Conrad pulls his fiancé away from their engagement party at the summer house because he can’t get enough of her.
2k (18+)
Warnings: smut, unprotected p in v, the conrad fisher™️ two finger special, and strong language.
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Conrad's hands, already having found their way underneath the skirt of her dress, squeeze her hips with a crushing grip to keep her exactly where he wants her. His face is burrowed in the curve of her neck, his lips already latching onto the delicate skin there, and their stumbling footsteps are a little too loud for her liking as he leads her into the upstairs bathroom.
All it takes is a gentle kick from him to shut the door behind them. Then, his fingers are making quick work of the lock. If their families weren't downstairs all together and waiting for them to return to start dinner, she wouldn't be so nervous.
"We need to get back down there before they notice we left," Y/N whispers. It takes everything she has not to let out a sound when he starts worshiping the sweet spot on the underside of her neck. "They're all here for us."
The hands he has slipped up her dress are already toying with the frayed hem of her plain cotton panties as if he hasn't actually heard a word she said. Every breath he takes makes the wetness pooling in them worse, but it's not like she's complaining. How could she ever complain when he's here with her, kissing and touching and adoring her in a way no other man ever has? Or ever will.
He hefts her up onto the countertop like it's nothing, placing her right on the edge with her dress bunched up around her hips, and says softly, "I want you...God, I want you so fucking bad."
"Conrad," she manages to squeak out, half plea, half warning, but her words are useless against the exploratory touch of his hands under her dress. The feeling of his teeth grazing the side of her neck draws a gasp from her parted lips. "The party."
Their engagement party.
"I can be quick," he says, pulling away to look at her face. His voice is whining and pathetic, practically begging. The desperation in his eyes is even worse. "I can make you come in like five minutes, I swear."
There's a slight pause after this while she considers it, then—
"Fuck it."
Y/N is already reaching for the buckle of his belt, fumbling with it for a little too long before finally undoing it and pulling it free from his pants. And how could she not notice the smile on his face while he leans in to kiss her? She can feel it even when she closes her eyes and lets his mouth collide with hers. Where she fumbled with her attempts to undress him, he excels. The panties are ripped down her legs in a matter of seconds, discarded carelessly on the tile floor beside his shoes, and he's already slipping his fingers between the sticky folds of her heat with an eagerness to please.
He collects some of the arousal leaking from her hole and spreads it up over her clit to rub languid circles over it. Then, because he promised to keep it quick, he slips two fingers inside of her and frees his thumb to keep rubbing her clit at the same time. One of her favorite things about him physically has always been his hands. Specifically when they're working hard at doing something like playing the guitar or washing dishes after dinner. The leather-strapped Rolex around his wrist compliments them perfectly whenever she stops to admire them. The exact same watch she can feel pressing into her inner thigh right now, cold where the stainless steel caresses her skin with every deft move of his wrist.
What he's doing now, though, is her favorite thing to watch him do with his hands. How can she not love it? If he weren't so good at using them, she wouldn't have such a deep fixation.
"Ah! Fuck!" she cries out as he pumps his fingers into her. "That feels so good."
Hearing this brings the same smirk he made a few seconds ago come right back, but this time she doesn't feel it against her mouth. This time, he's pulling back and refusing to kiss her so he can look into her eyes throughout the ordeal. His gaze is heavy-lidded but sharp. It devours every minute shift in her expression that would go unnoticed to any other person, yet not to him. His fingers curl just so every time he pushes them into her and hit a spot that makes her clench around them.
Grabbing at his shoulders to pull him closer, she mutters, "I want you inside me."
And at this, Conrad looks at her like he's starving. Like he's starving and she is the only thing on this earth capable of satiating that hunger. How could he refuse her when she says it so nicely?
Together, they undo the button on his pants and start shoving them down his thighs. Along with them go his underwear, and it isn't even a half second later that she's reaching to take him into her hand. The contact of her fingers wrapping around the thickness of his cock pulls a breathy moan out of him. She strokes him a few times and brushes over his tip to spread the drops of precome collected there to lubricate it the best she can. Then, before either of them knows it, he's lining himself up with her entrance and sinking in with a heavy sigh of relief.
He stays still for a few seconds and just tries to catch his breath, lingering in the sensation of the soft walls of her cunt squeezing around his length so tightly. But he is quickly reprimanded.
"Five minutes," she reminds him. "It's already been at least two."
The sound of her voice makes his jaw clench, and a low groan rumbles in his chest as if she is challenging him. As if she hasn't been brought to release in record time by him time and time again. His hands find her hips again, holding onto them hard enough to leave bruises behind, and use it as leverage to thrust into her completely. The sudden fullness of having him buried in her to the hilt, his hips pressing against the back of her thighs, steals the air right from her lungs. With the proper type of preparation and foreplay, it isn't hard to take him. But when it's rushed like this, the stretch is unbearably good.
He doesn't give her any time to recover. Each harsh snap of his hips sends her body jolting against the mirror behind her and rattles the countertop she's precariously perched atop. The cold bite of his watch grazing her bare skin is maddening when paired with the relentless thrusts he makes inside her. One of his hands reaches for hers and guides it to hold onto the lip of the sink to hold herself steady amidst it all. Then, it slips away again and disappears between their rutting bodies to find her clit again.
