simon riley is too lazy to change up and take a shower first thing after coming back home from being deployed, not with his head clogged only by thoughts of you, his sweet darling, waiting for him all nice and welcoming in the house, maybe even cooking some meal, knowing he's always hungry when he's back.
but this hunger affects only you, he doesn't needs a warm meal, a long bath, the only thing simon desires after being away from you for so long is sink into your pussy, listen to your breathy keens as he fills you full of his engorged, leaking cock, not even getting rid of his gear, only unzipping his cargos to carve in your waiting, soppy hole.
heavy, coarse balls plapping wet against your puffy, soaked folds, your pussy stretched wide around his spasming, ramming cock, legs dangling uselessly against his shoulders as simon's geared body traps you against the sheets, pressing in with the heaviness and pungent smell of him, grime, sweat, piercing your nose as his fat tip abuses your spongy spot, prodding and slamming when he hears your small, raspy mewls.
you gaze right at him with your glassy, wet eyes, gathering tears that blear the sight of his own, lidded and heavy, opaque in their darkness, the corroding hunger that is punctured by simon's every short, deep thrust, and it's feels like he's only sinking more deep, filling you so full your tummy tenses, twisting at the feeling of something building, pressing, wet cunt clenching down with a loud groan from him.
simon bumps his face against your palm that raises up weak and trembling, holds it steady with his squeezing, gloved hand, dotting wet kisses across your skin, his lips chapped, rough, and it's all him, as he humps your squelchy, slick soaked hole with erratic, needy pounds of his hips, fabric of his pants scraping uncomfortably against your tender, naked body, as he grinds into you, huffing.
slurs how sweet you're being for him, taking him so well, and your legs are numb, shaking against his shoulders in time of his thrusts, his cock following the rhythm of your pulsing, gooey walls, clamping down and gushing, sobbing a crying, pitchy moan as simon almost roars, body weighing onto you, as you feel his thick cum spurt against your cervix.
.。o○ [ simon riley and the inappropriate request ]
pardon my sense of humor...
MDNI 18+
cw: mention(?) of oral sex (m receiving), lots of cursing, simon had enough with reader
part two.
—
"You're what?"
Simon turned to you with wide eyes, shocked with whatever you just said to him. While you're there, blinking up at him cutely as if you didn't just blow his mind with your request. He turned to face you properly now, forgetting the dirty dishes he washed.
"What did you just ask me?"
"I want to suck your dick." There you said it, with your fingers taunt together and Simon's jaw dropped. Shock, obviously. You're asking for it like it was candy. Your unawareness is going to be his grave.
He shook his head immediately before leaving. "Fuck off." You're just his nosy roommate who knows how to take care of yourself well, but that's it—nothing more.
"Wait! Simon, come on!"
"It's nothing to be come on about," he said with a rough voice, now trying to get away from you. Sometimes you'd be asking freaky things like this, but he prefers to wear your press-on nails rather than whatever this is. "You don't even know what you're asking."
You are still following him from behind, your expression already disagreeing with whatever answer he'll come up with. "Don't underestimate me, I've done my research."
Simon sighed even harder, then abruptly turned to face you, his eyes sharp as if he'd eat you at any moment. Not... in that way, obviously. His eyes shot to your lips for a moment, examining, measuring—then, "It won't even fit in that nosy mouth of yours."
Your mouth parted in disbelief at what he just said. "No way it's that big! Don't brag yourself too much."
He doesn't even defend himself, crossing his arms over his chest while looking down at you. A challenging look, obviously, because he knows. He had experienced it before, and he knows exactly what you will face later. If he agreed, somehow. And of course, that stern look of his made you doubt a little.
"Ah," you replied quietly, "it's that big, huh?"
Simon doesn't even need to answer as he shook his head and turned away.
"But come on, look, maybe I underestimated you—but it's not like I can't take you," you explained, shifting closer to him, not allowing him to turn his back on you. "You're not a dragon, right? You're a human, and that means it'll fit in my human mouth—"
Simon has definitely had enough with this, he definitely needs to shut your mouth. So, that's how you get on your knees, him on the couch, his dick already standing proud before you. Your eyes locked with it, the way it doesn't... looks exactly like what you're thinking.
