summary: marcus certainly doesn’t mind leaning into your weird little world if it means being close to you.
pairing: marcus rashford x neurodivergent!gf
warnings: none, really, but if you wanna count specific biology as a squeamish warning then have at it. :)
a/n: hello beautiful people!! i will always love writing for rashy. he is such a joy to think and write about, and certainly boyfriend material. i hope you enjoy <3
IT WAS NEARLY 1:30am. marcus had come home from his away match not too long ago, his body aching with that familiar bone-deep exhaustion that only a gruelling ninety minutes on the pitch could bring.
normally, he’d go straight to bed. but he knew you’d still be up.
he walked down the hallway, his socked feet making no sound on the marble tile, and leaned against the kitchen doorframe.
there you were. sitting crisscrossed on the cold kitchen floor in one of his oversized t-shirts you decided to steal from his closet, completely lost in your own world.
spread out around you were three open books on deep sea marine biology, a laptop glowing with a research paper on bioluminescence, and a small plate containing a bizarre concoction.. sliced apples dipped in hot sauce and peanut butter.
marcus stayed quiet for a moment, just watching you. his dark eyes softened, a tiny, amused smile tugging at the corner of his lips. he shook his head slowly. fucking weird, he thought to himself - not for the first time, but with a warmth in his chest that completely caught him off guard.
“you know there’s a dining room table, yeah?”
his voice was low, deep, and thick with that all too well known smooth, quiet manchester cadence. it carried that gentle, relaxed drawl that always made the room feel a little warmer.
you flinched slightly. not because you were scared, but because you’d been so hyperfocused you’d practically forgotten the rest of the universe existed. you looked up, your eyes wide behind your messy curls.
"the floor has better grounding," you said flatly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "the table has too much wood density. it feels heavy."
marcus let out a soft huff of laughter, rubbing the back of his neck as he walked over to the fridge. "wood density. right. silly me, innit?"
he grabbed a bottle of water, twisted the cap off, and took a slow drink before turning back to look at you. he didn't tell you to get up. he didn't act like you were crazy. instead, marcus folded his long, athletic frame down onto the floor right across from you, resting his wrists on his knees.
he leaned forward, looking down at your little snack plate with a raised eyebrow.
"what's all this then?" he asked softly, gesturing with his thumb toward the plate. "you're gonna ruin your stomach with that, man. serious." he quipped.
"it's sensory calibration," you explained, your tone completely serious as you nudged the plate toward him. "the hot sauce triggers endomorphins, the peanut butter provides fat for protein absorption, and the apple is crunch. it balances the central nervous system." you explain as if it was common knowledge.
marcus stared at the apple slice, then looked at you. his eyes danced with amusement, a genuine, wide smile spreading across his face, showing off his teeth.
"endomorphins, yeah?" he teased softly, his voice dropping into that quiet, husky voice. "you just make these words up to sound clever, don't you? endorphins, mate. endorphins." he chuckled.
"endorphins," you corrected yourself without a hint of shame, waving a hand dismissively. "same thing. try it."
"i am not eating hot sauce and peanut butter at one in the morning," he chuckled, leaning back against the base of the lower cupboards. "i've got training at ten. boss'd kill me if i turned up with an upset gut because my girl's doing food experiments on the floor."
my girl. the casual way he said it always made a strange, pleasant buzz hum through your chest.
marcus settled in, resting his head back against the cupboard door. he looked exhausted - the faint dark circles under his eyes spoke to the high intensity week he'd had, the pressure of the media, the fans, the constant demand to perform at the highest level.. but sitting here on the kitchen floor with you, all of that armour melted away.
"how was the match?" you asked, leaning your chin on your knee.
marcus let out a quiet sigh, looking at his hands. "tough, you know? they sat deep, made it right difficult for us to find space in behind. had to work for it. got the three points in the end, though. that's all that matters, really." he paused, looking over at you, his gaze gentle. "what were you up to all day? just.. reading about fish?"
