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𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: after robby asks dennis to housesit for him, you two end up testing the boundary
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: smut, unprotected sex, teasing, p-in-v, oral (f-receiving), wanting to be caught if you squint, perv robby for all of 3 seconds?
𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: MDNI, smut below cut. wrote this super quick so it’s messy & unedited, not like my other longer pieces, sorry for any typos or jumps. also do we like this new layout?
robby asked whitaker to watch his place while he ran off on sabbatical.
"hey, you wanna do me a favor?" robby asked.
dennis raised his eyebrows and sat back in the breakroom chair. "yeah?"
"you wanna house sit for me while i'm gone?"
dennis had scoffed a little, not sure if he was serious. his boss was asking him, a resident, to watch his home?
"you'd actually be helping me out," robby continued, missing dennis glance down at his hands. "i mean, you can have your girlfriend over if that's a big thing to you."
"are you being serious?"
"no smoking, no parties, no pets, no sex," robby added. "i was gonna ask abbot but he does nude yoga at sunrise, and i don't think some of my elderly neighbours would survive that."
dennis had accepted. it was a bit of extra cash, robby had ended up leaving money for you two as a way of saying thank you. dennis was put together, rarely even messed anything up, robby trusted him - mostly, because anybody else would do something stupid. he thought that trinity would have garcia over and ignore his rules, mel would probably be too stressed out (she has her planned visits with becca and all), javadi... too young, and abbot, again, had nude yoga.
that being said, the first time you dropped by while dennis was house sitting and using the amenities (cough cough, the flatscreen with any streaming service you could think of, cough cough.), he should have known something was up. but you gave him the cutest smile and everything, one that makes him melt into anything you want to do.
you had no idea what got into you!
on the couch - the one in the living room, in front of all the windows looking out - you sat in his lap watching the movie. then slowly grinding on him. "baby, what're you doing?" and in about 2 seconds, you're both naked & clinging to each other by the mouth and humping each other. the couch, dear god, robby must have had it for years. while you're riding his thigh (his big beautiful muscular thigh, dear fucking god, farm boys do it best!) one of the legs shifted under the weight of you two which sent the couch down into the floor with a crash that made you both giggle, but it didn't stop dennis' craving for you. the new slant of the couch gave him an advantage, and he rubbed your clit. it leaves you feeling nothing but pleasure and having a heavenly orgasm that clouds your mind and makes you forget you're both fucking on someone elses' couch. espescially when he told you not too.
then on the bed - robby's bed managed the pounding that followed, but dennis was fucking you wet, squirt and slick dripping down your thighs and ass, and then he flips you over onto your belly. the spit he put all over your face is SMEAAARED over the pillow, and he changes to eating you from the back and scissoring his fingers in and out of you. squirt rains past dennis' fingers as they torture your pussy, soaking the sheets, and after about the fourth orgasm you immediately jump up and yank the sheets and pillowcases off of the king sized bed. you know they smell of sex and they're soaked, there's no way robby won't know what you've done while he's gone.
his "bachelor pad" has plenty of fatalities.
the bathroom sink faucet is now loose from where dennis took advantage of your soft, freshly cleaned and still wet body after your shower. robby had the HOTTEST water imaginable, and dennis loved that the shower was made of glass so he could sit and watch you, and jerk off while you showered, and your ass nearly cracked the counter top when he slammed you on it and started fingering your freshly shaved pussy. you acted like you didn't even see it. his sweaty hair grazed your freshly cleaned thighs as he lapped at your folds and ate like a starving man, his tongue could open you up like a lock to a key. he'd have to fix that, you thought.
you were almost able to convince dennis you couldn't fuck on a bare mattress, only by telling him how much work it would be to clean it again. you rode him on the floor and felt the way his hands gripped into your ass as he thrust up into you and told you how he was going to fuck you straight. you even let him fuck you on the balcony, leaning over the railing and looking straight out as he thrusted into you and fingered your clit.
and thank GOD robby wasn't going to be back for 3 months, otherwise you'd be screwed. everything had enough time for dennis to fix you, for you to wash everything... having a boyfriend that grew up in a rural town seemed to pay off.
but little did you know, robby planned on that. he knew you two had been fucking from the way the couch creaked newly when he returned, the way the bedsheets seemed almost too fresh, the way his bathroom counter suddenly had 0 cracks. but he wouldn't let you two know, and he went onto his phone and downloaded all of the footage from the cameras for the past 3 months.
