Yours
Title: Yours
Rating: FRAO/NC17
Pairing: Spencer Reid/Jennifer Jareau
Prompt: melt
Kink: Domination/submission
Words: ~3000
Summary: He knows that though she is the one who calls him Sir, she is the one being served.
Warnings: PWP, D/s (mostly verbal), mild bondage, sub!JJ, dom!Reid (Or is it? Ha!), a wee bit of dirty talk, improper use of the tools of the job? Oh, and a very brief mention of breathplay.
Notes: I wrote this for the summer mini round at rounds_of_kink. The first thing I've written in a verrrrrrrrrrrry long time. I just can't resist Reid/JJ dom/sub. Ever. WTF?
She is beautiful like this.
Not that JJ isn't always beautiful. Anywhere but here and now, in fact, he might be intimidated by her beauty; he might hang back and watch her from under his lashes or say something in a half-stutter that would turn her off like a switch if she spoke to him. But this is here, and this is now, and she is on her knees, and he's in charge. And she is arrestingly beautiful, her hair hanging like fair curtains around her face, lips as red as the dangerous-looking heels on her feet, naked except for them and a pair of cuffs holding her hands behind her back. Her head is tilted down but her gaze is tilted up, pupils big and round like inkblots, color high in her cheeks. There is a challenge in her expression that she can never seem to quell, and it works just fine for him.
Spencer watches her for a moment, shifting her weight around on her knees, before he reaches down and runs the pad of his thumb across her eyebrow, smoothing its already-perfect arch into shape. "Are you comfortable?"
"Yes, Sir, thank you," she says, and the tone of her voice -- soft, low, supplicating -- makes his body heat spike and his mouth feel dry.
"Good," he answers, and spreads his fingers to cup her cheek. His thumb drags across her painted mouth, and its crimson smudges across his skin. He traces the angles of her face, the delicate bones of her neck, the curved bolts of her collarbone, and leaves his fingerprint in lipstick against her breast. JJ watches him carefully, her eyes tracking his hands, and her lips tilt up at their corners. He nods at her, her smile wrapping around his spine like a bow, and confirms for her the thing that is pleasing her. "Mine," he says, drawing a circle around her nipple and watching it harden for him.
Under his touch, JJ squirms, pressing her thighs together. Her eyes skim away from his, coy at having moved without permission. Spencer grabs her chin firmly, rebuking her with his gaze, and she wets her lips. "I'm sorry, Sir."
"Is there something you want?" he asks, letting one finger slide down to press against the pulse at her throat. It's thrumming wildly, a strange contrast to the careful calm of her face.
"Yes, Sir."
"What do you want?" His hand slides around to the back of her neck, raking his blunt nails against the skin at her hairline. Before she can check herself, she leans into the touch, and he pulls away and looks at her sharply.
JJ casts her eyes down. "I'm sorry, Sir. I want..." JJ swallows hard, and Spencer watches the motion of her muscles as she does. "I want you to touch me. Please." Her feet flex, drawing the backs of her heels against her ass.
Spencer drops into a crouch in front of her and draws one finger up her thigh. He brushes her hip, then slides in between, skimming her with his knuckles. "Here?"
"Y-- yes, Sir." JJ's voice skips and jumps and shakes as his other hand comes to rest at her lower back and pulls her towards him. She shimmies forward on her knees and bites her lower lip, working her legs apart.
"Shh," he says, his voice soft. "Wait." JJ stills at his command, closing her eyes so that her lashes make shadows across her cheeks in the low light. He's barely touching her -- he's got one fingertip resting between her legs, just lying against her skin -- but he can feel the heat coming off of her body, the slickness of her there, and he knows how wet she is; how hard she is working not to move. "Good girl," he murmurs, dropping down onto his own knees in front of her. "I'm going to take off my shirt. I want to feel you. Don't move."
JJ complies, and Spencer makes short work of his buttons, even though his trembling fingers cause him to fumble a little with them. He's glad she's got her eyes closed and can't see what she's doing to him. Before he tells her what to do next, he watches her: the rapid rise and fall of her chest, her taut nipples, the slope of her hips and the curve of her belly.