"bioluminescent anglerfish," you corrected, immediately shifting into high gear. your posture straightened, your eyes lighting up with that intense, unblinking focus that marcus found equal parts terrifying and fascinating.
"did you know that when the male anglerfish finds a female, he doesn't just mate with her? he physically bites into her skin and releases an enzyme that dissolves his own mouth and body until his vascular system fuses with hers. he literally becomes a permanent parasite attached to her body so he never has to be alone in the pitch black of the deep ocean."
silence filled the kitchen.
marcus just stared at you. his mouth opened slightly, then closed. he blinked once. twice.
"..that's dark, you know," he said finally, a quiet, disbelieving laugh slipping out of his chest. "like... proper weird, man. why are you reading that before bed, love?"
"because it's poetic," you insisted, leaning closer. "it's complete devotion. total physical integration.”
"it's creepy," marcus countered softly, though the corner of his lip was twitching up again. he reached out, his big, warm hand reaching across the space between you to gently tap the tip of your nose. "you're a proper weirdo. absolutely mental."
"you love it."
"do i?" he murmured, his tone shifting into something impossibly tender. he reached out further, grabbing your wrist softly and pulling you closer across the floor. "come ‘ere."
you scrambled forward, crawling into his space. marcus opened his arms and pulled you up into his lap, wrapping his long arms around you securely. he buried his face into the crook of your neck, taking a deep, heavy breath of your familiar scent— vanilla and warm cotton. you felt the deep rumble of his chest as he relaxed completely against you, all the physical tension from ninety minutes of elite football finally draining out of his muscles.
"you're warm." he mumbled against your skin, his voice muffled.
"you're cold," you retorted, running your fingers through his short, dark curls. "you need to regulate your body temperature, rashy.”
marcus gave a quiet, breathy laugh against your neck. "always gotta have a reason for everything, don't you? can't just be 'cause i want to hold you?"
"that's a psychological reason," you pointed out softly. "oxytocin release."
marcus lifted his head slightly, looking down into your face. up close, his dark eyes were incredibly gentle, carrying that quiet, humble warmth that made him who he was. he looked at you like you were the most interesting, complex puzzle he'd ever been given to solve. someone completely untouched by the fame, the money, or the noise of his world. you were just you. unfiltered, blunt, chaotic, and entirely his.
"you talk too much." he whispered affectionately, though his eyes were full of devotion.
"you asked me about the fish."
"and you gave me a horror story." he teased, his thumb gently smoothing over your cheekbone.
"next time, just tell me they glow in the dark, yeah? keep it simple for me.
"i don't do simple."
"nah," marcus murmured, his soft lips brushing against yours in a slow, lingering kiss that tasted like mint and pure bliss. "i know you don't. wouldn't want you to, either."
he pulled back just an inch, resting his forehead against yours. his hands rested securely on your waist, anchoring you to him.
"come to bed now, yeah?" he murmured softly, his accent rich and soothing in the quiet of the night. "leave the glowing fish for tomorrow. i'm dead beat, and i need my girl with me."
you looked at the books spread across the floor, then back at marcus - his heavy eyelids, his gentle smile, the quiet, safe space he always built around you no matter how loud the rest of the world got.
"fine," you whispered. "but tomorrow i'm telling you about vampire squids."
marcus let out a low, rumbling laugh, shaking his head as he helped you stand up, keeping his arm wrapped tightly around your waist.
“can’t wait, love.” he smiled, pulling you close against his side as you both walked toward the stairs.
just a lil nibble — england national team summary: your man’s biceps look quite tasty. pairings: england nt (john stones, jude bellingham, jordan pickford, & elliot anderson) x reader warnings: fluff + hints of consensual activities mentioned!! a/n: thank u for the req xx <3 this was so fun I wanna bite pickfords biceps so bad 🤤
JORDAN PICKFORD
you watch him from where you’re seated on the plush couch. he lifts the heavy boxes with such ease it was killing you. inner thighs were burning with how hard you were squishing them together to avoid heat spreading.
his large biceps flex with the heavy weight of the boxes close to his chest. he doesn’t even sound out of breath or strained by the weight.