Then, you looked up at him, Simon who's still wearing his mask since this morning, so you wouldn't know he was blushing like crazy. Because why in hell are you staring at his dick like it was some historical artifact at a museum.
"Can I touch it?"
"What?" Simon's eyes gazed down at you, and you felt shivers down your spine as if he'd about to pounce on you. "Thought you've done your research?"
"Well..." You murmur, looking at his dick before up at him, his eyes—specifically, because there's nothing else to see. "It says that every man has their own preferences while it could be similar, but there's something that I need to know in advance—"
Simon sighed harder, again, effectively stopping you from talking. Should he really just shove his dick down your throat? That would work, right? Right? You'll shut up, won't you?
Then, you poked his dick, your eyes blinking up at him, as if seeking approval. "Like that?"
Oh, dear. Just kill him already.
Simon reached down, wrapping his entire fingers around his dick to show you how it's done. Then, like you just discovered something very valuable, your eyes widened and your mouth opened wide, shaping O as you finally knew how it's done. And that's how Simon realized it's just insane—until you get your fingers around his shaft, up close to his cockhead.
He tensed up, his cock twitched in your hand, and you noticed it. "Oh, it's moving," you said, as if you were studying him, "why is it moving?"
Another sigh, as the arousal he felt earlier suddenly just gone. "If I slap your pussy, wouldn't you move?"
You stopped, actually thinking about what he said. Then, that little "Ah," escaped your lips again as you nodded in understanding. Why does he has to had this conversation with you? Why? This is insane.
But, then, right as Simon was about to tell you to stroke him—you did. After Simon moved his hand away, you began stroking him, a gentle stroke that made him move a bit. When he watched your face moving closer to his cock, he was anticipating anything but you spitting on his dick. That was unexpected, but as you started to use it to stroke him, his breath hitched.
There's no more talking between the two of you, with Simon holding back his noises, trying to just let you experiment on him. You continued, now lapping his tip with your tongue, causing him to twitch again, his eyes starting to flutter close, his breathing becoming heavy with restraint. Even if you're not skilled, it's still his dick you're touching and there's just no way he won't get affected.
But when he felt your mouth around his dick, everything became blurry. Simon winced, looking down at you with heavy breathing. Wait—oh fuck, bad idea—you looked so fucking pretty down there. With your lips around his cockhead, and the feeling of you sucking him with hesitation—
he did not raise his voice, save for those business calls that invariably left him rubbing his temples in sheer frustration, he had never raised a hand at you, not even when you tried to push away as he cornered you against the kitchen table, body pinned as your fingers gripped the spatula you had been using to stir the dinner
hand sliding beneath your undies, fingers, weathered from work, kneading into your skin as they crept to cup your cunt, only to find you dry “’m so tired, baby, just let me” he croons low, pressing heavy, sloppy kisses just beneath your ear, your hands flailing uselessly, eyes fixated on the bubbling pasta sauce.
he lay in a closed coffin, the surrounding cries and whispers reduced to the mere midge buzz in your ears, the dress feeling too tight, squeezing your shoulders, while every sympathetic pat on your spine brought a new suffocating wave, each more stifling than the last, a few tears forcing their way out your careworn eyes, leaving a bitter burn in your throat
one by one, the mourners began to drift away, family members, long not seen friends, women whose faces you didn’t recognize, among them simon, a man who had known your husband from the army, appearing with a visit perhaps once a year, if at all, blonde eyelashes fluttering upward as his gaze found yours from across, umber eyes barely blinking
taking in your mourning attire with a subtle tilt to his head, his balaclava exchanged for a simple cloth mask that now dangled from his ear, thin, nicked lips clamped around a burning cigarette, none recognized him, none could be seen pleased by his unsettling presence, imposing and broad shouldered, heavy combat boots caked in grime, rugged scars with mute signals that broadcast danger.
