there’s one thing single(?)dad!lip hasn’t had the opportunity to eat do.
“hey, hey, no time,” you breathe heavily, your body humming with endorphins from lip’s particularly giving mood this morning.
“there’s time,” he defends, kissing down your stomach, his mouth never leaving your skin as he lowers himself and continues to descend.
he manages to stamp three kisses underneath your navel before you reach your hands out towards him and cup his face. his eyes lift up and land on yours, maintaining that contact as he dips his jaw and licks the soft skin near his mouth.
your hazed out mind almost releases him, almost allows him to pick up where you stopped his journey southward, but you instead turn his face enough towards the clock at bedside.
09:21
“fuck… where’d all the time go?”
he sighs and pecks your abdomen one last time, crawls up the length of your body, pauses when his arms cage your head. he’s so goddamn addicted to how bliss shades your features after you orgasm, how your eyes glisten from the overwhelming swell of sensation, how you always sink into the mattress in deserved, well-earned relaxation. it’s the perfect mood for you both to attend work in.
lip attaches his mouth to yours, slow and equally ravenous. he maneuvers your arms around his neck since you’re slightly checked out, happy as you comply and tighten the hold so he can fully press against you.
“you’ve been dodgin’ me,” he mumbles into your mouth, uncommitted to cease kissing you, utilizing every precious second.
“hm?” your confused little sound vibrates on his lips. cute.
his nose brushes yours as he slightly pulls back. his hand cups your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek.
“think i don’t notice how somethin’ always comes up when i’m about to go down on you?”
realizing what he means, your head plops into your pillow, eyelids shutting, inhaling a deep breath. he wants to do this now?
“but we really don’t have time.”
the truth is, he probably can make you cum with his mouth in less than ten minutes (he’s out of practice), but he wants to savor the first time you let him. that is, as long as you quit alluding that first time from happening.
“i know,” he says with a nod, “and it’s not the only excuse you’ve reused on me.”
“i’m not making excuses, li—”
he effectively shuts you up with some greedy kisses, repeatedly stealing them in succession. you huff; it’s not lost on you how he cut you off. he hopes you don’t see the amusement on his face while light annoyance decorates yours.
“yeah you fuckin’ are, sunshine. so tell me why before i gotta head to hell.”
a small smile worms its way onto your mouth as you think about him referring to work as hell. however, being honest about this subject is an intimidating endeavor.
“i didn’t mean to turn you down so much, sorry,” you mumble.
“don’t be. i want you to be comfortable. just tell me if i’m doin’ somethin’ wrong.”
your gaze softens as he says this. he’s not scolding you for what you’ve been unintentionally doing, but more so trying to understand why and what he can do to fix it. you appreciate him so fucking much more than words can convey.
“you’re not doing anything wrong,” you clarify, first and foremost.
“it’s not… my favorite thing. i really do prefer regular sex—not that sex with you is regular.”
he nods as you speak, physically displaying his understanding.
“so no one’s ever done it right, have they?”
his question derails your thought process, slyly catching onto the underlying subtext. while he doesn’t full on smirk, there’s knowing in his eyes as he stares at you, a lurking reading of you he’s managed. sometimes it’s terrifying how easily a person can detect when there’s foul play.
to lip, he’s never heard of many women who don’t like it. he likes to think he’s gotten particularly good at it, with raving reviews from past sexual partners to attest. so he wants to share that with you, but it seems to him your reluctance to do so comes from previous men in your life simply not getting the job done.
to you, however, it’s invasive… and the subject matter is risqué. you don’t want to dive into how accurate his presumption is.
“why do you want to so bad?”
he has to hold back a laugh in disbelief and at how you didn’t answer his question. he assumes it’s because you don’t want to talk shit on your (unskilled) exes.
“you fuckin’ kiddin’ me? ‘cause i wanna hear you moan and i wanna make you feel good. cock’s not the only way to do it.”
the crude and dirty way he puts it makes you close your mouth. you don’t want to be defensive of this and you didn’t mean to be. he reminds you how he wants to share an intimate act, something more unselfish than not. it’s about you.
still, you bite your lower lip. something else nags at you. a bit of insecurity you’re positive other women have, a subtle fear despite your confidence.
