Simon knows your body like he knows a gun.
How to take it apart and put it back together. How to turn it inside out and then right side out again. Pulling your trigger with a calloused finger.
He touches you with care, but not like he’s afraid you’ll break. No, that’s not how you touch a gun.
You touch a gun like it’s something with the power to take. Something with the power to destroy. To kill.
God knows you could kill him, wake up and realize you deserve more than he could offer. You could blow up in his face and leave him bleeding out on the floor.
He worships you with the same precision he uses to clean his gun, careful strokes with delicate touches. Just like a weapon, sometimes you need different things from him. A gentle hold and little aiming. Rough hands and a steady prop against his shoulder. Sometimes his entire body is behind every movement, thighs wide for support even when his back starts to ache with effort
Simon fucks you like a bullet.
He tears himself apart, or at least he would if you asked him too. Slowly losing his sharp edges with every ricochet as he bounces around you.
He fucks into your cunt as if you pulled a trigger, letting himself go in whatever direction you ask. Hard, slow, fast, teasing, nights when you make him do that thing with his hips.
You go at it like animals most nights, pulling that raw want out of the holster and flicking off any safety’s that get in your way.
There’s no bullet proof vest or gun case that can hide him from the most dangerous weapon of all.
