lazy kisses to Teale’s shaking thighs, her fingers still crooked inside the vampire. With a gentle motion, Rhonda coaxes another keening whine out of Teale, whose nails slice through the duvet.

“Please what, Teale?” Rhonda drawls, lowering her mouth to flick her tongue over Teale’s sensitive clit, drawing her fingers out of the vamprie slowly.

Teale whines again, a garbled mess of words and begging, and if she could, would be beyond red, flushed over her cheeks, breasts and thighs with arousal.

The air is hot and dry around her as she steals through the cobblestoned alleys, her footsteps light and skidding over the uneven bricks. Her breath is short, her eyes wild as she looks around for the hunter. She sucks in a deep breath, pulling in her magic tight to her skin, the light of the glamour reflecting in the sheen of her sweat as she keeps moving through the maze of a city.

Twilight falls around her, the deep oranges and purples of the sky filling the spaces between old buildings, and she wishes she could appreciate the beauty of the city. Instead, Roman freezes at the base of the hilled street as a solitary shadow stretches out over the road, covering her in darkness as she looks up at the man at the top of the hill.

She narrows her eyes, backing slowly down the street as the man moves forward, his pace easy and measured, a hand resting surely on the pommel of the sword at his hip. 

“Roman,” he calls, his booming voice echoing off the old Spanish bricks, “Come out, you know this is over.”

“Not yet,” she fires back, sliding her eyes to a nearby alley before taking off at a sprint down the sidestreet - only to be met with a dead end.

He stands at the end of the alley, the sun behind him outlining him in silhouette but she’d recognize his confident posture anywhere. His steps are slow and confident as he moves towards her, his face coming into sharp focus in the sunlight, and she could weep at the sight of him.

She lets herself look him over quickly - he looks tired, but sure of himself. He’s letting a beard grow in, and she doesn’t hate it. Her hands ball into fists at her sides and a stormcloud crosses the horizon.

“Roman,” Ashley says softly, a little sadly, “Please don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

She has nothing to say to that, backing up slowly as he inexorably makes his way towards her, mouth drawn in a tight frown as her back touches brick.

“Roman,” he murmurs, blue eyes devouring her face as he presses a hand flat to the wall by her head. Roman tracks every movement of his other hand with storm-bright eyes, her breathing heavy as his large hand comes up to caress her throat.

His touch is light, familiar, and cool against her hot skin, flushed with exertion and heat. She breathes shallowly, chest heaving under her plain t-shirt, slick with sweat. Ashley’s hand spreads gently over her throat, his eyes moving over every inch of her that he’s been intimately acquainted with before, and she catches a glint of heat in his gaze even though he doesn’t meet her eyes. One of his fingers traces gently up her jaw, thumb brushing slowly over her bottom lip.

Roman’s breath hitches and the caress is gone, Ashley’s fingers dropping to wrap tight around her throat and squeeze.

“Ashley,” she gasps as he lifts her steadily, a knee finding its way between her thighs, holding her up against the brick wall.

He shudders at the sound of his name on her lips, flexing his grip on her neck as he finally slides his gaze to hers.

Blue meets grey, and his shoulders slump, the banked fires in his eyes roaring to life as he takes her in, his gaze focusing on the hand clasping her throat.

“Gods, Roman,” he whispers hoarsely. The hand around her throat loosens slowly, sliding down to grip her arm too-tight as he presses himself against her, kissing her hungrily.

Her arms move around his neck almost of their own accord as she moans into the kiss, greedily kissing him back as his hand works its way up to cradling her head and desperately pulling her closer.

Ashley’s kiss is hot, his body pressing her firmly to the wall as she moans into his mouth, his kisses moving over her jaw, kissing tenderly where his hand had squeezed to kill only moments before. She gasps as he tugs her head to one side, biting down on her lip as he sucks a mark against where her jaw meets her neck, and another over her pulse point. 

Roman can feel her heart beating in her ears, hears the thunder rolling in the clouds, and all she can do is moan his name as Ashley holds her as tenderly as he can against the wall, hands moving possessively over her body, gripping her ass tightly with one hand, sliding his hands over her thigh, up to her breasts, caressing her throat again-

The sudden arousal jolts Roman from her concentration, her eyes snapping open to the desolate Spanish plans where her small fire burns, her spell’s herbs crisp and black in the bowl hanging over the fire.

She lifts a shaking hand to touch her lips, moving her hand slowly over her jaw to touch the unmarked skin of her neck. A heavy exhale and she drops her hand to rest over her heart, shaking her head slowly as shame and heat twist together inside of her.