“… and if you don’t like the taste?”
lip smiles gently, your concern heard, but it’s unfounded. he leans in nice and close like he’s about to whisper a secret, like you’re not all alone in the privacy of your bedroom.
“baby, i’ve tasted you off my fingers. why do you think i want more?”
heat pools in your cheeks and in your belly, a familiar and expected surge of arousal lights your system that neither of you can attend to at this moment. he always looks so fucking hot when he licks his fingers clean after bringing you to ecstasy.
“i want to let you, we just haven’t had time,” you say. he looks very pleased with this response.
“how about saturday? don’t got the kids, we won’t have work, no interruptions.”
well, that was fast.
you reflect his smile, unconsciously nod your head before your mind catches up. good thing too, don’t need to second guess yourself.
“saturday works.”
with your eager agreement, he cancels the space between your mouths. the tension from before rapidly fades as he slips his tongue against yours, maintains his steadfast weight over your body despite how he has to go soon. he lingers like he doesn’t, initiates another pass of his lips when they separate a millisecond for air, and his enjoyment renews in the throb of his length into the flesh of your thigh.
the anticipation builds within you, wondering how saturday will go, the absurdity of scheduling the event, and you giggle into his mouth.
“why’re you laughin’?”
he lazily retreats, his grin just as lazy as he inspects your face.
“we’re so fucking old,” you mutter while giggling, “we have to plan when we’re going to fool around.”
he hums an amused noise himself.
“tell me about it. can’t believe i finally got myself a reservation between your legs.”
and then he huffs as one of your pillows goes flying from bedside to thwack him in his side profile.
“don’t be nervous, i got you.”
“trust me; i’m ready.”
your answer soothes lip as he pushes your shirt up and unveils more of your skin to himself. he only uttered his reassurance because he felt how shaky your breathing was when he kissed you and laid you down. but by the look of your bra of choice, fully revealed once you remove your shirt the rest of the way and over your head, he knows your words are true.
his hands maneuver to the eye-catching periwinkle balconette cups, the raised, raspberry embroidered hearts in the fabric covered momentarily, but wonderfully textured for his callouses to recognize the craftsmanship. his thumbs reach up to brush the accenting bows acting as sweet partitions between the base of your bra straps and the perfectly fitted cups.
“this new?” he asks, aware that it is since he hasn’t seen it in your collection before.
“yeah… you like it?”
one of his thumbs slips under the bra strap, viewing the lacy trim of it closer. he nods absentmindedly, his cock swelling further in his pants at the idea of you buying and wearing something so fucking pretty just for him to gawk at and defile. he’s the luckiest motherfucker alive, he has to be.
“i fuckin’ love it. leavin’ it on.”
not without kissing each breast’s soft curve peeking above the material. goosebumps sprout on your body, reacting to how gentle he’s being, and understanding it won’t last from how drunk off lust his dilated pupils convey he is. he kisses down the middle of your chest and then down the center of your torso. he solely gets up to shed his shirt and then unbuckle his belt.
“got nothin’ special like that for you, sorry,” he mumbles as he unzips and pushes his pants down his hips. your eyes find his prominent erection in his boxers and the slightly damp patch at the tip of his tent.
“looks special to me,” you tease.
he lets out a breathy laugh, ridding his pants and then settling back between your legs, continuing where he left off on his path of kisses along your stomach. his fingers curl into the waistband of your sweats, and the lower he travels, the more he tugs them down. as the clothing comes off, his head twitches, realization dawning on him.
“… you’re a fuckin’ tease,” he groans, his cheek falling against your thigh with the silky garter wrapped around it.
he doesn’t know where to look, from the matching periwinkle panties with the raspberry hearts etched over your center, the familiar bows on your hips, to the hem of sheer stockings he wouldn’t have caught otherwise.
“don’t know what you’re talking about,” you attempt to innocently say.
