Say it.
Anon requested a smutty drabble, anon gets a smutty drabble. A quick continuation of this little thing, though decidedly moreâŚdirty.
Say it.
Reylo, drabble, 800 words.
âSay it.â
He bites down hard, too hard, on her inner thigh and she cries out. An inelegant, unintelligible warble of sound. He swipes his tongue through her sex, through the hot and the wet, following that sharp pain with pleasure so close in nature that she makes the same sound again. No words, though a plea all the same. Her fingers trip over each other as she brutally clutches at his hair, nearly pulling the knuckles out of joint.
âN-no,â she pants, and he punishes her for it, latching hard onto that part of her that is so sensitive, so acutely tuned to nothing but reaction that she tries to twist away from the hard pressure of his mouth. He grips her with those hands so large that his thumbs can hook into the dip of her hipbones while his fingers nearly lace on her spine and holds her in place. He sucks on her again, hard and obscenely loud, and she can hear the lewd wet of his swallowing her arousal.
He releases her, finally, finally, and speaks against the oversensitive folds of flesh, his low voice vibrating against her, giving her little respite from feeling.
âSay it!â
 She twists beneath him again, fighting against those strong, damnable hands, and he roughly jerks her back into place beneath him.
âSay it or Iâll never let you come.â
She whines, a mewling keen that is so embarrassing that she is sure that she hates this man above her, so slick with how she wants him that she can see the sheen of it on his full lips.
âB-bastard.â
He chuckles and, stars, the dark sound somehow makes her wetter, makes her want even more. âYou have no idea, Rey.â
He yanks her down beneath him, so rough and quick that the hard scratch of his prison issued sheets burn her bare back. Heâs inside her in seconds, a full and deep stretch and her voice breaks on the next moan he wrenches from her.
And heâs still.
Sheâs strong, stronger than she has any right to be, but she canât make a move against his durasteel grip. She canât so much as rock her hips to gain the slightest ounce of friction, and sheâs so close.
âSay it. Say my name.â His voice is as hard as his body, as strong as his hands. And his eyes, they are darker than any of the atrocities with which heâs burdened the galaxy. âTell me who I am. Who is fucking you, Rey?â
Thereâs tears in her eyes and she blinks them away. Hating him in this moment, yet needing him so dearly. âRight now?â She swallows. Her voice is nearly gone. He wants his name on her lips, but he wasted her voice on all the other pains he inflicted. Now she has little more than a croak left. âKylo Ren.â
His eyes slide shut, reeling back into his head as he languidly rolls his neck. Basking, the ass, in the sound of her surrender to his demands. When he opens them again, when he looks down at her, his pleasure in this victory is a tactile thing between them. Such perverse pride in the dark naming of him. He releases a hand from her hip and digs the heel of it into the soft flesh just above her pubic bone.
When he rocks into her, the pressure of his hand combined with the weight of his desire has her climbing the summit to release more quickly than she thought she was capable.
Heâs surrendering to her, as well, giving her every ounce of the pleasure he held just beyond her reach. His eyes roam over her, taking in her movements, and he matches this. Rocking into her slower, more deeply. What she needs, what she wants.
âAnd now?â he whispers, sending a spark up her spine that has her arching into him.
âOh, Ben.â
He sighs, almost smiling, almost crying and continues to move within her just right, just exactly right. âAgain.â
âBen,â she says. She canât say it enough, now that she has. Itâs softer than her earlier cries of anguish, warmer. It hums in her throat and soothes the pain there. âStars, Ben.â
She shatters then, her tongue still pressing up into the end of his name and she hums the sound along the languid waves of her release. She is only vaguely aware of his own climax, a sharp staccato in the fuzzy haze rolling over her. âBen,â she whispers again, and it seems to make him come all over again.
He collapses on her, his grip on her making him seem all the more heavy. Heâs crying she realizes, and she thinks that tonight, just tonight, she might risk sleeping here with him.
Just to see if sheâll wake up to Ben in the morning.
Fin.