I get wet at the thought of you (being a responsible guy)
Clark Kent x Fem!Reader
Synopsis: Clark Kent, starring as the lamb. He has more than one pillow, calls his mom (but not too much), isn’t afraid to buy you tampons, and thinks about your needs like it’s second nature. You, starring as the lioness. In your opinion, his thoughtfulness is more effective than any other foreplay. Inspiration from Tears by Sabrina Carpenter
Word Count: 4.0k
Authors Note:stared at this for so long I don’t even know if it’s good anymore but here it is!!! If it’s bad don’t tell me!
Warnings: MDNI 18+ p in v, reader is a freak, Clark Kent fucks, established relationship, sub!Clark if you squint idk maybe even more like switch Clark? they’re horny! that’s all I know, brief prey/predator dynamic, ikea, gratuitous use of italics, please let me know if I missed anything <3 also keep this visual 🖖 in mind for later okay thanks.
It was sick really.
Clark wasn’t even doing anything, and yet here you are, legs twisted together while your heart beats between your thighs.
You watch him now, walking back to your table from the bar, your drink held above the crowd to avoid spilling. His other hand raised too, as if to say I am big but friendly! Don’t be afraid! He’s turning side ways, pivoting with every step to avoid jostling anyone he passes.
You watch his presence ripple, jealous eyes latching onto him as he passes and Clark doesn’t even seem to notice. You don’t mean to, but you relish in it. In the women who bat their eyelashes and reapply their lipstick, praying he’ll notice. You’d been dealing with it ever since you got together, even from your single friends, politely smiling when they make jokes like ‘Does he have a brother?’ Or ‘Do they sell him on Amazon?’ You lie tell them that there’s hope. Other tall, dark, handsome and hung fish in the sea.
Clark finally reaches your table, a relieved smile painted across his face. “Almost got lost there for a minute.” He jokes. His glasses started to slip on the journey, they sit on the edge of his noise, barely hanging on. Just like you. “For the lady.” He puts your drink on the table, but before he slides it over he pulls a straw from his pocket and in one quick movement unwraps it and slips it into the glass for you.
Your thighs squeeze tighter, the heat in your lower stomach growing.
This is so stupid, you think, he’s just a guy!
Expect he’s not, he’s Clark.
You feel like a teenager, ruining your panties at the drop of a hat, practically creaming at the smallest gestures. A door that’s held open, a chair that’s pulled out, one time he switched with you on the sidewalk so you were on the inside. The motion had been smooth, effortless, he just pulled your hand until you were in-front of him, then he dropped it and side stepped so he was closest to the street. He didn’t even acknowledge it afterward, just continued walking, switching his bags to the other hand so he could hold yours.
You nearly pulled him into the first alley you saw.
That doesn’t even count the things you’ve watched him do as Superman, the times you’ve ridden him into oblivion after a reading a story about how he saved a cat from a tree or something equally as ridiculous.
“Thank you.” You hum, bringing the straw to your lips and taking a sip. “What is it?” You ask.
Clark slid into the booth across from you, taking a sip from his own drink- a water. “Just a dirty Shirley, was gonna get a Bay Breeze but I remember you said pineapple juice gives you heartburn.”
You imagine all two-hundred and forty pounds of him at the bar asking for a Dirty Shirley with that sweet farm-boy smile. You wonder if he’d let you drag him the bathroom.
“It’s perfect.” You assure him, taking another sip to avoiding adding something sappy like ‘so are you.’