simon had helped you into his truck to take you home, thoroughly exhausted, drained from the endless questions, the lingering wailing noise, and the looming weight of the paperwork waiting to find its way to you, his palm steady and warm against your back
thick fingers surprisingly deft as he reached over to buckle your seat belt, driving off abruptly the moment your mother in law approached, poised to ask what you planned to do with your late husband's belongings, a man of little patience, and he knew you had endured more than enough today
intent to have your thoughts away from the tragedy, and doing so flawlessly, your tight dress ripped in jagged line at it's hem, panties tucked aside to let him grind into your sopping wet cunt, fluttering restlessly around the gorged girth that stretches your tight hole out, his fingertips as calloused as your husband’s, but much more attentive
counting your ribs with slow wonder, trapping your swollen clit under rough circles, you're dripping all over your trembling thighs and his pants, his cock carving it's place within you, the bite undisguised, voice a husky drawl “he wasn't' even worth a nail from yauh littl' finger” against your tender skin, where he pressed demanding kisses, crooked nose nuzzling into your sternum.
Telling Ghost/König you are too heavy for him to pick up or sit on his face, and he doesn’t say anything at first so you think he just accepted it even if your heart kinda twinged a little in pain because you know you are just not skinny enough-
Only for him to send you a video the next day: in the gym, looking mighty hot in a compression shirt and sweatpants just a touch low on his hips, and lifting a bar with ease. On a closer look? The weighs attached to the bar weigh far more than you do. And he so easily maneuvers and controls and manhandles it…
Between the heat curling in your stomach, face pink and thighs clenched shut, you almost miss the incoming text.
thinking about your older bf!simon that cannot cope with being far from you.
when you’re in the shower, he’s sat on the lid of the toilet on his phone (watching those rug cleaning videos) enjoying your faint singing under the stream of water, the smell of your body wash on the cloud of steam- ready to pass you a towel or get your back.
when you’re at your desk, working from home or studying, he’s just on the other side of it reading the paper with one outstretched leg tangled with both of yours. he’s dead quiet when you’re on a call, just happy to be around.
when you’re doing laundry, collecting the clothes in the hamper and crouching to stuff them into the washer- turning around and accidentally colliding with a thick wall of muscle.
“sorry, love”
he steps aside but you can hear his soft footfalls as he continues to follow you throughout your home.
when you’re both watching something on the couch, what starts as his pinky locked with yours turns into his arm around your waist. that turns into your head on his chest, which culminates with you falling asleep in his lap with his cheek on your head and soft snores emanating from his lips.
when you grocery shop, you push the trolley but his chest is to your back, arms either side of you and hands clasped over yours on the handle. you can thank his military training for his uncanny ability to tell exactly when you’ll stop walking.
when he wakes up in the middle of the night, on a rare occasion when you’ve managed to slip out of bed without him realising, he’s immediately in a panic calling your name.
“in here, my love”
as soon as his heart settles, he realises the bathroom light was probably a dead giveaway. you’re taking a wee, you’ll be back in a minute.
that doesn’t stop a sleepy simon from leaning in the doorframe, shielding his eyes from the big light as he waits for you to finish up.
even on the short walk back to bed, you can feel fingers twisted in the back of your shirt- almost like you’re leading the way.
minute you’re both on the mattress, you’re being wrapped up in his arms, slotting you perfectly into the curve of his front- almost like you’re made for him.
“i have tattoos older than you swee’heart” simon riley x reader
mentions of: vaginal sex, age gap (legal)
simon’s arms were inked with tattoos, black intricate designs that have been there for years. though he didn’t expect to have a sweet thing like you approach him at the local dive bar. after all, he was hidden in the corner where you could barely see him in the shadows, with dark ink swirling around his arms and hidden under his tight shirt that was enough to scare anyone away. rough scars on his hands and arms, those on his chest concealed by the black shirt that hugged every edge of muscles. “cool tattoos,” you whispered lowly as you traced the ones on his arms, watching his muscles flex every so slightly.
he was never one to indulge in things, with strict self control from his training and military background. though he couldn’t help just indulging ever so slightly in you. but how could you blame him? he spent years in the military and now he had a sweet luvie like you all over him!
your chest was pressed up against the wall as you stumbled into his apartment, simon tugging your dress up, shoving it past your tits as he tugged your flimsy panties down. “wanna know one thing about my tattoos luvie?” his voice hoarse as he gently rubbed his fat cock along your cunt, watching it glisten with your arousal as it chubbed.