“I think that’s the last of it.” he grunts, shoving the final box onto the kitchen counter. he turns to where you’re sat, your eyes were glued on his tatted arm, practically drooling.
“see something you like?” he says with a smile, his ego reveling in your stare. he purposefully flexes the muscles for a quick moment, just watching your eyes haze over in awe.
he moves across the room to the back of the couch. reaching over the back, he presses his hands under your armpits and lifts you onto the edge of the back of the couch.
he brushes your hair off your shoulder, and knees your thighs open. his lips faintly kiss the crook of your neck. without a moment of thought, and in the rush of endorphins, his left tatted bicep was right in front of your face. you sink your teeth into the muscle that was contracted balancing you on the edge of the back of the couch.
“what was that for?” he asks pulling away with a breathy chuckle into your neck.
“just wanted a taste.”
JUDE BELLINGHAM
“yep, just like that.” he stands behind you, hands hovering under the weighted bar while you squat.
“so good, yes!” he praises, following your squat down and up. he notices when the weight becomes too much, and takes the bar off your shoulders releasing the pressure.
sighing in relief, you turn around to face him. jude held the weight out in front him, curling his forearms up to his biceps with ease as the bar was way too light for him.
“show off,” you scoff, but keep your eyes glued on his muscles contracting and expanding. this gym day was about you building muscle and getting into a gym routine, but jude had to go and steal the show.
“are you done, yet?” you meant for the delivery to come out annoyed, but the words were opposite of what your intention was. the words came out breathy and dreamy like. he had a hard time believing you wanted him to stop.
“you’re staring.” he chuckles. taking the bar, he places it back onto the rack and moves around the equipment to the next. before he could get any further, you gripped your fingers around his forearm which forced his bicep muscles to flare as he tried to tug away from you.
“wow,” you sigh, index finger tracing the bumps of muscle, and before he could even blink or respond, your teeth were dug deep into the skin of his muscles.
“fuck was that for?”
smiling sheepishly up at him you say, “just looked so good.”
JOHN STONES
he stands at the kitchen island, laptop placed in front of him, palms on either side of it. he nods attentively listening to the information from his agents and coaches.
entering the kitchen for a snack—after promising to stay out of the meeting—you duck down to the floor and crawl on all fours towards the snack cabinet. as you’re crawling, you pass john—as that was the only way towards the cabinet—and lightly pinch his ass.
jumping at the pinch of his skin he nearly bumps his laptop off the island and has to reach to save the device from breaking.
“John are you okay?” you hear his agent ask over the speaker.
“yeah sorry, must’ve been a spider.” he blushes and takes an opportunity to look down at you with a growl and mouths for you to move along.
but how could you resist his beautiful ass? it was right there taunting to you.
you watch him for a moment before moving along to your mission of the cabinet. finally to the destination, you pulled open the creaky drawer, slowly. you attempt to dig into the shelves blind, but your hand couldn’t find what you were looking for. by now, John was irritated and kept eyeing you every so often from his computer. finally, you found the jackpot of crisps you were looking for and crawled back around the island, ignoring his juicy ass, but lunging upward towards his bicep.
“what the fuck!” he jumps out of his skin at the sudden pain in his bicep. looking down at where the tugging pinch came from, he saw a sunken teeth marking. he wasn’t entirely sure how you moved so quickly for him to not notice, but he sure as shit felt it.
slamming the laptop shut with force, he marched toward the living room where you sat giggling to yourself.
“did you just bite me?”
“maybe.”
ELLIOT ANDERSON
sopping wet from the chlorine pool, he stands at the ledge tossing your nieces and nephews into the water.
over and over again he lifts them into the air like a bag of feathers and they collide with the water with a hard splash.
while it was impossible to stop smiling at the adorable sights and sounds of their excitement, your eyes were trained on his strong arms.
the muscles contracted with each time he lifted a kid and boy was it hot. even hotter with him shirtless, letting his pale skin soak in the sun.