Clark beams, then starts telling you about how he saw an ad for a furniture store that’s going out of business.
“Lois said the deals are crazy.” He explains, hands waving as he talks. “Thought I might pickup a new bedroom set.”
You tilt your head, “What’s wrong with the one you have?” Most guys hardly have a bed frame and a top sheet, Clark has a matching headboard and armoire.
Clark shrugs, “I only have one end table, you should have one for your side.”
Your side. Your cunt pulses again, needy and inconvenient, you can’t take her anywhere.
“I also want a bigger dresser, so you can have more than just one drawer.” He explains. You actually have two drawers, and at least a quarter of Clark’s closet. Nevermind your spot in his medicine cabinet or the key to his apartment in your purse.
Maybe he’s trying to get you pregnant. Seduce you with domesticity and home furnishings.
“Something wrong?” Clark asks.
Nothing honey, you think, just imagining you installing car seats and holding babies.
“Nothing.” You promise.
You insist he continue telling you about furniture and all of his other home decor plans. You wonder if he’d want to live on a ranch some day, you’d bet it’d have a great big porch with a swing. Or was he more of a suburbs guy? You wonder if he’s thought about it, owning a house, having a mortgage and hosting barbecues. Visions of Clark in front of grill wearing a cheesy apron and nothing else. Your brain spins.
You make a joke about reinforcing his new headboard and Clark’s entire face turns red, then he admits he already ordered a kit to mount it to the wall.
Dear god.
You only last another half hour, resolve cracking after when you try to pay the bill and Clark swats your hand away with a dismissive ‘Don’t be silly.’ You splurge for the extra fast Uber.
Clark’s apartment gives you butterflies. It’s perfectly mundane, filled with bookshelves, a couch and floor to ceiling windows. What really gets you is way he actually has seasonings in his cabinets, multiple pots and pans in the drawers, cleaning products under the sink. In the bedroom he has room darkening blinds, hanging on real curtain rods instead of those cheap tension rods. A shoe rack by the door and above it a hook he added for your purse.
“I did some laundry with the clothes you left here,“ Another pulse, she’s furious now. “-I hope you don’t mind I ironed that white blouse with the flowers.”
You know exactly what you blouse he’s talking about, it’s cotton, has pleats and wrinkles if you so much as look at it wrong. A total pain in the ass to iron.
“You ironed it?” You ask, incredulous.
Clark shrugs, “I iron all my shirts, Ma says life is too short for wrinkles.” He’s at the fridge, grabbing each of you a cold bottle of water before moving towards the bedroom.
You want to eat him alive, tear his button down off with your teeth and ride him until he forgets his name. You feel like a rubber band that’s been pulled too tight, or a rope that’s fraying from tension, you’re about to snap. Your cunt screams, refusing to be ignored any longer.
You trail Clark to the bedroom, like a lioness stalking her prey.
Clark rests on the edge of the bed, kicking off his shoes, then his socks.
When he catches you waiting in the doorway, he jerks his head, as if to say ‘come here,’ and welcomes you between his legs without a second thought, knees spreading to make room for you to stand between them. Your hands curl around to the back of his neck, fingers tangling in the rogue strands of hair. His smile is intoxicating, as sweet as it is devastating.
You crawl into his lap, legs landing in either side of his hips as he shifts backward to make enough room for you. His hands, big, strong, and capable, find your waist.
Your kiss is searing, an entire evening of pent up energy channeled into your lips. Into your hands pulling at his curls, into your thighs clenching against his hips. Your tongue is in his mouth, like you’re trying to capture his essence and swallow it. Clark is playing catchup, a startled noise erupting from the back of his throat.
What he lacks in preparation, he makes up for in enthusiasm, hands sliding down to your ass and squeezing the soft flesh. His lips press hard against yours, teeth clashing as he rises to the challenge, determined to match your intensity.