“they’re older than you swee’heart.”
though that clearly didn’t seem to bother you by the way your teeth sank into your bottom lip, a small moan leaving your mouth. “didn’t think you were into that,” a squelching sound filling the room as his tip entered your soppy hole, your walls immediately clenching around him as he slammed his pelvis.
“didn’t take yer to have a thing for older men,” he teased, his large tatted hand gripping your throat as he squeezed the sides. “turns yer on hm? having a man’s cock shoved into your tight lil cunt whilst having tattoos older than you.”
“gettin’ all dumbed out on my cock already?” his voice dripping with faux sincerity, mocking you as you cried.
it boosted his ego, seeing you a crying mess getting your brains fucked out. he still had it. the most action he got was from watching porn secretly, his cock only knowing the feeling of his rough palm as he fisted his cock with his balaclava stuffed in his mouth whilst in the military.
now once he felt how warm and snug your cunt was he was addicted, slamming his hips harshly as if he couldn’t stand a single second without being balls deep.
“come on luvie, speak,” he cooed gently tapping your cheek as you drooled, it dribbling down your chin as your eyes rolled back. “give the old man some respect hm?”
Summary: Seven days of Simon Riley ruining your ability to walk straight and your underwear drawer in the sweetest way possible.
Classification and content warnings: Smut +18 | explicit sexual content, basically PWP, established relationship, soft-dom!Simon Riley, daily sex (Monday through Sunday), fingering, oral (f receiving), clothed sex, dry humping, thigh riding, cockwarming, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, squirting, creampie, masturbation via video, use of sex toys, size, praise and mild possession kink, panties used as cock ring, cum play, extreme fluff between the filth, no condoms used.
Word count: 3,6k
Divider by me ;)
Simon could look as tough as he wished at work but when he was with you, he was the softest soul there ever was…except for that not-so-soft dick of his. Your sexual life with Simon never really got interrupted, it didn’t matter where you were. If you needed him, he wouldn’t deny you.
This is what a full week of orgasms looked like.
On Monday, you were getting ready for work while Simon was just coming home from his shift at the base. He found you in the bathroom, bathrobe loosely tied around your body as you prepped your skin with lotions and serums, products Simon didn’t see the need for but automatically bought whenever he noticed you were running low.
“Morning, Lieutenant,” you smiled as he dragged his feet inside, exhaustion etched into his broad frame. Instead of giving you a quick debrief on what had happened during his shift to get you up to speed, he let his chin fall to your shoulder, his large hand parting the robe to caress your bare skin.
He liked to start the week right and that usually included thorough morning sex, something he would’ve been thrilled to dive into if he hadn’t been called in the night before. His fingers immediately sought out your clit, circling it slowly as he asked in murmurs how you slept and apologized for ruining the morning plans. The gentle pressure built a slick heat between your thighs, your arousal coating his fingertips as they delved deeper, seeking your entrance. He curled them inside you, stroking that sensitive spot with expert precision while lifting his eyes to meet yours in the mirror, slowly blinking as pleasure began warming your body from the core outward.
Your bathrobe slipped from your shoulder, exposing a pebbled nipple that he rolled between his thumb and forefinger, pinching just enough to send sparks racing down your spine. He finally decided to bring you up to speed on his shift, his voice low and gravelly, knowing full well not much would stick in your mind amid the rising tension. The air grew thick with your shared breaths, your pussy clenching around his invading fingers as slick seeped down your inner thighs, making everything slippery and urgent. The coil in your belly tightened unbearably, every curl of his digits pushing you closer to the edge until your body sagged against his, waves of orgasm crashing through you. Your walls pulsed greedily around him, gushing slick that dripped onto his hand and the bathroom floor in messy rivulets, your cries muffled as ecstasy left you trembling and spent.
He followed it with a soft kiss on your cheek before retreating to the mattress for a deep, much-needed sleep as if it had been him who just came undone at 4 a.m.
