Accidental Intermittent Roommates
grayson crawford x nadine pascal said
valesport
NSFW
grayson crawford x nadine pascal said
valesport
NSFW
Grayson woke up in the middle of the night because someone was ringing his doorbell. Repeatedly. He grumbled his way out of bed, into jeans, grabbed his gun even though he was very sure he wouldn't need it. Not least because the doorbell was being pressed in Morse code as the presser got impatient. W-A-K-E-U-P. As if he could sleep through that.
When he opened the door, Nadine was leaning on the doorbell. They looked at each other.
"Can I come in?" she asked, still holding down the button.
"Please stop pressing that," he said, rubbing his eyes.
"Is that a yes?" she asked, and she did not stop. He smacked her hand gently away from the button, closed his fingers around her hand to pull her inside. Her lipstick was worn, and a different color mingled with it, decorated her neck in places she seemed to have tried to smear away. She smelled like she'd been rolling through a dollar store's perfume selection.
"Been a while," he said mildly.
"Has it?" she asked, yawning as he shut the door and locked it.
Forty-eight days, he didn't say, because he didn't want her to know he'd been keeping track. She probably knew, anyway. He couldn't tell if the flannel she was wearing was a dress, or if she'd stolen someone's shirt. She was wearing sneakers instead of heels, and she looked smaller than he'd remembered. She shuffled closer to him, headbutting him gently in the chest, and he set his gun down so he could wrap both arms around her.
"The guest room is empty," he said. Nadine hummed and draped her arms over his shoulders as she nuzzled at his chest. "I have work in the morning," he added, and she hummed again, unmoved. "I'm not carrying you to bed."
"It's fine," she said, still leaning on him. "I'll just sleep here."
"You're not sleeping on the floor."
"I'll sleep where I want," she said, indignant.
She probably would, too. With a sigh, he bent to hook an arm under her legs and pick her up. "You'll sleep in the guest room," he corrected. Nadine did not protest, only snuggled closer against him with her arms around his neck. She was cold from being outside in the night, lightweight, and her knees looked like she'd scraped them. Despite his claims, he carried her upstairs and set her down on the foot of his bed.
"Guest room?" she asked.
"In a minute," he said. He left her for a moment, returning with a damp washcloth.
"I'll shower in the morning," she said with a pout, but he just used it as an opportunity to wipe the lipstick off her face. She sputtered and made a sleepy attempt to push him away. He ignored her, cleaning the lipstick from her neck and kissing her cheek on impulse. She sighed. "You missed me," she accused, kicking off her shoes. He let her take off her glasses, then took them to set them beside his.
"Nope," he said, discarding the cloth so he could unbutton her dress. He kissed her shoulder when it was bare, kissed again closer to her neck. Most of the smell was in her clothes, didn't cling as strongly to her skin. Her hair smelled like cigarette smoke and when he kissed her she tasted like cheap liquor. His hands slid down her as he undressed her, over the familiar shape of scars. He pulled away to look at her, and found bruises over her ribs; he splayed out his fingers, and wondered if he'd find thumbprints on her back. Her breath caught when he pressed, and he imagined her doing the same when they'd been made.
"You have work in the morning," she reminded him as he took off his jeans.
"That's why I'm going to bed," he said, and he pulled her higher on the comforter as he joined her. He rearranged her until she was curled under the covers beside him, her body nestled against his. "You're fucking freezing," he said irritably, and she laughed. He pulled the comforter higher, wrapping it tighter around her. "It's not even that cold outside."
Nadine was already half-asleep, and didn't argue as he held her. When he wrapped his arm around her, she laced her fingers loosely with his to hold the limb close. He held her tighter.
"Where were you?" he asked quietly, even though he knew it was cheating. More open and more honest when she was tired, because those were the only inhibitions she had to lower.
"The beach," she murmured, as if that covered it. "Maine," she added.
"Meet anyone?"
"Lotsa people."
"Was it... fun?" He didn't know how to ask what he wanted to ask, if she'd stayed safe, if she'd been hurt. If anyone had hurt her. If anyone had loved her.
"Mm-hmm." She moved a little, settling deeper in the pillows, hips fitted against his. "You'd've hated it."
