Kiss the Blood Off My Hands [FanFic]
Title: Kiss the Blood Off My Hands
Author: Tooks
Pairing: Foyet/JJ
Rating: FRAO
Summary: George teaches his girlfriend, JJ, a thing or two about overcoming her fears.
Notes: Another one-shot from my Noir AU "Living For the Night" (thanks let_it_linger21 for the name) for the season...occurs right after Morgan's piece but can stand alone. As always, first person (this time from JJ's POV), dark, gritty, and the title's from a real noir. Head's up, the pairing is squick-y to start but this one is kind of violent and pretty graphic sexually speaking...and the sex and violence intermingle. Not gonna lie, I struggled with this one a fair amount and, even now, I'm not certain on it...I think it's passable but, yeah, let me know folks! Thanks! :D
The moment we get home I step out of my godforsaken heels. They give me a few extra inches in height, make my legs look great, but since I’ve started to show my feet have swelled so that they’re the most uncomfortable things in my closet. I feel George’s hands at my shoulder, starting to help me off with my coat. “Did you have a good night, George?” I ask casually as laziness has me just kicking the shoes to the corner by the door.
“Aside from my partner pestering you, it was great,” he replies going to hang up his and my coat before collecting my shoes. He’s always had this odd need for order that, in the beginning, I thought was a sign that he’d prefer one of his fellow male cops to me but I’ve figured out it’s just one of his control issues. Things just needed to be in some kind of order for him to think straight. Nowadays I consider it a benefit. Unlike other women I don’t have some slob to clean up after.
“He wasn’t pestering me, George,” I reply with a slight laugh and shake of the head, “he was just being friendly.”
I can hear the snort George gives from our bedroom, “What’s he got to be friendly to you about?”
“You don’t think a man can be friendly to a woman for no reason?” I should be more offended, sound more offended, but the truth was Morgan did have ulterior motives in his speaking to me. Ones George would not appreciate. Warning ones.
George exits the room swiftly and, now, with a sweet smile, “I’m just saying that…” he shrugs, gives a guilty look, “I don’t trust him. You’re a beautiful, wonderful, woman, JJ,” he reaches the dining table and smiles softly at me, “I trust you completely, but not him.”
I’m not stupid, I know he’s probably lying about trusting me, but I’m hoping the rest is the truth. Either way, the words make me smile. “George,” I close the gap between us and touch my hands to his cheeks, hold his face gently, “you don’t need to worry, believe me. You’re the only man I want or need.” He always seems to need this sort of reassurance. That I’m his, I only want him, and that he’s the best…at everything. It can get a little tedious but, hey, it’s a small pain compared to the maintenance some other men require. And, after all, with George I get the early scoop on great stories. Exclusives I couldn’t get from dating other men.
“Are you sure?”
I smirk, let go of his face, and tick my head to the side as I set my hands to the small beach ball that is my stomach these days, “Well you’re only one I’ve ever let knock me up.” My man finally seems to relax fully with a laugh that puts that playful glint in his eye. “You want something to eat?” I saw he’d had a fair amount to drink. Not a lot. Never a lot. But enough that without something to soak the liquor up there was risk of a hangover tomorrow and George was miserable enough in the morning without adding a headache and upset stomach.
“I’ll have something if you do, baby,” he tells me with a smile knowing that I’ll make something. I frequently do with eating for two and there wasn’t much that suited me at the party. I used to be able to eat some of that fancier food but now it just turns my stomach…or my baby’s is more like it. “I think I’m going to change first though, this tie is driving me nuts,” he comments with a laugh as he seems to playfully choke himself with it.
I learned early in the relationship that, if I’m going to use a knife to prepare a meal while George is around, it’s best to eat as I go because the meal itself will likely go uncompleted. I never bother to ask, even think, why that’s the case. Some things are best when they go unexamined. I pop the first slice of cheese in my mouth before going to cut more and setting them on crackers for us. I get about three cheese and cracker combos in my mouth and down my throat before I sense him close.