“save it. you knew i was gonna be down ‘ere,” he grumbles, getting the sweats out of the way to really drink you in.
this fucking color on you is gorgeous, on the bra, the panties, and on the stockings. he doesn’t know what possesses him in that moment, but he acts on instinct as he nudges your thighs apart and presses stamps of affection along the inner portions. you shudder, his destination clear as he continues up and up, reaching one side of the underwear’s edge.
“look at you…” he murmurs in awe, his breath close enough to heat a path through the material.
his index and middle fingers trace the seam of your entrance without plucking your panties from where they sit snugly and slickly against you. you let out a quiet sound, his touch unhurried and methodical.
“already so wet. fuck, i don’t wanna take it off.”
it’s hard not to watch him. you don’t consider yourself a shy lover, especially not with lip, but a part of you does want to hide behind your pillow as he prods at you and dissects you with such careful observation and deft ministrations. another part can’t look away, how his lips part as he easily works more arousal from you, coats his fingertips despite the mottled palisade.
“lip,” you sigh, inhaling a sharp breath at the same time.
“sorry… s’fuckin’ beautiful,” he mumbles.
“this still okay?”
he rips his eyes away from your panties with great effort, his digits pausing from their stroking motion. it’s maddening, stopping at any point to you when you’re this needy.
“uh huh. more than okay,” you reply in a shrill tone.
“yeah? you want it?”
he slides his arms under your thighs, spreading them open for him. mild nerves overtake your stomach, but it’s because you know what’s to come. if lip’s good at intercourse, you have more inclination to believe he’s good at this. it thrills you, a man needing to please you like this, so willing and earnest. he smears kisses on your thighs again and then onto your panties, the heat of his mouth a preview to how intense it’s going to feel. those pecks alone are already ramping up sensation.
“yes,” you gasp.
“i want it, baby. please.”
he groans, “whatever you want” flying from him before his tongue snakes out his mouth and he laps at your covered slit. the taste hits his tastebuds, fabric and saline, a hint of saccharine, all triggering additional saliva he lewdly lavs over your clothed entrance. it would certainly feel different if he took your panties off, but he did mention how he doesn’t want to remove them much like your bra. yet, it’s a euphoric combination of pleasure and urgency, his lips and tongue smacking, his drool and your pussy’s soaking, ruining, baptizing the material of your new panties. he secures your legs over his shoulders, his face sinking deeper, his nose bumping your clit. it’s as if he’s attempting to devour you through your underwear, thrusting his tongue with escalating pressure, fucking you with a part of it, whatever the give of your panties allows. it’s intoxicating, your internal temperature high, moans shrill and tight as he ushers you to a place he’s taken you many times before, but never this quickly, never this debilitating. it’s causing your thighs to quiver, practically vibrating against his ears.
“oh, fuck, lip! fuck, uh, lip!”
“mm, not yet, baby. calm down.”
much to your dismay, he reduces his licking to indulgent kisses, and his palms press and flatten your hips to the bed. it alerts you how you were jolting them up against him, and rather than feeling embarrassed by your lack of composure, you groan in frustration. you had already been so close, about to crash into your climax, and he read it and chose to stop instead of pushing you over the impending edge.
“why’d you stop?” you ask, intending it to sound inquisitive, but it sounds more like a whine.
“‘cause you can wait. we’ll get there, sweetheart. don’t pout.”
you feel your pout exacerbate. your lips twitch as he flashes you a small smile, his lips and chin glossy, glazed with your slick. instead of quipping with something clever or taunting, lip administers more kisses, each one wet, suctioning, and then he hooks two fingers in the outside stitching of your panties and slides it aside out of his way.
his tongue broadly stripes the bottom of your slit, the flat of it smarming through the silkiness of your outer lips, teasingly close to dipping right inside. instantaneously, simultaneously, your hips jerk up, partially bump his nose, and he slings his forearm casually over your lower abdomen to hold you flush to the mattress. a pitiful sound stutters out of your mouth, gripping the back of his hair for purchase, your other arm covering your eyes to tame yourself because you can’t run from the pleasure. your hips, with a mind of their own at this point, attempt to buck, but he maintains a firm vise as he continues to repeat the motion, glissading his tongue through your folds until the tip of it comes up to just the underside of your clit. you form a fist, whimpering from the way he savors you, how you hear him gulp you down, breathe against you, and then do it all over again.
