PatD fic: How Do You Want Me? (girl!Bren/Jon, NC-17)
Title: How Do You Want Me?
Pairing: girl!Brendon/Jon
Rating: NC-17
Summary: So, I'm assuming that 20-year-olds, especially ones who grew up Mormon, are sometimes kind of fumbling and inarticulate when it comes to negotiating even mild sexual kinks. But adorable failboats, yes? Established relationship. 4600 words.
Warning: D/s themes, graphic language of a het variety
Disclaimer: I'm pretty sure I don't have to tell anyone that if I'm pretending Brendon's a girl, this if fiction.
How Do You Want Me?
Bren likes saying please. She has to know by now that he'll do whatever she wants, give her whatever she needs when they're in bed. It's a good hotel night if she has more orgasms than he does. But she still says please--when he's playing coy, like when she's asking for his mouth, hoping to coax him into it; or when she's already got him, like when he's got his dick in his hand, guiding himself inside her. Please, she says once or twice, softly, restrained enough that he can sense the tense edge of something in her. Fuck if it doesn't make something in Jon's spine go liquid every damn time, especially when he feels her turn from tension to completely letting go, falling along with him.
This is why tonight is different. No please, just Get naked and wait for me. Then she disappears into the bathroom with her hotel night bag.
He leaves his boxers on because he feels stupid lying around half hard, waiting. Waiting kind of impatiently because he usually doesn't have to, and because he's pretty sure it can't be bad. Secrets plans of Bren's of any sort are usually pretty awesome-often messy or silly, yes, but even when they're weird, they're never bad because Bren's pretty awesome and they're pretty awesome together.
When she comes out, she probably frowns at his lack of total nudity, but he wouldn't exactly know. He's not looking at her face. He's looking at her…
Garters?
Holy shit: stockings and garters and a matching bra and panties.
"Bren," he says softly, but his voice still comes out a growl. White lace somehow manages to look fucking filthy on her.
One of her eyebrows goes up, and her eyes are narrow and dark. "I told you to get naked, didn't I?"
He's about to lift his hips and slide off his boxers, let her see exactly what this unexpected display of skimpy, ridiculously complicated underwear is doing to him, but he stops himself.
He smiles slyly. "But you're not naked."
"Well, if you want, I can take it all off." Her tone is firm, challenging, but there's something cautious in her expression.
He shakes his head as he slips off his boxers. "Fuck no."
Once he's naked, he reaches out his hand to pat the bed and invite her to come over, but he stops himself. He lies back against the pillows instead. Patience, he thinks. This is about patience. And apparently a bit of obedience. His face flushes once he thinks the word, but his whole body's kind of tingling now. He can do this. He wants to do this.
He says, "How do you want me, beautiful?"
She blushes a little at that, but she seems to lose any hesitation she picked up since leaving the bathroom. She crawls up onto the bed from the end and doesn't stop until she's looming over him. He reaches out both hands to grab her hips, right there where the lace panties cut into her thighs, but she leans down over him, pins his wrists to the bed and presses her mouth to his neck, a playful nip just where his pulse point is. He was already so turned on before, his blood racing through his veins, throbbing into his dick, but now, with her skin hot against his and the smell of her and the way he can almost already taste her, he feels overheated, something tight and heavy in his stomach and in his balls. Already. Fuck.
She pulls her head up to look in his eyes and say, "I want you like this, for now. Can you handle that?"
"Fuck, yes."
She grins. "Do you like having me on top of you?"
"You know I do." As often as not when they have sex she's on top, because she'll go where he puts her, and he likes how she's always got energy to burn. But it's never been quite like this. Not this…purposeful?
"Good. I like the way I look when I'm like this, stretched out over you."
"So beautiful."
With a smile, she settles down again and lets her lips rest against his neck long enough to kiss him. Then, in his ear, she says, "You're going to make me come. More than once, if you can."
"I can," he says, nodding at her but also bucking his hips a little. She shifts until he's right between her legs, a soft scrape of lace as she settles in tight over his hips. The pressure on his dick is too much, but it's so good, especially the way her thumbs dig into his wrists a little.
He told her a long time ago, half jokingly, that he probably wouldn't mind playing with control like this. He hadn't quite realized how much of a request it had been until now. He always thought this would seem silly; maybe it would mean too much acting and faking things. But she seems to want this, and he's glad. She's so fucking hot like this, and she's still her, all open smiles and soft mouth and boundless energy. They can still be them, even doing this, and that's definitely a good thing.
"I hope so," she purrs.
"So, how am I going to make you come?"
"Your mouth first," she says calmly. She's not even trying to be seductive, which she has to know is somehow worse. Then her voice gets quieter but just a little deeper, thicker; more like her singing voice on the old album: "I want you to eat me out. You are so fucking good at that. I've been wet all night thinking about your mouth on me."
"Yeah?"
She nods.
"Can I touch?" he says. "Please?"
She smiles and kisses him soft on the mouth, but she's still holding his wrists. She shakes her head. "Not unless I say so. Is that clear?"
"Totally."
"Good." She moves in to kiss him, but she stops short, whispering against his mouth, "Do you know how long I've been waiting for a hotel night? See, I've had these crotchless panties in my luggage, just waiting to try them out."
His hands jerk involuntarily, but she grips him tighter.
