He hates Sundays. There's nothing wrong with them per say but ever since he met Karen Cartwright he'd grown to loathe them. It'd taken him some time to realize what was so special about this girl but once he did he found himself going out of his way to spend time with her, to be close to her. Which is how their weekly routine started.
He'd heard her complaining once or twice about the fact that her apartment didn't have cable; preventing her from watch her favourite shows live. It'd just been so easy, to invite her over to his place because even if he didn't bother with the bloody thing he did have just about every cable package imaginable.
Had he known one of her favourite shows was Keeping Up With the Kardashians he probably wouldn't have bothered. But he had no idea wheat he was in for until the first Sunday night she'd shown up at his place, her hair in a messy bun with loose strands perfectly framing her face and six pack in hand. God, the things he did to make this girl smile.
The show, in Derek's opinion, only went to show how truly awful and inferior America was to Britain. Still, he found himself planted on the couch every Sunday night at nine, even if he spent the majority of the hour watching Karen rather than the program.
Though he wouldn't admit to it he's a little disappointed when the show comes to an end for the season and Karen stops coming over, or that he was a little excited when she texted him telling him that Kourtney and Kim Take Miami was premiering the following week and that she'd see him next Sunday. Halfway through the season he could grudgingly tell them all apart; by the end of it they're dating.
She'd hardly been paying any attention to him, which is infuriating to say the least. With all the press she'd been doing with Tom and Julia for Gatsby he'd barely seen her all week and was hoping for a little alone time. Unfortunately, the Kardashians make three, or twelve, there are so bloody many of them.
And she'd been making these little faces as she watches, which he swears she does just to taunt him. Who knew Karen Cartwright could be such a bloody tease?
He wanted her to pay attention to him, not the bloody Kardashians, something he's pretty sure she picks up on considering his lips are on her neck before the recap of last weeks episode is even over.
"Derek..." He heard her say in what he knows is meant to be a warning tone, but pays no mind to it. He hasn't touched, kissed, or tasted her in days and while he was grateful she let him take her out for lunch on Friday there was only so much she'd let him do in the back of the cab.
The fact that she'd yet to push him away says something, causing him to smirk against the small yet noticeable mark he'd left on her neck as he soothed it with his tongue. She'd be angry with him later, Gatsby previews begin next week and it's going to take some stage makeup to cover the bruise, but he'd gladly accept the punishment.
His lips trail down to her collarbone where he continues to tease her by trailing his tongue across it and blowing, causing her to shudder. He's currently got one hand underneath his shirt, innocently drawing small circles with his thumb overtop of her hipbone.
Though he's positive he heard her breathing hitch she's still staring straight at the bloody telly, acting like none of this has any sort of effect on her. It shouldn't get him angry, spark a fire within him, but it does. She's dating him, not the Kardashian clan, damn it. His hand goes south, skillfully undoing the button of her jeans before sliding his hand beneath the fabric. He hears a small gasp escape her lips, causing him to chuckle, though she might try to act as if he had no effect on her he know she can't deny the heat he feels beneath her legs, or the dampness.
He spends a considerable amount of time teasing her over her knickers, because if she wants to continue paying more attention to the telly then to him he's got to extract his revenge somehow. Her bottom lip's managed to find its way in between two rows of perfect teeth, proof that she's fighting a losing battle.
When her hips buck forward against his hand, unwillingly according to the look of surprise on her face, he retracts his hand, smirking when she whines in protest before slowly sliding it back down inside her knickers.
His fingers are back to rubbing small circles over her center to work her up, though judging by the soft pants that fall from her lips it's not like she really needs it.
"Derek…" he heard her say, her voice much raspier than it had been a couple minutes ago. As attractive as she was when she was writhing underneath him she was just as attractive, if not more, when she was trying to fight the temptation.
"Yes, love?" He asked, using that innocent voice she hates so much as he pushed the strap of her tank top down with his nose.
She simply moaned in response as he slips a single digit inside of her, quickly followed by a second. He watches the way her eyes flutter slightly, her back arching as she tilts her head back. God, she's beautiful, he can't help but think to himself.
His pace starts out slow, because he's positive he could spend all night watching her like this, but as she starts to give in, her eyes finally tearing away from the screen to meet his own he's adding a third finger and curling them. The moan that rolls off her tongue fills the room and he's smirking again, ignoring the growing tightness of his pants.
It doesn't take much longer until he's pushing her over the edge, and as much as he'd like to think it's an ode to how talented he is with his fingers he's pretty sure it's because it's been well over a week since either of them had gotten any. He continues the motions with his fingers, curling them every so often as she comes undone around him. Once she's come down from her high, head tilted back against the back of the couch as she tries to catch her breath he smirks. It's about bloody time she realized he was more fun than the Kardashians.
And then she's staring at him in a way that makes him swallow thickly. Her eyes have gone dark and she's leaning over to him, lifting one leg over his waist so she's straddling him. Licking his lips he watched as her hands quickly made their way down to his waist, unbuttoning and unzipping his trousers in order to free him. She's palming him overtop of his pants as if he's not hard enough already, earning her a muffled groan. He cast a pointed glare her way as she smirked down at him, his hands moving to her waist in an attempt to resist the urge to push her down on the couch and take her right there. Karen Cartwright, so he had learned liked to do things her way. His eyes shut when he feels her fingers slipping beneath the elastic waistband of his pants, letting another groan out at the feeling of her small hands on his skin.
However before she even touches him she's looking behind her, the bloody tune to Keeping Up ringing in his ears, and sliding off of his lap.
He opens his eyes just in time to hear Kim Kardashian complaining how stressful her life is, which is enough to make him go flaccid.
"Next commercial break." She promises, and though he's once again lost her attention completely her voice is so soft and innocent he knows he can't stay mad at her.
Readjusting himself he turns to look at the telly. Yeah, he really hates Sundays.