"Fuck," he hisses through clenched teeth. "You're perfect. So fucking tight."
There's a thin sheen of sweat already forming on his forehead, as well as the skin trapped beneath the fabric of his button down shirt, but he doesn't care. He's pretty sure the house could be burning to the ground right now without him noticing. As long as he's lost in her, the rest of the world will fall away.
With a quick glance at the clock hung on the wall above the bathtub, she whispers in his ear between moans, "Two more minutes."
His response to this comes in the form of a wet, open-mouthed kiss to keep her sounds of pleasure from being heard outside of the room they're in. It was partly to shut her up too. If she's able to keep track of the time passing by and look at the clock, she isn't nearly as close to coming as she needs to be. The words of protest die on her tongue the instant his mouth meets hers. It's a messy kiss. Full of teeth, tongue, and the kind of greedy desperation that makes her toes curl in the heels digging into the back of his legs. His fingers never leave her clit. They work her harder and faster until she has nothing to do but claw at his broad shoulders hard enough to risk ripping straight through his shirt.
Her body is so pliant for him, so obedient, and it jerks against his every time drives into her. Between his fingers rubbing her clit and the smooth drag of his cock sliding in and out of her, the tension in her stomach coils so tight it almost hurts. Her previous boyfriends couldn't even make her come in the span of thirty minutes, yet here Conrad is making it happen in less than six.
She tries to pull away for air, but he doesn't let her. His lips chase hers and swallow every broken moan she makes to keep anyone else from hearing the heavenly sounds.
"S'okay, baby," Conrad says into the kiss, "I've got you. Just let go."
Her thighs clamp around his hips and her heels dig into his legs to hold him in place as her orgasm finally tears through her. Her entire body is trembling, and she is unable to hold herself up without his help. Thankfully for her, he can keep her steady with one arm wrapped around her waist and the other slotted between their bodies to help her ride out her release. The sound of her head thumping back into the mirror blends with the cacophony of noises they make together. His panting breaths compliment the sweet little whimpers she doesn't even realize she's making, and every nerve ending is set aflame by the euphoria pumping through her blood.
The guttural groan that escapes his parted lips tells her exactly how close he's gotten too. His pace falters, hips stuttering as he buries himself deep and grinds against her to prolong the aftershocks of her release. His thumb doesn't stop rubbing her clit until she is tearing his hand away in sensitivity. It's only then that he relents and lets that hand travel up the length of her chest until it reaches her face. It's easy to tell by the frantic nature of his movements that he's about to come. Well, that and the clinginess that always worsens right before it happens. Under his breath, he chants her name and whispers sweet confessions of his love. It's not something he does consciously, either. It slips out of him without his permission.
Y/N stops grabbing at his shoulders and decides to cup his face in her hands instead, forcing him to look into her eyes. Even as his strokes become frantic and sloppy, she holds him there with her palms warm against his flushed skin and watches him tip over the edge into oblivion.
She lets her nose brush against his and croons, her tone sickly sweet, "Come for me, baby."
With a strangled moan that echoes of the walls of the bathroom loud enough that anyone outside the door could hear, Conrad comes hard. That arm wrapped around her waist pulls her even closer, his bicep flexing against her back, as he comes inside of her. The warmth of him fills her, his cock pulsing with the quick pace of his heartbeat, and he kisses her like it's the only way he'll survive the moment. The legs wrapped around his hips anchor him to her, keeping their bodies fused together until he starts to come down from the high that took him out of his body.
Breathing heavy, he lets his head fall out of her hands and onto her shoulder in a fit of post-orgasmic exhaustion. He mouths at her neck at first, then kisses his way up to her jaw and back to her lips again in a silent display of gratitude. Her hands slip down from his face to rest on his back. With her fingers splayed over the taut, lean muscle hiding beneath his shirt, she embraces him. The heat of his body against hers, as well as the trembling of his limbs, makes her smile to herself.
Conrad then ducks his head down to kiss her neck one final time and breathe in the familiar scent of the perfume he got her for Valentine's Day. She presses her cheek against his own as he does this, and for a moment, they just hold one another.
"Thank you," he says to her under his breath.
The spell is finally broken by the sound of laughter erupting from the living room downstairs. That abrupt reminder of the world existing outside of this room makes them both jolt, moving on instinct to separate before someone finds out they're both missing. Carefully, gently, he pulls out of her. A towel is already in one of his hands—although she doesn't know when he grabbed it—to clean up the mess he made that is slowly dripping out of her.
After that, he's helping her slide down from the countertop and kneels to slip her panties back up her legs. Her back is turned from him to fix herself up in the mirror. She fusses over her hair as he pulls his pants and underwear back up over his hips. And when he's done looping his belt into his pants, he reaches down to smooth out her dress for her. His hands linger on her waist for a few seconds afterward, and he looks up to find her staring at him in the mirror.
"You good?" he asks.
She nods.
"Better than good."
With one last glance at her disheveled appearance, she turns around to face him again. Their hands are entwined in the space between their bodies, and he plays with the rings on her fingers absentmindedly. When she looks up at him through her lashes with a mischievous glint shining in her eyes, he raises a brow at her.
"What?"
"That was six minutes, not five."
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Tag List: @maybankslover, @geekinthefuschiahair, @lonelywitchv2, @i-think-you-are-gr8, @alasya16, and @riordanness.
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