"I said no hands," she says. "Just your mouth. Can you keep your hands to yourself, or do I need to restrain you?"
He looks at her cautiously, trying to decide if she really does want to tie him up. He'd be totally on board with trying that, but he thinks it's probably more a sexy suggestion, like she would much rather see him control himself. He can do that, too. He'd like to do that, actually.
So he shakes his head. Then he frowns at her a little, skeptical. He's not sure how he can possibly do this without holding her by her hips or holding her open, but then she shifts forward a little until her crotch is almost at his face, and if he didn't get the hint before, he gets it when she pushes down on his chest. Soon, he's settling back against the pillow and she's hovering over him and, fuck, crotchless panties. Jesus.
He usually uses his fingers a lot, strokes her as he's licking and sucking or else alternates his thumb when the tip of his tongue gets tired, but now he can only bury his face in her pussy, lick into her and hope his tongue can keep up. This is what she likes, but usually not until he's gotten her really wound up. But maybe she's already wound up. She's wet already, and as soon as he gets his mouth on her, she's shifting and moaning.
He always likes the way she practically rubs herself off on his face when she's close, when he's finally gotten her to let go, but it's almost too much that she's doing it now from the start. It's a little hard to breathe, actually; not impossible, just a challenge. Once, when he pulls back his head a little to take a gasp of air, she buries her hands in his hair, but she doesn't force him back. Not just yet.
"You can touch my tits," she says, rubbing soothingly at his scalp. "But that's all. Can you do that?"
He nods, looking up for a minute from where he's nuzzling the inside of her thigh.
She smiles at him. "Good. You're so good." Then she guides him gently by the hair back to her cunt, and he licks into her again.
She's so wet, and when he runs his tongue along her folds, he finds that there's really no end to her warmth, the slickness of her. He could make her feel even better if she'd let him have even one finger, to crook up inside her. He knows how to touch her to make her moan and shake and fall to pieces. Maybe that's what she wants next. He can't wait to find out.
Since he can't touch her where he really needs to, he reaches up and cups both of her small breasts in his hands, thumbs scratching lace. He's not surprised when she wiggles a little and breathes harder and arches into the touch, and her hips shift closer to his face. So he does it again.
She's usually not much of a hair-puller, and she really isn't now; she's just hanging on, keeping him angled like she wants. But she really doesn't have to. He can always tell when he's doing something good, and he can tell when he's getting her close, because her control begins to break down slowly but surely. Now isn't terribly different, except she doesn't quite break. She pants and moans, but she bites back her usual soft begging, and, if anything, the fact that she's constantly having to bring herself back to the girl who's thrusting her hips into his face, holding his head exactly where she wants it, towering over him and making him take it-that makes it even more obvious. When he makes her come, sucks hard on her clit and lets her rut against him, she's shivering and whimpering, but she's still taking and taking from him. It looks different on her, the way she's getting of on keeping control, not losing it. Not better or worse, just different. And really fucking hot.
For a minute when it's over, she pulls his head against her stomach, petting down the back of his neck, breathing hard like she always does after he makes her come. But he's not calm. He's got that sense of accomplishment, sure, but he's fucking wound up. He's afraid to move, especially since he feels shaky, but he's kind of afraid not to move, too. He can still taste her and smell her, and he wants to be inside all that clutching heat and slickness. Goddamn, does he want to bury himself inside her.
He's almost lost in a haze of arousal and frustration-but trying to ground himself in her body pressed against his, her hand still guiding him-when she says, "Do you want…?"
He looks at her quizzically.
"Is this about…? I mean, do you want to get off, too?"
He can only groan, but she seems to understand, murmuring happily to herself as she holds him tighter.
She says, "Do you want me to put my mouth on you, or do you wanna fuck me?"
He makes this low, rumbling sound against her belly before he can make his voice work again. "Inside you."
"Yeah?"
He's already clutching at her, pulling himself up so he can kiss her. He pants into her ear, "God, Bren."
Normally, she'd be reaching for the condoms about now, but she's so still, waiting with her fingers threaded through his hair. Waiting, maybe, for him to calm down?
So he takes a deep breath and his voice shakes with the effort of holding back when he says, "How do you want me?"
She doesn't answer for a moment, and when he looks up at her, her can feel her suck in a sharp breath.
"Bren?"
He watches the change come over her face, how she goes from sure to lost so fast it startles him.
Her voice is even different when she says in a rush against his neck, "God, Jon, please just…just fuck me. I don't care how, okay? I want-- I need you inside me. Fuck, Jon, please?"
"Okay," he says, brain and voice slow to catch his body, which is already shifting him up, lining his hips up with hers. "Okay, baby."
She buries her face against his neck, his ear, kissing him feverishly. He's already so hard his dick aches, and now it's scratching lace and it's almost unbearable. He's not sure what she's doing, only that she suddenly seems unsure of doing anything. She's almost shaking in his arms, and though her body is trying to mold to his, she's so tense.
Something's got to give, and it needs to be him, he thinks.
So he says, "Condom?"
Instantly, she crawls off him. He pulls himself up even farther on the pillows and watches her stretch out and reach over to the bedside table. As she fumbles with the box, he can't resist pawing her. Her back trembles as he touches her and leans over to kiss her anywhere he can get his mouth on her.