Close and then behind me. George makes a small sandwich of the available cheese and crackers to eat and gives my cheek a kiss after swallowing. “Tastes good.”
“It’s cheese and crackers, it’s hard to mess up,” I joke a bit as I feel him adjust a little to be almost directly behind me.
“Can I show you something?” he asks softly as one of his hands goes over mine while it holds the knife.
“You’re going to show me something about cutting cheese?” I laugh.
“I’m something of an expert.” He laughs. His laugh’s a little darker than mine, I think it always is really, but the darkness in it now only comes to him when one of two topics come up. Sex and violence. As he presses into me from behind I’m guessing he’s thinking of the first more than second. “The trick is to not fear the blade.”
“Fear the blade?”
“Mmhmm,” he rests his head on one of my shoulders and has us move the block of cheese closer before setting the tip of the blade perpendicular to the cheese, “The only way a knife isn’t going to cut perfectly is if you let it. Everyone’s always so scared that they’re going to cut themselves or damage their counter,” he then moves our hands together down to cut a square slice of the cheese, “they let fear take over.” It really is a near perfect, if not perfect, cut.
“So you’re never afraid of cutting yourself?” I knew he didn’t give a damn about the counter, honestly neither did I, but my hand I rather like with all its fingers and imagine others feel the same.
George chuckles darkly in my ear as he moves the cheese aside and manipulates my fingers so that one presses lightly against the sharpened steel of the knife. “No, JJ, I’m not, and you shouldn’t be either.”
“It’s sharp.” Even with my finger barely touching the knife I can feel that. I can tell, with the effort and strength of someone dangerous, this knife could be as deadly as a gun or any other weapon. “Ah!” I gasp suddenly as George’s hand covers my finger and the blade together, pressing one into the other, “George.” Does he even notice?
“Shhhh,” his lips are at my ear, voice soft and low like it sometimes is when we make love, “just relax.” His teeth nip my lobe, pull at the earring still in my ear, and then move downwards making a familiar but near always enjoyable journey to my neck. “The pain fades before you even know it.”
Suddenly he presses into me from behind as his hand squeezes mine and I hear the droplets of blood hit the countertop even over my gasp. I cast my head down and catch sight of it, the deep red blotches coloring the white linoleum, and close my eyes. “George.” I try to call him back again even as tears start to form in my eyes from the pain of cold steel slicing my finger open more and more.
He doesn’t seem to hear me though as he keeps hold while his weight presses, then almost grinds, into me from behind. Then he does…sort of. “Are you scared?”
“In pain,” I confess softly, one of my tears finally slipping from my eyes and mixing in with our blood.
Then, suddenly, he lets go of my hand and I let the knife drop into the small pool of blood with a clank. I find myself spun to face him and his lips, just moments before at my shoulder, are on mine so demandingly I don’t have any option but to kiss back or risk being suffocated and bruised from his. His hands, both cut and uncut, are grabbing up the fabric of my dress as if he was in a race with someone else for my prize.
“George,” this time I gasp from a small shock of pleasure as a hand of his finally rubs up against the prize it’s been searching for.
My man’s lips break from mine before biting softly at my bottom lip. “Still in pain?” His hand presses up between my legs, applies pressure to that sensitive nub that sets my body alight.
“No.” Another confession I give softly. Where the pain went I don’t know, its been lost somewhere in a sensory overload, and as I feel his thumb press that nub once again through the lace fabric of my panties I go to grab his shirt for some kind of stability as my breath gets more difficult to catch.
“Good,” he gets out under heavy breath of his own. . It’s then that I feel the wetness between my thighs, but it’s not from me…not yet. It’s him. His hand, the one that held the knife and forced my hand to do the same, is the one he uses now to make me weak in the knees.
