She's Rough And Coarse And Gets Everywhere
Jeon Heejin - Male Reader Word Count - 7.5k (2.2K) Tags: Rough Sex, Coarse Language and only trace amounts of sand... hopefully.
A/N: Welcome to Sandstorm 2: Electric Boogaloo, aka the reboot but not really since the original didn't happen. Which unfortunately means you're stuck with me. All joke's aside, this started as a anniversary present for Flint, which looking at the date... is pretty fucking late lol. Anyway, super big thanks to @nsfwflint for helping my rookie ass out and just being a cool dude all-round.
God, it is hot, a thought you trace as you find yourself nestled in the dark, dingy corner of Chalmun's Cantina. Even over the roar of crashing glasses and seedy elements, it always feels like your home away from home.
It helps that the music is decent.
Still, you can pick out a familiar guttural bark through the swells of liquor and hazy smoke.
"Shouldn't you be at work, kid?"
Chalmun.
His fingers flex and tug at his grey handlebar mustache... Can Wookiees even have mustaches? A lie pulls at the edge of your lips, tempting as it might be, but you know better.
"I-Uh, yeah," your teeth chew at the inside of your cheek. "Yeah, I should be."
"Do I need to remind you of the deal?"
You roll your eyes, something you hope he doesn't quite see or understand. "I get to freeload as much as I want as long as I help out Heejin."
"Which you are..."
"Not doing," a resigned sigh whispers past your lips. "I get it, I get it, it's just really hot in the garage."
Not a complete lie.
There's a flicker of an annoyed snarl that plays across his features, a hint of worry lingers in your gut. A deep inhale sets him at ease, a smile tickles across his lips.
"One would think you're not used to the twin suns of Tatooine," you feel his firm grip against your shoulder, raw and brutishly animalistic. "Odd, considering you've lived here your whole life."
A thumb bounces against his lip almost playfully in thought.
"Or perhaps something else is making it hard to focus and unbearably hot?"
He is right, there is no point doing it. Fight as you must, your brain lingers where it shouldn't. Her taut, sweat-soaked abs, the swell of her hips barely hidden by her jumpsuit.
You feel the greeting of cold glass against your skin, a bottle of liquor offered to your hand.
"Maybe this will help with the heat."
-
Despite your claims, the garage provides a welcome respite from familiar heats. The squelch of sand gives way to rigid metal.
"Is that you, Gogglehead?" Her voice echoes from deeper within, no doubt immersed in your work.
Pop the bottle, take a swig, cool off.
Focus up if you can.
The liquor saunters through every nerve, syrupy and sweet.
Kowakian rum.Â
Maybe it will help, if only to make you regret your existence tomorrow.
"Yeah, stopped off at Chalmun's for a drink," your feet dot around a corner, seeking her familiar tortuous figure. "Do you want some?"
You catch the faintest outline of her voice, her feet dangling out of the chassis, a tangled mess of wires and cords, the wiggle of her ass taunts you with an enticing sway.
Her back arches back with the swivel of her gaze. A furrowed crease lingers on her brow.
"I can't seem to get the pod to start."
You press two firm fingers into your temple, as it seems you now have two reasons to drink today.
Your tongue tastes the edge of your teeth with a stinging annoyance. "That's because I removed the thrust coil."
There's a flare of annoyance dotting each step towards you, the dance of a scoff against her lips. "I thought I told you the thrust coil was fine."
Her pointed finger prods at your chest, still, it's hard to ignore the slight hint of cleavage in her tube top.
Wait, were those your goggles?
The briefest touch sparks in your brain with a subtle intoxication, a want for more.
Her voice lingers in the air, the low huskiness is captivating even in spite of her irritated parlance.
A slow release of air is all you can manage.
Focus.
"Yeah, technically. Except it wasn't fitted properly for the cooling pump."
All this talk of thrusts and pumps isn't helping.
"Which, as you know, would make the engine blow."
A stressed huff is all that escapes her lips, fingers dancing across her temples as her eyes crawl shut.
There's a slightly forced smile that splinters across her lips, "What were you asking about again?"
Her lips soften as her eyes adjust over you, reinforced with a proper smile.
The glass bottle almost seems foreign and forgotten at that moment, "Uh, Kowakian Rum."
Her nostrils flare ever so slightly, her lips roil and dance with the idea before an exasperated sigh joins the fray with knotted eyebrows like tangled cablework.
"I'd love some, but I can't."
Huh?
"Excuse me, what?" The words sound more surprised and scornful than you anticipated, dancing in the simmering heat. You offer an arched eyebrow as a consolation. "Could you repeat that?"
Her lips flatten, curving into the tiniest frown.
"I said I'd love to, but I can't."
