#reader:f

    Johnny laughs again but his interest makes itself known in the twitch of his cock against your knuckles. “That all? Yer gonnae hump me like a school girl with her first jo? Pure pimps.”

    His smile is all teeth and self-assurance wiped away when you catch his hands halfway up your torso and pin them down by his head. Leaning over him has the added effect of introducing your covered mons to the underside of his hardening cock and you settle in deeper with a languid wiggle of your hips. “And we can’t touch each other. Still think it’s pimps?” Your attempt at his Scottish brogue falters around the giggles you press into his pouting lips. “Unless you can’t handle it?”

    His hands flex around yours and, eyes closed, you let him weigh his odds while dragging your lips over his face in coaxing kisses. You grace the edge of his jaw with one final tease and, as unhurried as the sun breaking over the horizon, turn your gaze to meet his apprehensive stare. The challenging cock of your eyebrow is what settles it. “Aye, I can do it! Am no wee barra that’ll come his pants that fast.”

    There is a whirlwind of motion as you stand to strip and Johnny throws his shorts across the bed. You clamber back over him, sitting up on your knees as you straddle his waist. His hands come out and hover by your hips. He glares at them a moment, then curses under his breath—”Feck.”—before reaching up to the headboard and grabbing hold of the bottom lip. You can hear the squeeze of the wood under his grip as he looks down at where your cunt hovers above his cock, twitching and turgid.

    You look at each other at the same time and his voice lacks the same level of conviction from moments ago. “Whit’s the prize?”

    “Winner gets to use the loser however they want.” Your head tilts to the side as you stroke up and down your sternum, hand drifting left or right to catch a hardening nipple on the edge of your fingers. The curl of your smile is lascivious, the coo of your voice saccharine and you can feel the hairs on Johnny’s skin stand up against the inside of your thigh. “Deal?”

    His throat bobs around a dry-mouthed swallow. He jerks a nod. “Deal.”

    You can see the tension of his body, feel the anticipation of the coiled muscles beneath you but when your lips make no move to kiss him, he melts into the sheets. Johnny’s blue eyes flicker between the apex of your legs and your fingertips trailing goosebumps along your torso. Impatience chisels at the fine lines of his furrowed brow, makes itself audible in the smack of his lips. He rolls his hips, attempting to slide the head of his cock between your wet heat but you move with him, cresting higher on your knees. A groan scratches the back of his throat.

    “Greas ort, hen!”

    “Dinna fash, Johnny.” Despite the pride puffing up his chest at his speechcraft rubbing off on you, Soap rolls his eyes but they stop halfway to track your other hand coming around your hip, reaching down to pet at the damp hair of your pussy. Two fingers spread and with it your lips so your clit peeks from under its hood. With a languid sweep of one finger, you wet the bundle of nerves using the thick, pearlescent arousal leaking from your cunt. Your plundering breaks the seal and more slick dribbles like honey onto the underside of Johnny's cock and his breath catches in his throat. “Just making sure it's a smooth ride.”

    When your fingers and lips glisten, you lower your backside onto Johnny's lap. You snatch your hand back before it touches him, determined not to lose your own game so soon, and meet the pulsing rigidity of his cock with a wet kiss. Twin slow exhales stutter through the air. A small shift of your weight settles you further and you pause to appreciate the heat of your sexes melding together.

    You occupy your hands with your breasts and, flashing Johnny a quick grin, begin to roll your hips. The sweat of his hands squeak against the wood of the bedframe and his mouth falls open as he watches the length of his prick become encased in your slick. Neither of you can tear your eyes away from the obscenity. Sparks race along your spine as your clit nudges the ridge of his cockhead and then surmounts it, meeting his leaking slit and mixing his pre with your own, smearing the concoction down his dick as you cant backwards until you sit on his thighs. Time feels to melt away under your metronomic sway, marked only when you drop your hips to chase Johnny’s pleasured whine or when you pull back to stave off your own excitement threatening to overwhelm you.

    Not until his chest is heaving and your slick drips down his balls does it dawn on Johnny that he is as much a player in this game as you. He starts to meet your undulations with his own. He dogs you when you back away, thwarting your attempts at alleviation and meets you when you retaliate so that your lower halves stay locked in a messy make out session. The roil of his muscles beneath tan skin demands your attention and your palms itch to run along his trim obliques, to trace his defined abdomen up until you hold his pectorals in your hands instead of your own. You would use your grip for leverage, find the perfect angle to grind the concupiscence into your bones until it fuses to your soul, until you are both blissed out messes with stardust in your eyes. The image is undeniably tempting and you find yourself chasing it, tilting forward before instinct kicks in and your hands slap the top of the bedframe lest you fall face first into your boyfriend. Beneath you, Johnny manages a weak chuckle on the scant air left from his panting.

    Your fumble renews his vigor, if the cloying smirk and increased pace of his thrusts is any indication, leaving you to your tried and true method to get Johnny to come: dirty talk.

    “Wanna know what I’ll do when I win?”

  This laugh is more breathless than the last as the new angle catches the head of his cock at your hole. When your words make their way through the blissful static, he shakes his head.

    “When? Yer right maikint—”

    “When I win,” you lean down as low as you can hold yourself, until Johnny’s blown out stare finds your own. Your hips ease into a torpid rhythm matching the pace of your words as you drawl, “I’m gonna fuck your face just . . . like . . . this.”

    Johnny’s retort is swallowed by the moan that starts low in his stomach, vibrates up his chest and claws its way out of his mouth. His dick pulses between your lips and the first shot of come lands on his chest. Game over, you grab for each other, his hands kneading the fat of your ass and continuing to rock you against him, yours tugging at his mohawk until your mouth finds his in a kiss that is all tongue and billowing breaths. As he rides his orgasm and the waves roll out, you lie over him, ignoring the cooling spend squished between your stomachs. The kisses slow with the evening of his breath and the last is met with a heavy sigh and your curious eyebrow.

    “. . . cannae believe I lost.”