My eyes widen, but before I even have time to say another word I feel his strong hands wrap around me and half-walk, half-push me the few feet out of the kitchen to the dining table. He lifts me onto the table itself and I grab his hair in one hand to force his lips back up to mine. I moan into his mouth as our tongues struggle for dominance.
He does the same as I hear him start to tear apart the very fabric of my dress. Not that it matters much; it was already stained in blood from when he’d lifted it up.
I go to pull his shirt up and toss it aside before biting at his chest. When I met him he already had some scars scattered about his body and, over time, they’ve grown in number. To me they show he’s a proven protector, a man who’s willing to risk his safety to be the best officer he can be, and will make a great protector of our child. In this world you have to take the bad with the good. He prefers rough sex, a battle in bed, but I can give him that (and make him the winner every time) if I get the equally aggressive protection in return.
My dress becomes little more like a sheet in no time and he helps me slip my arms out of it so that it goes to pool on the table before I brush it off onto the floor. “Lay back,” he orders with a wicked smirk as he pulls stockings free of garter straps. I obey, thankfully still small enough that the position is comfortable for me.
For a moment I feel nothing, but then skilled fingers once again shift panties aside to tease me, slipping into my crease and rubbing the nub there. I moan out with closed eyes and get rewarded with the pressing of lips to the top of my abdomen before they trail down. Down. Down. “Oh god, George!” Hot breath and wet tongue brush where his thumb had rubbed.
I hear the father of my child’s dark chuckle from between my thighs, then a flick of…something. “Don’t move,” he warns me. My stomach tightens and I can’t tell if its fear or excitement. I feel just a hint of cold steel against the skin of my hip before it moves across my lower abdomen to the other side so gently it’s just a tickle, and then it’s gone. The underwear, my underwear, has nearly been cut clear from me. Goddamn he’s skilled with a knife. So much it’d be scary if this was under circumstances. But, like this, with each flick of his knife stripping me more and more, there’s something strangely erotic about it. …The fact his fingers and mouth can access my pleasure zones all the faster if he literally cuts through all the barriers with a knife is mind-bending and world spinning.
“G-G-George,” I start to pant as his fingers tease at my entry, begin to elicit juices from deep within me. My hips wiggle and thrust forward without my consent in desperation to feel more, feel anything but the teasing softness of a fingertip rubbing there. Every time I press forward he pulls back, “Fuck…George…” my moan’s a near growl.
“What?” He plays coy before a flick of his tongue causes me to groan loudly and grow wetter.
“Please.” I open my eyes, looking for him in hopes of convincing him with just looks to give in for me.
I catch his eyes as he stands to watch me, look down at me…or down on me. “Please, what?” I feel two fingers finally, slowly, slide their way into me. My eyes flutter closed once again as I let out another cry of pleasure. His fingers stay still a moment as if just enjoying the wet heat and tightness I provide before sliding back out to tease my entry again. I’ve long ago considered the idea that, more than the sex, George enjoys the teasing of foreplay. For him it seems a power play, making me squirm and beg for him. It’s probably the real reason he enjoys watching my reactions so much, he knows he’s the cause for them. He can get me to react, to scream, to cry and beg. In truth, aside from quickies in the morning, he almost never enters before I’m about to mount him myself.
Of course in my current state I’m not exactly equipped to jump him so I must submit. I open my eyes once again and give him my most pitiful look. “Fuck me, George,” I arch some, try to feel those fingers of his inside of me again, “please, George, I want you inside me.”
“You have to do better than that.” His chuckle is peppered in the sentence as he smirks at me. Then his fingers slid back in and, this time, they move. They pump and scissor as his thumb rubs and presses the now hypersensitive bump that men in the past didn’t even know how to work.
It’s not long before I’m sweaty and shaking, thrusting my hips forward in time with his fingers, and hitting a near voice-cracking pitch of gasps and cries. I’m just about to slip past that point of no return; I can feel it, sense it as my muscles start to almost twitch. “GEORGE…FUCK…ME!!!” Tears slide down my cheeks as if they might relieve some of the pressure inside me.