She stresses the word once again, you catch the flash of an almost cringe-induced grimace.
There's an almost troubled weight to her brow. A far cry from the Heejin you knew with a liquor tab nine pages deep.
You take another swig, almost habitual as the bottle rests in your hand.
"Do I even want to know?"
There's the lingering whispers of embarrassment that echo through her body onto her features, a dejected huff.
"Well, the Boonta Eve Classic is soon."
Your eyebrows knit together in a handshake of confusion.
"Yeah, next week. What's that got to do with today?"
There's the briefest flicker of her tongue against her lips before her teeth bite taut.
Her fingers pinch at the bridge of her nose as she paces.
"It's dumb, but my old coach would make us cut out all our vices before a race."
You offer her an understanding nod before taking another swig.
More for you.
Sweet rum trickles through your lips as a question cradles at the edge of your brow, before placing the bottle against the ground.
"So, like boxers before a fight?"
It would explain why you've been able to find moments away from her at the cantina.
"Yeah, exactly the same."
It's habitual the way your hands work and coast through wires and machinery, a habit you picked up from your father.
"Is that why you've been a bitâŠ" Your hands struggle through the mess wrought by Heejin's handiwork, locked seals and knotted wires.
"Of a bitch?" She scoffs, a scowl burns across her face.
"Not the words I would've used," your eyes dance across the sandy brown ceiling. "Passionate, maybe?"
You catch the edge of a laugh, hidden by the roll of her eyes. Her laughter ripples with a melodic spring that dances and bounces against the tension that once hung thick in the air.
Still, there's something else that crinkles against your skin, a scintillating static that teases thoughts best left unsaid.
They're unprofessional, to say the least.
Yet, your eyes linger against Heejin, leaving the task at hand forgotten and abandoned. You swear she feels it too, if only for a second.
"Passionate, huh?" There's a flash of amusement that twinkles in her eyes. It twists slowly under your gaze before her eyes narrow, her voice drops lower with its husky richness, almost tauntingly. "Chalmun said you had a mouth on you."
There's something about the way that word rolls off her tongue, the coy dance as she moves closer.
Yet, she says nothing of it, of the deeper insinuation that lingers against your brain. Instead, her hands move with practiced precision, deftly manipulating wires and connectors, untangling the mess she'd left you with.
It's a practice you're used to with other clients. Why should you undo their missteps? Yet, there's a sensual grace to her movements, a fluidity that reminds you that she isn't a slouch in the mechanic department.
Yet, your brain lingers on the other applications such grace could be used for.
She pauses, taken by a sudden thought. There's the flicker of a smirk as she turns to you. "Being a little rough, or even bold, is more my style."
You lean against the nearby workbench, watching her continue to work in silence for a moment. You quickly find the rum in your hand once again, the cool liquid soothes your parched throat, but it does nothing for the simmering heat that lingers in your mind.
Your eyes never leave her taunting sweat-soaked figure, the lingering taste of rum on your tongue only intensifies your imagination and longing.
The question bites at your lips before you can even stop it.
"So, cutting out vices, huh?" You finally respond, your voice rich and huskier than you intended, betraying the thoughts that lingered. "Does that mean no late-night indulgences of any kind?"
Heejin looks up at you, her gaze meeting yours, a flicker of intrigue glimmering in her eyes. She pauses for a brief moment, as if weighing her response, her lips curving into a knowing smile.
"Well, let's just say that focus and discipline are essential before a race," she says, her voice lower, carrying a sensual edge that carves a shiver down your spine. "But let's just say all this talk of pumps and thrust isn't helping me with my frustrations."
The innuendo in her words hangs heavy in the air, weaving a web of temptation that becomes harder to resist. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, the air between you charged with an undeniable chemistry.
Your gaze lingers on her as she continues working, her body moving with a seductive grace that seems to draw you in closer. The image of her sweat-soaked jumpsuit clings to her curves, amplifying the allure she exudes. The desire to reach out and touch her becomes almost overwhelming, but you fight to maintain composure.
As you approach her, your voice is laced with a mixture of desire and restraint. "Tell you what, when we win, I'll buy you as many drinks as you want."
Heejin's eyes darken slightly, her fingers pausing momentarily in their task. A smile plays at the edge of her lips, tossing and turning. She leans closer to you, her breath caressing your ear as she whispers, "Don't let your mouth write checks you can't cash, Gogglehead."
Her fingers play at your collar, a twinkling mischievous glint in her eye.
The suggestive implication hangs in the air, leaving your senses reeling. It takes all your self-control to keep your composure as the sexual tension between you and Heejin becomes nearly palpable.
With a knowing smile, you take a step back, forcing yourself to break away from the electrifying energy that crackles between you. "Let's focus up. We can't win if the pod isn't working in the first place."