He’s driving her crazy. 

He has to be doing this on purpose, right?

Anya leans into him, resting her hand on his chest as she adjusts herself, thighs rubbing together tortuously as Lucas’ hand keeps running over her arm. His warm fingers trace aimless patterns over her bare skin, the collar of her loosely knit cardigan falling down to nearly her elbow.

The movie plays on but she really has no idea what’s happening anymore. 

He’s been drawing these patterns over her arm the whole time, pulling her closer to him with every touch, even though his attention has been firmly fixed on the television. 

She cannot believe how keyed up she is, and all he’s done is barely touch her fucking arm. She’s half in his lap, his other hand resting on her knee, warm and heavy.

Anya wishes he’d slide the hand up just a bit higher, but that’s doubtful. She swallows a groan as the hand on her knee squeezes gently, the warm fingers on her arm tracing with just a bit more pressure. 

He can’t be this oblivious.

Lucas’ arm is heavy around her shoulders, though his fingers push the cardigan down a little more past her elbow, dragging all the way up her bicep, and she shudders, biting hard on her lip.

“Cold?” he asks, turning his head down towards her, “Want me to get you a blanket?”

“No.”

His hand pauses on her arm, squeezing gently. “Everythin’ okay?”

Anya sits up, the cardigan slipping from her other shoulder as she twists, swinging a leg over his hips to settle herself in his lap, looking down at him, hands resting on her legging-clad thighs. His blue eyes widen, cheeks flushing as his hand slides down her arm, over the crook of her elbow, his thumb brushing over the tender skin there under the knit of her cardigan.

“Are you doing this on purpose?” she asks bluntly, looking down at him. His other hand comes up, pushing dark brown hair behind one ear, fingers touching her cheekbone lightly.

“Doin’ what Doc?”

“Turning me on.”

She didn’t think it was possible, but his cheeks flush a darker red. He’s quiet for a moment, his hand cupping her face briefly, sliding down her neck, over her shoulder and the thin strap of the bralette she’s wearing. Anya watches him, an eyebrow lifted at his silence. His breath stutters as he traces the curve of her collarbones, the swell of her breasts beneath the soft cotton of the plain bralette with hungry blue eyes.

Finally, he says, “No.”

“So you weren’t trying to turn me on,” Anya clarifies, stretching her neck where the touch of his fingers still tingles. His hands have made their way down her arms, resting lightly on her thighs.

“Nah, Doc,” he replies, meeting her eyes. “Not on purpose. I just like, well I just like touchin’ you, and you’re all curled up with me here, and I’m sorry if-”

She leans forward, kissing him slowly, sucking on his lip. He sighs, his eyes fluttering closed as he kisses back, taking her bottom lip between his as she shifts her weight slightly. Lucas groans, chasing her lips as she pulls back slightly, brushing her nose against his.

Anya places her hands on top of his, pressing down to feel the weight and heat of his hands through the thin material of her leggings.

“Lucas,” she breathes, and he gasps a little as she circles her hips slowly against him, “If you’re going to touch me,” she murmurs, dragging her fingertips over the backs of his hands as they grip her thigh tighter, “Then touch me. Please, enough of the teasing.”

“Doc,” he sighs, as she kisses his jaw, down his neck, moving her hands over his broad, firm chest. “You know how I-”

“I know, and we both agreed to wait,” Anya murmurs, smiling against his skin as she glides her lips down his neck, “Doesn’t mean we can’t have fun in the meantime. If you want to, of course.”

She pulls back, sitting up in his lap, shifting her weight slowly as she sheds the cardigan, tossing it to the side. Lucas sucks in a breath, and she delights in the bob of his Adam’s apple, the flush of heat across his nose and cheeks, the tensing of his hands on her hips.

Lucas is watching her again, his eyes raking slowly over her from her hips up to her head and she smiles at him as his thumbs touch the soft skin of her ribcage between the edge of her leggings and bralette. He leans forward, kissing her softly as his hands move higher.

“Yeah, I want to.”

“Okay,” she whispers, one of her hands moving to cup the back of his head, fingers carding through his auburn hair. “We can stop whenever you want, solnishko.”

His hands have kept up their slow and steady climb over her ribcage, his thumb sweeping the underside of one of her breasts, and she lets out a soft moan, rubbing her thighs together.

“I’ll let you know,” he murmurs, one hand travelling around to press against the small of her back, pulling her closer to him. Lucas kisses her collarbone lightly, and she sighs.