Soon, he's crawling up onto his hands and knees, too-he thinks he might like to be on top this time-but when he ends up behind her, his hands on her hips and his hips bumping hers, his dick dragging across the back of her thigh, she murmurs and drops her head, and shit, he wants this. Now.
Like she's reading his mind, she says, "Like this, if you want," as she hands the condom back to him.
She's already getting into position, her shoulders on the bed, her ass in the air, before he can get himself planted there behind her. He doesn't even have time to worry about how they haven't done this yet, and it might be awkward or something beyond their usual brand of fumbling and giggling clumsy. As he rolls on the condom, he feels like he gets even harder, even if it doesn't seem possible at this point. Maybe is because he's watching her angle her hips, let her legs shift apart even more so he can see her cunt, still swollen and wet. Maybe it's the way she's murmuring the same kinds of encouragements she always does, except they sound different somehow. Without a pause and without warning her, he slips his dick down between her legs and presses the head against her slick opening, and she immediately pushes back.
She's so wet and open he slips all the way inside her on the first stroke, and she groans and lets her head drop even though her body's definitely moving to meet his. It's a shaky rhythm at first, but she shoves her hips up and back against his until every thrust is hard and long and to the hilt, his balls slapping her ass. She doesn't say anything, just writhes and occasionally groans when he goes deep. He does that a lot at first, loving the feel of her hot and tight around the base of his dick, but eventually his hands tighten their grip on her hips as he makes these short, sharp, shallow thrusts, a friction that would rub him the wrong way eventually…if he was going to last, but he isn't.
He watches her take him, and by the time she's moaning on every thrust, he's keeping her hips moving back against him at a fast, relentless pace, his attention focused down to the feel of his dick slipping down into her and then almost slipping out just as he thrusts his hips forward again, and she just gives and gives and gives.
"Oh, fuck baby, I'm gonna," he whines, sliding in hard as he comes inside the condom, pressing himself deeper and deeper and digging his fingernails into her hips, almost breaking skin. Still inside her, he leans over her back and presses wet, open-mouthed kisses to whatever skin he can get his lips on.
When he pulls out, she whimpers, but otherwise she's pretty quiet, even after he comes back from getting rid of the condom. While he had cleaned himself up in the bathroom, she'd stripped herself out of all the underwear and stockings. Now it's just her soft skin resting warm against his, her legs open against his hip, where he can feel the damp heat from her cunt. She instantly curls up against him, her head on his shoulder and her arm thrown over his middle, tracing patterns over his skin, but it still makes him vaguely nervous and he doesn't even know why.
"You okay?" he says, palming the curve of her ass and following up to her waist. "You need to come again?"
She makes a warm but negative noise as she smiles into his shoulder and squirms into a better position. "Too wound up. Don't think I could."
"Are you-"
"I'm sure."
"Okay." He listens to her breathing, and she sounds content, so he forces himself to take her at her word. She's fine. This is fine.
But he can't resist asking, "So, that was good?"
"God, yeah," she murmurs.
He kisses the top of her head. "You were fucking amazing, babe."
"Mmm."
"Seriously. I didn't know you liked…"
Her hand stops for a second. She says, "But that's…okay, right?"
"Totally."
"Not all the time," she says, her hand moving again, now more slowly, deliberately. "But sometimes. Yeah. Sometimes I just need you to... It's hard to explain, I guess."
"Don't have to explain. I think I get it. I mean, obviously, right?"
She makes another small affirmative noise, then she says, "So you liked…?"
"Hell yeah. It was… Fuck, girls have, like, go-to fantasies don't they? For getting off? That, what you just… All of it, I mean."
She squirms closer and presses a pleased kiss to the side of his neck, making a happy little sigh. "That was kind of the plan."
He lets that comment lie only until he can't stand it anymore.
"Um, you do know that you don't have to get me all worked up like that, right? I mean, if you want… Next time you want."
"Okay."
"Honestly, babe, you in your sleeping clothes for the bus makes me hot enough I could turn you over and fuck you through the mattress. You don't have to buy sexy underwear."
He feels her smile against his shoulder. Her voice is less sleepy, more pointed but still warm and casual when she says, "Maybe I just like sexy underwear. Did you ever think of that?"
"Okay," he says.
"Just okay?"
"Is this one of those things where no matter what I say, it'll bite me in the ass?"
She frowns. Probably because she's really, really not that type of girl. "No," she says. "Honestly-too much?"
"Way too much. But in a good way."
"Good. Helps."
"Helps?"
"Me be all…in control. Which, um, apparently I kind of like? Sometimes."
"Good."
"I thought you might say that."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I pay attention, Jon Walker."
"I see," he says, when what he really means is Jesus, how in the world did I end up with such a fucking perfect girlfriend?.
"It was kind of fun. But just sometimes, okay?" she says.
"Sometimes is good. Perfect. Fuck, it might kill me if you were always so…" He gives a heavy, happy sigh. "But sometimes can be, like, any time you want, okay?"
"Yeah?"
"Just tell me."
"That's no fun."
"Well, I guess you could always invest in some more skimpy underwear?"
She grins. "I was thinking about black satin. How do you feel about black?"