Tuesday’s orgasms were more of a ‘before lunch’ affair. You usually had those very important meetings with the ‘suits,’ as he called them and to his delight, this week you’d chosen a pencil skirt that hugged your curves perfectly, meaning his actual lunch was dessert and you were his main course. He pulled you into his office with a firm grip on your wrist, all but lifting you onto his desk, shoving aside papers in his haste. Removing his mask with a swift tug, he bunched up your skirt around your hips, hooked his fingers into your panties and yanked them down, stuffing the damp fabric into his pocket like a trophy before draping your legs over his broad shoulders.
Simon was very much an eater and just like he liked a full plate, he dove in with unrelenting focus, his tongue lapping at your exposed pussy with broad, hungry strokes. The tension simmered from the moment his hot breath ghosted over your folds, your clit throbbing in anticipation as he spread you open with his fingers, exposing every inch to his merciless mouth. He sucked and flicked with precision, building the pressure until your hips bucked against his face, pushing his head deeper into your core.
Slick arousal coated his chin and lips, the wet sounds of his feasting echoing in the confined space as your fingers tangled in his hair, urging him on. The coil wound tighter, your body arching off the desk as the overwhelm hit until your orgasm ripped through you like a storm, pussy clenching and squirting a messy flood that soaked his tongue and dripped down his chin. He didn’t stop, slurping every drop with obscene noises over your muffled moans, drawing out the shudders until you were a boneless heap.
When he finally pulled back, lips glistening with your release, he captured your mouth in a deep kiss, letting you taste yourself on him. Then, casually, he opened his Tupperware and spooned food into his mouth like a Neanderthal, all while you lay there blinking up at him, thighs still quivering.
“Wot?” he’d ask, mouth full, eyes twinkling with mischief.
“My underwear,” you deadpanned, voice husky from the aftershocks.
He shrugged, spooning more of his lunch. “Skirt’s long enough…got things to do with it later.”
On Wednesday, you were sure Simon would storm into your office exactly at 4:56 p.m., frustrated after a training session with a military group. He absolutely hated it, they weren’t good enough or willing to go as hard as he wished, so instead of yelling at some poor 20-year-old, he hid in your office. You always let him sit on your chair, pulling you onto his lap, not his thigh or knees, but straight onto his hardening cock, the thick length pressing insistently against your clothed pussy through the layers of fabric.
During his time there, he wouldn’t say anything at first, just focusing on his breathing and the frustration boiling in his veins. His hand placed firm on your hip, eventually started to rock you slowly, back and forth over his bulge. The friction ignited a slow burn, your clit grinding against the rigid outline of his dick with each subtle shift, building a delicious tension that made your core ache with need. This was more of a couples’ affair, a stolen moment where you forgot your paperwork and Simon stopped counting how many pairs of underwear he’d ruined just like this.
His cock was so big you could feel every inch of it straining beneath you, the heat seeping through as your arousal soaked into your panties, creating a slippery mess that eased the glide.
The rhythm quickened, breaths mingling in the dim space as the pressure mounted, your hips rolling in sync with his guidance. Wetness pooled between your legs eventually darkening the fabric and smearing against his pants, the shared friction pushing you both toward release like two frustrated teenagers dry-humping in secret. The tension peaked in a shared gasp, your orgasm hit first, pussy spasming wildly as you ground down hard, soaking your underwear with a gush of slick that seeped through to coat his cock. He followed seconds later, a low groan rumbling from his chest as his dick throbbed and pulsed, hot cum flooding his pants in thick spurts that mixed with your mess, leaving everything sticky and ruined between you.
On Thursday, Simon had been out of the country. It often happened, so you hadn’t been at all surprised. The house felt empty and silent in a way you should’ve been accustomed to by then but weren’t, the quiet amplifying the ache of his absence. Late that night, an email pinged from his personal account, the subject line simple: “Open at home.” Since you were already home, curled up in bed wrapped in one of his oversized shirts that still carried his faint scent, you opened it at full volume, the screen glowing in the dim room.