Then I’m filled. His full length replaces fingers in what feels like just one move that causes me to arch high and my voice to catch in my throat, choking me more than anything or anyone else could. I swear I can feel every inch as his girth begins to rub along my insides slowly while he begins to finally give me what I had to scream to get. My ankles wrap around him, pull him in as close as our positions allow, and his hands go to my legs force my knees to bend so he can go deeper.
Within moments our pace hits double time and, for that, I’m grateful. Right now I don’t want slow and I don’t want lovemaking, I just want to get off. Something I begin to verbalize in gasps of breaths as I once again begin to skirt the edge of orgasm. “I’m gonna…oh gawd…I’m gonna…”
Strong hands pull me up into a sitting position and George’s fingers go to rub fast and angry between my thighs. My nails hook into the flesh of his back as a grounding measure, then it’s not enough and my teeth go for his throat. His teeth do the same and as we reenact something out of a vampire novel I feel him grow and swell that extra little bit inside of me.
My muscles lock down on him. Jaw muscles, hand muscles, pussy muscles. They all lock together as the two of us growl and groan out our last bits of pent up passion. I don’t know what George sees in the moment or two of his explosion, as I’m filled with his heat that previously worked to make me a soon-to-be mother, but I see what I feel…never ending white bliss.
When I feel able to I open my eyes and relax my jaw, finally tasting the copper blood in my mouth. “Fuck,” I pant out in a raspy voice.
George simply moans his agreement as his teeth release my skin and he gently licks, then kisses, the area he’s bitten. He goes to kiss me, kiss my lips and I taste my blood on his tongue just like I imagine he can taste his on mine. Maybe it should bother me, but it doesn’t.
“Don’t ever do that again, understand me?” I whisper in his ear.
“What? Fuck you senseless on our table?” the man jokes a little as he finally slips out of me.
“Slice my finger to make some point”
George chuckles darkly, “Hey, at least you don’t ever need to be afraid of cutting your finger, right? I mean it happened, you survived.,” he gives me a kiss, then smirks, “you even got off.”
“Would you say that about being shot?”
George laughs a little, but it’s the lighter one he has, “Actually, I have.”
I return another kiss he gives before grabbing hold of his chin with one hand. “George,” I speak softly, but seriously, “maybe the idea of facing your fears head on works for you but…” I lose my words a moment, I let go of his face and have to just shake my head at him some before I get them back, “it doesn’t for everyone and it really doesn’t when you’re a child so, please, don’t ever do this sort of thing with our child. Okay?” That’s my true concern, that he’ll accidentally hurt him or her with this method of overcoming fear.
He seems take in all my words carefully, nodding some as he does, before looking down some a moment and then back up at me. “Okay, Jennifer. I’m sorry if I upset you.” This time, at least, he’s not laughing me off.
“You didn’t upset me,” I reassure him, adding a kiss to my words, “I just don’t want you, you know, locking our kid in the closet as a way to cure him of his fear of the dark.” I make it a joke so George won’t feel so bad. I don’t want to kill the buzz that’s still running through both of us.
It seems to work as he laughs a little with me, “I won’t. Promise.” He goes to take my wounded hand in his carefully and begins to kiss along the cuts the blade had made, “I’d like to make this up to you.” George’s lips are spotted red, though whether from this act of tenderness or from the act of lust before I can’t tell. I wonder if it even matters.
“I think you already did,” I laugh a little, “How about we just head to bed so Santa can show up? Deal?” I'm already in the habit of speaking of Santa like he's the real thing, I want the practice for my child and I want George used to it so he doesn't end up blurting out that there isn't one when the kid's around.
George’s eyes narrow in on me as if unsure about my wording, but then he smirks, “Deal.”