He didn't know why that reassured him, but it did.
Grayson woke up before his alarm, the barest light of sunrise coming through the curtains. He turned off the alarm pre-emptively so it wouldn't wake Nadine. He watched her for a while, sprawled out in her sleep. He stroked idly at his cock, and thought of how she'd felt pressed against his lap. He thought about waking her up, pinning her beneath him so she woke with him inside her. Gently, he slid the covers lower on her so he could see her, and she didn't stir.
Nope. Too tired. He wouldn't wake her up. He was an asshole, but not that much.
Still, he wrapped his fingers around his shaft, and kept stroking. She looked softer in her sleep, even skinny as she was. He could trace his fingers over her ribs, the jutting shape of her collarbones. Dark-skinned and delicate, perfect breasts that rose and fell as she breathed. He couldn't stop looking at those bruises, wondering whose hands it had been, what she'd been doing when she'd skinned her knees, who she'd been kissing who wore lipstick dark red.
What a strange place to hold her. What position could she possibly have been in? Why not her hips? Unless something or someone had been in the way.
He shouldn't have been thinking about it. He shouldn't have been thinking about her in other people's arms and hands, between their legs and between hers. Shouldn't have been assuming that she'd been fucking her way across the country. But he did, and he imagined it, imagined her looking at him like she wanted him to watch as he stroked harder and faster.
He came across her stomach before he could stop himself, trying to suppress a groan.
Well. He certainly had fucked up.
Nadine sighed, and he collapsed back down into the pillows as if he could pretend he was still sleeping.
"Did you just jerk off on me while I was asleep?" she mumbled.
He thought about denying it. "Yeah," he admitted. She shook with silent and sleepy laughter, and he smiled.
"Why didn't you just wake me up?" she asked.
"You need to sleep," he said, and she laughed again.
"Gimme your pillow," she demanded. "I'm gonna wipe this off."
"Ugh, no," he said, pushing her hands away. "Don't threaten me with my own sperm." She laughed so hard he dropped a pillow over her face to muffle it, and she pulled it away to bop him on the head. She cracked her eyes open to look down at herself, skin sticky.
"Does it look hot?" she asked as she fell back down, sprawling with her arms under the pillows.
"... yes."
"You should take a picture," she yawned. She was probably joking. But he slid out of bed, anyway, to get his camera. He climbed back into bed as he brought his camera to his eye, and Nadine pretended not to be paying attention. Different shots from different angles, and he straddled her legs to take another. "Do you need that many?" she wondered.
"I want plenty of options," he deadpanned, "so I can frame the best one."
She smiled. "Are you trying to tell me I'm a work of art?"
"No," he said. "This painting I just made. I call it..." He squinted at her skin through the lens, trying to decide what the mess of fluid looked like. "... Weird Bird. Mixed media." She laughed, and he didn't know how many pictures he'd taken of her before she stopped. Camera in one hand, he used the other to slide her panties down to her knees; she bent her legs so he could pull them off her entirely. He slid his own boxers down, let her wrap her legs around his waist. He took a picture of the look on her face when he pushed inside her, the arch of her back and the curve of her throat.
He was surprised, always, by how small she was. Not a kind thing to think, not a rational thing to think, but he always thought she'd be... stretched out. She came back covered in lipstick and fingerprints, and maybe it made him a little irrational. Nothing to forgive because she didn't owe him anything, but it would be a lie to say he didn't feel a little bit entitled. It would be a lie, as well, to say he didn't have a particular affection for fucking her in the early morning, when she wasn't awake enough to play games or strike poses. Barely more than limp, panting and gasping for air, moved more by his thrusts than her own will.
The birds outside the window and the shutter of his camera were louder than either of them. Even her voice was subdued when she was tired, and he stayed quiet to hear her. He didn't know what he'd do with the pictures, if he'd even keep them. When his blood had returned to his brain it would probably seem like a bad idea, picture after picture of a woman drowsy and bruised and splattered with cum, impaled on his cock and sunk into his pillows.
For now, she was beautiful. He'd lied, earlier: he'd missed her.
He pulled out before he came, and she flinched with a wrinkle of her nose. Then she smiled, and he took one last picture before setting his camera down. "Gross," she groaned, although he doubted she meant it.