"Come here," he says, and reaches behind her. He grabs the chain of her cuffs firmly in his fist and presses them into the small of her back. The motion forces her shoulders back and her breasts forward, and JJ gasps a little at the sensation. He pulls their bodies together at the belly and feels her melt against him, her skin soft and hot and alive. She is pliant and obedient, relaxing easily into his direction. He tilts her chin up and pulls her head back firmly by her hair, just enough to make her feel it, and instructs her to kiss him.
She does, her mouth finding his with no hesitation and no misdirection, and he does nothing at first but part his lips and allow her to take her pleasure. She outlines his mouth with her tongue, takes his bottom lip between her teeth, kisses him like she'll be forced to stop at any second -- because she knows that she might. This time, though, he lets it go on and on and on, lets her tongue coax his until his self control is obliterated, and then he takes her face between his palms and kisses back. Immediately, she submits, the tension leaving her, everything going soft, allowing him to take her however he'd like.
Their kiss turns hard and fierce, and she lets him bite her lips until she can feel them bruise and swell. His hands fall down around her neck, and the gesture is possessive and almost dangerous, his thumbs hooking into the hollow of her throat. He can feel her pulse speed up as he presses, and she cannot suppress a moan that makes his teeth vibrate. He's tempted to push harder, to take her breath, to bring her to the edge of the ultimate surrender, but he won't. Not now. It leaves them both shivering and spent, huddled into one another in a cocoon of nothing, and that isn't what she needs. He knows that though she is the one who calls him Sir, she is the one being served.
He breaks the kiss abruptly and leaves her panting, her eyes fluttering with heavy lids. "Open your legs," he says. Spencer holds JJ's hips to balance her as she shifts her thighs apart, then pulls her head into his shoulder. She is shaking a little, anticipation like a current through her, but she makes herself supple and compliant. Her hair is soft against his chest, and he feels her take a deep breath against the side of his neck. He smiles and strokes her head, and she nestles into him and purrs like a cat.
He grabs her by her cuffs again with one hand. "Do not move. You may lean against me for support. Do not close your legs for any reason. I'll decide when you've had enough. This," he slides his hand down to cup her between her legs with his palm, "is mine. Make noise if you want to. If I ask you a question, you may answer it verbally. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir," JJ answers, her voice a breathless whisper.
"Beautiful," he says, sliding his hand back and forth between her thighs. "Open wider."
JJ scoots her legs apart, leaning hard against him, her breath hot against his ear. She makes high sounds at the back of her throat as he flattens his palm against her. She's warm and slippery, and when he presses down hard, he can feel the steady throb of her arousal. She's struggling not to move her hips and grind down into his touch, and he whispers into her ear and tells her how good she is for keeping still. "Look at how wet you are for me," he murmurs, running his fingers over her cunt, tracing her curves. "I bet I could slide three fingers right inside of you. What do you think?"
JJ responds with a groan and bites his shoulder, sucking in a breath as he circles a fingertip around her then presses just the tip inside.
"Yes?" he asks, pressing in to the knuckle. "Do you think I could fit three?"
"Yes, Sir," she mumbles against his skin.
"Why?"
"Because I'm a slut, Sir," she whispers in his ear, her voice suddenly taking on an edge.
There would normally be a consequence for the tone, but he's curious. He bites her ear as a gentle warning and lets her continue, pushing his finger in to the hilt. JJ gasps. "Are you? Tell me what kind of a slut you are," he says, fucking her now, slow, pressing a knuckle against her g-spot every time he thrusts inside.
"Okay," she says, her voice low and filthy, "Sir. I'm a slut. I'm a dirty fucking whore for you, and you can take me any way you want me. I'll do anything you want. You can fuck my mouth, or fuck my ass, or fuck my cunt. You can put me on my hands and knees like a dog. You can turn me inside out. You can come all over my pretty face. Anything you fucking want. Sir." She's panting between words, breathing hard and hot, but she isn't breaking the rules. He gave her permission to make noise, and her body hasn't moved. Careful and clever, always. The thought makes him smile and add a second finger, which turns her moan into a growl.