Your nose hits his glasses, once, then twice, and by the third time you need to break for air anyway. Your hands reach up, grabbing the arms and pulling them off his pretty, pretty face. You fold them and despite the urge to throw them across the room, you place them on his end table. Mr. Terrific would be pissed if you broke another pair anyway.
You’re leaning back in when Clark seems to remember himself, moving his hands off your ass and pulling his lips out of your reach.
Uh oh.
“Honey.“ He clears his throat. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”
The fuck?
“Is there a reason you don’t want to have sex with me Clark?” Your cunt asks. The words have more bite than you intend, but honestly you don’t really care. You’re too horny for patience.
Clark goes stiff as steel beneath you, ears turning bright red. “Not what I said!” He defends, eyes screaming Innocent! Innocent man here! “I just wanna make sure you’re up for it.”
“Clark I climbed onto your lap, I’m very much up for it.” You assure him.
“Not complaining about that, trust me.” Clark says, his hands have found their way back to your waist and he gives it an affectionate squeeze. “Just,” he says tentatively, “You have that big presentation in the morning and I want to make sure you get a full eight hours.”
Once again he knocks you breathless. What man would willingly give up sex so his girlfriend (who totally forgot about that presentation by the way) can sleep? Your cunt flares, white hot and screaming his name.
Instead of answering you drop your full weight onto his lap, your thighs landing firmly on top his, your heat pressing tight to his crotch. His hips jerk, reacting to the sudden heat of you.
You grind down, chasing any friction you can get. You’re so wet you can almost smell it, you wouldn’t be surprised if he can feel it already. You should be embarrassed, but what else is a girl to do when her boyfriend spends all of date night promising domestic bliss and being built like a brick shit house.
“Clark.” You nip at his ear, “I’m sure.” The words come out low and lusty, whispered against his lips and punctuated with an achingly slow roll of your hips.
Thankfully, Clark is easily swayed. “Okay.”
You make quick work of his buttons, pressing a kiss each sliver of skin that gets exposed.
He’s burning up under your hands, thick cords of muscle rippling as you pull the fabric off of him. A smattering of chest hair decorating his pecs and abdomen, trailing into his pants like a map.
You reach for his belt next, giving it a hard tug and smirking when his hips jump. It lands with a thud somewhere across the room. You yank off his jeans, working fast and aggressive, until you only have his briefs left. Your index fingers are crooked into the waist band when Clark’s hand stops you, dwarfing your wrist in his grasp.
He gives you that look, the pleading one that makes his eyes look like saucers. You love when he’s like this, at your mercy, happy to let you take and take and take. “You’re still fully dressed,” he says, pressing a wet kiss to your jaw, then another to your pulse point, a third to your collarbone. “Not fair.” He whispers.
Sweet, perfect man.
You stand, and he reaches after you, hands flexing when he catches himself. Your top lands on the floor, and your bottoms quickly following suit.
Clark watches you undress, ands grabbing at the sheets beside him. You can see his cock straining where it’s still trapped under fabric, you’d bet money on there being a wet spot pooling against his tip. The thought makes your mouth water. A little voice in your head coos, mine mine mine mine.
“You wanna take care of me right?” You ask, doing your best impression of silk, making sure each word drips with want.
He nods, frantic, eager to please.
You crawl back onto the bed, walking on your hands and knees towards him. Your Clark, big blue all scared and excited, lets you chase him. His long legs kicking at the sheets for traction as he shuffles back, not stopping until he hits the headboard with a ‘thump.’
You don’t stop until you’re back in his lap, even closer than before. Your tits pressed so tight to his chest you can feel his ribcage shudder with each breath. Gotcha.
Despite your victory, you can’t help but think that he’s exactly where he wants to be.
His lips are parted, pink and swollen from your kisses.
This time when you kiss him it’s almost soft, at least the closest you’ve come to it all night. He moans against your mouth, and you can feel his hands hovering over your body as he brings them higher and higher. You wonder where he’ll land, what part of you he needs to touch the most.