"It's a good look for you," he said, and she threw another pillow at his head.
"Get me a towel, you dick," she yawned.
"I don't take orders from women covered in jizz." She laughed, and the sound of it followed him to the bathroom as he did exactly that, still giggling when he returned. "Are you going to be here when I get back from work?" he asked as he started to clean her up.
"Mm-hmm." She was already closing her eyes again; he'd been right when he'd thought she was exhausted. He knew better than to believe her, but he did. He kissed her forehead.
Grayson was very quiet when he came home. Listening, because he wanted to hear if she was still there. He didn't actually need to be quiet, because immediately he could hear the TV. She was sitting on the couch, wearing his sweater and watching a movie, a bag of popcorn in her lap.
"Hey," he said, trying not to sound surprised.
"Hey," she said, turning her eyes to him with a smile. "Wanna watch Young Frankenstein?"
He dropped his things to descend on her, a muffled noise of surprise against his mouth as he kissed her. She set the popcorn aside, his knee pressing into the couch between her thighs. He pinned her against the armrest, tangled his fingers in her hair with a growl. Those other smells were gone now, just his soap and his shampoo and her cigarettes. She wore nothing beneath his sweater, and he didn't undress, unzipped his jeans to free his erection before hooking her knee over his arm.
"Grayson," she gasped against his mouth, and he kissed her again. She whimpered this time as he pushed into her, not enough time and not enough foreplay, but her arms wrapped around his shoulders.
He wasn't usually like this, didn't think he was usually like this. Ever since she'd come back–
Come back, come home. He wanted to be a home that she didn't want, but she'd come back. Other people and other places, but he was the one she'd come back to. His house, his clothes, his bed. His, his, his.
He was claiming her, replacing all those other bodies with his. Those bruises bothered him, like someone else had encroached on his territory, broken some rule by leaving a mark he couldn't wash away. Thrusting into her grew easier, wetter as her whimpers turned to moans, arching into him. He kissed her again, hands sliding up her body beneath the knit, and she shivered.
"Grayson," she sighed again as he buried his face in her neck, hands on her breasts.
"Nadine," he groaned, and his teeth nipped her skin. He sucked her skin between his teeth, and she cried out as he left a mark of his own on her. He pulled out, rolled her over beneath him so she was bent over the armrest. "Tell me you want me," he ordered, his cock pressing against her ass, still slick with her arousal.
She giggled, instead, and tried to back into him, pressing against him in return so he had to pull his hips away. "I dunno," she drawled, feigning indecision. "I was kinda into that movie," she said, as if the heat and slickness of her didn't give her away.
He resisted a smile as he pinned her arms at the small of her back, leaving her to wiggle helplessly. "You want me to leave you here?"
"Oh, please don't," she begged, surrendering immediately. "I want you to fuck me, Grayson, I've been thinking about it all day how I miss the way you fuck me."
He couldn't tell if she was lying, but he didn't really care. He kept her arms pinned so she couldn't move while he pushed into her, and their groans mingled, though hers took a higher pitch. "Like that?" he asked, and one hands held both her arms while the other brushed her hair from her face.
"Yes," she gasped, arching her back to try and push her hips closer to his. "You're so mean, making me beg and wait when I've been so good–"
"Bullshit you have," he said, and he let one of her hands go. "Touch yourself," he ordered this time, "I want to see how much you missed getting fucked by me." He almost said 'missed me', stopped himself because he didn't want to risk that she'd refute it. Her hand slid beneath herself, between her legs, and he felt her ass tighten around his cock as she stroked her clit.
"Did you miss me?" she asked, and he pulled her hair to make her cry out and tighten again.
"Sometimes," he said, watching her face as he thrust. "You're beautiful when you have a dick in your ass," he teased, and she grinned.
"A dick," she asked, "or yours?"
"Limited data," he said, because he'd managed to avoid watching her have sex with anyone else.
"What about – oh, oh – when I don't?"
Fishing for compliments, as if she needed them. "Obnoxious," he said, and she laughed. He'd missed that the most, the way she laughed, giggling on top of him and beneath him and completely undeterred by whatever he happened to be doing to her at the time. He thrust hard to interrupt her, turn it into a cry that made him want to do it again. "So fucking irritating."