"You have a dirty mouth," he whispers, hooking his fingers inward and pressing hard. "Do you need something in it to keep you quiet?" JJ's thighs are shaking with effort, and she's loud now, the growl rising and leaping from her mouth in short, sharp Os every time he thrusts. The sweat from her temples is sliding down his shoulders, her body rocking with his rhythm. Spencer can feel the chain from JJ's cuffs digging into the flesh of his hand, and he adjusts his grip to protect her back.
JJ's answer is a sharp intake of breath as Spencer's thumb finds her clit and taps it a few times in quick succession. It's hard and slippery, and the rest of her is wickedly hot, and Spencer's cock is heavy and aching in his pants. He wants her so much that he can feel his own heart up in his throat, and this role he is playing is taking more concentration than he thinks he might have left.
Because of this, he ignores the fact that she hasn't answered him and says, "I was going to make you kneel like this and beg, but I've changed my mind." He takes his hand from between her legs and brings it to her mouth. "Clean me up."
JJ catches her breath and sucks in the fingers that he presses to her lips. She curls her tongue around them and slides her mouth up and down, her eyes staring right into his. He glides his fingers over her teeth, against the roof of her mouth, writes his initials across her tongue, and she hums quietly, vibrating his whole body.
"What a beautiful little whore," he murmurs to her, pinching her nipples between his wet fingers. He twists sharply, but not far, and JJ yelps in a sort of surprised delight and tips her head back. "Hold still and close your eyes."
JJ obeys.
She isn't allowed to see where he keeps the key, but she can hear him rise and retrieve it. He slips it into the lock of her cuffs and releases her wrists, then sets the handcuffs and key on the table. "Open your eyes," he instructs, standing back in front of her. JJ looks up at him, her eyes hooded and full of heat, lipstick smeared and faded, and he feels his stomach turn over. "Undress me."
"Yes, Sir," JJ says, reaching up from the floor to work apart the buckle of his belt. Her deft fingers pull it apart easily, and the button comes apart with no resistance. She reaches for the zipper, but he stops her.
"With your teeth," he says.
JJ works hard to hide her smile, but she can't quite contain all of it, and it spills over onto her face. He meets her eyes and smiles back, the secret passing quietly between them, and JJ leans forward and pinches the tab of his zipper between her teeth. She is slow and careful, and the zipper is halting and sticky, so it takes longer than it should. Spencer swears she is doing it on purpose, but he is too mesmerized by watching her to care. When she has pulled it all the way down, she takes his pants and boxers down over his hips and helps him step out of them with his bare feet. She folds them neatly and sets them aside, then turns her gaze upwards.
Spencer watches her watch him; he looks past his own body - something he still can't quite appreciate, riddled with scars and created with imperfect geometry - to marvel at the way she looks at him. This is JJ stripped down to her most basic, to the thing inside of her that made him let her in. This is JJ adoring him; this is her kneeling with her eyes backlit by something starving and white-hot; this is her being his and wanting. He will never see himself the way she sees him, but he doesn't have to. She is enough.
"Good girl," he says, and his voice is toeing at its own sort of reverence. One of her eyebrows arches, just the tiniest bit, and that's when he decides he needs her now. He reaches back with his foot and hooks it around the leg of an old desk chair and pulls it towards him, sitting down into it. "Now sit on my cock."
She does. She takes her time crawling up into his lap, moving sinuously and slow, letting him watch. He's so hard that he's aching by the time she straddles him, and he has all he can do to not shove up into her in one stroke and fuck the life out of her. She's wet; he can see the insides of her thighs shining as she slides down over him. He grabs onto her hips to control the pace, and he gives her an inch at a time, stopping and watching her expression: her eyes going back, her mouth opening, her neck arching. Neither one of them speaks until she's seated down on his lap, their bodies flush, his cock all the way inside of her. "Who do you belong to?" he asks her, his voice low to keep it from breaking, tightening his fingers around her hipbones hard enough that her skin goes white.
"You, Sir," she says, her own voice tremulous and thin, her muscles squeezing him tight, her breath against his lips.
