A/N: 18+
Just a throwaway piece because I was wrapping someone's birthday present and wondering what would happen if it ended up being the wrong item . . .
She might have had a spending problem - if the number of Amazon boxes in her wheelie bin every week was any indication. But who could beat sitting in your pjs in bed during a bout of sleeplessness and getting all of your gifts bought for the next three months, and then they magically appear on your doorstep, and delivered by a gorgeous guy in uniform?
C'mon - where was the bad, really?
And now, sitting with the man who had become a close friend over the past year or so, whose birthday was last week but who couldn't make time to see her until now - which she entirely understood - she hadn't had to agonize over what to get him when he'd suggested an impromptu visit tonight.
Lauren tried to be as undemanding a friend as possible - in general but in particular to him - since her schedule was much more fluid than his and he was unutterably busy, and thus she didn't get to see as much of him as she might have if she'd been one of those more demanding people. But she deliberately conformed herself to him and tried to be just about as low maintenance as it got, as acknowledged gratefully by none other than Tom Hiddleston himself on several occasions.
The first words out of his mouth any time he saw her was always a heartfelt apology for neglecting her, the annoying asshole. Who couldn't forgive someone like that pretty much anything?
But her patience with him and the things that constantly pulled him away from her didn't mean she didn't want him. That dreams of him - sometimes sweet and hot and sexy and loving, sometimes very not so much - didn't awaken her at night, leave her aching in her morning shower as well as fantasizing about him, alone in bed, letting her fingers doing the walking after he'd left her with a tight hug and a depressingly chaste kiss on the cheek.
But that was a part of how she felt about him that Lauren never intended for Tom to find out about. He was friggin' Tom Hiddleston. How could she possibly hope to compete with all of the women he already had chasing him - and for good reason? What woman wouldn't want a man who truly believed in romance, who genuinely liked and admired women, and who could purposefully focus every iota of his considerable attention on you to the extent that you were quite sure that he'd happily let the world crumble around the both of your ears rather than miss a single syllable that came out of what he surely considered to be your beautiful mouth . . .
As he sipped on the cup of tea she'd gotten him, she left him momentarily to dig his present out of the back closet, where she'd stored all of them for everyone in her life, wrapped nicely - but lazily - right in their Amazon boxes.
The bulb in the closet blew out as she turned it on, and the room was rather dark, but she was too lazy to bother with finding another bulb. Besides, she knew the box by its feel - about fourteen or so inches long, about three inches high and six inches or so wide - the best box of chocolates she could afford to get him. The gift was really just a token, anyway, so he'd have something to unwrap. The real gift was a homemade chocolate cake with chocolate frosting she'd made with her own two hands.
After handing him the box and telling him to go ahead and open it, she darted into her small kitchen to hurriedly light the candles in preparation for bringing the cake in to him as a surprise.
She could hear him tearing the wrapping paper - he was such a kid - but then that stopped and he said, "Oh, there's a card. I should probably have read this first." He proceeded to read it out loud in that orgasm inspiring voice of his. "'The gift that keeps on giving, even when he can't'. Hmmmm. Cryptic."
The second she heard him finish quoting what she'd put on the tag, though, she left off lighting candles - leaving several still burning in her blind panic - and sprinted into the living room, literally diving towards the box as he sat wide legged in the middle of her settee, landing sprawled face down across his lap, still reaching for the gift that he had moved just out of the reach of her comparatively short, stubby arms.
If she could just get him to give it back to her, she could prevent what was sure to be a truly life-endingly embarrassing moment. She just . . . needed . . . that . . . box! Lauren wiggled and reached and groaned and grunted, all to no avail, paying absolutely no attention to how what she was doing was affecting him, despite the rapidly growing pressure and presence of a part of him she'd yet to encounter much of, up close and personal, anyway.
He gave her a sidelong glance and a mischievous grin that was guaranteed to have her gushing onto her panties - not that she wasn't already, drawling, "Wow, if I'd known that all it took for me to get you assume this position was to open a present I'd've done it long ago."
But, although she was also completely mortified to find herself where she was, Lauren was much more concerned that he not open the fucking package. She continued to grab at it, but he kept it away from her with frustrating ease, one arm naturally coming to rest across the small of her back, holding her down while she begged, "Tom, no! Give it back! It's not the right -"
Too late.