"Oh, sugar, you just gone and done the dumbest thing in your whole life." ~ Becky, Sin City
Other X-Mas Tales:
Elle
Morgan
Emily
Author: Tooks
Pairing: Foyet/JJ
Rating: FRAO
Summary: George teaches his girlfriend, JJ, a thing or two about overcoming her fears.
Notes: Another one-shot from my Noir AU "Living For the Night" (thanks let_it_linger21 for the name) for the season...occurs right after Morgan's piece but can stand alone. As always, first person (this time from JJ's POV), dark, gritty, and the title's from a real noir. Head's up, the pairing is squick-y to start but this one is kind of violent and pretty graphic sexually speaking...and the sex and violence intermingle. Not gonna lie, I struggled with this one a fair amount and, even now, I'm not certain on it...I think it's passable but, yeah, let me know folks! Thanks! :D
The moment we get home I step out of my godforsaken heels. They give me a few extra inches in height, make my legs look great, but since I’ve started to show my feet have swelled so that they’re the most uncomfortable things in my closet. I feel George’s hands at my shoulder, starting to help me off with my coat. “Did you have a good night, George?” I ask casually as laziness has me just kicking the shoes to the corner by the door.
“Aside from my partner pestering you, it was great,” he replies going to hang up his and my coat before collecting my shoes. He’s always had this odd need for order that, in the beginning, I thought was a sign that he’d prefer one of his fellow male cops to me but I’ve figured out it’s just one of his control issues. Things just needed to be in some kind of order for him to think straight. Nowadays I consider it a benefit. Unlike other women I don’t have some slob to clean up after.
“He wasn’t pestering me, George,” I reply with a slight laugh and shake of the head, “he was just being friendly.”
I can hear the snort George gives from our bedroom, “What’s he got to be friendly to you about?”
“You don’t think a man can be friendly to a woman for no reason?” I should be more offended, sound more offended, but the truth was Morgan did have ulterior motives in his speaking to me. Ones George would not appreciate. Warning ones.
George exits the room swiftly and, now, with a sweet smile, “I’m just saying that…” he shrugs, gives a guilty look, “I don’t trust him. You’re a beautiful, wonderful, woman, JJ,” he reaches the dining table and smiles softly at me, “I trust you completely, but not him.”
I’m not stupid, I know he’s probably lying about trusting me, but I’m hoping the rest is the truth. Either way, the words make me smile. “George,” I close the gap between us and touch my hands to his cheeks, hold his face gently, “you don’t need to worry, believe me. You’re the only man I want or need.” He always seems to need this sort of reassurance. That I’m his, I only want him, and that he’s the best…at everything. It can get a little tedious but, hey, it’s a small pain compared to the maintenance some other men require. And, after all, with George I get the early scoop on great stories. Exclusives I couldn’t get from dating other men.
“Are you sure?”
I smirk, let go of his face, and tick my head to the side as I set my hands to the small beach ball that is my stomach these days, “Well you’re only one I’ve ever let knock me up.” My man finally seems to relax fully with a laugh that puts that playful glint in his eye. “You want something to eat?” I saw he’d had a fair amount to drink. Not a lot. Never a lot. But enough that without something to soak the liquor up there was risk of a hangover tomorrow and George was miserable enough in the morning without adding a headache and upset stomach.
“I’ll have something if you do, baby,” he tells me with a smile knowing that I’ll make something. I frequently do with eating for two and there wasn’t much that suited me at the party. I used to be able to eat some of that fancier food but now it just turns my stomach…or my baby’s is more like it. “I think I’m going to change first though, this tie is driving me nuts,” he comments with a laugh as he seems to playfully choke himself with it.
I learned early in the relationship that, if I’m going to use a knife to prepare a meal while George is around, it’s best to eat as I go because the meal itself will likely go uncompleted. I never bother to ask, even think, why that’s the case. Some things are best when they go unexamined. I pop the first slice of cheese in my mouth before going to cut more and setting them on crackers for us. I get about three cheese and cracker combos in my mouth and down my throat before I sense him close.