Spencer spans his hand wide so that one of his thumbs brushes her clit, then he presses down hard against it and feels her jolt and jerk and whimper. He angles his hips and lifts them just a fraction, so that her jaw drops open and she grips his arm like a vise. "Who tells you when you can come?"
"You, Sir," she whispers, leaning forward to trace the line of his cheekbone with her nose. He can feel her lashes flutter against him, light and anxious.
"Ask me to fuck you."
JJ's forehead comes across to touch his, and her arms circle his neck, and she presses her body against his and whispers, "Fuck me, Sir. Please." She squeezes around him, and Spencer bites down hard on his lip to hold back his own sound.
"Again," he whispers, twisting his ankles back behind the chair legs to keep himself in place, keep himself from just doing it.
"Please, Sir. Fuck me." There's an edge to her tone now, desperation creeping up, and she's almost where he wants her.
"Again," he whispers, staring into her eyes that are more black than blue now. "Beg me. You want to be a whore? Beg like one."
JJ draws in a breath, sharp and fast through her teeth, and he feels her tighten up like she might come right there, and the register of her voice is higher, the pace faster, the dam broken. "Fuck me. Please. Oh, God, fuck me, please, Sir, fuck me like a whore, I..."
He doesn't let her finish. He lifts his hips, and she knows what's coming and presses her heels into the ground with a click. Her pleas dissolve into senselessness as she grips his neck tight and holds on. It's hard and it's filthy and it's fast, and when he pushes a knuckle against her clit and says scream for me, she does. She throws her head back and squeezes so tight around him he thinks he might never be able to pull out, her body like sparks in so many directions he can't keep track. The sounds she makes like this are primal and stunning and fierce, and he bites the bend of her neck to feel them in his bones. They vibrate through his jaw and into his chest and over his heart and down into his cock, and he comes, hard and silent, bruising her hips with his fingertips and lifting them both off of the chair.
JJ falls against his chest, shrinking down into him and panting into his hair. He hooks his arms behind her and licks the sweat from her breast, smearing his lipstick fingerprint. His mouth is making sounds that his brain is not in charge of, and he can feel her smile against him when he hears what they are: I'm yours I'm yours I'm yours.
Rating: FRAO/NC17
Pairing: Spencer Reid/Jennifer Jareau
Prompt: melt
Kink: Domination/submission
Words: ~3000
Summary: He knows that though she is the one who calls him Sir, she is the one being served.
Warnings: PWP, D/s (mostly verbal), mild bondage, sub!JJ, dom!Reid (Or is it? Ha!), a wee bit of dirty talk, improper use of the tools of the job? Oh, and a very brief mention of breathplay.
Notes: I wrote this for the summer mini round at rounds_of_kink. The first thing I've written in a verrrrrrrrrrrry long time. I just can't resist Reid/JJ dom/sub. Ever. WTF?
She is beautiful like this.
Not that JJ isn't always beautiful. Anywhere but here and now, in fact, he might be intimidated by her beauty; he might hang back and watch her from under his lashes or say something in a half-stutter that would turn her off like a switch if she spoke to him. But this is here, and this is now, and she is on her knees, and he's in charge. And she is arrestingly beautiful, her hair hanging like fair curtains around her face, lips as red as the dangerous-looking heels on her feet, naked except for them and a pair of cuffs holding her hands behind her back. Her head is tilted down but her gaze is tilted up, pupils big and round like inkblots, color high in her cheeks. There is a challenge in her expression that she can never seem to quell, and it works just fine for him.
Spencer watches her for a moment, shifting her weight around on her knees, before he reaches down and runs the pad of his thumb across her eyebrow, smoothing its already-perfect arch into shape. "Are you comfortable?"
"Yes, Sir, thank you," she says, and the tone of her voice -- soft, low, supplicating -- makes his body heat spike and his mouth feel dry.
"Good," he answers, and spreads his fingers to cup her cheek. His thumb drags across her painted mouth, and its crimson smudges across his skin. He traces the angles of her face, the delicate bones of her neck, the curved bolts of her collarbone, and leaves his fingerprint in lipstick against her breast. JJ watches him carefully, her eyes tracking his hands, and her lips tilt up at their corners. He nods at her, her smile wrapping around his spine like a bow, and confirms for her the thing that is pleasing her. "Mine," he says, drawing a circle around her nipple and watching it harden for him.