For a moment, his brain kind of stops working, imagining her under him, her dark hair and eyes and dark satin against her pale skin; then her climbing on top of him, fucking him the way she does when he can convince her to just take what she needs. He likes it when he can concentrate on her and not on himself, and he likes to see her come, the way her pupils blow and her skin's flushed all over and she's shaking in his arms, then going boneless, sated and sleepy. Like she is now.
When he can make words come out again, he says, "I think… Well, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be able to keep my hands to myself. At all."
She giggles into his neck, then she says, "I wasn't joking before. I totally know where to get some things expressly designed to tie your sexy ass down with."
"The same place you got the underwear?"
"If you mean my overnight bag."
"What? Really?"
"Yep."
His hand stops where it's traversing her back, and he doesn't say anything. His brain's too busy. After a long pause, she rolls off him as she says sleepily but with a smile in her voice, "For heaven's sake, go dig them out and see if you like them, you moron."
He's halfway off the bed before he stops and leans over her, kissing her hard on the mouth. He sees that she's satisfied and happy but she's also just a little nervous. Despite pushing his buttons like a person born to do it, she's still working this out in her head. He supposes that's okay-so is he.
She reaches up and pulls him down to kiss him deep, with tongue. "I am so glad I have you," she says against his mouth.
"Me, too," he murmurs, sucking in her lower lip until she pulls back.
With a put-on exasperated smile, she says, "Okay, seriously, go see if I got what you wanted."
He nearly laughs aloud. What he wanted. Considering he didn't even know he wanted to go this far, not really, not until…
They're tucked in with her socks, still in the packages they came in: black cuffs, lined with something soft and linked by their metal rings with a simple catch, to wear like handcuffs. But they clearly come apart if they need to, because there's a separate package of straps that must hook into the metal rings, too, so the cuffs and straps can serve as restraints.
The very thought of Bren tying him to a headboard makes his dick twitch, now that he has something to visualize, but it does even more intense things to his mind. He's really going to…? But none of it looks too ridiculous or too intimidating, so he figures he can deal. Besides, this is Bren. He's pretty sure he'd explore just about anything with her.
She's sitting up at the end of the bed, carding her hands through his hair as he works at the catches on the restraints.
"I can get ankle ones, too," she says. "I thought I'd start simple."
"Okay, yeah. God, how did I get such a smart girlfriend?"
She just smiles and shrugs. Jon's pulling out the straps from their package as her fingernails make whorls over his scalp.
"So," he says, "are they just for me, or…?"
"For you. I think I'd feel…weird or something. Unless you want…"
"No, hey. That's cool."
"Not that I'm totally against…"
"I know."
All of a sudden her mouth is against his ear, all heat and challenge: "Oh, do you?"
When he turns to look at her, she seems casual, but he can feel how she's all taut energy. So as quickly as he can on orgasm-shaky legs, he stands up and climbs onto the bed.
He hauls her up until she's lying back against the pillows at the headboard just like he was before, and he crouches over her, shocked as always by how much he wants her and how he gets to have her.
He whispers in her ear, "I still owe you at least another orgasm, don't I?"
"Yeah."
"And I don't need to use restraints like those, do I?"
"No," she sighs, body shifting up against his.
"And you want me to touch you, don't you, beautiful?"
She nods demurely, almost playfully, but her eyes are dark, pupils blown, and her body bucks just a little, like she's silently pleading with him.
Something finally clicks in his head, then, and when it does, the realization hits him hard. He'd laugh out loud, long and half hysterically until he couldn't breathe if it weren't for what he needs to do and be, at least right now, for her. This thing with her, it's clearly not a must, at least not that it be something as serious as all this, not all the time. But it is a need, and it's always kind of there. He sees that now.
"Ask me," he says, letting his hand slip down between her breasts, over her stomach. He stops with his fingertips just resting in her pubic hair.
"Please," she whimpers, soft.
"Bren," he says against her check as his fingers make slow swirls in dark hair. The other hand holds her hip to the mattress. "Baby, you don't have to stop there."
"Jon?" Her face creases into a frown-not of confusion but of deliberation.
It almost makes him pause, but only because he's thinking too much. He's really not out of his depth here; he never has been. He's been doing this since they met, after all, just not quite this knowingly.
Firmly, he repeats himself: "You don't have to stop there. You don't have to hold back. I want to know what you want. I want you to let go."
Her eyes slide closed, but he can still see the change in her face. She gasps in a shallow breath, and her voice is a moan when she says, "Please, Jon."
"Please what?"
A frown creases her face, and she squirms. Without warning, he slips two fingers inside her, and her whole body shudders-trying to hold back or trying to let go, he's not sure. Maybe both. He can feel that tension radiate into his own body, feeding something in him, making him hold her tighter, more securely as he starts fucking her with his fingers, slowly.
"God," she moans. "Fuck. Fuck, oh God. That's-- Jon, please. I can't-- I- I need… Please, I need-"
His hands occupied, he has to use his mouth to stop hers. "Shh," he says, lips brushing hers side to side as he slows his fingers inside her. She shivers, clutching him expectantly, and it suddenly makes sense, all of it now-the difference between wanting and knowing exactly what you want or how to get it.
She takes in a shallow breath to say something, but he presses down harder on her hip, leans all of his weight across her waist, and she closes her mouth and opens her eyes wide.
Slowly, he says, "Let me tell you what you need, baby, and how I'm gonna give it to you."