"You're so mean," she accused again, breathless, grinding against her hand and along his cock.
"You know I–" He groaned and bit back what he'd been about to say, thrust harder as if distracted by the feel of her. "I always think you're gorgeous," he said instead. Off-limits, to say that he missed her, to say that she was his, to say he loved her. Love was a loaded word that spooked her more than any gun, and as long as he never said it they could both pretend she didn't know. Love was obligation and entrapment and expectations she couldn't meet, and nothing he could ever say would convince her otherwise.
She was rocking her hips in the aggressive way he knew meant she was close, incoherent cries that had been absent when he had her in the morning twilight. He leaned low so his body was pressed over hers, still thrusting, face buried in her neck. A ragged scream as she curled in on herself, tightened around him while she moved, and he came while she shuddered and shivered on his cock.
He wrapped his arms around her and fell back, so he was sitting on the couch with her on his lap, waiting to ease his way out of her. She slid her hands over the arms he'd wrapped around her with a contented hum of pleasure.
"I missed the movie," she said, as if she had any right to complain.
"I have it on DVD," he murmured as he nuzzled at her hair.
"That's not high-def," she protested, and he snorted.
"See? Obnoxious."
"But pretty."
"I only said that so you'd let me sodomize you," he lied, and he hid a smile against her skin when she laughed.
When he opened the door, Nadine was leaning on the doorbell. They looked at each other.
"Can I come in?" she asked, still holding down the button.
"Please stop pressing that," he said, rubbing his eyes.
"Is that a yes?" she asked, and she did not stop. He smacked her hand gently away from the button, closed his fingers around her hand to pull her inside. Her lipstick was worn, and a different color mingled with it, decorated her neck in places she seemed to have tried to smear away. She smelled like she'd been rolling through a dollar store's perfume selection.
"Been a while," he said mildly.
"Has it?" she asked, yawning as he shut the door and locked it.
Forty-eight days, he didn't say, because he didn't want her to know he'd been keeping track. She probably knew, anyway. He couldn't tell if the flannel she was wearing was a dress, or if she'd stolen someone's shirt. She was wearing sneakers instead of heels, and she looked smaller than he'd remembered. She shuffled closer to him, headbutting him gently in the chest, and he set his gun down so he could wrap both arms around her.
"The guest room is empty," he said. Nadine hummed and draped her arms over his shoulders as she nuzzled at his chest. "I have work in the morning," he added, and she hummed again, unmoved. "I'm not carrying you to bed."
"It's fine," she said, still leaning on him. "I'll just sleep here."
"You're not sleeping on the floor."
"I'll sleep where I want," she said, indignant.
She probably would, too. With a sigh, he bent to hook an arm under her legs and pick her up. "You'll sleep in the guest room," he corrected. Nadine did not protest, only snuggled closer against him with her arms around his neck. She was cold from being outside in the night, lightweight, and her knees looked like she'd scraped them. Despite his claims, he carried her upstairs and set her down on the foot of his bed.
"Guest room?" she asked.
"In a minute," he said. He left her for a moment, returning with a damp washcloth.
"I'll shower in the morning," she said with a pout, but he just used it as an opportunity to wipe the lipstick off her face. She sputtered and made a sleepy attempt to push him away. He ignored her, cleaning the lipstick from her neck and kissing her cheek on impulse. She sighed. "You missed me," she accused, kicking off her shoes. He let her take off her glasses, then took them to set them beside his.
"Nope," he said, discarding the cloth so he could unbutton her dress. He kissed her shoulder when it was bare, kissed again closer to her neck. Most of the smell was in her clothes, didn't cling as strongly to her skin. Her hair smelled like cigarette smoke and when he kissed her she tasted like cheap liquor. His hands slid down her as he undressed her, over the familiar shape of scars. He pulled away to look at her, and found bruises over her ribs; he splayed out his fingers, and wondered if he'd find thumbprints on her back. Her breath caught when he pressed, and he imagined her doing the same when they'd been made.
"You have work in the morning," she reminded him as he took off his jeans.