Close and then behind me. George makes a small sandwich of the available cheese and crackers to eat and gives my cheek a kiss after swallowing. “Tastes good.”
“It’s cheese and crackers, it’s hard to mess up,” I joke a bit as I feel him adjust a little to be almost directly behind me.
“Can I show you something?” he asks softly as one of his hands goes over mine while it holds the knife.
“You’re going to show me something about cutting cheese?” I laugh.
“I’m something of an expert.” He laughs. His laugh’s a little darker than mine, I think it always is really, but the darkness in it now only comes to him when one of two topics come up. Sex and violence. As he presses into me from behind I’m guessing he’s thinking of the first more than second. “The trick is to not fear the blade.”
“Fear the blade?”
“Mmhmm,” he rests his head on one of my shoulders and has us move the block of cheese closer before setting the tip of the blade perpendicular to the cheese, “The only way a knife isn’t going to cut perfectly is if you let it. Everyone’s always so scared that they’re going to cut themselves or damage their counter,” he then moves our hands together down to cut a square slice of the cheese, “they let fear take over.” It really is a near perfect, if not perfect, cut.
“So you’re never afraid of cutting yourself?” I knew he didn’t give a damn about the counter, honestly neither did I, but my hand I rather like with all its fingers and imagine others feel the same.
George chuckles darkly in my ear as he moves the cheese aside and manipulates my fingers so that one presses lightly against the sharpened steel of the knife. “No, JJ, I’m not, and you shouldn’t be either.”
“It’s sharp.” Even with my finger barely touching the knife I can feel that. I can tell, with the effort and strength of someone dangerous, this knife could be as deadly as a gun or any other weapon. “Ah!” I gasp suddenly as George’s hand covers my finger and the blade together, pressing one into the other, “George.” Does he even notice?
“Shhhh,” his lips are at my ear, voice soft and low like it sometimes is when we make love, “just relax.” His teeth nip my lobe, pull at the earring still in my ear, and then move downwards making a familiar but near always enjoyable journey to my neck. “The pain fades before you even know it.”
Suddenly he presses into me from behind as his hand squeezes mine and I hear the droplets of blood hit the countertop even over my gasp. I cast my head down and catch sight of it, the deep red blotches coloring the white linoleum, and close my eyes. “George.” I try to call him back again even as tears start to form in my eyes from the pain of cold steel slicing my finger open more and more.
He doesn’t seem to hear me though as he keeps hold while his weight presses, then almost grinds, into me from behind. Then he does…sort of. “Are you scared?”
“In pain,” I confess softly, one of my tears finally slipping from my eyes and mixing in with our blood.
Then, suddenly, he lets go of my hand and I let the knife drop into the small pool of blood with a clank. I find myself spun to face him and his lips, just moments before at my shoulder, are on mine so demandingly I don’t have any option but to kiss back or risk being suffocated and bruised from his. His hands, both cut and uncut, are grabbing up the fabric of my dress as if he was in a race with someone else for my prize.
“George,” this time I gasp from a small shock of pleasure as a hand of his finally rubs up against the prize it’s been searching for.
My man’s lips break from mine before biting softly at my bottom lip. “Still in pain?” His hand presses up between my legs, applies pressure to that sensitive nub that sets my body alight.
“No.” Another confession I give softly. Where the pain went I don’t know, its been lost somewhere in a sensory overload, and as I feel his thumb press that nub once again through the lace fabric of my panties I go to grab his shirt for some kind of stability as my breath gets more difficult to catch.
“Good,” he gets out under heavy breath of his own. . It’s then that I feel the wetness between my thighs, but it’s not from me…not yet. It’s him. His hand, the one that held the knife and forced my hand to do the same, is the one he uses now to make me weak in the knees.