When she sighs against his cheek and clasps her arms around his neck, he starts to talk her through it.
~
Pairing: girl!Brendon/Jon
Rating: NC-17
Summary: So, I'm assuming that 20-year-olds, especially ones who grew up Mormon, are sometimes kind of fumbling and inarticulate when it comes to negotiating even mild sexual kinks. But adorable failboats, yes? Established relationship. 4600 words.
Warning: D/s themes, graphic language of a het variety
Disclaimer: I'm pretty sure I don't have to tell anyone that if I'm pretending Brendon's a girl, this if fiction.
How Do You Want Me?
Bren likes saying please. She has to know by now that he'll do whatever she wants, give her whatever she needs when they're in bed. It's a good hotel night if she has more orgasms than he does. But she still says please--when he's playing coy, like when she's asking for his mouth, hoping to coax him into it; or when she's already got him, like when he's got his dick in his hand, guiding himself inside her. Please, she says once or twice, softly, restrained enough that he can sense the tense edge of something in her. Fuck if it doesn't make something in Jon's spine go liquid every damn time, especially when he feels her turn from tension to completely letting go, falling along with him.
This is why tonight is different. No please, just Get naked and wait for me. Then she disappears into the bathroom with her hotel night bag.
He leaves his boxers on because he feels stupid lying around half hard, waiting. Waiting kind of impatiently because he usually doesn't have to, and because he's pretty sure it can't be bad. Secrets plans of Bren's of any sort are usually pretty awesome-often messy or silly, yes, but even when they're weird, they're never bad because Bren's pretty awesome and they're pretty awesome together.
When she comes out, she probably frowns at his lack of total nudity, but he wouldn't exactly know. He's not looking at her face. He's looking at her…
Garters?
Holy shit: stockings and garters and a matching bra and panties.
"Bren," he says softly, but his voice still comes out a growl. White lace somehow manages to look fucking filthy on her.
One of her eyebrows goes up, and her eyes are narrow and dark. "I told you to get naked, didn't I?"
He's about to lift his hips and slide off his boxers, let her see exactly what this unexpected display of skimpy, ridiculously complicated underwear is doing to him, but he stops himself.
He smiles slyly. "But you're not naked."
"Well, if you want, I can take it all off." Her tone is firm, challenging, but there's something cautious in her expression.
He shakes his head as he slips off his boxers. "Fuck no."
Once he's naked, he reaches out his hand to pat the bed and invite her to come over, but he stops himself. He lies back against the pillows instead. Patience, he thinks. This is about patience. And apparently a bit of obedience. His face flushes once he thinks the word, but his whole body's kind of tingling now. He can do this. He wants to do this.
He says, "How do you want me, beautiful?"
She blushes a little at that, but she seems to lose any hesitation she picked up since leaving the bathroom. She crawls up onto the bed from the end and doesn't stop until she's looming over him. He reaches out both hands to grab her hips, right there where the lace panties cut into her thighs, but she leans down over him, pins his wrists to the bed and presses her mouth to his neck, a playful nip just where his pulse point is. He was already so turned on before, his blood racing through his veins, throbbing into his dick, but now, with her skin hot against his and the smell of her and the way he can almost already taste her, he feels overheated, something tight and heavy in his stomach and in his balls. Already. Fuck.
She pulls her head up to look in his eyes and say, "I want you like this, for now. Can you handle that?"
"Fuck, yes."
She grins. "Do you like having me on top of you?"
"You know I do." As often as not when they have sex she's on top, because she'll go where he puts her, and he likes how she's always got energy to burn. But it's never been quite like this. Not this…purposeful?
"Good. I like the way I look when I'm like this, stretched out over you."
"So beautiful."
With a smile, she settles down again and lets her lips rest against his neck long enough to kiss him. Then, in his ear, she says, "You're going to make me come. More than once, if you can."
"I can," he says, nodding at her but also bucking his hips a little. She shifts until he's right between her legs, a soft scrape of lace as she settles in tight over his hips. The pressure on his dick is too much, but it's so good, especially the way her thumbs dig into his wrists a little.
He told her a long time ago, half jokingly, that he probably wouldn't mind playing with control like this. He hadn't quite realized how much of a request it had been until now. He always thought this would seem silly; maybe it would mean too much acting and faking things. But she seems to want this, and he's glad. She's so fucking hot like this, and she's still her, all open smiles and soft mouth and boundless energy. They can still be them, even doing this, and that's definitely a good thing.
"I hope so," she purrs.
"So, how am I going to make you come?"
"Your mouth first," she says calmly. She's not even trying to be seductive, which she has to know is somehow worse. Then her voice gets quieter but just a little deeper, thicker; more like her singing voice on the old album: "I want you to eat me out. You are so fucking good at that. I've been wet all night thinking about your mouth on me."
"Yeah?"
She nods.
"Can I touch?" he says. "Please?"
She smiles and kisses him soft on the mouth, but she's still holding his wrists. She shakes her head. "Not unless I say so. Is that clear?"
"Totally."
"Good." She moves in to kiss him, but she stops short, whispering against his mouth, "Do you know how long I've been waiting for a hotel night? See, I've had these crotchless panties in my luggage, just waiting to try them out."
His hands jerk involuntarily, but she grips him tighter.
"I said no hands," she says. "Just your mouth. Can you keep your hands to yourself, or do I need to restrain you?"
