It began with slow, languid kisses being shared between the two at the end of the night. Goodnight kisses, she told herself. After all, they were settled on the edge of her bed and she could feel her eyelids growing heavy. Still, slow, languid kisses turned to him running the tip of his tongue along the seam of her lips and, in turn, her parting her lips to allow it entrance. She couldn't help but sigh as his tongue ran along the back of her teeth, over her tongue, drawing the muscle into his mouth so he could wrap his lips around the tip of it and suck playfully.
It isn't until he catches her bottom lip between his teeth and tugs that she realizes this is quickly turning into much more than goodnight kisses. Robin knows what biting does to her, she knows that, he's proven it before. There's a groan that bubbles up the back of her throat before she can stop it and it causes him to release her lip and press a gentle kiss there. It's going to be red and swollen by the time he's done with her, she already knows that– the biting he's doing, the biting of it she's bound to do, and the kisses are going to leave her a wreck, but she doesn't mind one bit.
His hands quickly guide her arms up so he can drag off the t-shirt she'd been wearing around the house all day (his t-shirt she should add, but she's sure nobody can blame her for wanting to be wrapped up in his scent all day). The garment falls to the ground just before his hands meet her hips and tug her up from where she's sitting. When he doesn't automatically pull her into his lap or toss her back further onto the bed, she isn't sure what to expect, but she does know that him slowly tugging her leggings down and biting at her hip is not it.
God, the things that mouth of his does to her body. There's going to be marks left behind, but she doesn't mind so long as they're in spots she can easily hide from Henry... and her hip? Well, that's an easily hidden spot, so she encourages him with a quiet moan and her fingers tangled in his hair, silently telling him to continue his ministrations.
She was right, by the time he pulls back, he's admiring a red spot that stands out against olive skin (and which will turn into a proper purple mark by the time they actually do go to bed). He's not intent on stopping there, though, oh no. He quickly rids her of her leggings and this time when he grips her hips, he does toss her onto the bed, that mouth of his pressing kisses from the bit of lace at the top of her underwear right up to her ribs. The kisses stop there, though, only so he can bite at a spot just beneath her breast and it has her gasping again, breath quickening.
He doesn't intend to leave a mark this time, but he does pull back and blow warm breath over where he'd just bitten, causing goosebumps to rise on her flesh. It's torture of the best kind and he must know that because he doesn't seem to want to get this over with quickly, no, he is taking his damn time and it has her both irritated and pleased at the same time.
His hands skim up her sides then, one hand finding home on the bedspread just beside her body so he can put his weight into that forearm and lift his other hand free. His body is hovering over hers now, so close and yet not close enough. That free hand reaches for her bra, tugs one side down enough that he can wrap his lips around her nipple, sucking and letting the tip of his tongue flick over it until it hardens. Only then does he catch the hardened bud with his teeth, tugging until she's arching into his mouth. She can feel his smirk against her skin as he kisses his way to her other breast, happily tugging her bra down to reveal it as well. He doesn't suck, lick, or bite this time. Instead, he kisses around her nipple, never right on it. Only after it stiffens does he let his teeth just drag over it.
She's moaning then, hands finding purchase on his back and trying to drag him in closer to her, back arching ever higher in a silent plea for more. He takes the hint, but doesn't do what she's expecting (and, really, she should come to expect the unexpected from him at this point). He doesn't press in closer to her, doesn't bite down on the sensitive flesh of her breast and suck a mark there. Instead, he pulls her up and turns her around, guiding her hands to the headboard as he slips her completely free of her bra. She lets him take this control because her body is aching for him, throbbing in a steady beat and she really needs to find some kind of friction between her legs soon or she thinks she might die from lack of it.
It's all fingertips dancing up and down her spine, lips trailing after them, until he catches soft flesh between his teeth again. It has her back going taut, head turning as she lets out a low growl.
"You are killing me." She wants it to come out as a statement, wants her voice to be steady and sure of itself, but it sounds more like a whine and she hates that. She doesn't beg, doesn't even usually give up control in the bedroom at all, but she knows Robin and knows that he isn't intent on hurting her, not in any way she doesn't enjoy at least.