My eyes widen, but before I even have time to say another word I feel his strong hands wrap around me and half-walk, half-push me the few feet out of the kitchen to the dining table. He lifts me onto the table itself and I grab his hair in one hand to force his lips back up to mine. I moan into his mouth as our tongues struggle for dominance.
He does the same as I hear him start to tear apart the very fabric of my dress. Not that it matters much; it was already stained in blood from when he’d lifted it up.
I go to pull his shirt up and toss it aside before biting at his chest. When I met him he already had some scars scattered about his body and, over time, they’ve grown in number. To me they show he’s a proven protector, a man who’s willing to risk his safety to be the best officer he can be, and will make a great protector of our child. In this world you have to take the bad with the good. He prefers rough sex, a battle in bed, but I can give him that (and make him the winner every time) if I get the equally aggressive protection in return.
My dress becomes little more like a sheet in no time and he helps me slip my arms out of it so that it goes to pool on the table before I brush it off onto the floor. “Lay back,” he orders with a wicked smirk as he pulls stockings free of garter straps. I obey, thankfully still small enough that the position is comfortable for me.
For a moment I feel nothing, but then skilled fingers once again shift panties aside to tease me, slipping into my crease and rubbing the nub there. I moan out with closed eyes and get rewarded with the pressing of lips to the top of my abdomen before they trail down. Down. Down. “Oh god, George!” Hot breath and wet tongue brush where his thumb had rubbed.
I hear the father of my child’s dark chuckle from between my thighs, then a flick of…something. “Don’t move,” he warns me. My stomach tightens and I can’t tell if its fear or excitement. I feel just a hint of cold steel against the skin of my hip before it moves across my lower abdomen to the other side so gently it’s just a tickle, and then it’s gone. The underwear, my underwear, has nearly been cut clear from me. Goddamn he’s skilled with a knife. So much it’d be scary if this was under circumstances. But, like this, with each flick of his knife stripping me more and more, there’s something strangely erotic about it. …The fact his fingers and mouth can access my pleasure zones all the faster if he literally cuts through all the barriers with a knife is mind-bending and world spinning.
“G-G-George,” I start to pant as his fingers tease at my entry, begin to elicit juices from deep within me. My hips wiggle and thrust forward without my consent in desperation to feel more, feel anything but the teasing softness of a fingertip rubbing there. Every time I press forward he pulls back, “Fuck…George…” my moan’s a near growl.
“What?” He plays coy before a flick of his tongue causes me to groan loudly and grow wetter.
“Please.” I open my eyes, looking for him in hopes of convincing him with just looks to give in for me.
I catch his eyes as he stands to watch me, look down at me…or down on me. “Please, what?” I feel two fingers finally, slowly, slide their way into me. My eyes flutter closed once again as I let out another cry of pleasure. His fingers stay still a moment as if just enjoying the wet heat and tightness I provide before sliding back out to tease my entry again. I’ve long ago considered the idea that, more than the sex, George enjoys the teasing of foreplay. For him it seems a power play, making me squirm and beg for him. It’s probably the real reason he enjoys watching my reactions so much, he knows he’s the cause for them. He can get me to react, to scream, to cry and beg. In truth, aside from quickies in the morning, he almost never enters before I’m about to mount him myself.
Of course in my current state I’m not exactly equipped to jump him so I must submit. I open my eyes once again and give him my most pitiful look. “Fuck me, George,” I arch some, try to feel those fingers of his inside of me again, “please, George, I want you inside me.”
“You have to do better than that.” His chuckle is peppered in the sentence as he smirks at me. Then his fingers slid back in and, this time, they move. They pump and scissor as his thumb rubs and presses the now hypersensitive bump that men in the past didn’t even know how to work.
It’s not long before I’m sweaty and shaking, thrusting my hips forward in time with his fingers, and hitting a near voice-cracking pitch of gasps and cries. I’m just about to slip past that point of no return; I can feel it, sense it as my muscles start to almost twitch. “GEORGE…FUCK…ME!!!” Tears slide down my cheeks as if they might relieve some of the pressure inside me.