Heejin's eyes follow your movement, a mix of longing and frustration flickering in her gaze. She bites her lip, as it falters, pushed back by the need for victory or perhaps something else?
A twitch of a smile lingers.
-
Tension hangs sticky and thick like the sweat that clings desperately to your overalls, thereâs an anxious pace to your movements. Each wire, each connector, and every intricate detail weigh heavily on your mind and body, with ache and strain.
One small misstep spells defeat... or perhaps even worse.
As soon as the pod leaves the garage, itâs out of your hand. Heejin is no slouch, unless something catastrophically wrong happens... She can handle it.Â
Something you need to remind yourself of.
Yet, even as the days quickly blur together, there is a... weird nonchalance to her. That isn't the right word.
Calm and collected.Â
Unnerving.Â
At least compared to the itchy stressed friction you have grown accustomed to, though perhaps it is just her storied experience kicking in.Â
Even if she has been out of the saddle for a bit.Â
Still, it does nothing to settle your own worries.
âYou know someone would think youâre the one racing Gogglehead,â her voice dances with a teasing playfulness. Even as you scan over the engine for the umpteenth time, you can practically see the smirk that plays on her soft lipsâ
Focus up.
âI-â How do you say you worry? That maybe itâs not so bad working with someone who isnât useless an- âI just donât want you blaming me if you lose.â
It's cocky the way her teeth flare, as her eyes look you up and down. A scoff echoes from her lips, the thought simply unimaginable. "And here I was thinking you were worrying about me."
Her fingers play at the collar of your jumpsuit, and it's hard to ignore the heat that builds with her touch. The way electricity hums under your skin as she steps closer, pushing into your space with an ease she only knows.
"Plus..." she whispers, and you feel each syllable brush against your skin, itâs light yet tempting all the same, pushing you with coaxing waves towards the edge.
The worry is almost an afterthought as her hand crests your hip. Her voice dips to a sultry, soft, husky whisper. "I have something of a good luck charm with me."
It creeps in your chest, the sparks that dance with her touch. You know better, as her lips peak with a smile, taunting and teasing. Still, it's hard to ignore the magic hidden in a magician devious yet charismatic trickery.
You hate the part of your brain that accepts she might be referring to you. Her taunts and jabs, a way to ease the tension that builds under her skin without indulgence.
It stings, as you bite your tongue, fighting the pull she has. You roll your eyes, step back, hand grasping a cloth to wipe away sweat and grease that mar your skin.
It's easier to breathe without her held in your gaze, your mind clears against her temptation. Still, you can't help but feel the heat that lingers thick in the air with her mere presence.
"Yeah, and what's this good luck charm?" you bite the bait, it's unwitting and against your character as your eyes stray back towards her plunging back into the thick heat.
Her lips brighten with that beautiful smile that pulls you deep and tugs at your core.Â
You almost miss when she is insufferable in a different way.
Still, there's a weird softness that flickers briefly on her lips, burning into her eyes for haunting microseconds. Your brain begs to understand what it means, if there is more under the surface.Â
But it quickly fades, a nameless speck of sand lost in an ocean.
She pulls out a familiar object, your eyebrows knit togetherâwhen did she?
"Really? My goggles?"
Your keepsake, your namesake, has been an afterthought against the heated hours in the garage. Too focused on the pod as a way to ignore the temptations that linger on the horizon.
She cocks her head to the side, the flare of her teeth with a scrunch of her nose tells you everything. Your reaction is priceless to her. To be fair, you completely forget about them in the ebb and flow of your conversation last week.
Still, there's a flit of actual happiness that plays on her lips, curving into a brief yet genuine smile.
You remember the hazy conversations from weeks long past, held in the drunken allure of the Cantina. A confession of vulnerability on your part, held together with liquor and a rare interest in you.
Your father's goggles.
Your good luck charm.
Yet, it means nothing to her, should mean nothing to her. The contradictions to your thoughts and assumptions linger on the sparks that twinkle in her eyes.
Her words are fuel to the fire.
"Of course~" her voice saunters with a teasing edge., flickering against the embers of something more. "A reminder of all the free drinks you'll owe me."
Her words poke and prod, flecked with a flirtatious taunt. Yet there's something that hums deep at the base of her voice, it twists with words unspoken.Â
Perhaps you're putting too much value on yourself in her eyes?Â
Yet it bounces and lodges in your brain, her own hushed worry.
The idea that you'd be with her, at least in spirit or a reminder of who to win for.
You catch the hitch of a smirk that scatters across her lips, the wind-up for another remark or jab.
"Plus, I can't wait to see all your winnings disappear on my tab."
A groan leaves your lips before you can stave it off, perhaps you are just her mechanic. A damn good one, mind you. Hell, you'd dare to say one of the best.
