Focus (smut) , Ryland Grace x fem!reader
"fuc— fudge— fudge, fudge, fudge—", he breathed. His hand besides your head now clawing the sheets so hard, you are certain you heard a pop. His breathe is uneven, hitting your shoulder. His other forearms just laying flat against the mattress, some of your hair underneath but you don't complain about it.
"are you alright?", you breathed. It was apparent that you were smiling. It could be heard in your voice, for Pete's sake! Your hand traveled from his ribcage, all the way up to his cheek. Oh, that made his breathe stutter.
"yeah— yeah, oh, I'm so fine—", he stuttered. His hips moved. Slowly. Every slow drag out, he closed his eyes. His lips pressing together like they were concealing every secret he had. And, every push in, his eyes opened. Not like he could see much, his glasses fogged up from his own breathing.
"I'm so okay— very okay. Everything is— greangh—", his head dropped on your shoulder when you hooked your legs around his waist. A teasing smile on your lips quickly turned into a open mouthed gasp when his hips snapped on their own.
The hand on his cheek moved to rest on the back of his neck. "Ryland—", you whispered. That seemed to catch his attention as he moved up from his position of laying over you. Now, you could see all of him.
His chest moving from the uneven breathes. His fogged up glasses. Hair slightly askew, falling over his forehead. His lips parted, you could see the sheen layer of sweat glisten under the mood light.
You could tell he was about to say something, your hips moved before his lips could. Grinding against his, begging, screaming for more friction or action or anything. The words stuck on his tongue immediately turned into a choked groan.
"wait— wait, wait, wait", his hand pressed on your stomach. Which did nothing to motivate you to wait. It just pressed you harder against the feeling of him inside, your back arched as you let out a moan, "oh—"
His hand lifted like he touched lava, literally. You opened your eyes, glaring. Was he really adamant on not letting you get off tonight?
Your hand wrapped around his wrist as you yanked him forward, his free hand scrambled to find a solace while yours just pulled him closer by the back of his neck.
"Ryland Grace, if you don't fuck me right now. I swear—", he didn't even have to let you finish. His hips already started moving. Making you take a sudden breath before falling back down on the mattress.
"sorry— I didn't realize I was stalling, heh—", he breathed. "Did you know, that sex functions as a moderate— oh my gosh", he moaned, his hand moving to rest on your hip.
"moderate—", his other hand pushed his glasses up, "exercise that burns 3 to— to", his hips moved. He talked so much, "4.2 calori—mphf—"
Your hand, that was resting on the back of his neck just moved. Two fingers prodding at his lips before resting in his mouth when he opened them to speak. You could feel the warm saliva and soft muscles around it, teeth careful not to graze your fingers.
"shh—", your eyes closed, focusing on the way he feels. But not before you saw the way he nodded and feel his tongue push your fingers to the roof of his mouth.
a/n: I need to make out with this man while he tells the weirdest and the most useless facts he knows while I'm trying to shut him up
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