“That will be all,” Roman says gently, dismissing her maid for the evening. The girl bobs a curtsy, backing out of the candlelit room and through the servant’s entrance.

Roman tilts her head this way and that, assessing her reflection in the mirror. The Rivers diamonds gleam around her throat, and she touches them with a gloved hand, a small smile on her lips.

The new gown is scandalously low-cut in the French style, and having felt particularly daring that day at the modiste shopping with Fiona, Roman had ordered it in deep red - a colour she knows her husband is fond of.

She touches her curled hair lightly, a gloved finger moving from the face-framing curl to trace her jawline, eyes following the movement in the mirror. Roman stands from her vanity, brushing out the wrinkles in the silk gown gently. She twirls, watching her reflection with a coy smile, bringing a hand to touch her earrings, the matching pair to the heirloom around her neck.

The townhouse is kept bright by a multitude of candles, and she’s satisfied with the sheen of the light on the silk of her dress, the shade of red dancing between oxblood and flame as she leaves her room. Roman glides down the hallway, resting a white-gloved hand on the banister to make her way down the staircase to the foyer, where she knows her husband is waiting.

“I hope I haven’t made you wait overmuch my love,” she says by way of greeting, midway down the stairs. She’s rewarded with Ashley turning to face the staircase, a sharp intake of breath, and the clenching of his hands at his sides.

“You are not going out in that outfit,” he says gruffly, his hungry gaze sliding over her slowly, possessively tracing every inch of her. He lifts a hand to adjust his cravat as she stops on the last step, lifting her fan to her lips.

“What do you mean, mi amor?” she asks, lifting a dark brow. “It’s the new style. French, my dear.”

“The French have far too many terrible ideas,” Ashley says, his voice deep and strained, taking a few steps forward to meet her at the base of the stairs. “Including this neckline.”

She laughs breathlessly as one of his hands comes up to touch the collar of her dress. His finger traces along her collarbones, down to the exposed swells of her breasts. 

“You think it so terrible?” she asks softly, looking up at him from under her eyelashes, “I think, my dear, you are rather enjoying it.”

“I am,” he admits, leaning forward, his eyes bright as he shamelessly follows the path of his finger over her cleavage with his gaze, “But I stand by what I said, dearest. You are not going out in this gown.”

“We are expected at Nikos’-” she begins, but he silences her with a kiss.

His hand grips her waist tightly, the fingers tracing her neckline wind up into her hair, dislodging the curls and pins Roman’s maid had spent hours setting, letting her heavy black hair tumble over her shoulders. His kiss is hot and demanding as he pulls her tight against him.

“I do not want to hear another man’s name cross your lips so familiarly when you are dressed like this,” he murmurs against her lips, and Roman shivers at the near-growl in his voice. Ashley kisses her deeply again before he straightens to his full height. “Jeeves, send our regrets to Lord Karahalios,” Ashley barks to the butler, “But we will not be attending his soirée this evening despite our previous answer.”

“We won’t be?” Roman asks, lifting a hand to touch her ruined coiffure, frowning as Ashley takes her hand, all but yanking her back up the stairs.

“We won’t be,” he affirms as they reach the top of the staircase. “If you’re insistent on this so-called French style of gown, you can wear it in the house, where the only one who will see you like this is me.”

Roman sighs, though her cheeks flush, and she lifts a hand to cup his cheek.

“Mi amor,” she says gently, as his hands begin wandering over her hips and waist, “Really, it’s only dinner, and it’s only our friends. Nikos and Guilherme-”

Suddenly her back is against the wall of the hallway, lifted off her feet by Ashley’s hands on her hips, holding her up, his knee pressed between her thighs as his mouth finds hers.

“I told you,” he all but snarls, kissing along her jaw, “Not to say another man’s name when you are dressed like this.”

“And how exactly,” Roman sighs, as his kisses descend over her throat around the diamond necklace, nipping and sucking, her arms wrapping around his neck, “Am I dressed, Ashley?”

He growls against her skin, a hand tightening on her waist, the other pressing over her silk-covered thigh.

“Beautifully,” he confesses, pulling back only slightly. His eyes meet hers, pupils wide and dark, his breaths ragged, and mingling with her own, “But only for me.”

Roman smirks, her hands cupping his face and drawing him in.

“Tonight, yes,” she murmurs between kisses, “But I’ll still have the gown,” she adds coyly, satisfied when his gaze drops to her flushed breasts.