At least on Tatooine.
"Yeah, yeah." Your hands are already smoothing out the last details with the Pod, closing hatches and double-checking connectors. Your hands stray and drift, placing your goggles on her head. "Just make sure to bring those back, okay?"
Again, there's that flare of softness that beckons at the edge of her eyes as she looks up at you.
A weird tenderness clings in the air, it's vapid and calming. An entirely different beast to the charged and heated air you often share.
"I'd hate to come up with a different nickname for you after all."
-
The aftermath is a storm of its own kind, a mess of sweltering heat in Mos Espa's Grand Arena, charged with tense excitement.
It's violent and sudden, like a crash of thunder to the chest. Your human eyes aren't able to keep up with the sudden burst of sand that trails through the arena.
The roar of the crowd, akin to a gunshot breaking through the air, is the only evidence the race is over.
There's a hum of worry that lingers in your lungs, shoulders tense with an anxious weight. Your hand grips at Chalmun's shoulder, his fur jitters underneath your touch.
A roar tears through the air, a simple guttural howl, animalistic and excited.
Heejin would've probably asked you what he said.
A cheer of excitement, elation... but also smugness? You watch as his eyes dart towards the Hutt Clan's private box, the lavish adornments are lost on you as you catch a pained, scorned look echo across the Hutt's face.
You don't need to know Huttese to know someone is going to get fired.
Chalmun's energy is infectious as he grips your shoulders, lost in the throes of victory he shakes you violently.
Pain twitches through you as the world becomes a blur, yet even with the pain, your brain is focused only on her, the small speck in the distance putting on a show.
Flared waves of sand make it all the harder to pick her out through her victory laps.
Still, you can imagine her smile all the same.
-
It's unnerving, the chill bustle of the night air that saunters through Mos Eisley. Even through the thick haze of laughter, celebrations, and intoxication.
Chalmun's is your home away from home, normally you'd be in the thick of merriment, a sly attempt at free drinks. But something is missing... and you're hesitant to acknowledge it.
Have you been so caught up in the insinuation, the allure of her words that you've actually fallen for them?
...No, you're just tired.
Probably.
Still, you owe yourself a drink at the very least, a chance to join the revelry. After all, it is a rare thing for the Cantina to be filled with fewer of the more rambunctious and unsavory types you've known all your life.
You wave at Ackmena, two fingers a signal for your usual. She smiles, moving with a comforting warmth. If only she could work day shifts instead of Wuher.
Your drink slides over, punctuated with a wink.
"Thank-" the drink is gone in a flash, snapped up in a blur and returned with a slam.
Empty.
Some of the more usual behavior you're used to. A scowl licks at your teeth, your fist clenches tensed with an eagerness to make amends.
"You mind telling me why?" You ask, twisting around prepared to deck the dumbas-
Heejin or at the very least a beautiful woman in her shape and mannerism. The flare of teeth that takes pleasure in your reaction gives it away.
But fuck is she breath-taking, you mean no slight towards her usual appearance. If anything, there is a unique allure to the messy sweat-soaked and grease-smattered appearance that you've grown used to.
Replaced, draped in a luxurious fur coat that almost mocks Chalmun's usual patrons if it didn't enhance her already enrapturing allure. Her black crop top taunts you with the flare of her abs and soft curves aided by her black shorts and leather boots.
Her skin is no longer a teasing insinuation in your unfocused moments, rather a full-fledged suggestion for desire to latch on to, tooth and claw.
A girl out on the prowl through Coruscant's tempestuous nightlife, if you didn't know any better.
Her grin creases into a smirk, because oh god, you're staring and she knows.
It's hard not to, even with the flare of obnoxious confidence that glitters in her eyes.
Any words you have die in your throat, assailed by her charm.
Her tongue flits across her lips with a seductive grace, how would it feel against you in every sense of the word?
"If I'm not mistaken, someone promised me drinks." It's tantalizing the way she pulls herself close to you, lips hovering against your ear. "I intend to get my fill."
It's paradoxical the way you feel underdressed and yet overdressed for your desires. Heat prickles at the nape of your neck, your body's insinuation for how much you stick out, your jumpsuit mere rags in her company.
You knew you didn't, hoped you didn't. Yet it's hard to focus on logic when she lingers so close to you, her short hair tickling your skin.
Her proximity teeters on the edge of electric and intoxicating.
You're thankful your mind lingers on a memory, brief and fluttering, a passing conversation to ease the heat that settles in your core.
"Why the short hair?" An attempt at idle chit-chat before liquor loosened you up to conversation.
"My coach suggested it, said it'd get in the way." An oddly straightforward answer for the racer, you didn't know better back then.