It's then that he finally does something about the throbbing between her legs– brings his hand around to her front and slips it into her panties, two fingers stroking along the sides of her clit. She's mewling, leaning back into his chest, happy that he's solid and grounded as she leans her weight into him. His free hand rises to her breast, fingers twisting, pinching, rolling a hardened nipple as his other hand continues working against her clit. Her hips are rolling against his hand, grinding, angling until he's stroking her just right.
Her lips part on a moan that has her head falling against his shoulder, eyes slipping closed because it's all so, so much, especially when those lips find her neck and the two fingers that had been on her clit now slip inside of her. It's too much and not enough at the same time and it only takes a few thrusts of his fingers, a few circles of his thumb on her clit, and a particularly hard bite to the junction of her shoulder for her to be shouting as she falls over the edge. Her hips continue rocking, slowly, gently, just enough to prolong her orgasm, but not enough to make her twitch from oversensitivity.
She's limp against him, feeling him solid and warm and strong against her back as she heaves to catch her breath. She's aware of his fingers slipping out of her, of the empty feeling it leaves, and the way he's being so gentle as he pulls her panties down and guides her legs out of them so he can toss them aside. She's also aware of the way he somehow manages to slip himself free of his pants and boxers even with her leaning against him. And she's definitely aware of the feeling of his hardened length running between her folds, the head of it bumping against her clit and sending electricity coursing through her veins.
Had they not had a certain discussion before, he would have been reaching for a condom, but they had had that discussion and he knows the way she likes to feel him, nothing between them, and that there's no risk of anything coming from this. He rocks his hips against her once, twice, three more times before he's actually pushing into her.
Her body falls forward then, hands grasping at the bedding as his find purchase on her hips and guide them back to meet his with each slow, steady thrust. It continues like that until she's throbbing again, hips rocking downward in search of friction, but not gaining any. That's when his hips pick up pace, slamming against hers hard enough that the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room.
She reaches a hand back, grips his hip, fingers tightening until he slows, questions her if she's okay and she nods in return because, god, she is more than okay.
"Want to see you," is all she can manage through ragged breaths. As amazing as everything felt, the way he could press into her so deep like this, she loved seeing him and she couldn't do that in her current position.
There's a quiet whine that escapes her lips as he pulls out of her and she turns, lies back, and lets her legs part so he can settle between them.
"Better?" The question comes as he pushes back into her and it gains him a sound somewhere between a hiss and a moan because, yes, this is definitely better. Now she can reach him, let her hands wander his chest, his arms, down his sides. Now she can watch the way that soft smile of his shifts into something of pure pleasure.
His hips pick up that fast pace he had set just moments before as he settled onto his forearms. Her lips are on his neck the moment he's close enough, pressing, kissing, gasping against him as he finds that spot inside of her that has her seeing stars. Her hands find home on his back, nails scratching there as she climbs higher, higher, higher.
Her mouth shifts from his neck to his shoulder, biting down hard to quiet her screams as her second orgasm washes through her, has her shaking and writhing beneath him as his hips begin to quicken their pace, stuttering now and again until he stills deep inside of her.
There's a heat spreading through her belly as he fills her and rips another moan from her. She's clinging to him, practically holding her shoulders up off the bed at this point until her arms suddenly feel weak and she relaxes back, lets her arms fall to her sides.
He's rocking into her, slowly, just enough for her to feel that he's there but not enough to have her ready for another round. Moments later, he's pulling out of her and she clenches her muscles for a second, not ready to feel so empty, not ready to feel him leaking out of her.
"Fuck…" She's not usually one for such language, but she has no other way of putting what just happened into words, especially not as her chest rises and falls quickly, gasping for much needed oxygen.
"Unless you're planning on pushing it back in, don't even think about it," she says, slapping at his hand as it ghosts up her thigh and heads for a place that is definitely over sensitive now.