“Perhaps,” he muses, bunching the silk fabric of the gown in one hand along her thigh, as one hand twines into his hair, the other trailing down to untie his cravat.

“Perhaps?” she repeats, drawing him in to her by the shirt collar. Ashley kisses her, drawing her bottom lip between his teeth as he presses himself more firmly against her, his arousal evident through the fabric of his suit and the silk of her gown. Even after all their trysts, and a year of marriage, the evidence he wants her never fails to thrill her, and Roman moans into the kiss.

She barely hears the fabric tear.

His hand is hot on her thigh over the silk stockings and she gasps, her head falling back against the wall with a thud. Ashley smirks, eyes roving over her flushed and heaving breasts, her kiss-swollen lips, and rolls his hips against her as he ducks his head to kiss her neck, sucking hard on her collarbone around his family’s diamonds clasped around her throat.

“Ashley!” she hisses, stretching her neck away to look down at the ruined red gown.

“Yes, wife of mine?” he growls, kissing her jaw as his hand slides up her thigh to cup her bum, shifting her against him, letting him press his erection more firmly into her. Her legs wrap around his hips, and she shudders as he rolls against her, grabbing at his coat to pull him closer.

“My gown,” she groans as his other hand slides over her torso, squeezing her silk-clad breast. “It’s ruined.”

“Exactly,” he snarls cockily, flexing the hand on her bum. “Now we truly can’t go to dinner.”

“I could always wear, ah,” she groans as he rips the bodice of the gown open, “A different gown.”

“I’ll ruin that one too,” Ashley replies firmly, pleased to feel Roman’s hands trailing over his chest and pulling open his vest and shirt. “I am going to take you here and now, wife of mine, any dinner or social obligation be damned.”

Roman only moans, protests apparently forgotten as she arches her back, his hand dropping from her breast to undo the buttons and plackets on his pants, his other hand supporting her bum, squeezing hard.

“I suppose,” she groans, wrapping an arm around his neck as he presses against her, his hand moving to rip her undergarments, “You’ll owe me a - ah - shopping trip after this.”

Ashley grunts, bracing himself against the wall with one hand as he slides inside her with a deep moan, Roman’s keening sigh in his ear.

“Anything,” he murmurs, kissing her, “Anything but this style of dress, or you are sure to drive me mad woman.”

“Madder than you already are,” she teases breathlessly, tightening her legs around his hips as he thrusts into her, causing her to moan. Roman bites down on her lip, her head falling back against the wall.

“Indeed,” he groans, his forehead resting on the wall next to her as both of his hands grip her bottom, holding her against him as he drives up into her, exulting in her moans and nails scratching at the base of his neck.

“You do bedevil me, woman,” he grunts, relentlessly thrusting into her, increasing his speed as Roman cries out, falling forward against him, clinging to his shoulders. Her breath is hot on his neck, coming in short pants as she moans his name, kissing and biting along his neck.

Ashley grunts, pushing her against the wall as he spills with a roar of pleasure, Roman’s accompanying cry echoing down the hallways of their townhome.

“Husband,” she pants, moments later as she falls slack against him, as he slumps over her, letting her slide to the floor, her knees buckling slightly as her feet touch the ground.

“Wife?” he replies, his hands sliding up her back, tangling almost tenderly in the ends of her heavy black tresses. 

“Perhaps,” she sighs, her forehead resting on his chest, “Perhaps I should order this gown in a different colour.”

Ashley groans, adjusting his pants with one hand, turning to lead Roman to his bedchamber.

“You truly are a witch,” he mutters, shaking his head even as she smiles at him. Ashley steps back, taking her in in the candlelight, her disheveled, ripped red silk dress, her black hair falling about her shoulders, gloves pushed down to her wrists, and he inhales deeply. “Come, let me get the rest of that French gown off of you.”

Roman smirks, walking unsteadily ahead of him towards his bedchamber.

“Mi amor, I think you will buy me these gowns just to rip them off of me,” she says, wiggling her fingers to light the candles in the bedchamber.

Her eyes open the minute the sun crests the horizon, as they have every day for her entire life. Roman sighs, lifting a hand to rub the sleep from her eyes as she takes her first deep breaths of the morning. Next to her, Ashley slumbers on, snoring softly with one arm cast over her middle. She smiles, tracing the contours of his face with her eyes as she weaves her glamour around her carefully, calling back the threads of her magic that escaped in sleep. 

Pepper whines from her bed, tail thumping against the hardwood floor, disturbing the silence of the Sunday morning. 