You still remember the touch of her fingers as she leant closer, eyes focused, her voice dropping low to that tauntingly low husky whisper. "When fighting, racing, or fucking."
The grip of her hand pulls you back, calloused yet soft. You can feel the whisper of a smile, her breath tickling your cheek.
"Show me how you do it," her voice saunters like honey dripping with seductive sweetness, you cling to her words against the overwhelming bustle of a busy cantina. "Teach me."
It's hard to ignore the heat that builds, you know she's talking about slipping an order to Ackmena. But you can't help stiffen under the insinuation that haunts and tempts you.
You can practically see the pleasure that would quiver across her lips, tempting her to aid you.
A dry swallow is all you can manage to fight off the thought, a temporary fix.
She follows your guiding touch, moving with an almost uncharacteristic soft tentativeness. "Just like that?"
You swear you catch her breath hitch when your hand clasps against hers, pushing her fingers into place with unintended roughness.
A rare moment of catching her flat-footed, yet the moment drifts away like sand between your fingers before you can pounce.
A firm hand binds your wrists together.
Tork, Chalmun's bouncer.
"Boss needs the both of you in his office, pronto," his voice booms, despite his overwhelming stature and size, a small dumb animalistic fleck of your brain is tempted with the idea of a brawl.
Thankfully, Heejin moves first, slipping her hand out of his grip with spry ease. "We'll be there right away."
She smiles, the soft disarming smile you almost don't see anymore. Earning her a soft nod from the pale blue bouncer.
She shuffles slightly, straightening out her clothes.
"Wouldn't want to ruin a perfectly good day for him."
Tork only grunts in response before guiding you both through labyrinthine sandstone backrooms, the rooms twist and turn with each step before you find yourself in front of familiar doors.
Familiar is a generous term, only having seen them once when you were a kid. Your heart prickles with anxiety at the thought.
You're surprised when the door opens softly, his familiar brown fur gesturing for you to come inside.
You inch forward, your blood thrumming in your veins. You take in the dimly lit office, a timeless recreation from your youth. Your gaze falls upon the wall of blasters and you can feel their powerful presence.
You can still practically taste the freshly heated air, cooked with blaster fire. A fragment that haunts you from years long since past.
Still you push through, nudging Heejin away from the small inviting coffee table opposite his desk, the plush decorative rug stained with years old coffee hints at its sinister nature.
You didnât want to see another victim, let alone Heejin of all people.
She falls in line with your touch, trusting your guidance. As Chalmun moves with a frenetic pace, a giddiness that keeps him moving.
Though you doubt Heejin could see the nuances when it comes to the Wookie.
"I wish I'd been alerted to your presence sooner," he smiles through his guttural barks. "My friends should only drink the finest liquor."
He rummages through cabinets and containers with a rough ferocity.
You roll your eyes, a smile twists across your lips. "Here I was thinking it was something bad. You can't get Tork to tell us you want to reward us?"
You catch a sigh of relief from Heejin at your words.
"Please, boy, where is the fun in that?" He beams a well-placed smile as he produces two familiar bottles. "I deserve some fun despite your efforts."
"I doubt you brought us here just for two bottles of Kowakian rum... even for a little bit of fun on your end."
"Of course not, make yourself at home, away from the riff-raff and her adoring fans." Mischief dances in his eyes as he steps closer, twisting the flare of a smirk against his lips. "I have a Sabacc game to get to, an attempt by the slugs to regain their honor."
"Alright, boss." Your eyebrows twitch, unsure of what he's playing at or for. He moves with confidence, shuffling past you towards the door.
There's a moment of hesitance as he turns back to you for the briefest second. "Just don't make too much of a mess."
"What was that about?" She asks, head tilting to the side with less than subtle curiosity. The Wookie becomes nothing but an afterthought, a fading ember in your isolated presence with Heejin.
"Oh," you turn to her, biting your lip. "He just wanted us to make ourselves comfortable and enjoy his private stock."
Even in the dim light born from the single illumination panel behind the desk, you can pick out the way her eyes narrow. Her lips purse, teasing on the edge of a question. "What about that last thing? It seemed pointed at you."
Her voice hums with something foreign, at least to your interactions.
Worry?... No, that doesn't seem right. Her nature, her confidence forbids the very idea. No, it's something else that dances tauntingly at the tip of your tongue.
"Relax, it was nothing, Heej," the nickname rolls off your tongue before you can even stop it, you watch as it lingers in the air, moving with a sauntering slowness. Your brain jostles with awkward apologies that die in your thoughts before finally it lands.
Square in her chest, judging from the swell of her smile.
"You don't have to call me that, you know?" there's a warmth that's strange on her lips, a flicker of softness as her eyes linger on you. "It's nice, though."