He looks at her cautiously, trying to decide if she really does want to tie him up. He'd be totally on board with trying that, but he thinks it's probably more a sexy suggestion, like she would much rather see him control himself. He can do that, too. He'd like to do that, actually.
So he shakes his head. Then he frowns at her a little, skeptical. He's not sure how he can possibly do this without holding her by her hips or holding her open, but then she shifts forward a little until her crotch is almost at his face, and if he didn't get the hint before, he gets it when she pushes down on his chest. Soon, he's settling back against the pillow and she's hovering over him and, fuck, crotchless panties. Jesus.
He usually uses his fingers a lot, strokes her as he's licking and sucking or else alternates his thumb when the tip of his tongue gets tired, but now he can only bury his face in her pussy, lick into her and hope his tongue can keep up. This is what she likes, but usually not until he's gotten her really wound up. But maybe she's already wound up. She's wet already, and as soon as he gets his mouth on her, she's shifting and moaning.
He always likes the way she practically rubs herself off on his face when she's close, when he's finally gotten her to let go, but it's almost too much that she's doing it now from the start. It's a little hard to breathe, actually; not impossible, just a challenge. Once, when he pulls back his head a little to take a gasp of air, she buries her hands in his hair, but she doesn't force him back. Not just yet.
"You can touch my tits," she says, rubbing soothingly at his scalp. "But that's all. Can you do that?"
He nods, looking up for a minute from where he's nuzzling the inside of her thigh.
She smiles at him. "Good. You're so good." Then she guides him gently by the hair back to her cunt, and he licks into her again.
She's so wet, and when he runs his tongue along her folds, he finds that there's really no end to her warmth, the slickness of her. He could make her feel even better if she'd let him have even one finger, to crook up inside her. He knows how to touch her to make her moan and shake and fall to pieces. Maybe that's what she wants next. He can't wait to find out.
Since he can't touch her where he really needs to, he reaches up and cups both of her small breasts in his hands, thumbs scratching lace. He's not surprised when she wiggles a little and breathes harder and arches into the touch, and her hips shift closer to his face. So he does it again.
She's usually not much of a hair-puller, and she really isn't now; she's just hanging on, keeping him angled like she wants. But she really doesn't have to. He can always tell when he's doing something good, and he can tell when he's getting her close, because her control begins to break down slowly but surely. Now isn't terribly different, except she doesn't quite break. She pants and moans, but she bites back her usual soft begging, and, if anything, the fact that she's constantly having to bring herself back to the girl who's thrusting her hips into his face, holding his head exactly where she wants it, towering over him and making him take it-that makes it even more obvious. When he makes her come, sucks hard on her clit and lets her rut against him, she's shivering and whimpering, but she's still taking and taking from him. It looks different on her, the way she's getting of on keeping control, not losing it. Not better or worse, just different. And really fucking hot.
For a minute when it's over, she pulls his head against her stomach, petting down the back of his neck, breathing hard like she always does after he makes her come. But he's not calm. He's got that sense of accomplishment, sure, but he's fucking wound up. He's afraid to move, especially since he feels shaky, but he's kind of afraid not to move, too. He can still taste her and smell her, and he wants to be inside all that clutching heat and slickness. Goddamn, does he want to bury himself inside her.
He's almost lost in a haze of arousal and frustration-but trying to ground himself in her body pressed against his, her hand still guiding him-when she says, "Do you want…?"
He looks at her quizzically.
"Is this about…? I mean, do you want to get off, too?"
He can only groan, but she seems to understand, murmuring happily to herself as she holds him tighter.
She says, "Do you want me to put my mouth on you, or do you wanna fuck me?"
He makes this low, rumbling sound against her belly before he can make his voice work again. "Inside you."
"Yeah?"
He's already clutching at her, pulling himself up so he can kiss her. He pants into her ear, "God, Bren."
Normally, she'd be reaching for the condoms about now, but she's so still, waiting with her fingers threaded through his hair. Waiting, maybe, for him to calm down?
So he takes a deep breath and his voice shakes with the effort of holding back when he says, "How do you want me?"
She doesn't answer for a moment, and when he looks up at her, her can feel her suck in a sharp breath.
"Bren?"
He watches the change come over her face, how she goes from sure to lost so fast it startles him.
Her voice is even different when she says in a rush against his neck, "God, Jon, please just…just fuck me. I don't care how, okay? I want-- I need you inside me. Fuck, Jon, please?"
"Okay," he says, brain and voice slow to catch his body, which is already shifting him up, lining his hips up with hers. "Okay, baby."
She buries her face against his neck, his ear, kissing him feverishly. He's already so hard his dick aches, and now it's scratching lace and it's almost unbearable. He's not sure what she's doing, only that she suddenly seems unsure of doing anything. She's almost shaking in his arms, and though her body is trying to mold to his, she's so tense.
Something's got to give, and it needs to be him, he thinks.
So he says, "Condom?"
Instantly, she crawls off him. He pulls himself up even farther on the pillows and watches her stretch out and reach over to the bedside table. As she fumbles with the box, he can't resist pawing her. Her back trembles as he touches her and leans over to kiss her anywhere he can get his mouth on her.