“alright, let me catch a breath!” Elliot calls out to the kids in the pool and jogs over to where you’re laid out on the chair.
he reaches over your body, cool droplets of water dripping into your lap, as he reaches for your water bottle.
you run your hands down his arms causing him to pause. hovering over you, he bends down to press a kiss to your temple, but you’re sitting up right out of the chair and pressing a kiss to the muscles of his biceps.
“made me miss.” he spats out your hair that he accidentally got stuck on his lips. he looks down at you, though he can’t see your face, your lips were glued to the bicep.
you move your lips up his arms and stop at a mountain of muscle and sink your teeth into the tan skin. it was a gentle tug of your teeth, just a nice little nibble that he didn’t notice until he pulled away.
“you bite me?” he asks looking down at his bicep and back up at you.
hi!! I got a req for sub!ant I just don’t know how yall want this done (as I’m not a strong sub!(insert man) writer) so if you could give me some specifics I can try my best xx
first time high — erling haaland summary: it’s your first time and erling is a gentle giant. pairings: erling haaland x virgin!fem!reader warnings: fluff + consensual activities mentioned!! a/n: thank u for the req xx <3 took a lil break from writing/posting about our friendly Viking giant but im back!!
sprawled out on the bed beside your boyfriend, you’re both mindlessly scrolling on your devices. after weeks of being away traveling for football, erling was beyond pleased to have a night off with no commitments to sponsor meetings or trainings.
taking a glance over at him, you watch him for a couple of seconds. he’d been scrolling through his Instagram, occasionally chuckling at videos he’d been tagged in by fans, or finally answering his dms that you filled with reels.
his legs were sprawled wide, the top sheet covered just up to his calves. occasionally, one hand would slip and readjust his shorts lower down his thick thighs. you didn’t have to look hard or even long to know he was big. just his height and his body were enough to keep a woman’s mind occupied with imagination.
most nights, alone, lately you’d found yourself thinking of him. having spent many hours now watching him play football, you watched the baby blue or white shorts ride up him. the white shorts were probably your favorite and were often what left you hot and bothered. there was no need to imagine what was under those white shorts when it was right in front of you for 90 plus minutes.
you’d never felt these types of feelings for any man. ever. not really until erling. you’d never explored further than the imagination and they always seemed to die down, but being up close to to the man who occupied your wild thoughts, your needs seemed to amplify.
erling never pressured you. he knew you’d never gone further than a few hickeys and kisses down your body, so he took your pace. he never seemed upset when you’d stop him from going further, but you always felt awful when he had to run a cold shower.
tossing your phone onto the night stand, you crawled yourself closer to him, practically seated on one thigh.
“hi, baby.” he said looking up from his phone, and tossing it amongst the mess of the sheets. he wrapped his arms around your waist and under your shirt, his hands roaming across your skin.
“I’ve been thinking,” you started, feeling heat prickle across skin. he raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t interject, just lets you get the words out, “what if we did it?”
for a split second his eyes widened. worrying his bottom lip, he thought for a moment, “are you sure?” he asked, anxiety bubbling through him. he didn’t want to mess this up for you, he knew how important your first time was to you, and that you’d been waiting to put your trust in the right man. he was certainly honored you trusted him.
“I am.” you nod. unable to look him directly in the eyes, you focused on the muscular thigh below you. the very ones you’ve been itching to claw and climb. you’d wanted this for awhile now, and there was no better time than now.
grabbing a hold of your chin, he forces you to meet his eyes, “y/n, this is serious. you really want this?”
you nod, words stuck in your throat. carefully, he moved you off of him and laid you down onto the bed, “you can tell me when to stop, and I will.”
nodding, you watch him rise up off the bed and enter his bathroom. he came back shortly with a towel and a condom, “you really want this?”
“erling, I’ve wanted you for the past month now.” you say, finally finding your words. crawling up onto your knees, you move to where he’s stood at the end of the bed, and tug on the hem of his shirt, “take this off.” you demand.
obeying, he removed his shirt revealing the hard years work of football and training to you. it was more than a six pack, and it was even more defined than what you’d seen on television.
practically drooling at the sight of your boyfriend, you hardly notice that erling had removed his shorts, the only thing left before his cock was free was his boxers. you could see how hard he was against the black fabric, you could see just how large he was.