Her feet shuffle, shifting under the weight of vulnerability. She develops a sudden interest in everything, except for you. Unable to build up the courage to look you in the eye.
To speak plainly too, apparently. A rare silence fills the void in conversation.
A smile bubbles to your lips, you should cut her some slack, offer her a life ring. "We were gonna drink, weren't we?"
Your words cobble together the version of Heejin you're used to, fluttering eyelashes and teasing smirks.
She preens under your gaze with a sultry swipe of her tongue across her lips. Each movement is enticing, weighed heavy with calculated seduction.
The sway of her ass buzzes with a tantalizing edge, pushing into your space with a graceful twirl. "Yes, we were."
Your baser instincts beg for permission, to indulge her in her attempts. To feel your hands carve into her taut, firm ass as you take her.Â
It's hard to ignore the stiffening desire that stirs in your loins, her hand traces your chest pushing you back into the hardwood desk.
A smirk blooms across her lips, dancing with the often-times obnoxious confidence you'd grown to love to hate. It's hard to resist the tug, the control she has over you.Â
The only defense, the only respite you can manage is found in a bottle of Kowakian rum.Â
Syrupy sweet indulgence.
Her hand brushes over your bottle-held grasp, coaxing it out of your grasp into the embrace of her lips. She's less than subtle, as the liquor spills from her lips, trickling in enticing rivulets down her chin.
A knowing wink, pulls you deeper as she continues to imbibe; desperate to get her fill. Awe and admiration bubbles underneath your skin as she throws back the bottle and all of its contents.
The bottle slams against the desk, a devilish grin burns across her lips. She looks up at you, cheeks flushed with liquor that lingers on her every breath.
Her tongue plays against her lips, her eyes sparkle with a flash of insight, a realization.
Her teeth tense against her bottom lip, as the air cackles with tension, heavy and sweltering.
A flash of resignation, as words leave her lips.
"So," her voice drips with a hungry, ravenous need that you didn't need to hear, you could already feel it. The soft ministration of her hand against your clothed cock. "Are we gonna fuck or what?"
Gone is the pretense, replaced with a desperate gnawing need for her fill. It's intoxicating the way her lips quiver and crack against raw primal hunger.
Your hands crest her hair, soft and delicate as a wry smirk bounces across her lips. Her eyes settle on yours, beaming with anticipation and an unmistakable craving that eagerly awaits your command.
Her head tilts back, her silky locks spilling around her face in waves of delight.
A gasp shatters with a moan as your calloused hand tugs her hair, pulling her closer into your embrace. Her breath hitches and floats on the edge of another moan as you press against her contours.
You take your time savoring each sensation, the heat searing through the air as though it were tangible. Your mouth burns against her neck, leaving bruises that smolder in your wake. Each cinder pushes a smile against her, each ember pulls a purr into her throat.
Your cock is an afterthought against the hazy pleasure that twists and churns in the back of your skull. It aches and yearns, an animalistic need to consume her in your roaring flames, reduce her to an ash that knows only your name.
It's instinctual, the way your hands wander and rove over her body, teasing and taunting in equal measure as you whisper sweet nothings in her ear.
"You weren't kidding," a smirk hangs on your lips between flame-licked bruises. You lock your fingers through her hair, hungrily drawing her tight, clawing a soft whimper from her throat. Your hand trickles down her back with playful fingertips, haunting the edge of her hip before finally carving into her ass with a voracious slap. "Rough is definitely your style."
A flash of shock sparks against her features, eyes wide and mouth jar before it shifts into a hungry, carnal smile as her eyes latch tight to yours. She had no escape, but you doubt she'd want to.
You catch the turn of gears, a witty comeback in the making. Yet, you're too focused on the way her supple, taut ass feels against your hand. Your fingers teeter on the edges of her hips, creeping along the divot of her abs, plucking at the button of her short with a teasing flare.
Her words are shaky, barely discernible against the soft moans that escape her lips, blooming into a whiney drawn out fuck, as your fingers snake through her shorts and past her underwear.
Holy fuck is she wet.
A desperate quiver ripples across her lips strengthened with each passionate caress, her throat hums begging for more as your fingers slide into her slick heat, a flooded river of anticipation.
Your mouth clashes with hers, hot and frenzied as the air sizzles with passion. Her tongue crashes against yours, a carnal dance that leaves you gasping for more.
A tug of her hair earns a breathy honeyed moan as a smile twists across her lips, cocky and headstrong. Slowly it fades shifting with the guidance of your pleasure soaked fingers bucking against her sweet spot.
Any thoughts, any words jumble and die in her throat, replaced with a whispered please. Ecstasy ignites like a wildfire across her face tightening into a low whine as you hold her just shy of the precipice.
