Tuesday night
[That night.]Keira's belly hurts from laughing, her throat hoarse and her mouth set in a permanent grin when she clambers out of Paul's car onto the drive of her building. Nic is usually fairly adept at convincing him to drive them to and from places if neither of them feel like being particularly responsible, and that's most of the time
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The tone of his voice, the tight lines of his mouth, and sudden clench around her finger; he's not quite enjoying it yet, and while she knows it's just a matter of relaxing into it, she doesn't like to see him that way. She slides out and offers a more comfortable, familiar kneading of his balls while she walks up and over him to settle an elbow on the mattress near his shoulder. He opens his eyes at his and looks directly at her, looking both painfully aroused and slightly panicked.
She smiles, small and real, before kissing him softly but deeply. His breath shivers shakily into hers and she waits for a calmer inhale before reaching past his balls again and just slicking her fingers over his hole again, without pressing in.
His teeth dig into her lip and he inhales sharply again, but he doesn't stop kissing her, and his cock twitches wetly against her stomach. One of his hands finally abandon the sheets to curl a little desperately at the back of her neck.
She smiles into his mouth, rubs her fingertips harder against the taut skin behind his balls. "Yeah. This better?"
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He slides his fingers up from her neck and into her hair -- he's not sure about the why, but having his fingers tangled in her hair is sexy, the way it feels is sexy and the way it makes her breathe, and the way it makes her look, eyes half-lidded and smoldering, when he tugs firmly with his fist full of warm, smooth strands of it -- and smiles a little at the way her teeth catch at her lip, and then ruins the sultry half-smile thing totally with a totally undignified gulping sound as she sweeps her thumb across his balls.
"Okay?" she asks, and presses just behind his balls, and why had he never known to do that, because wow, it's insanely good, sends heated, clenching shivers all the way up his spine, and the best he can do is another gulpy sounding groan, and she chuckles softly against his lips.
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"Will you let me touch you again?" His breath hitches against her mouth, and if there's reluctance in his non-answer, it's superceded by the evident spark her words are already kindling. She nudges his thigh higher with hers and he opens up without resistence, opens up for her, just as the muscles underneath her fingertips clench tightly, then loosen when she slides her tongue into his mouth again, licking hotly. "I want to be inside you, Bill, like that." She presses a fingertip against his hole again, intent but still not insistent yet. "Fuck you and suck your cock till you come screaming." He's stopped breathing again, and she nips at the prickly angle of his jaw, breathing the last word low. "Will you let me?"
Funny how even though she's the one asking, grammatically speaking, he's the one about to beg.
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"Aye," he breathes, and her mouth on his bites briefly, a sharp counterpoint of pain to the pleasure of her soft lips and gentle fingers, and then she moves down his body so quickly that he doesn't even have time (nor the presence of mind truthfully) to untangle his fingers from her hair.
When her mouth closes around his cock, his fist clenches tight and he's exerting pressure before he really knows it, pushing her down while his hips arch up. He thinks fleetingly that doing that isn't gentlemanly at all, but Jesus God, her mouth, and then she drags her teeth along the shaft of his cock just hard enough to both scare him and send a rocking pulse of pleasure straight to his balls, and he'd laugh if he could breathe (he recognizes a warning when he feels one, even during an amazing oral experience), but since he can't he just whines a little and opens his hand, which immediately goes back to the comforter and curls frantically around a slightly sweat-damp fold of it.
She murmurs -- wordlessly, of course -- and he shudders because that's, oh, that's amazing, yeah, and it seems like hours before he's able to drag a breath into his lungs (his vision actually seems to be darkening at the edges, but maybe that's his imagination, or does he have his eyes closed?), and realizes with utter shock, that she's managed to slide a finger inside him without him actually really noticing, had distracted him from being tense or uncertain with her talented (oh God, really really talented, ought to have it's own movie or something, except it sort of does, along with the rest of her talented parts, several of them actually) mouth, and now that he's aware of it, it feels neither bad nor weird (though he's willing to admit that evisceration probably wouldn't feel bad or weird as long as she sucked his cock while she did it), it feels...
"...oh..." he whispers, and feels his eyes go wide, sees the ceiling, white, but he can't focus enough to trace the cracks as he had before.
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Keira waits till the tension in Bill’s thighs and belly is just right, fits his cock snuggly against her tongue and pushes a little farther in and crooks her finger just so. Then Bill’s body does go still, completely still, more still than she’s honestly ever known it, and he lets out a small, “...Oh.”, croaked and weak and just what she was hoping for.
She pulls her mouth off him almost abruptly, his cock bobbing, wet and spit-shiny, against her cheek when she leans in, twisting her wrist again. There’s a tremor in his belly again, and his legs fall open completely on a muffled groan.