"That's why I'm going to bed," he said, and he pulled her higher on the comforter as he joined her. He rearranged her until she was curled under the covers beside him, her body nestled against his. "You're fucking freezing," he said irritably, and she laughed. He pulled the comforter higher, wrapping it tighter around her. "It's not even that cold outside."
Nadine was already half-asleep, and didn't argue as he held her. When he wrapped his arm around her, she laced her fingers loosely with his to hold the limb close. He held her tighter.
"Where were you?" he asked quietly, even though he knew it was cheating. More open and more honest when she was tired, because those were the only inhibitions she had to lower.
"The beach," she murmured, as if that covered it. "Maine," she added.
"Meet anyone?"
"Lotsa people."
"Was it... fun?" He didn't know how to ask what he wanted to ask, if she'd stayed safe, if she'd been hurt. If anyone had hurt her. If anyone had loved her.
"Mm-hmm." She moved a little, settling deeper in the pillows, hips fitted against his. "You'd've hated it."
He didn't know why that reassured him, but it did.
♡♡♡
Grayson woke up before his alarm, the barest light of sunrise coming through the curtains. He turned off the alarm pre-emptively so it wouldn't wake Nadine. He watched her for a while, sprawled out in her sleep. He stroked idly at his cock, and thought of how she'd felt pressed against his lap. He thought about waking her up, pinning her beneath him so she woke with him inside her. Gently, he slid the covers lower on her so he could see her, and she didn't stir.
Nope. Too tired. He wouldn't wake her up. He was an asshole, but not that much.
Still, he wrapped his fingers around his shaft, and kept stroking. She looked softer in her sleep, even skinny as she was. He could trace his fingers over her ribs, the jutting shape of her collarbones. Dark-skinned and delicate, perfect breasts that rose and fell as she breathed. He couldn't stop looking at those bruises, wondering whose hands it had been, what she'd been doing when she'd skinned her knees, who she'd been kissing who wore lipstick dark red.
What a strange place to hold her. What position could she possibly have been in? Why not her hips? Unless something or someone had been in the way.
He shouldn't have been thinking about it. He shouldn't have been thinking about her in other people's arms and hands, between their legs and between hers. Shouldn't have been assuming that she'd been fucking her way across the country. But he did, and he imagined it, imagined her looking at him like she wanted him to watch as he stroked harder and faster.
He came across her stomach before he could stop himself, trying to suppress a groan.
Well. He certainly had fucked up.
Nadine sighed, and he collapsed back down into the pillows as if he could pretend he was still sleeping.
"Did you just jerk off on me while I was asleep?" she mumbled.
He thought about denying it. "Yeah," he admitted. She shook with silent and sleepy laughter, and he smiled.
"Why didn't you just wake me up?" she asked.
"You need to sleep," he said, and she laughed again.
"Gimme your pillow," she demanded. "I'm gonna wipe this off."
"Ugh, no," he said, pushing her hands away. "Don't threaten me with my own sperm." She laughed so hard he dropped a pillow over her face to muffle it, and she pulled it away to bop him on the head. She cracked her eyes open to look down at herself, skin sticky.
"Does it look hot?" she asked as she fell back down, sprawling with her arms under the pillows.
"... yes."
"You should take a picture," she yawned. She was probably joking. But he slid out of bed, anyway, to get his camera. He climbed back into bed as he brought his camera to his eye, and Nadine pretended not to be paying attention. Different shots from different angles, and he straddled her legs to take another. "Do you need that many?" she wondered.
"I want plenty of options," he deadpanned, "so I can frame the best one."
She smiled. "Are you trying to tell me I'm a work of art?"
"No," he said. "This painting I just made. I call it..." He squinted at her skin through the lens, trying to decide what the mess of fluid looked like. "... Weird Bird. Mixed media." She laughed, and he didn't know how many pictures he'd taken of her before she stopped. Camera in one hand, he used the other to slide her panties down to her knees; she bent her legs so he could pull them off her entirely. He slid his own boxers down, let her wrap her legs around his waist. He took a picture of the look on her face when he pushed inside her, the arch of her back and the curve of her throat.