Her hips buck with a desperate plea, begging for release in the hazy mist of pleasure.
Yet, something fights within her at the edge of her lips, a small defiant fragmented shard.
Her hand caresses your cock, no longer a forgotten afterthought in your pursuit. She purrs as she strokes at your clothed length.
"I think someone deserves some attention," her voice dripping with seduction, a husky warmth. A veiled attempt to regain some semblance of control. "Let's see if it was worth all the anticipation~"
Her movements are smooth and focused, still you notice the weak wobble of her knees as she peels away your jumpsuit by the zip. Her fingers dance with an electric spark-filled tension slowly creeping to your boxers.
It's intoxicating the way her tongue flits across her lips as she drops to her knees. Raw hunger bounces across her lips, quivering in anticipation.
Her hands tremble and shake, a small crack in her veneer of confidence.
Her eyes linger and smolder burning with an intensity that threatens to swallow you whole. Her lips part with the slightest breath, her teeth clench tight against her bottom lip, her gaze unflinching as she slowly and deliberately peels away your boxers.
It's delicious and succulent, the surprise that echoes across her features, punctuated with a gasp as your cock smacks against her soft, dewy lips like a thunderclap of passion. The shock sends ripples all the way across her face as it curves around the bridge of her nose and plunges off the edge of her forehead.
A warm hum blooms in her throat, cresting into a pleasure drunk giggle as she nuzzles against your shaft.
"Oh fuck," she whispers her eyes dance along your shaft, the glint of held back fantasies glimmer in her eyes. Her hand pumps and twists across your length, extraditing a moan from your lips with her eagerness. Her breath hitches with a hungry excitement, tickling your shaft in between lovingly pressed kisses. "You should've told me, you had such a... fat cock."
She continues, lost in her ministrations, slowly and tantalizingly drawing out your pleasure as you groan against her soft touch. Yet, you can pluck out the fine line edge she balances on, the sound of slick wetness indulged as she pants heavily slapping her face with your cock. "You could've had me anyway you wanted you know?"
It's a feverish, lavish dance of her tongue around your cock, strung together with a primal and wild urgency, as if she would die if she didn't taste you against her tongue. Her lathered spit slowly christens every inch of your shaft, marking it as her territory.
Her gaze is a sirenâs call, inviting you to dive into her depths. Her lips akin to silk as they tease the head of your cock
Her hands guide your own cresting through her hair, a silent encouragement to ravage her without restraint.
The sensation is inescapable, as your throbbing cock slipping past her dewy soft lips, plunging into her depths. You can feel the hum of a depraved smile as she gags and chokes against the sheer length of your cock, unable to fully take you.
It's a sputtering cough that echoes from her lips, hazed with watery eyes as she clutches for air.
"Come on, I can take it," there's a flare of a scowl against her teeth. "Don't be a bitch."
She asked for it.
Your hands tighten in her hair as she sucks and pulls in surprise, sending waves of pleasure shooting to your core. She looks up at you through heavy lidded eyes, smoldering with desire. Her fingers grip tightly around your shaft as her muscles contract around you - a gentle reminder that she will never let you go.
You push further into her until you bottom out, her nose pressed to your navel.
You're fully engulfed in heat and wetness as she begins to moan around you - softly at first, but quickly growing louder with each stroke that bulges at her throat.
Her eyes water, brim and swell against the ravaging pressure. She hums, smiles under your assault as the cascade begins, her own twisted badge of pride.
The sensation is overwhelming; a perfect balance of tightness and wetness as she sucks and gags around you.
The echoing sound of ministrations against her own slick heated desire becomes your guiding rhythm, the tempo only increasing with each gag and choke.
Her knees quiver and tremble as you ravage her throat without restraint, a mere tool in the pursuit of your own pleasure.
It only takes one final thrust, deep and hard to send her careening over the edge into a carnal pleasure-filled abyss. She screams into your lap, her body twitching in clear pleasure as wave after wave of her orgasmic bliss crashes against your shaft.
It's a desperate fight to stay afloat, to ignore the call to unload deep within her throat against the crashing waves of her orgasm, but you're after a sweeter prize.
"Holy fuck," she gasps, a hazy smile etched into her lips, she swipes at the stray messy strands of spit. "That was hot as fuck."
You found it hard to disagree, "You're..."
"Kind of a slut?" she adds, a dulcet whisper against your ear. It's hard to ignore the brimming smile.
"I was gonna say intense."
It's a soft genuine chuckle that saunters through the air. "Thanks, I'll take it."
Her eyes drift over you, her warm gaze a caress. She licks her lips and smirks as she looks at your cock. "A shame you didn't cum, the thought of you plastering my face or swallowing all your cum was so fucking hot."