Under his touch, JJ squirms, pressing her thighs together. Her eyes skim away from his, coy at having moved without permission. Spencer grabs her chin firmly, rebuking her with his gaze, and she wets her lips. "I'm sorry, Sir."
"Is there something you want?" he asks, letting one finger slide down to press against the pulse at her throat. It's thrumming wildly, a strange contrast to the careful calm of her face.
"Yes, Sir."
"What do you want?" His hand slides around to the back of her neck, raking his blunt nails against the skin at her hairline. Before she can check herself, she leans into the touch, and he pulls away and looks at her sharply.
JJ casts her eyes down. "I'm sorry, Sir. I want..." JJ swallows hard, and Spencer watches the motion of her muscles as she does. "I want you to touch me. Please." Her feet flex, drawing the backs of her heels against her ass.
Spencer drops into a crouch in front of her and draws one finger up her thigh. He brushes her hip, then slides in between, skimming her with his knuckles. "Here?"
"Y-- yes, Sir." JJ's voice skips and jumps and shakes as his other hand comes to rest at her lower back and pulls her towards him. She shimmies forward on her knees and bites her lower lip, working her legs apart.
"Shh," he says, his voice soft. "Wait." JJ stills at his command, closing her eyes so that her lashes make shadows across her cheeks in the low light. He's barely touching her -- he's got one fingertip resting between her legs, just lying against her skin -- but he can feel the heat coming off of her body, the slickness of her there, and he knows how wet she is; how hard she is working not to move. "Good girl," he murmurs, dropping down onto his own knees in front of her. "I'm going to take off my shirt. I want to feel you. Don't move."
JJ complies, and Spencer makes short work of his buttons, even though his trembling fingers cause him to fumble a little with them. He's glad she's got her eyes closed and can't see what she's doing to him. Before he tells her what to do next, he watches her: the rapid rise and fall of her chest, her taut nipples, the slope of her hips and the curve of her belly.
"Come here," he says, and reaches behind her. He grabs the chain of her cuffs firmly in his fist and presses them into the small of her back. The motion forces her shoulders back and her breasts forward, and JJ gasps a little at the sensation. He pulls their bodies together at the belly and feels her melt against him, her skin soft and hot and alive. She is pliant and obedient, relaxing easily into his direction. He tilts her chin up and pulls her head back firmly by her hair, just enough to make her feel it, and instructs her to kiss him.
She does, her mouth finding his with no hesitation and no misdirection, and he does nothing at first but part his lips and allow her to take her pleasure. She outlines his mouth with her tongue, takes his bottom lip between her teeth, kisses him like she'll be forced to stop at any second -- because she knows that she might. This time, though, he lets it go on and on and on, lets her tongue coax his until his self control is obliterated, and then he takes her face between his palms and kisses back. Immediately, she submits, the tension leaving her, everything going soft, allowing him to take her however he'd like.
Their kiss turns hard and fierce, and she lets him bite her lips until she can feel them bruise and swell. His hands fall down around her neck, and the gesture is possessive and almost dangerous, his thumbs hooking into the hollow of her throat. He can feel her pulse speed up as he presses, and she cannot suppress a moan that makes his teeth vibrate. He's tempted to push harder, to take her breath, to bring her to the edge of the ultimate surrender, but he won't. Not now. It leaves them both shivering and spent, huddled into one another in a cocoon of nothing, and that isn't what she needs. He knows that though she is the one who calls him Sir, she is the one being served.
He breaks the kiss abruptly and leaves her panting, her eyes fluttering with heavy lids. "Open your legs," he says. Spencer holds JJ's hips to balance her as she shifts her thighs apart, then pulls her head into his shoulder. She is shaking a little, anticipation like a current through her, but she makes herself supple and compliant. Her hair is soft against his chest, and he feels her take a deep breath against the side of his neck. He smiles and strokes her head, and she nestles into him and purrs like a cat.