The video started with Simon sitting back in what looked like a sparse hotel room, his tactical pants shoved down just enough to free his thick cock. His large hand wrapped around the veined shaft, your Tuesday panties from the office still faintly stained with your arousal were twisted around the base like a makeshift cock ring. You couldn’t help but grin at the sight, heat flooding your core as his heavy breathing filled the silence, ragged and shameless. He stroked himself slowly at first, the camera angled to capture every inch of his length glistening with precum that beaded at the tip and smeared down with each pump.
Your pulse raced, thighs pressing together as slick gathered between them. You immediately reached for the drawer on his side of the bed, fingers trembling slightly as you rifled through the toys. A vibrator or the dildo replica of his cock? The decision came quick, you grabbed both, the thick silicone molded from him feeling almost like home in your grip. You stripped off your panties, the shirt riding up as you spread your legs, positioning the phone for a clear view of his fist flying faster now, grunts punctuating the wet schlick of skin on skin.
The tension built like a storm, your pussy throbbing with need as you teased your entrance with the dildo’s blunt head, coating it in your dripping arousal. You pushed it in deep, the stretch mimicking his girth, walls fluttering around the intrusion as you turned on the vibrator and pressed it to your swollen clit. Simon’s video looped on your screen…his cock swelling, veins bulging, the panties tightening as he edged himself.
You fucked yourself harder, the dildo plunging in and out with obscene squelches, your other hand working the vibrator. The pressure coiled tighter, breaths coming in gasps that matched his on-screen moans. When he finally came, ropes of thick cum erupting over his knuckles and splattering the panties in messy white streaks, your own release shattered through you. Your pussy clamped down on the toy, gushing slick that soaked the sheets and your thighs in a hot, slippery flood, the vibrator buzzing relentlessly against your pulsing clit as waves of ecstasy left you arching and shuddering, breathless and drenched.
It was as delicious as he’d believed it would be, the afterglow leaving you sated but yearning for the real thing.
Luckily for you, he was back Friday night. The plan hadn’t been to do anything that day, he was bone-tired from the trip, muscles aching under his skin but as you sat on his thigh in the living room, his arm draped loosely around your waist while he told you about the non-confidential parts of his mission in that slow, deep voice of his. The thigh riding just…happened. The solid muscle of his leg flexed beneath you, denim rough against your shorts and you shifted experimentally, grinding down with a subtle roll of your hips. Slick heat bloomed instantly, soaking through the thin fabric as the friction ignited sparks along your clit.
As tired as he was, Simon encouraged it, his free hand sliding to your hip to guide your movements, eyes half-lidded and dark with quiet hunger.
“That’s it, love,” he murmured, voice gravelly from disuse, watching intently as you moaned softly and threw your head back, the tension winding through your body like a live wire. Your shorts grew damper by the second, the wet patch spreading as you rocked faster, chasing the pressure building against his unyielding thigh. His muscle tensed under you, providing the perfect ridge to hump against, your arousal seeping through to leave a glossy trail on his jeans.
The room filled with the soft sounds of your labored breaths and the slick slide of fabric, his grip tightening as your pace grew frantic. The coil snapped suddenly, your orgasm ripping through you, pussy spasming wildly as you ground down hard. You cried out, body trembling against him, nails digging into his shoulders while aftershocks pulsed through your core, leaving you limp and panting in his lap.
Weekend sex was arguably the best thing ever for both of you. You just loved dearly the unhurried indulgence after a week of stolen moments.
On Saturday, as he sat manspreading on the couch with a cold beer in hand, eyes fixed on the game flickering across the TV, you couldn’t resist. His cock strained painfully hard against his sweats from watching you walk around, the outline thick and inviting and you slid down onto it with a shared sigh, impaling yourself fully as you settled back against his chest. The stretch burned deliciously, your pussy walls hugging every inch of his girth, already clenching in greedy anticipation. Most of the time, if not all, you both talked about literally anything else, as if you weren’t joined so intimately, his hips occasionally twitching up to nudge deeper.
His hand rested casually over your clit and where you were connected, fingers splayed to feel the slick heat of your union. You became wetter by the second, arousal dripping down his shaft to pool at the base and soak into the couch cushions beneath him. He brought the beer bottle to your lips for a cooling sip, the fizz contrasting the building fire in your veins, before taking one of his own, the casual domesticity heightening the erotic undercurrent.