Then I’m filled. His full length replaces fingers in what feels like just one move that causes me to arch high and my voice to catch in my throat, choking me more than anything or anyone else could. I swear I can feel every inch as his girth begins to rub along my insides slowly while he begins to finally give me what I had to scream to get. My ankles wrap around him, pull him in as close as our positions allow, and his hands go to my legs force my knees to bend so he can go deeper.
Within moments our pace hits double time and, for that, I’m grateful. Right now I don’t want slow and I don’t want lovemaking, I just want to get off. Something I begin to verbalize in gasps of breaths as I once again begin to skirt the edge of orgasm. “I’m gonna…oh gawd…I’m gonna…”
Strong hands pull me up into a sitting position and George’s fingers go to rub fast and angry between my thighs. My nails hook into the flesh of his back as a grounding measure, then it’s not enough and my teeth go for his throat. His teeth do the same and as we reenact something out of a vampire novel I feel him grow and swell that extra little bit inside of me.
My muscles lock down on him. Jaw muscles, hand muscles, pussy muscles. They all lock together as the two of us growl and groan out our last bits of pent up passion. I don’t know what George sees in the moment or two of his explosion, as I’m filled with his heat that previously worked to make me a soon-to-be mother, but I see what I feel…never ending white bliss.
When I feel able to I open my eyes and relax my jaw, finally tasting the copper blood in my mouth. “Fuck,” I pant out in a raspy voice.
George simply moans his agreement as his teeth release my skin and he gently licks, then kisses, the area he’s bitten. He goes to kiss me, kiss my lips and I taste my blood on his tongue just like I imagine he can taste his on mine. Maybe it should bother me, but it doesn’t.
“Don’t ever do that again, understand me?” I whisper in his ear.
“What? Fuck you senseless on our table?” the man jokes a little as he finally slips out of me.
“Slice my finger to make some point”
George chuckles darkly, “Hey, at least you don’t ever need to be afraid of cutting your finger, right? I mean it happened, you survived.,” he gives me a kiss, then smirks, “you even got off.”
“Would you say that about being shot?”
George laughs a little, but it’s the lighter one he has, “Actually, I have.”
I return another kiss he gives before grabbing hold of his chin with one hand. “George,” I speak softly, but seriously, “maybe the idea of facing your fears head on works for you but…” I lose my words a moment, I let go of his face and have to just shake my head at him some before I get them back, “it doesn’t for everyone and it really doesn’t when you’re a child so, please, don’t ever do this sort of thing with our child. Okay?” That’s my true concern, that he’ll accidentally hurt him or her with this method of overcoming fear.
He seems take in all my words carefully, nodding some as he does, before looking down some a moment and then back up at me. “Okay, Jennifer. I’m sorry if I upset you.” This time, at least, he’s not laughing me off.
“You didn’t upset me,” I reassure him, adding a kiss to my words, “I just don’t want you, you know, locking our kid in the closet as a way to cure him of his fear of the dark.” I make it a joke so George won’t feel so bad. I don’t want to kill the buzz that’s still running through both of us.
It seems to work as he laughs a little with me, “I won’t. Promise.” He goes to take my wounded hand in his carefully and begins to kiss along the cuts the blade had made, “I’d like to make this up to you.” George’s lips are spotted red, though whether from this act of tenderness or from the act of lust before I can’t tell. I wonder if it even matters.
“I think you already did,” I laugh a little, “How about we just head to bed so Santa can show up? Deal?” I'm already in the habit of speaking of Santa like he's the real thing, I want the practice for my child and I want George used to it so he doesn't end up blurting out that there isn't one when the kid's around.
George’s eyes narrow in on me as if unsure about my wording, but then he smirks, “Deal.”
"Oh, sugar, you just gone and done the dumbest thing in your whole life." ~ Becky, Sin City
Other X-Mas Tales:
Elle
Morgan
Emily