He bypasses exposed skin, all the soft places just begging to be groped and cradles your face instead. His thumbs swipe delicate strokes over your cheekbones, like you’re something precious.
In contrast, your hands are rabid. A wave of want so strong you swear you feel wetness drip down your thigh. You’re too impatient to take his briefs off now, instead you pull him out, his cock thick, heavy and hot in your hand. His tip is red and angry, like he’s the one who’s been worked up all night.
You think it’s only right, that a man who is so good, so thoughtful, was rewarded with a dick pretty enough to make angels cry.
You tuck the waist band under his balls, making sure to give them a soft little tug, (something you know he likes), and then you start sink onto him.
The stretch is immediate, intense and overwhelming. Like your body is rearranging itself to find every spare inch of room, whatever it takes to make him fit.
Normally Clark prepares you, eats you out until you can hardly spell your own name, then he fingers you until you can’t remember the alphabet, but tonight you need the stretch, need a fullness only he can provide. You want to sit at your desk tomorrow and feel him every-time you move. Want every curve, every vein etched into your walls.
Clark makes a noise, something between a gasp and a moan, as if you’ve stolen the air out of his lungs. Then he kisses you, hard and messy like he’s trying to do the same to you. You don’t pull back until he’s bottomed out.
“This is how you can take care of me.” You murmur against his lips.
It’s like you can feel him in your lungs, and suddenly the lines of lion and lamb are blurred. You whimper, hips grinding down even though you have no where to go. A smug smile pollutes Clark’s pretty face, beneath you, ever so slightly the tables start turning.
In an effort to keep your lead, you rise up, stopping just short of his tip, and then drop down again, putting your all your weight behind the it. He hits so different like this, finding that spongey spot inside you with every pass.
His smile disappears into a moan, his head tipping back in pleasure as you give him the tightest squeeze you can muster. You watch the veins on his neck pop, he’s already closer than he wants to admit.
“Gosh, honey.” He whispers, “So tight.” His voice is full of reverence, the kind most men reserve for praying. His gaze is locked on the sight of you wrapped around him, the ring of your arousal that’s forming at the base of cock. He stares at it like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, eyes wide and hands shaking. A sacrificial lamb at the alter of your cunt.
It makes you feel drunk.
Your thighs are burning, trembling on either side of him as you try to raise yourself again. Between the width of his body, and the sheer length of cock you have to travel, you’re already struggling to find a rhythm.
You can feel his heart racing, body tense and all but vibrating as try to steady your self, both of your palms pressed flat to his chest for support. You’re trying to find the will, doing vaginal acrobatics to try and distract him from the fact that you’re falling apart. But Clark, who has made himself an expert in reading your body, doesn’t fall for it. You’re suddenly reminded of his strength, of the superhero hiding under a mop of a curls and dimples. You foolishly mistook his tension for want; you realize now, as his hands curls around your hips and lift you up, that it was restraint.
Instead of pushing you back down, he holds you there, letting your cunt flutter around just the head of his cock. You can’t even think as you try to fuck yourself down onto him. Your hips thrash with the efforts, but gravity is no match for his strength.
“Clark what are you doing, please.” You beg, angry red welts appear under your nails as you claw at his skin, willing him to let you fall.
Your breaths, which had been up to this point been controlled and even, become heaves, borderline sobs. Your hips trashing in his grip as you try to get friction.
He shushes you, gentle and loving. As if it’s obvious he says. “Taking care of you.”
Then without warning, Clark pushes you down, faster than you could ever achieve yourself. Then he lifts you back up, and brings down again, fucking you on his cock until you’re crying out with each pass. Until your hips start to move with his hands, canting in time with each thrust.
“Tell me what you want.” Clark says.
You gasp, when did you lose control of this?
“Touch me.” You beg anyway. You grab one of his hands and drag it off your hip until it finds where your bodies are connected. “Please.”