“keep makin’ those noises f’me. best pussy i’ve ever fuckin’ had, i swear.”
lip kisses your inner thighs as he grabs your hand out of his hair. he holds it, intertwines your fingers, keeps it like that on the bed as he picks up his spot.
“god, i love y-… y-your cunt. tastes incredible.”
his fingers crush yours as he focuses on your clit, the pink muscle in his mouth lapping hungrily, a feline’s length cleaning its young, only he’s voracious and exceedingly determined. as his tongue slithers up, slobbers over it, his bottom lip continuously catches and rubs your fluttering hole. but none of it, strangely enough, is hurried. it’s lasting, passionate, and at lip’s pace, which isn’t merciful since he’s milking this orgasm out of you, goading every tendril, tempering glass until it has no option but to shatter. and you’re certain it’s coming from how the fragile surface, and within the flesh, of your thighs ripples with how you’re hanging by a thread. your heel slips higher on his shoulder, squirming as the telltale rings alarms, what you can’t possibly hear above your squeaky yelp.
“ah!” a sputtering breath.
“lip, i—!”
“let go. give me your cum, baby. m’starvin’ for it,” he coaxes, messily suckling and kissing, losing rhythm as the bed rocks from his hips suddenly thrusting into it.
his thumb replaces his tongue on your clit, oscillating the bud tenderly, skillfully prying your panties open, and then unhinging his jaw to push his tongue into your cunt. you cry out from the sudden intrusion, every muscle in your body tenses, and that peak finally arrives. his name parrots off your lips, the only word you can remember and muster, gripping his hand tight as your release faucets out of you into lip’s open mouth. he moans at the taste, at how it drips down and off his chin, beads he somehow misses despite his perpetual lapping landing on the sensitive skin of your ass. it feels crazy how those beads of spit and your cum slide between your cheeks, how you add onto the puddle already underneath your body, how white specks dance in your vision as you undergo the explosive orgasm’s effects. he sloppily licks what he can as his thumb slows on your clit. you’re so sensitive to it, whimpering as you start to descend back to earth, clit pulsing to the same beat of your energized heart.
“my legs are tingly…” you pant, smiling from the chuckle it gets out of lip.
“did my job then,” he murmurs, gently lifting his thumb away from you, to then kiss up your tummy, over each breast, and then up your neck.
“new favorite thing?” he asks. he’s cheeky as he stares down at you. you can’t get over his glistening face, from the juiciness of his lips, to the glint on his chin, cheeks, and nose. it’s a heightened image with his face so satisfied and red as if he was the one who just came from one of the best orgasms of his life.
“mhm…” you nod, at a loss for words. he laughs a little harder, nosing under your jaw.
“m’glad. wanna do it more often. fuckin’ beautiful when you cum for me.”
you’re in the midst of a haze, but you manage enough coherency to cup his face. it doesn’t take much more than that for lip to know what you want, easily parting his lips, molding them to yours for a smoldering kiss. you share your scent and taste, a fire in you lighting with the knowledge that you’re so permanent on his tongue at this moment. and something in his system flips and twists knowing you’re willing to see how good you are, why he can’t get enough, and how you’re both hooked on each other past a point of return.
“you can do it anytime,” you say softly, kissing him one last time.
and it’s only your last time because he smirks and kisses the column of your neck, creating a trail to your cleavage, reaching up to squeeze your breasts. the balconette style of the cups causes some spillage and he takes advantage of your sunrising nipple, thumb hovering and then dragging over it back and forth.
“good. now’s perfect.”
“w-what?” you mutter in disbelief, one of his hands staying on your chest as he kisses past your ribs, nips above your navel.
“you said anytime,” he offers as his explanation, plain and simple to illustrate the reason behind his expected destination.
you can’t protest, lip doesn’t give you a chance to. you can only whine from overstimulation as he spits on your clit and licks it back up, initiating his intentions, exploiting the permission you just gave him.
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tags: @purplerainx1, @pain-in-the-ashe