Conversation flowed about the weather, his next shift or your week at work but your body betrayed the distraction, inner muscles fluttering around him as tension simmered low and insistent. Eventually, your pussy walls began clenching around his cock, trying to suck him in deeper, unabashedly milking him for every drop of cum he had. He lifted his hand from your clit, tapping it lightly in a random rhythm, firm presses that sent jolts through your oversensitive nerves, waiting between each for your body to react. It was really like Morse code, yet it wasn’t words he was transmitting but pure, teasing control, each tap building the pressure without mercy.
After what felt like an eternity of that torturous play, you didn’t need rubbing to provoke an orgasm, it crashed over you unprecedentedly, your pussy convulsing in rhythmic squeezes that gripped his cock like a vice, flooding him with a torrent of slick that overflowed and trickled down his balls in messy streams. The release left you breathless, a sharp cry escaping as ecstasy hollowed you out, body shuddering against his chest while he groaned low, his own hips bucking once to chase the sensation, cum starting to pulse hot and thick inside you, mixing with your wetness in a creamy, slippery flood that leaked out with every aftershock.
Sunday, oh Sunday. It was so restful and quiet, a pause in the rhythm of the week where the world outside faded into irrelevance. You avoided the TV’s blaring commentary, the radio’s chatter, the endless scroll of dossiers and your phone if you could help it, the silence wrapping around you both like a shared secret, amplifying every breath and subtle shift of skin against skin.
This part could happen at any time of day but it always did, an unspoken ritual that anchored the weekend’s indulgence.
In a corner of your living room, tucked away from the windows where sunlight filtered softly through sheer curtains, sat that really comfortable armchair, plush and wide, its fabric worn from countless hours of lazy reading and now, intimate surrender. Simon would settle back into it first, his broad frame sinking into the cushions with a low sigh, legs spread slightly as he tugged you toward him. Sometimes you were both fully naked, clothes discarded in a haphazard trail from the bedroom, your bare skin flushed and warm against the cool air. Other times, it was just bottoms off, his sweats pooled at his ankles and your panties kicked aside, leaving shirts or nothing at all to brush teasingly during the heat.
You straddled him without a word, knees digging into the cushion on either side of his hips, your pussy hovering just above his thick cock, already hard and leaking precum that glistened along the veined length. His hands found your hips immediately, large palms spanning the curve of your ass, fingers digging in just enough to guide you down. The first slide was always electric, your slick folds parting around his blunt head, stretching wide as you sank onto him inch by inch, the burn of his girth filling you completely until your ass rested flush against his thighs.
A shared groan escaped, low and guttural, vibrating through your joined bodies as your inner walls clenched greedily around him, already coating his shaft in a fresh layer of arousal that dripped down to his balls.
The rhythm started slow, your hips rocking forward and back, grinding your clit against his pubic bone while he thrust up lazily to meet you. But it built fast, the intensity uncoiling like a spring, moans spilling from your lips unbidden, mingling with his ragged breaths as the sound of skin slapping skin filled the room. Wet, obscene smacks echoed with every bounce, your pussy slurping around his cock as you lifted and dropped, riding him with a fervor that left sweat beading on your skin. His grip tightened, thumbs pressing into the dimples above your ass, urging you deeper and harder while the chair creaked under the force of your movements.
You didn’t stop, not for a second, hands roaming everywhere, yours tangling in his short hair to pull him into a bruising kiss, tongues sliding messily as teeth nipped at lips. Even when the air grew thin, lungs burning from the lack of oxygen, you kept touching, hugging his shoulders close, bodies pressed so tight that every heartbeat thrummed between you. His mouth trailed to your neck, sucking marks into the sensitive skin while you hugged him fiercely, nails raking down his back in red trails that made him hiss and buck harder. The room spun with the haze of it, the quiet shattered only by your escalating cries and the slick glide of his cock pistoning in and out, arousal splashing with each plunge.