“I hear you,” Roman murmurs in Spanish to the dog. She kisses Ashley’s nose, brushing auburn hair away from his face with a light touch as she extracts herself from his embrace. He groans, hand gripping at the empty space in the bed, but he doesn’t wake.

She pulls on her discarded leggings from the day before, and one of Ashley’s flannels, doing up the buttons as she and Pepper leave the bedroom.

Pepper brings Roman her leash from the front door, tail wagging as Roman clips her in and slips into a pair of shoes, taking the dog down the hall and stairs to the ground floor.

It’s a cool morning, with the promise of fall in the air. Roman smiles as the breeze says hello, waiting for Pepper to finish her business on the lawn outside the apartment building. The air is still and calm, and Pepper seems like she has a lot of energy, so Roman scratches her behind the  ears, and they set out on a walk.

More than an hour passes as they wander the neighbourhood, enjoying the quiet morning before heading back to the apartment. 

“I know, now you want breakfast,” Roman says, crouching to kiss Pepper’s nose in the elevator, “And you leave Ashley alone, let him sleep in, he had a busy week” she adds, ruffling the dog’s ears.

Pepper seems to yip in understanding, her tongue lolling out of her mouth as her tail wags happily. She guides Roman back to the apartment, lets herself be unclipped and promptly sets herself in front of her food dish.

Roman laughs, scooping the food into the dish.

“There, princesa,” she murmurs in Spanish, before turning to the kitchen. She hums a familiar folk song from her home in Navarre as she pulls her leggings off, enjoying just wearing her boyfriend’s shirt and her underwear, singing to herself as she puts the coffee on.

“Damn,” she mutters, not quite able to reach the top shelf where Ashley keeps his coffee mugs. With a quick breath, she wiggles her fingers, coaxing two mugs to shift forward, levitating off the shelf and onto the counter. She smiles smugly, pouring out the coffees for herself and her boyfriend.

She mixes in sugar and cream for Ashley, and pours a little cream in her own mug. Singing softly to herself, she heads towards the bedroom to wake him up.

“Nngh-”

Roman freezes in the hallway, her eyes growing wide.

“Aahh-”

She bites her lip, blinking a few times as she rubs her thighs together, listening to the sound of her boyfriend groaning quietly, and the tell-tale sounds of self-pleasure.

Lifting her chin Roman strides forward, leaning in the doorframe of his bedroom. She keeps her face neutral, holding the two coffees in her hands as she surveys the scene in front of her.

Ashley’s eyes are closed, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as his hand pumps himself under the sheet. One of his legs flexes, and Roman bites her lip. He groans again, and Roman clears her throat, trying not to smile.

“Shit-” he curses, his eyes flying open. He scrambles to sit up, his cheeks and ears flushing red as he grabs the sheets, bunching them around his middle. “Roman- darlin’, it isn’t- I mean, you’re back!”

Roman nods, deliberately swaying her hips as she walks into the room. She feels his eyes track the movement, and she makes her way to his side of the bed, bending at the waist to set his coffee down on the nightstand.

“I am,” she says softly, meeting his eyes. She can feel the heat in her own cheeks, and she sits herself on the edge of the bed. “I took Pepper for a walk, and then made you coffee, cariño,” she says, taking a sip of her coffee. “I wanted to surprise you, but you surprised me a little bit.”

He smiles sheepishly, reaching for his own mug.

“Ah, well, y’know, you’d gone out, an’ I figured,” he says, staring into his coffee, “Well, I wasn’t sure when you’d be back, so uh, just spendin’ some time with myself,” he sighs, laughing half-heartedly.

“I’m not disappointed,” Roman says, flicking her eyes to his, “Though you couldn’t have waited for me?”

“Ah, darlin’,” he groans, tilting his head back and blindly setting his coffee on the nightstand. A flick of her finger ensures the mug, and its contents, don’t go falling to the floor. “I wanted to, and I was goin’ to, but I got thinking about last night, and how you looked so good in your leggings, and how much fun we had, and well, I’m only a man,” he trails off, one of his hands settling on her bare knee.

Roman sets her own coffee down on the nightstand before crawling over Ashley, settling herself in his lap.

“We did have fun, didn’t we?” she says softly, sucking her lip piercing into her mouth. Ashley nods, one hand sliding up and down her thigh, the other splayed out around her waist, fingers pressing into her skin.

He nods, his face still flushed as Roman rises on her knees, leaning in to kiss him.