for wordslinger.
a paltry gift for your greatness.
No words between them until her fingers graze from his lips and down his chest.
He swallows slowly, watching her hand travel up the length of his cock and cup the tip, spreading his arousal over her palm and between her fingers. A sigh escapes his lips when he sees the shadow of her smile and as he watches a few strands of her hair fall from behind her ear, the ends tickling the skin between his thighs.
She hears his exhale, and she looks up at him through her thick lashes.
He knows she knows he's caught in her seduction. He knows she knows he doesn't care that he's breathless and he can't move from under her hips, trapped in a trance under her touch. Slowly, slowly, she crawls up the bed, pawing her hands up the mattress until her mouth is at his neck, her tongue trailing up the bottom of his jaw to the lobe of his ear.
"Lights on or off?" she asks in a murmur in his ear.
She knows his answer. She asks anyway.
"On," he replies, barely a whisper.
He likes to see the rich dark red of her scarlet waves around his finger or tangled across the pillows and sheets, but most of all, he likes to see her smile when his tongue travels down the inside of her thigh and replaces his finger at her clit.
She knows this. She turns the light off anyway.
The groan that emerges from him makes her laugh lightly.
"Let me surprise you tonight," she insists, kissing his temple.
His eyes haven't adjusted to the darkness yet. He doesn't know what to expect as he feels her kisses fall back down his chest to his groin until suddenly her lips wrapped tight around him, completely and to the base. Then she withdraws, leaving his cock wet from her spit. He gasps, clutching the sheets before he tries to find her head to coax her back on him.
She giggles, spreading her hands over him. He feels her plant a few more cold kisses down her chest before she sits up on top of him and leisurely gyrates over him, every now and then taunting his cock with some entrance — always stopped before he penetrates by her sheer will.
"Nope, not yet," she cheekily admonishes him.
He sighs heavily, as if frustrated, but there's an amused look on his face that she probably can't see. If she kept the lights on, she'd see the light in his dark eyes and she'd know better than to think his patience will last and that he's actually just going to let her keep delaying.
He thinks it's cute when she teases him, when she adopts a different persona in bed, tries to become a seductress and entertainer — when all along, she's never had to act like anyone but herself to be the sexist thing alive.
Of course, her grinding over him is amazing, nothing he wouldn't object to, but he sometimes just wants to cut to the chase.
Steadily, ever slowly so as not to surprise her, his hands ride up the backs of her thighs until he reaches the full curves of her bottom, squeezing a little as he secures his fingers around her ass. He guides her hips to his groin, moving her up and down to stroke his cock harder along her wet center.
He continues to do this until that second he feels her give into his rhythm.
It's only a quick moment when her strength disappears, but he takes the opportunity.
He lifts her up and flips her over to her back, crouching over her body and exploring her skin with his lips until he finds her lips.
"Hey," she scolds him softly, batting his head gently.
"No patience," he replies, his hands tracing her neck and her shoulders until they reach the straps of her bra. He tucks his fingers under and follows the fabric to its black lace cups.
Was it black?
Doesn't matter.
He pulls it over her head, a tangled mess without unhooking it, but it works out anyway, and not before long, his hands mold her breasts and he takes one in his mouth.
She breathes. In and out.
His hands reach back and prop her thighs apart, her knees pushed up to her chest. He travels his lips down her stomach, sliding over the part of her legs. He parts her folds with the flat of his tongue until he feels the bulb of her clit and hears her moan his name with desperation.
He looks up at her out of habit — in the moonlight, he can't see her hair splayed out over the pillows, her hands at her breasts, her fluttering eyes, the thin layer of sweat over her forehead, or the blush of her cheeks.
But he doesn't think he needs the light to know her smile.
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