The first orgasm hit you like a wave crashing, your pussy spasming wildly around him, walls rippling in tight squeezes that milked his length. You shattered with a loud, keening wail, body convulsing as you ground down hard, clit grinding against him to prolong the ecstasy. Simon followed seconds later, his cock swelling impossibly thicker inside you before he erupted heavily, messily and loudly. Thick ropes of cum pumped deep into your core, hot and viscous, overflowing almost immediately to mix with your wetness and leak out in creamy rivulets that trailed down his balls and thighs. His groan rumbled against your collarbone, hips jerking erratically as he filled you to the brim, the excess squelching out with every residual twitch.
You collapsed against him then, boneless and spent, your face burying into the crook of his neck where his pulse hammered steadily. His scent, musk and clean sweat, enveloped you as you nuzzled closer, breaths syncing in the afterglow. Simon’s hands softened, no longer gripping but caressing, palms sliding up your back in slow, soothing strokes, fingers tracing the knobs of your spine before dipping to knead the muscles of your ass. He touched everywhere with reverence, one hand cupping your breast to thumb a hardened nipple gently, the other stroking your thigh, mapping the curves he knew by heart. Love poured through every motion, tender and unhurried, his lips pressing soft kisses to your temple as you melted into him, the world narrowing to this quiet intimacy.
After a few minutes, when your heart rate slowed and the tremors faded to lazy pulses, one of his hands snaked between the two of you, careful not to dislodge where you were still seated comfortably on his cock, half-hard and slick with your combined release, nestled deep inside your fluttering pussy.
His fingers found your clit effortlessly, swollen and sensitive from the earlier frenzy and he began to circle it gently, the pad of his thumb applying just enough pressure to reignite the embers. No words passed, just a soft hum from his chest encouraging you to relax into the sensation as you shifted slightly, inner muscles clenching around him in response.
The build was slower this time, a simmering heat that spread through your limbs like warm honey. His circles were calculated, varying the pace with light flicks that made you whimper and firmer presses that had your hips twitching involuntarily.
You stayed impaled on him fully, never lifting more than a subtle rock, his free arm banding around your waist to hold you steady. Your body began to shake, subtle at first, then building to full quivers as the pleasure coiled tighter, your front arching into his chest while your face stayed pressed to his neck, ragged breaths hot against his skin.
The orgasm crested without warning, ripping through you in shuddering waves as your pussy clamped down on his cock in vise-like pulses, grinding down hard to chase every spark as another flood of slick gushed out, mixing with the cum still leaking from you in a slippery, creamy mess that coated his fingers and dripped onto the chair.
He didn’t stop there, drawing it out with gentle laps of his fingers until you sagged against him again, boneless and panting.
Simon loved this part, he loved making you orgasm, watching the way your body surrendered to him, the trust palpable in every tremble. He’d repeat it intermittently throughout the afternoon, fingers returning to your clit whenever the aftershocks ebbed, always ensuring your body never lifted fully from his cock during this period of overwhelm. Each peak left you more wrecked, more connected, grinding on him in desperate circles he adored, your cries muffled against his shoulder as he coaxed release after release, his own arousal stirring back to life inside you with every clench.
Now this didn’t happen every week, the depth of it reserved for when the quiet demanded more, but he found comfort in you knowing it could if you asked that of him.
a/n: if you liked this piece, reblogging it helps more than you know. Thank you for keeping my little stories alive out there. ♡
You take out your little tin of Vaseline, taking a small amount on your finger and bringing it to your lips. You feel Simon Riley’s large presence walk up to you. He leans one hand against the wall. He’s standing so close you could almost see his pupils expand a little when you looked up into them.
Your heart racing, you hold his gaze and rub your finger over your lips. Dip into the tin, back onto your lips. You rub your lips together.
“Can I have some?” Ghost’s gruff voice rumbles from beneath his mask.
“You want lip balm?” You ask, somewhat incredulous. He didn’t seem like the type.
He merely nods, never talking his eyes off yours.
“Okay.” You say, the word sounding more like a question. He lifts his mask just above his mouth. You go to hand over the tin. His hand comes out but instead of taking the tin, they find your chin, gently gripping you and pulling you closer. His lips land on yours, firm but a lot gentler than you were expecting.
He pulls back, rubbing his lips together. You blush furiously.
“Thanks, love.” He mumbles, pulling his mask back down. He walks away then as if nothing just happened.