“shirt on or off?” he asked, his hands tugging on your shirt now, you didn’t have much care for the fabric and let erling rip it off you.
“god I’ve dreamt of these.” he mumbles, his index finger tracing the bra line that held your breasts together, and tight. you found the clasp and let them free.
shaking his head in disbelief of how perfect you were, this wasn’t about him. he would have plenty of more times to explore your body, but tonight wasn’t his night for that. it was about you.
laying you down like he did before, he climbed up onto the bed. you watched him with wide eyes. he moved closer, carefully lifting your hips up, he shimmied down your pants and panties in one swift motion.
“you have to tell me if it hurts, okay?” he says, trying to find any worry or discomfort in your eyes, but all he found was lust. you, staring at him with desire and need did things to him that wanted him to think with his cock rather than his brain.
you watched him take out the condom, you eagerly wanted to reach out and pull down his boxers, but you weren’t sure he’d want you taking control. you knew how much erling loved being in charge on the pitch, you were sure things were the same in the bedroom.
pulling down his boxers, his cock stared you down with intimidation. he was much larger than you thought. the little white football shorts didn’t even seem to show half of him to the world. he was huge, and you were now sure he wouldn’t fit.
“relax,” erling said, drawing your attention back to him. he moved closer, his body hovering over yours, “it’ll be just the tip.”
nodding, you jut your hips upward, your pussy pressing against his cock earned a moan from him. smiling in satisfaction, you felt his hands grip your hips with force.
he began to pepper your neck with wet sloppy kisses, that began to leave you breathless. you’d done this a dozen times with him, but tonight it all felt different. he took his time sucking your skin, he could feel your heart racing in sync with his of anticipation and excitement.
slowly, you could feel him inching his way in. he took it at a snails pace that was agonizing. he pulled away from your neck, and watched for any signs of discomfort.
you were tight, and certainly stiff at the pain of him in you, “you’re doing so good.” he whispered.
you spread your legs a bit more open, you weren’t sure his tip would fit. there was pain, but it all dissipated when he began to slowly start a rhythm.
“does it feel okay?” he asked, but you could barely form an answer with your legs shaking trying to hold you up, and your body vibrating with pleasure.
smiling to himself, he watched your face soften, your eyes, slightly lidded, open up a bit and nod, “feels good. maybe more?”
“more?” he asks, you grunted back a yes and were nodding vigorously, “please.” you beg sweetly.
slowly, again, he inches in. he was just now past the tip and still not all the way in. continuing, to grind his hips against yours, he watched you grow more comfortable with him in you. he’d only go further if you asked, and he’d easily pull out of it all became too much.
you probably begged for more, more times than he could count. you were taking him well, and he’d not even got the chance to let you feel the pleasure of him rubbing your clit.
“it’s all in.” he said, taking one hand off your hip, he cupped your cheek, “you did so good.”
pleasure was at an all time high for you. your brain wasn’t even forming any words, just grunts and moans were all you could muster. he took a mental picture of you, wanting to remember the moment of your sweet pussy wrapped around his cock for the first time.
you couldn’t get the words to come out, you just felt the pleasure finally releasing from your body. all those hormones that were pent up for months got what they needed.
pulling out, erling quickly grabbed the towel from the night stand and instantly began to clean you up.
“I made a mess.” you said, slightly embarrassed.
“no you didn’t.” he scoffed, throwing the condom and the towel into a pile that he would pick up later, but for now just wanted to be close to you.
“you were perfect.” he said, climbing into bed next to you, wrapping his body around yours.
“you’re bigger than I expected.” you chuckled nervously, hoping that you didn’t offend him.
“biggest one you’ve seen?”
