she's heard stories, the tales of his proclivities and promiscuity whether true or false — she does not care. if anything, it will have taught him how to play her strings like a professional, and oh how he is proving himself so early in the game that this is quite possibly the truth. he does not rush, does not push to gratify himself, but gives, and before he's even really begun working her, she's thankful.
every centimeter of her skin that he grazes lights with the fire she's not felt in how long? his touch the kindness she'd wanted, dreamed for, and where it lacks the aggression she had also mentioned, she finds herself whimpering the praises back to him instead of asking for more. the chords that are strung through the inner lengths of her thighs tighten, flexing muscles that had almost atrophied in the time of their disuse as knees fight themselves not to press together. not until the tide has shifted enough that she is on that lip of a counter and holding onto its edge instead of his knees, her legs still spread on a whim that is not entirely her own.
softer than the sounds she allows to slip out of her mouth, head hung lower than before with a curtain of fire and cream curls draped around her face to hide it from the crowd, are the little squelches of her core reacting to him and his ministrations. each push inward, a cry out of wetness — each pull back, a dismayed sigh of fear he won't return.
stomach pulls inward, those combative knees trembling in their battle with themselves as he draws the bit of her inner thigh deemed worthy into his mouth to suck, to draw blood to the surface that comes willingly to his call, entering that first stage of light bruising immediately when he parts from her again in pale shades of violet. music falls from her lips, but she dares not say his name even if it lingers there on the tip of her tongue.
if only he could see the body she'd crafted, donned in ink and gemstones that had been lost in the forced changes back and forth. she thinks, for a brief second, he'd appreciate it so much more.
he plies her apart like she's nothing, yet everything, and it is the blow that causes the storm. head jerks upwards, hands leaving the ledge to find his skull not at the back to draw him in further, but at the front to push him away enough that when the flood comes, he does not drown. it's small, but it is still an apex of arousal nonetheless, trickling down onto the floor beneath her and perhaps his lap if he's close enough.
wheezing, whimpering, she quivers in several wild waves that continue to push her hands forward, but do not hold onto him to keep him at bay should he find the reaction amusing.
seeing her come undone against his fingers alone--his mouth had yet to even close upon her folds--soldier boy watches with an absolute fascination as she shudders and her release flows over his palm and wrist. hits the floor next to his knee and almost dampens the fabric. not that he would've cared. honestly? he's almost disappointed it missed. next time. maybe he'll wear the scent of her for an entire evening. just to watch other men or women tighten their hands when no one's looking in an attempt to pull their shit together. because something in her scent? is fucking intoxicating.
smirk upon his face--he waits for her to finish. not once stopping the way his fingers thrust, his thumb curls or how he smiles--directly up at her. hair a mess under her grip and face flushed with his indulgence. tongue snakes out after she's come to a quivering stop--just to lap the taste of her from the insides of her thighs. one long lick after another. not once does he close his eyes. instead? keeps his head angled just enough that she can see him on every upswing to the front of her thigh before he disappears to the back.
one final long caress of a curled tone splits her open for him once again. fingers withdraw and move to grip her hips as he begins to stand. once he is on his feet? a quiet murmur comes as both a request and a simple instruction. "turn around... grip the edge," his belt jingles as he unzips his pants fully. in the meantime? he'll lick the taste of her off his fingers before slipping his hand into soft cotton briefs. someone behind them gasps and he can smell the strange woman's arousal from where they are. has half a mind to invite her over--but he's having too much fun enjoying himself exactly where he is.
the smell of her and nelly reach his nose, however. their viewer's got her hand up under her dress. in a dark little spot tucked away just within eyesight if he glances from the corner of his eye. and he does just as she pulls her panties back and sinks a finger into herself. good. leaning forward, he murmurs against nelly's ear. "be a good girl," his hand smooths a gentle caress over the swell of her ass once it faces him. deft fingers pull himself out of his pants and he squeeze, gritting his teeth and cursing under his breath at the relief a simple touch sends up his spine.
he lets her feel him. a blunt head pressed to slick skin. thick and hard. but.. fuck. he slides in so easy. wet and warm wrap around every inch as his head falls back, lips parted and hands hold her perfectly still. ass lifted at just the right angle he can slide completely in until he bottoms out filling her until her ass hits his skin and she's wholly, completely his.