She’d be calling it reckless if she wasn’t so sure, for no real reason she can think of, of the reaction she’ll get. She clears her throat, kisses his cock softly, pulls mostly out and adds a second finger, not in yet but just there, promising more than offering. Rubs, pushes, rubs.
“I did this to Nic the first time we fucked. In Johnny’s bed, two hours after I met him,” she whispers with a smile against his thigh. She nips at it, licks. Slicks her fingers up again and slides, curls, pulls out. “He asked me and I did, because it was fucking hot, Bill. Watching him take it.”
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It's like discovering something utterly unanticipated, it's like finding her had been, almost, so unprecedented that he doesn't even know what to do with the feeling.
No wonder... he thinks, but the thought stalls out, and he's distracted by the feel of her lapping at the head of his cock, kitten-laps, just heat, almost no pressure at all, but it makes his eyes flutter and clench and want to roll into the back of his head. The pressure of her fingers is still here, still steady, but he understands that she's waiting for something, waiting for something from him, though he feels too overwhelmed, overpowered even, to think of what.
"Do you want me to ask?" he asks, and he might be uncomfortable with the way his voice sounds, unsteady and... something else, he doesn't know, surely not pleading, but he can't find it in himself to care at this moment. "I will if you want me to."
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At his strained silence, she applies a slow, thorough lick to his balls and a simultaneous slightly penetrating push of her fingertips.
"Dominic," she whispers against the shaky muscles of his thigh, "he likes to lie on his stomach when I fuck him like this. Sometimes he asks to be tied up. You'd like that, I bet, Nic tied up and speechless for once, gasping against the pillows. He loves to beg for it, Bill. Loves it. What is it you want, Bill?"
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He doesn't ask, though, because then she might answer, and at the moment he doesn't want to hear it. Doesn't want to talk at all, and doesn't want to hear her talking about Nic anymore, not because he's jealous (he's not, why would he be jealous of Nic for fuck's sake, bloke is about as threatening to Bill's masculinity as a sodding plush toy), but because it's just distracting and inexplicable, and he'd rather be fucking her, or, yeah, having her fuck him, and nevermind that the newness of that causes some kind of dissonant frission in both mind and body, two parts hotwhite need and one part nervy uncertainty.
She wants to, he wants her to, they're both adults and it's not like it's fucking illegal (or actually, strictly speaking it is, pretty much anything sodomy related is technically illegal, but that's another matter entirely, and besides, he doesn't think this actually qualifies as sodomy, and also, he doesn't fucking care), and he can't work out why his head is rushing like this at all.
"Quaen," he says, and finds it rather easier than expected to unfist one hand from her bedclothes to reach betwen their bodies and wrap it around her wrist. "Want you to shut up and fuck me."
She does shut up, but she also makes a soft, sort of hitching sound (which Bill feels oddly triumphant about, made the porn-star all hitch-y breathed, good show) as he tugs on her wrist, urges fingers forward and into his body, and there is a sharp moment of pain, likely brought on by his own clumsiness (he doesn't know what the fuck he is doing), which he doesn't have to ignore long because she moves, her wrist twisting and slippery in his grasp, because she knows exactly what she's doing, and then that same lurch of unexpectedly dazzling clenchneedpleasure.
"Ah, fuck," he hears himself say faintly.
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"Can't beg and boss around at the same time, Bill." She shakes his hand off hers completely, taking advantage of the momentary distraction to push both fingers in deep as she says, "And if you're done with me I'll just go have that cake now."
She knows it won't take much now, and that if he does beg she can finish him off in a minute flat, if that. But this won't do, the Bill way he said that, half plea half order. Won't have that.
There's a moment where neither of them speak, but the air is charged, electric, like there's a storm gathering outside making their very bodies crackle with it.
Keira pushes in further and crooks her fingers again, going for the prize, and simultaneously pushes her thumb again the back of his balls.
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There is a pause, like she's waiting for something, and her breath is ghosting hotly across the tightly aching shaft of his cock. He isn't sure if she thinks he doesn't mean it, or if maybe she thinks it was an accident, or if maybe she just gets off on watching him tremble (God knows he gets off on watching her tremble), but she doesn't move and he isn't sure how much more of this he can take. At this point, the bits of his brain still functioning (minimal at best) are leaning toward just getting up and grabbing her, pushing her down and pushing in just to fucking feel her, and maybe that makes his voice a little more desperate than it might otherwise be, or maybe he honestly is that desperate, when he murmurs, "Keira, for God's sake, please."
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Ah, here we go.
Keira can't help feeling a little triumphant, reducing him to this. Besides, he asked for it.
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