“well the only one I’ve seen, though I guess I’m not opposed to seeing ruben dias—“
masterlist | world cup party | make a request here
summary: there's nothing quite like riling your boyfriend up just before he has to leave for work.
warnings: smut. sex. unprotected sex. rough sex. spitting. sex on the kitchen counter.
A low, gravelly laugh rumbled through Jordan's chest, almost in disbelief, as he came to an abrupt stop in the doorway to the kitchen. He threw his head back, stubble-lined chin tipped up, as his eyes closed. He let out deep huff of air and pinched the bridge of his nose out of sheer frustration. "You're having my fucking life, woman," he grunted.
A beat passed and he finally re-opened his eyes. There you were — perched on the dark wood of the butchers block counter top wearing the black, lace thong from the set that he loved so much, and a cropped baby t-shirt that accentuated the perfectly rounded peaks of your breasts. Your taut nipples pressed against the soft cotton, making their presence known.
Jordan sucked in an anchoring breathing; he breathed in deep through his nose and steadily out of his mouth, trying to stop the inevitable.
Your back arched as your fingers curled around the very edge of the counter top, your head tilting ever so subtly to the side. An innocent glint occupied your eyes as you peered over at him. Jordan, however, could see through the facade; he knew your game. You'd been trying to get him back into bed all morning, and this was just another one of your very persausive tactics.
"Just wanted to see if you wanted any breakfast," you drawled, voice whist and low. The corners of your lips curled upwards slightly, your eyes setting on his, as you crossed one bare leg over the other.
"No—" he huffed out a breath of air as he ran his fingers through his ungelled hair, "—you just wanted to be a pain in the arse."
The faintest hint of a smirk twisted your features as you let out a breathy laugh. You peered upwards at your boyfriend of three years through thick, dark lashes. Your lips pouted softly, almost playfully, as you leaned your body forwards — into his.
After a beat passed, you held out your hands — reaching for him. "Come here," you coaxed him closer, your fingers finding the pocket of his England training hoodie. You tugged gently on the fabric, barely exherting any effort at all, as his feet carried him towards you with a natural instinct.
He let out another huff of air in protest, but he didn't show any signs of resistance. His face nuzzled into the crook of your neck, the tip of his nose grazing the long line of your neck, as he basked in your scent. He breathed in, recognising the familiar orange blossom. "You—" his pearly teeth nip at the soft skin, "—woman, are gonna make me fucking late for training."
"You've got five minutes," you countered, an edge to your tone. Your dainty hand slid along his abdomen, slow and steady, before slipping down to his crotch. The warmth of your daring palm brushed over his cock, rubbing it gently through his training sweatpants.
Jordan's brow furrowed deep as he tilted his head to look at you. An unimpressed glare adorned his features, and two prominent creases folded across his forehead. "What you trying to say?" he narowed his blue-grey eyes at you, tipping his stubble-lined chin at you. He knew what you were implying, and he couldn't help feel the bruise to his ego.
A salacious giggled rippled through your chest as a mischievous glint light up your eyes. You had him right where you wanted him. "Nothing," you responded, innocence laced within your tone.
"That's what I thought."
Your fingers coiled gently around the base of his cock, stroking it with such an attentiveness to your movements. You caressed his length all the way down to the tip — your thumb brushing itself over the head. Everything about your movements were slow, steady and calculated. You knew exactly what you were doing; revving him up like a classic car engine, watching him purr and waiting for him to reach that biting point. Applying just enough pressure to send little pulses of dopamine surging through his body.
With a deep, wanting breath, Jordan tipped his head back. He rolled his head around his neck, his eyes falling gently closed, as a low moan rumbled in the back of his throat. He was sensitive; every sensual stroke of his slowly hardening cock sent him dizzy with need. "Fuck," a crude groan slipped from between his parted lips. He shook his head slowly in one frustrated gesture. "I'm gonna get you back for this."
Another sultry laugh escaped your lips. "I bet," you quipped back, voice full of taunting. Then, you gave his length a gentle, but maddening squeeze. A deep, gutteral moan clawed it's way out from the very back of his throat, and echoed around the pristine kitchen.