He grabs her by her cuffs again with one hand. "Do not move. You may lean against me for support. Do not close your legs for any reason. I'll decide when you've had enough. This," he slides his hand down to cup her between her legs with his palm, "is mine. Make noise if you want to. If I ask you a question, you may answer it verbally. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir," JJ answers, her voice a breathless whisper.
"Beautiful," he says, sliding his hand back and forth between her thighs. "Open wider."
JJ scoots her legs apart, leaning hard against him, her breath hot against his ear. She makes high sounds at the back of her throat as he flattens his palm against her. She's warm and slippery, and when he presses down hard, he can feel the steady throb of her arousal. She's struggling not to move her hips and grind down into his touch, and he whispers into her ear and tells her how good she is for keeping still. "Look at how wet you are for me," he murmurs, running his fingers over her cunt, tracing her curves. "I bet I could slide three fingers right inside of you. What do you think?"
JJ responds with a groan and bites his shoulder, sucking in a breath as he circles a fingertip around her then presses just the tip inside.
"Yes?" he asks, pressing in to the knuckle. "Do you think I could fit three?"
"Yes, Sir," she mumbles against his skin.
"Why?"
"Because I'm a slut, Sir," she whispers in his ear, her voice suddenly taking on an edge.
There would normally be a consequence for the tone, but he's curious. He bites her ear as a gentle warning and lets her continue, pushing his finger in to the hilt. JJ gasps. "Are you? Tell me what kind of a slut you are," he says, fucking her now, slow, pressing a knuckle against her g-spot every time he thrusts inside.
"Okay," she says, her voice low and filthy, "Sir. I'm a slut. I'm a dirty fucking whore for you, and you can take me any way you want me. I'll do anything you want. You can fuck my mouth, or fuck my ass, or fuck my cunt. You can put me on my hands and knees like a dog. You can turn me inside out. You can come all over my pretty face. Anything you fucking want. Sir." She's panting between words, breathing hard and hot, but she isn't breaking the rules. He gave her permission to make noise, and her body hasn't moved. Careful and clever, always. The thought makes him smile and add a second finger, which turns her moan into a growl.
"You have a dirty mouth," he whispers, hooking his fingers inward and pressing hard. "Do you need something in it to keep you quiet?" JJ's thighs are shaking with effort, and she's loud now, the growl rising and leaping from her mouth in short, sharp Os every time he thrusts. The sweat from her temples is sliding down his shoulders, her body rocking with his rhythm. Spencer can feel the chain from JJ's cuffs digging into the flesh of his hand, and he adjusts his grip to protect her back.
JJ's answer is a sharp intake of breath as Spencer's thumb finds her clit and taps it a few times in quick succession. It's hard and slippery, and the rest of her is wickedly hot, and Spencer's cock is heavy and aching in his pants. He wants her so much that he can feel his own heart up in his throat, and this role he is playing is taking more concentration than he thinks he might have left.
Because of this, he ignores the fact that she hasn't answered him and says, "I was going to make you kneel like this and beg, but I've changed my mind." He takes his hand from between her legs and brings it to her mouth. "Clean me up."
JJ catches her breath and sucks in the fingers that he presses to her lips. She curls her tongue around them and slides her mouth up and down, her eyes staring right into his. He glides his fingers over her teeth, against the roof of her mouth, writes his initials across her tongue, and she hums quietly, vibrating his whole body.
"What a beautiful little whore," he murmurs to her, pinching her nipples between his wet fingers. He twists sharply, but not far, and JJ yelps in a sort of surprised delight and tips her head back. "Hold still and close your eyes."
JJ obeys.
She isn't allowed to see where he keeps the key, but she can hear him rise and retrieve it. He slips it into the lock of her cuffs and releases her wrists, then sets the handcuffs and key on the table. "Open your eyes," he instructs, standing back in front of her. JJ looks up at him, her eyes hooded and full of heat, lipstick smeared and faded, and he feels his stomach turn over. "Undress me."
"Yes, Sir," JJ says, reaching up from the floor to work apart the buckle of his belt. Her deft fingers pull it apart easily, and the button comes apart with no resistance. She reaches for the zipper, but he stops her.
"With your teeth," he says.