Soon, he's crawling up onto his hands and knees, too-he thinks he might like to be on top this time-but when he ends up behind her, his hands on her hips and his hips bumping hers, his dick dragging across the back of her thigh, she murmurs and drops her head, and shit, he wants this. Now.
Like she's reading his mind, she says, "Like this, if you want," as she hands the condom back to him.
She's already getting into position, her shoulders on the bed, her ass in the air, before he can get himself planted there behind her. He doesn't even have time to worry about how they haven't done this yet, and it might be awkward or something beyond their usual brand of fumbling and giggling clumsy. As he rolls on the condom, he feels like he gets even harder, even if it doesn't seem possible at this point. Maybe is because he's watching her angle her hips, let her legs shift apart even more so he can see her cunt, still swollen and wet. Maybe it's the way she's murmuring the same kinds of encouragements she always does, except they sound different somehow. Without a pause and without warning her, he slips his dick down between her legs and presses the head against her slick opening, and she immediately pushes back.
She's so wet and open he slips all the way inside her on the first stroke, and she groans and lets her head drop even though her body's definitely moving to meet his. It's a shaky rhythm at first, but she shoves her hips up and back against his until every thrust is hard and long and to the hilt, his balls slapping her ass. She doesn't say anything, just writhes and occasionally groans when he goes deep. He does that a lot at first, loving the feel of her hot and tight around the base of his dick, but eventually his hands tighten their grip on her hips as he makes these short, sharp, shallow thrusts, a friction that would rub him the wrong way eventually…if he was going to last, but he isn't.
He watches her take him, and by the time she's moaning on every thrust, he's keeping her hips moving back against him at a fast, relentless pace, his attention focused down to the feel of his dick slipping down into her and then almost slipping out just as he thrusts his hips forward again, and she just gives and gives and gives.
"Oh, fuck baby, I'm gonna," he whines, sliding in hard as he comes inside the condom, pressing himself deeper and deeper and digging his fingernails into her hips, almost breaking skin. Still inside her, he leans over her back and presses wet, open-mouthed kisses to whatever skin he can get his lips on.
When he pulls out, she whimpers, but otherwise she's pretty quiet, even after he comes back from getting rid of the condom. While he had cleaned himself up in the bathroom, she'd stripped herself out of all the underwear and stockings. Now it's just her soft skin resting warm against his, her legs open against his hip, where he can feel the damp heat from her cunt. She instantly curls up against him, her head on his shoulder and her arm thrown over his middle, tracing patterns over his skin, but it still makes him vaguely nervous and he doesn't even know why.
"You okay?" he says, palming the curve of her ass and following up to her waist. "You need to come again?"
She makes a warm but negative noise as she smiles into his shoulder and squirms into a better position. "Too wound up. Don't think I could."
"Are you-"
"I'm sure."
"Okay." He listens to her breathing, and she sounds content, so he forces himself to take her at her word. She's fine. This is fine.
But he can't resist asking, "So, that was good?"
"God, yeah," she murmurs.
He kisses the top of her head. "You were fucking amazing, babe."
"Mmm."
"Seriously. I didn't know you liked…"
Her hand stops for a second. She says, "But that's…okay, right?"
"Totally."
"Not all the time," she says, her hand moving again, now more slowly, deliberately. "But sometimes. Yeah. Sometimes I just need you to... It's hard to explain, I guess."
"Don't have to explain. I think I get it. I mean, obviously, right?"
She makes another small affirmative noise, then she says, "So you liked…?"
"Hell yeah. It was… Fuck, girls have, like, go-to fantasies don't they? For getting off? That, what you just… All of it, I mean."
She squirms closer and presses a pleased kiss to the side of his neck, making a happy little sigh. "That was kind of the plan."
He lets that comment lie only until he can't stand it anymore.
"Um, you do know that you don't have to get me all worked up like that, right? I mean, if you want… Next time you want."
"Okay."
"Honestly, babe, you in your sleeping clothes for the bus makes me hot enough I could turn you over and fuck you through the mattress. You don't have to buy sexy underwear."
He feels her smile against his shoulder. Her voice is less sleepy, more pointed but still warm and casual when she says, "Maybe I just like sexy underwear. Did you ever think of that?"
"Okay," he says.
"Just okay?"
"Is this one of those things where no matter what I say, it'll bite me in the ass?"
She frowns. Probably because she's really, really not that type of girl. "No," she says. "Honestly-too much?"
"Way too much. But in a good way."
"Good. Helps."
"Helps?"
"Me be all…in control. Which, um, apparently I kind of like? Sometimes."
"Good."
"I thought you might say that."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I pay attention, Jon Walker."
"I see," he says, when what he really means is Jesus, how in the world did I end up with such a fucking perfect girlfriend?.
"It was kind of fun. But just sometimes, okay?" she says.
"Sometimes is good. Perfect. Fuck, it might kill me if you were always so…" He gives a heavy, happy sigh. "But sometimes can be, like, any time you want, okay?"
"Yeah?"
"Just tell me."
"That's no fun."
"Well, I guess you could always invest in some more skimpy underwear?"
She grins. "I was thinking about black satin. How do you feel about black?"
For a moment, his brain kind of stops working, imagining her under him, her dark hair and eyes and dark satin against her pale skin; then her climbing on top of him, fucking him the way she does when he can convince her to just take what she needs. He likes it when he can concentrate on her and not on himself, and he likes to see her come, the way her pupils blow and her skin's flushed all over and she's shaking in his arms, then going boneless, sated and sleepy. Like she is now.