Her delicate fingers entwined around your cock, massaging it with a gentle rhythm as your heart pounded in anticipation. Her eyes roamed yours before she spoke, her voice husky and full of desire. "I can't wait to feel this inside me."
All it takes is one swift move, as you grip her waist pulling her so intoxicatingly close to you, pressing her hips against the edge of the desk. A surprised giggle bounces from her lips as you pull her shorts and panties down her legs. The air crackles with electricity, you catch her rugged eagerness, as her clothes flutter and splay around Chalmun's office.
She's barely able to pull herself up the edge of the Chalmun's desk as your thick cock brushes against her drenched folds. You can see the sparks of pleasure as her eyes flutter shut, arms snaking around you, pulling you closer into her electric gravity.
Her legs shudder and quake as you push deep into her, her breath frozen in her throat as you push harder and harder, deeper and deeper into her.
The desk creaks-you swear it splinters-as you feel her cunt finally take the full might of your cock. It's in her wordless, breathless moments as her eyes roll back withÂ
half-lidded desire, that you actually feel it, even through the torrential storm that is her she's-
"-So fucking tight."
Her fingers dig into your shoulders as her nails scrape against your skin, any words she has die, caught in clutched needy gasps. But you can see it in the flickering fire in her eyes, the twist of her devilish smile.
Make a mess, break the desk.
It's a feverish dance, the slow build to a crescendo that threatens to drown you in pure bliss. Each stroke punctuated with a resounding slap, a jiggle of her chest pushing against you as she moans in a guttural tone.
"Fuck me, fuck me," she chants softly, her eyes glued to your cock, a needy slut to your pleasure. Your hand grips tight against her locks pulling her into a messy torrid kiss.
She nuzzles into you, her lips are sloppy against yours as you plunge further and further. Her muscles clench tight against you, a fire burning with each pull, each thrust and soft moan. Her nails bite into your shoulders, drawing blood as she pants heavily against your lips.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," she chants against your lips.Â
A strangled moan escapes her throat, the intensity of your thrusts increasing as the pressure builds within you, threatening to burst forth. She cries out with each thrust, the sound of your cock diving into her depths, a melody to her ears.
Her lips part with the slightest of breaths, her tongue darts across her bottom lip, a silent invitation to dive deeper. The feeling is visceral as she clenches every inch of her muscles tight against you, a searing rapture that threatens to swallow you whole.
The feeling is overwhelming; a soft and wet embrace as you plunge deep into her. The tightness of her walls around you, as they pulse and constrict around you.
She's barely holding onto her consciousness, her eyes glued to the way her breasts shake and jiggle as you fuck her senseless.
You find it hard to resist the incessant call to cum, burning with an intensity that threatens to swallow your mind whole. Her moans fall into a steady rhythm as you plunge into her harder and harder.
"Cum," her voice a husky whisper, yet tinged with something more, a tempered unexpected softness. It's real and vibrant even in the haze of pleasure. "I want to feel you."
It's needy and desperate.
The feeling is inescapable, the sensation of her tight and wet around you. She screams in pleasure, a shrill moan that pierces the air around her.
The desperation in her eyes and on her lips as you're pressed together was unmistakable; a clash of teeth and tongue full of longing. You feel the urgent desire that emanates from her, radiating into your lungs with each clawed breath.
It was more than just sex at that moment, as her lips nip at yours and her legs clutch and locked around your waist. You can feel the raw emotion radiating off of her, a feral passion that throbs through your veins.
You can feel every part of her body tremble with pleasure as each kiss deepens further.
Your hands caress her neck, exploring every inch of her skin as she shudders beneath you. You feel like you're losing control, giving into the sensations coursing through both your bodies.
The sounds of pleasure that escape her lips become heavy and desperate as the sensation builds inside of you both, an explosion of heat that threatens to consume you.
She claws at your back, gasping for air between breaths as each thrust sends jolts of pleasure through both your bodies.
Her hips grind against yours, pushing herself further and further towards the brink of insanity. Her voice catches in her throat as she cries out for more, begging for release from the overwhelming sensation within.
"Cum for me," she whispers into your ear, her voice dripping with lust, tarnished by desperate and undeniable need.
It's all you need.
A crash of pleasure rocks your core, electric shocks race up and down your spine as you finish inside of her, launching rope after feverish rope into her depths. A moan catches in her throat, hitching with each decadent spurt as she truly gets her fill.Â
"Wow," she opens her misty eyes, her lips curled into a hazy smile. "That was... intense."
The warm air around you is a heavy blanket that settles around you both, a contented and satiated silence that settles against her skin.
"Hey," she nudges you, languid in the afterglow. Still, you catch embers of a teasing smile. "I have a question."
"Yeah?"
"Is this our first date?"