Clark obliges, his thumb zeroing in your clit and beginning a familiar rhythm of slow, tight circles. The rest of his fingers spread against his cock, resting alongside your folds, teasing your weeping hole where it’s stretched around him. His fingers dance along the edges, like he’s threatening to slip one in. You’re already so full of him, but your pulse stutters at the thought.
Your hips jerk again, chasing his thumb as he bottoms out again, this time Clark lets you stay there, grinding against his hand while you fuck yourself down onto the base of his cock.
“That’s it, use me honey. Take what you need.” He says, his hand is sandwiched between you at an awkward angle in this position, but Clark is unphased, his thumb pressing even harder against your clit.
You cry out, your head falling into the crook of his neck as you chase your orgasm. You can feel it creeping up your spine, pushing your nerves to the edge, every hair standing at attention.
“Tell me-“ You hiccup, your own moan interrupting you. “Tell me about the bedroom set again.”
Clark freezes, surprised, but only momentarily. Then he resumes his efforts with fervor, shifting his hips so he can thrust up into you while his thumb doubles its speed.
“The end tables have outlets.” He tells you, “So you can plug your laptop in, work from bed when you’re too sore to walk.”
You bite down on his throat, feeling his pulse jump under your lips. You’re so close, so fucking close.
“Need a better bed,” He pants, “So I can fuck you through it.”
You clench, another ragged moan of his name falling from your lips. You can see your orgasm, the wave creating as it prepares to knock you over.
“Finance or buy?” You ask, voice shaking.
“Finance.” He punctuates it with a thrust. “Good-“ Another thrust “-for credit score.”
The earth shatters, your vision turning white and your blood to lava. Your orgasm crashes into you with the power of a tsunami, the power of it sweeping Clark away with you. Despite his own orgasm, his thumb never stops, he keeps circling your clit, dragging your orgasm out as long as possible, not pulling away until you finally stop twitching.
When you try to breathe again, you’re covered in sweat, both of your thighs are drenched in your ecstasy. So are the sheets.
“Jesus.” You pant, still not finding the strength to move, letting his cock soften inside you.
“Nope.” Clark says, pressing a kiss to your hair. “Just me.”
“Ha. Ha.” Your body sags against his, limp and exhausted.
You stay like that until your bladder finally gets the better of you. You pull off of Clark with a hiss and a wet sound that can only be described as vulgar.
It takes a minute to remember how to stand, legs uncertain as you take your first steps.
When you come back from the bathroom, clean and ready to sleep. Clark has changed the sheets, and is setting two Tylenol down next to the water bottle (he already broke the seal on it for you) that he grabbed earlier. “So your thighs don’t ache as bad in the morning.” He explains.
Folded in a neat square, one of his t-shirts is sitting on your side of the bed. He’s already slipped on sweats, and to your delight, he hasn’t bothered with a shirt. The clothes you’d abandoned on the floor earlier are gone, probably in his hamper (You love that he has a hamper).
Sweet, perfect man.
“Thank you.” You slip on the shirt and slide underneath the covers.
Clark climbs in beside you, holding his arm out so you can take your place curled against his side. He doesn’t speak until you’ve settled.
“So.” He starts, your head is on his chest, listening to his heart beat. “Since when are you so horny for furniture?”
You hum, too tired to be embarrassed. “IKEA catalogues are my Playboy.” You joke, a beat of silence passes. “I like how responsible you are. It’s really hot.” You admit.
You feel Clark nod, he doesn’t say anything but you hear his heartbeat pick up. Mid-yawn, you throw your leg over his waist, a silent ‘down boy.’
Then you remember what he said, right before you came.
“Since when are you worried about your credit-score?” You ask.
Clark doesn’t speak for a minute, like he’s weighing his options. His hand traces a lazy path up and down your spine.
“Wanna buy us a house someday. Good credit means a better mortgage.” He explains, point-blank and nonchalant. “Paying off stuff like furniture can build a positive payment history and they have a deal with no interest rate for the first two years.” Like the journalist he is, Clark Kent has done his research.