When he can make words come out again, he says, "I think… Well, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be able to keep my hands to myself. At all."
She giggles into his neck, then she says, "I wasn't joking before. I totally know where to get some things expressly designed to tie your sexy ass down with."
"The same place you got the underwear?"
"If you mean my overnight bag."
"What? Really?"
"Yep."
His hand stops where it's traversing her back, and he doesn't say anything. His brain's too busy. After a long pause, she rolls off him as she says sleepily but with a smile in her voice, "For heaven's sake, go dig them out and see if you like them, you moron."
He's halfway off the bed before he stops and leans over her, kissing her hard on the mouth. He sees that she's satisfied and happy but she's also just a little nervous. Despite pushing his buttons like a person born to do it, she's still working this out in her head. He supposes that's okay-so is he.
She reaches up and pulls him down to kiss him deep, with tongue. "I am so glad I have you," she says against his mouth.
"Me, too," he murmurs, sucking in her lower lip until she pulls back.
With a put-on exasperated smile, she says, "Okay, seriously, go see if I got what you wanted."
He nearly laughs aloud. What he wanted. Considering he didn't even know he wanted to go this far, not really, not until…
They're tucked in with her socks, still in the packages they came in: black cuffs, lined with something soft and linked by their metal rings with a simple catch, to wear like handcuffs. But they clearly come apart if they need to, because there's a separate package of straps that must hook into the metal rings, too, so the cuffs and straps can serve as restraints.
The very thought of Bren tying him to a headboard makes his dick twitch, now that he has something to visualize, but it does even more intense things to his mind. He's really going to…? But none of it looks too ridiculous or too intimidating, so he figures he can deal. Besides, this is Bren. He's pretty sure he'd explore just about anything with her.
She's sitting up at the end of the bed, carding her hands through his hair as he works at the catches on the restraints.
"I can get ankle ones, too," she says. "I thought I'd start simple."
"Okay, yeah. God, how did I get such a smart girlfriend?"
She just smiles and shrugs. Jon's pulling out the straps from their package as her fingernails make whorls over his scalp.
"So," he says, "are they just for me, or…?"
"For you. I think I'd feel…weird or something. Unless you want…"
"No, hey. That's cool."
"Not that I'm totally against…"
"I know."
All of a sudden her mouth is against his ear, all heat and challenge: "Oh, do you?"
When he turns to look at her, she seems casual, but he can feel how she's all taut energy. So as quickly as he can on orgasm-shaky legs, he stands up and climbs onto the bed.
He hauls her up until she's lying back against the pillows at the headboard just like he was before, and he crouches over her, shocked as always by how much he wants her and how he gets to have her.
He whispers in her ear, "I still owe you at least another orgasm, don't I?"
"Yeah."
"And I don't need to use restraints like those, do I?"
"No," she sighs, body shifting up against his.
"And you want me to touch you, don't you, beautiful?"
She nods demurely, almost playfully, but her eyes are dark, pupils blown, and her body bucks just a little, like she's silently pleading with him.
Something finally clicks in his head, then, and when it does, the realization hits him hard. He'd laugh out loud, long and half hysterically until he couldn't breathe if it weren't for what he needs to do and be, at least right now, for her. This thing with her, it's clearly not a must, at least not that it be something as serious as all this, not all the time. But it is a need, and it's always kind of there. He sees that now.
"Ask me," he says, letting his hand slip down between her breasts, over her stomach. He stops with his fingertips just resting in her pubic hair.
"Please," she whimpers, soft.
"Bren," he says against her check as his fingers make slow swirls in dark hair. The other hand holds her hip to the mattress. "Baby, you don't have to stop there."
"Jon?" Her face creases into a frown-not of confusion but of deliberation.
It almost makes him pause, but only because he's thinking too much. He's really not out of his depth here; he never has been. He's been doing this since they met, after all, just not quite this knowingly.
Firmly, he repeats himself: "You don't have to stop there. You don't have to hold back. I want to know what you want. I want you to let go."
Her eyes slide closed, but he can still see the change in her face. She gasps in a shallow breath, and her voice is a moan when she says, "Please, Jon."
"Please what?"
A frown creases her face, and she squirms. Without warning, he slips two fingers inside her, and her whole body shudders-trying to hold back or trying to let go, he's not sure. Maybe both. He can feel that tension radiate into his own body, feeding something in him, making him hold her tighter, more securely as he starts fucking her with his fingers, slowly.
"God," she moans. "Fuck. Fuck, oh God. That's-- Jon, please. I can't-- I- I need… Please, I need-"
His hands occupied, he has to use his mouth to stop hers. "Shh," he says, lips brushing hers side to side as he slows his fingers inside her. She shivers, clutching him expectantly, and it suddenly makes sense, all of it now-the difference between wanting and knowing exactly what you want or how to get it.
She takes in a shallow breath to say something, but he presses down harder on her hip, leans all of his weight across her waist, and she closes her mouth and opens her eyes wide.
Slowly, he says, "Let me tell you what you need, baby, and how I'm gonna give it to you."
When she sighs against his cheek and clasps her arms around his neck, he starts to talk her through it.
~