He was surprised, always, by how small she was. Not a kind thing to think, not a rational thing to think, but he always thought she'd be... stretched out. She came back covered in lipstick and fingerprints, and maybe it made him a little irrational. Nothing to forgive because she didn't owe him anything, but it would be a lie to say he didn't feel a little bit entitled. It would be a lie, as well, to say he didn't have a particular affection for fucking her in the early morning, when she wasn't awake enough to play games or strike poses. Barely more than limp, panting and gasping for air, moved more by his thrusts than her own will.
The birds outside the window and the shutter of his camera were louder than either of them. Even her voice was subdued when she was tired, and he stayed quiet to hear her. He didn't know what he'd do with the pictures, if he'd even keep them. When his blood had returned to his brain it would probably seem like a bad idea, picture after picture of a woman drowsy and bruised and splattered with cum, impaled on his cock and sunk into his pillows.
For now, she was beautiful. He'd lied, earlier: he'd missed her.
He pulled out before he came, and she flinched with a wrinkle of her nose. Then she smiled, and he took one last picture before setting his camera down. "Gross," she groaned, although he doubted she meant it.
"It's a good look for you," he said, and she threw another pillow at his head.
"Get me a towel, you dick," she yawned.
"I don't take orders from women covered in jizz." She laughed, and the sound of it followed him to the bathroom as he did exactly that, still giggling when he returned. "Are you going to be here when I get back from work?" he asked as he started to clean her up.
"Mm-hmm." She was already closing her eyes again; he'd been right when he'd thought she was exhausted. He knew better than to believe her, but he did. He kissed her forehead.
♡♡♡
Grayson was very quiet when he came home. Listening, because he wanted to hear if she was still there. He didn't actually need to be quiet, because immediately he could hear the TV. She was sitting on the couch, wearing his sweater and watching a movie, a bag of popcorn in her lap.
"Hey," he said, trying not to sound surprised.
"Hey," she said, turning her eyes to him with a smile. "Wanna watch Young Frankenstein?"
He dropped his things to descend on her, a muffled noise of surprise against his mouth as he kissed her. She set the popcorn aside, his knee pressing into the couch between her thighs. He pinned her against the armrest, tangled his fingers in her hair with a growl. Those other smells were gone now, just his soap and his shampoo and her cigarettes. She wore nothing beneath his sweater, and he didn't undress, unzipped his jeans to free his erection before hooking her knee over his arm.
"Grayson," she gasped against his mouth, and he kissed her again. She whimpered this time as he pushed into her, not enough time and not enough foreplay, but her arms wrapped around his shoulders.
He wasn't usually like this, didn't think he was usually like this. Ever since she'd come back–
Come back, come home. He wanted to be a home that she didn't want, but she'd come back. Other people and other places, but he was the one she'd come back to. His house, his clothes, his bed. His, his, his.
He was claiming her, replacing all those other bodies with his. Those bruises bothered him, like someone else had encroached on his territory, broken some rule by leaving a mark he couldn't wash away. Thrusting into her grew easier, wetter as her whimpers turned to moans, arching into him. He kissed her again, hands sliding up her body beneath the knit, and she shivered.
"Grayson," she sighed again as he buried his face in her neck, hands on her breasts.
"Nadine," he groaned, and his teeth nipped her skin. He sucked her skin between his teeth, and she cried out as he left a mark of his own on her. He pulled out, rolled her over beneath him so she was bent over the armrest. "Tell me you want me," he ordered, his cock pressing against her ass, still slick with her arousal.
She giggled, instead, and tried to back into him, pressing against him in return so he had to pull his hips away. "I dunno," she drawled, feigning indecision. "I was kinda into that movie," she said, as if the heat and slickness of her didn't give her away.
He resisted a smile as he pinned her arms at the small of her back, leaving her to wiggle helplessly. "You want me to leave you here?"
"Oh, please don't," she begged, surrendering immediately. "I want you to fuck me, Grayson, I've been thinking about it all day how I miss the way you fuck me."
He couldn't tell if she was lying, but he didn't really care. He kept her arms pinned so she couldn't move while he pushed into her, and their groans mingled, though hers took a higher pitch. "Like that?" he asked, and one hands held both her arms while the other brushed her hair from her face.