You freeze, head tilting up so you can see his face. Clark isn’t even looking at you, just smiling at the ceiling like he’s picture it. You and him, a white picket fence and a freshly mowed lawn.
Your cunt roars back to life.
“Oh my god.” You groan.
Clark looks down at you, brows furrowed. “What?”
You don’t answer. Instead you sit up and despite the protest in your muscles, straddle him once more.
Authors note: that’s all folks!!!! In all seriousness I hope you liked this, if you made it this far thank you so much. If you enjoyed this fic please holler at me. I had a lot of fun writing this and ignoring the 194729 other wips I should be finishing! Go stream mans best friend by sabrina carpenter! Okay love you, say it back!
steve hears that all the time
steve harrington x fem!reader
summary: it takes some coaxing to get you used to steve’s size ⊹ 659
warnings: smut mdni, the definition of porn without plot, fluffy, unprotected p in v, steve’s big 🤭
note: first steve fic and it's just smut buttt trust something fluffy and plot focused is in the works too!
· ─ ⋆⋅✶⋅⋆ ─ ·
“Steve, s’too big,” you whine, your nails biting half crescents into the back of his broad shoulders.
“Shh, you can take it, baby. Know you can,” he coos, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. His kisses trail down the side of your face, and he finally seals his lips over yours as he presses his hips forward. Slowly easing every inch of his thick cock into your tight, needy hole.
A flimsy little whimper slips past your lips, muffled by Steve’s mouth as his tongue slides against yours.
Steve has already made you cum twice on his fingers, crooking two of them deep inside you to prep you for a third. The third to prep you for his girth. It’s not enough. Never is.
He has you underneath him now, hips pressing yours into the soft sheets beneath your bare body. His large hands squeeze your thighs, holding you open for him as he buries his cock only halfway inside.
“Just relax f’me, baby,” he grunts, stilling his hips to allow you a moment to adjust. He needs it too. It’s almost too much, too good, the way your gummy walls clamp down on him, nearly milking him dry already.
Steve’s right hand releases the tight grip he has on your thigh, instead finding the space where your body meets his. His thumb presses against your swollen clit, rubbing slow circles against the sensitive bud that has you mewling for him.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, feeling your body relax beneath him.
“Steve,” your moan is music to his ears as his cock slides deeper, finally filling you completely. Even fully sheathed inside, his entire length doesn’t quite fit, but it feels like heaven regardless.
Steve can’t help the shallow roll of his hips, the slight shift causing him to push against your cervix. He’s almost too deep, the pleasure bordering on pain as his cock stretches you open.
His hands move to your hips, holding you firmly in place as he starts to move. Slowly pulling halfway out, then pushing back in again.
“You feel so good,” he pants, his voice a low rasp in your ear as he nips at the curve of your jaw.
Steve’s movements are measured and slow, he’d never want to push you too far. As much as he loves the idea of fucking you until your legs turn to jelly and your brain to mush, he can’t bear the thought that he could actually bring you pain. Which is why he always goes at your pace. Only when you’re begging him for more will he ever give in to his desires.
“Too much,” you whine despite the way your body pulls him in and your hands snake around his back, holding him close.
“Aw, but you’re taking me so well, baby,” he praises, smushing his face into your cheek, kissing you again like he can’t stop. “You feel perfect, always so perfect f’me.”
Your hands find a home in his hair. You’re the only one he ever lets touch it, and you’re the only one who knows how to tug at it in the way that drives him crazy.
His lips latch onto your neck, practically purring at the way your nails feel against his scalp. He sucks faint bruises into your skin between murmured sweet nothings and quiet professions of love.
Your breath shudders as he drags his cock out of you again, nudging that sweet spot just right as he slowly sinks back in, a content sigh leaving your lips as he does it.
“Steve,” his name falls from your lips in a soft huff. You wrap your legs around his hips, pressing your heels into his lower back to force him deeper. “Please. M-more.”
The corner of Steve’s lips quirk into a smile. “Yeah, baby. Anything you want.”