JJ works hard to hide her smile, but she can't quite contain all of it, and it spills over onto her face. He meets her eyes and smiles back, the secret passing quietly between them, and JJ leans forward and pinches the tab of his zipper between her teeth. She is slow and careful, and the zipper is halting and sticky, so it takes longer than it should. Spencer swears she is doing it on purpose, but he is too mesmerized by watching her to care. When she has pulled it all the way down, she takes his pants and boxers down over his hips and helps him step out of them with his bare feet. She folds them neatly and sets them aside, then turns her gaze upwards.
Spencer watches her watch him; he looks past his own body - something he still can't quite appreciate, riddled with scars and created with imperfect geometry - to marvel at the way she looks at him. This is JJ stripped down to her most basic, to the thing inside of her that made him let her in. This is JJ adoring him; this is her kneeling with her eyes backlit by something starving and white-hot; this is her being his and wanting. He will never see himself the way she sees him, but he doesn't have to. She is enough.
"Good girl," he says, and his voice is toeing at its own sort of reverence. One of her eyebrows arches, just the tiniest bit, and that's when he decides he needs her now. He reaches back with his foot and hooks it around the leg of an old desk chair and pulls it towards him, sitting down into it. "Now sit on my cock."
She does. She takes her time crawling up into his lap, moving sinuously and slow, letting him watch. He's so hard that he's aching by the time she straddles him, and he has all he can do to not shove up into her in one stroke and fuck the life out of her. She's wet; he can see the insides of her thighs shining as she slides down over him. He grabs onto her hips to control the pace, and he gives her an inch at a time, stopping and watching her expression: her eyes going back, her mouth opening, her neck arching. Neither one of them speaks until she's seated down on his lap, their bodies flush, his cock all the way inside of her. "Who do you belong to?" he asks her, his voice low to keep it from breaking, tightening his fingers around her hipbones hard enough that her skin goes white.
"You, Sir," she says, her own voice tremulous and thin, her muscles squeezing him tight, her breath against his lips.
Spencer spans his hand wide so that one of his thumbs brushes her clit, then he presses down hard against it and feels her jolt and jerk and whimper. He angles his hips and lifts them just a fraction, so that her jaw drops open and she grips his arm like a vise. "Who tells you when you can come?"
"You, Sir," she whispers, leaning forward to trace the line of his cheekbone with her nose. He can feel her lashes flutter against him, light and anxious.
"Ask me to fuck you."
JJ's forehead comes across to touch his, and her arms circle his neck, and she presses her body against his and whispers, "Fuck me, Sir. Please." She squeezes around him, and Spencer bites down hard on his lip to hold back his own sound.
"Again," he whispers, twisting his ankles back behind the chair legs to keep himself in place, keep himself from just doing it.
"Please, Sir. Fuck me." There's an edge to her tone now, desperation creeping up, and she's almost where he wants her.
"Again," he whispers, staring into her eyes that are more black than blue now. "Beg me. You want to be a whore? Beg like one."
JJ draws in a breath, sharp and fast through her teeth, and he feels her tighten up like she might come right there, and the register of her voice is higher, the pace faster, the dam broken. "Fuck me. Please. Oh, God, fuck me, please, Sir, fuck me like a whore, I..."
He doesn't let her finish. He lifts his hips, and she knows what's coming and presses her heels into the ground with a click. Her pleas dissolve into senselessness as she grips his neck tight and holds on. It's hard and it's filthy and it's fast, and when he pushes a knuckle against her clit and says scream for me, she does. She throws her head back and squeezes so tight around him he thinks he might never be able to pull out, her body like sparks in so many directions he can't keep track. The sounds she makes like this are primal and stunning and fierce, and he bites the bend of her neck to feel them in his bones. They vibrate through his jaw and into his chest and over his heart and down into his cock, and he comes, hard and silent, bruising her hips with his fingertips and lifting them both off of the chair.
JJ falls against his chest, shrinking down into him and panting into his hair. He hooks his arms behind her and licks the sweat from her breast, smearing his lipstick fingerprint. His mouth is making sounds that his brain is not in charge of, and he can feel her smile against him when he hears what they are: I'm yours I'm yours I'm yours.