Jordan let out yet another huff of air. "Get them fucking knickers off," he tells you, shifting his tall and broad stature to cage you in. His hands found the butchers block counter top either side of your hips, his muscular chest leaning in towards your body. His warm, minty breath fanned against the crook of your neck — lips grazing the sensitive skin. "Now."
You let out a downright dirty laugh. You loved when he took control. More importantly, you loved when you got what you wanted out of him.
"You're fucking maddening you are, woman."
You pulled your hand from his sweatpants with a reluctance, and moved to slide your black, lacy thong down your thighs. He sucked in a sharp breath at the sudden lack of contact — feeling a ravenous ache pulse through his dick. God, he was so fucking turned on right now. You did this to him; you turned the usual unflappable, calm and collected man into a downright fucking mess — desperate for a slither of your touch, and the shot of euphoria you injected him with when his skin met yours.
The sound of your panties hitting the cream tiles of the kitchen floor echoed throughout the room, as his rough hands found the soft flesh of your thighs. His fingers grazed downwards until they reached the backs of your knees — the gesture vulgar and claiming, all rolled into one. The ink-filled muscles of his arms tensed as he pulled your frame forwards, positioning you on the very edge of the counter.
Your mist-filled eyes watched him with a careful gaze, as he brought a hand up to his mouth and spat on his ring-clad fingers. His killful hips nudged your thighs apart effortlessly, your pulsing body absent of any kind of fight. He slotted between your soft thighs, his hand slipping between your thrumming bodies. He slathered your aching pussy with his spit — dragging his fingers along your sensitive folds before making sure your entrance was sufficiently wet.
With a swift movement, he pushed his training sweatpants out of the way and pushed himself inside of you. A low, carnal groan spilled from between his thin lips as he oushed himself deeper — one hand gripping your thigh with as much strength as he could, his fingertips leaving half-moon prints in the soft flesh. He soon found his rhythm, steady but with a quick tempo. "Start that fucking timer—" he grunted lowly, pushing your thigh upwards over his hip, "—I'll give you fucking five minutes."
Jordan thrust into you harder, his searing palm stretching out your thigh with each rock of his hips. Your hamstring burned as he pushed your knee up further — seeking out a deeper angle. Your painted toes curled with delight, digging into his side, as your back arched. Your hips pushed forward with an involuntary motion, desperate for more friction. Your head tipped back, your lips parted, as a melody of sultry moans and whines filled the room and your messy hair fell down your spine.
His pace quickened as the thrusts got sloppier. The wet sounds of his cock sliding in and out of your throbbing pussy repeated around the room, punctuating the unholy sounds that were spewing uncontrollably from your mouth. He pounded into you hard and unforgiving, and hit that sweet spot that sent a rush of adrenaline coursing through you.
"Oh my God—" you gasped with a sharp intake of breath. "Oh my God—" you squeezed your eyes shut tight. "Oh my fucking God—" you let out a high-pitched whine as your thighs vibrated around his robust figure, your cunt pulsing around him. With a final, lust-filled whine, you reached your climax.
Jordan continued at his current pace — rough, sloppy and pushing deep. He bottomed out, tip slamming against your cervix, as your walls squeezed him. "Fuck," he grumbled, teetering on the edge. With a shaky breath, he thrust one final time, before spilling his load inside you without even so much as making an effort to pull out of you. He was completely, unabashedly unashamed. He knew you weren't on any contraceptives — but, in that moment, he didn't give a single damn.
With a heavy breath, you rest your forehead against his shoulder — the sturdy muscle a welcomed support. "You could have pulled out," you mumble into his body, his fresh aftershave now tarnished with sweat and musk. There was no heat to your words; you'd been in this situation many a time before.
He let out an amused huff, shaking head head before nipping at your earlobe with his teeth. "The fuck you mean pull out after the stunt you just pulled?"
You laugh breathily in response, the bones of a smirk twisting your features upwards. "I don't know what you mean." Now you were just plain taunting him.
gummygunk
2087
turnnoffyourmind
romaincrisis