"Yes," she gasped, arching her back to try and push her hips closer to his. "You're so mean, making me beg and wait when I've been so good–"
"Bullshit you have," he said, and he let one of her hands go. "Touch yourself," he ordered this time, "I want to see how much you missed getting fucked by me." He almost said 'missed me', stopped himself because he didn't want to risk that she'd refute it. Her hand slid beneath herself, between her legs, and he felt her ass tighten around his cock as she stroked her clit.
"Did you miss me?" she asked, and he pulled her hair to make her cry out and tighten again.
"Sometimes," he said, watching her face as he thrust. "You're beautiful when you have a dick in your ass," he teased, and she grinned.
"A dick," she asked, "or yours?"
"Limited data," he said, because he'd managed to avoid watching her have sex with anyone else.
"What about – oh, oh – when I don't?"
Fishing for compliments, as if she needed them. "Obnoxious," he said, and she laughed. He'd missed that the most, the way she laughed, giggling on top of him and beneath him and completely undeterred by whatever he happened to be doing to her at the time. He thrust hard to interrupt her, turn it into a cry that made him want to do it again. "So fucking irritating."
"You're so mean," she accused again, breathless, grinding against her hand and along his cock.
"You know I–" He groaned and bit back what he'd been about to say, thrust harder as if distracted by the feel of her. "I always think you're gorgeous," he said instead. Off-limits, to say that he missed her, to say that she was his, to say he loved her. Love was a loaded word that spooked her more than any gun, and as long as he never said it they could both pretend she didn't know. Love was obligation and entrapment and expectations she couldn't meet, and nothing he could ever say would convince her otherwise.
She was rocking her hips in the aggressive way he knew meant she was close, incoherent cries that had been absent when he had her in the morning twilight. He leaned low so his body was pressed over hers, still thrusting, face buried in her neck. A ragged scream as she curled in on herself, tightened around him while she moved, and he came while she shuddered and shivered on his cock.
He wrapped his arms around her and fell back, so he was sitting on the couch with her on his lap, waiting to ease his way out of her. She slid her hands over the arms he'd wrapped around her with a contented hum of pleasure.
"I missed the movie," she said, as if she had any right to complain.
"I have it on DVD," he murmured as he nuzzled at her hair.
"That's not high-def," she protested, and he snorted.
"See? Obnoxious."
"But pretty."
"I only said that so you'd let me sodomize you," he lied, and he hid a smile against her skin when she laughed.
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Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 11-07-2014, 12:52 AM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 11-07-2014, 12:59 AM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 11-07-2014, 01:20 AM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 11-10-2014, 06:44 PM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 11-10-2014, 06:56 PM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 11-10-2014, 07:10 PM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 11-10-2014, 07:18 PM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 11-10-2014, 07:27 PM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 11-10-2014, 07:30 PM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 11-10-2014, 07:32 PM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 11-15-2014, 03:26 AM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 11-28-2014, 08:16 PM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 11-28-2014, 08:35 PM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 12-06-2014, 02:37 AM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 12-08-2014, 12:17 AM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 01-25-2015, 03:43 AM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 05-14-2015, 03:19 AM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 05-17-2015, 07:39 PM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 05-27-2015, 10:42 PM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 05-28-2015, 12:44 AM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 05-29-2015, 02:21 AM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 06-05-2015, 09:53 PM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 06-14-2015, 08:24 PM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 06-29-2015, 10:04 PM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 08-07-2015, 02:47 AM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 08-29-2015, 06:09 PM
Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by tindome - 09-25-2015, 09:24 PM
RE: Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by Tindome - 11-23-2015, 10:27 PM
RE: Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by Tindome - 02-03-2016, 09:42 PM
RE: Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by Tindome - 02-23-2016, 09:00 PM
RE: Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by Tindome - 03-09-2016, 05:18 PM
RE: Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by Tindome - 03-23-2017, 04:34 PM
RE: Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by Tindome - 10-23-2019, 10:35 PM
RE: Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by Tindome - 11-04-2019, 09:21 AM
RE: Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by Tindome - 11-06-2019, 10:10 AM
RE: Tindome's Story Corner [Read-Only] - by Tindome - 11-19-2019, 11:26 AM