He opened it the rest of the way to reveal that the box in his big left hand was definitely not full of relatively expensive chocolates.
Instead, he held - still well out of her reach - and closely inspected a package that contained a huge, pink vibrating dildo, the kind with built in attachments for . . . other places, which she had intended for a girlfriend's hen night.
Lauren buried her face in her hands, not even remembering where she was at the moment in the face of the overwhelming humiliation she was drowning in. "Mother of all that is holy, please, have mercy," she began to pray fervently out loud, "Just . . . just kill me now. I've had a good life, up to this completely fucked up moment. I'm just as happy to go any time now, really. The sooner the better. I'm begging you. PLEASE."
And he was being absolutely no help, giggling and snickering like a schoolboy, as if he'd never seen one of them before.
His tone when he spoke, however, was annoyingly, teasingly serious. "Lauren, darling, are you sure you meant this for me? I don't think I have all the requisite . . . areas necessary to enjoy it to the fullest extent . . . "
Somehow, through the unmitigated shame, she found bit of gumption and looked up at him to spit, "Fuck you, Tom. I obviously gave you the wrong gift. This was meant for Lilah's bachelorette party."
He looked distinctly unconvinced, the bastard. "You're sure it's not for you?"
She clenched her teeth and put her head back in her hands. She couldn't believe it, but this was rapidly going from bad to worse. "No, it's not."
"It's pink. You like pink," he teased.
She could imagine so did he - although not necessarily the color, exactly - but bit her lip, growing somewhat less ashamed and more angry.
Tom held it up, closer to her than it had been, almost as if he was offering it to her, and she could just hear the big shit eating grin he was still wearing in his voice. "It looks as if it would . . . get the job done . . . so to speak."
Lauren groaned.
"I really think this is probably yours and you're too embarrassed to tell me, but, honey, you needn't be -"
She reared up as far as his arm would allow, which wasn't far, shouting for one of the few times in her life, "For the last time, it's not mine! Why would I wrap something for myself? Besides, I already have one -"
Fuck. My. Life, she thought, collapsing over his legs again. I did not just scream that, at the top of my lungs, at Tom Hiddleston, did I? And while he's sitting there looking all smug and grinning at me like an idiot already?
His eyebrows rose with interest, that million watt, now flirty smile of his not dimming in the least. "You do?"
In a last ditch effort to save herself, Lauren did her best to try to slip out from under that hard arm across her back and onto the floor, knowing that - particularly in this situation - she was nowhere near too proud to crawl away from him on her hands and knees, if necessary.
She just had to get away from him, from this mortifying situation.
But he wasn't having it. "Well, if this is someone else's, why don't we leave it here." His voice dropped several octaves before he continued, "I'd much rather play with yours."
With that heart-stopping pronouncement, his arm tightened around her waist and he simply stood, suddenly, trapping her against his side by just that hold and walking into the kitchen, where the candles she'd left burning on the cake had just begun to set off the smoke alarm.
Normally, when she was by herself, she would have had to grab a chair and stand on it to hit the reset button, or grab a yard stick to bat at it at the very least, but Tom simply reached up and pressed it for her.
"Thank you," Lauren said huskily.
"You're welcome, love." He was staring at the beautiful cake she'd obviously baked for him, setting her gently down beside him but keeping an arm around her just in case she decided to make a break for it again. "Is this for me, too?"
"Yes. It's chocolate cake with chocolate frosting"
He turned to face her, his eyes soft and loving, although she took note of the fact that his pupils were nearly the size of his irises. "My absolute favorite flavor. And I bet it's not from a box. I remember you saying you don't make boxed sweets."
"I don't and it is," she admitted, quite proud of the results, even with the melted pools of wax that kind of ruined the decorative effect she'd been going for.
Tom took the knife that lay next to the pretty Lalique cake stand and cut a small piece off the end, grabbing it with his fingers and taking a bite for himself - his eyes rolling back into his head with pleasure at the taste - then feeding the rest to her, leaving his fingers in her mouth so that she could lick every bit of the frosting off.
Which she did without thinking, pausing at the end and blushing with embarrassment, even though he was still smiling - and smoldering - down at her.
"This is sinfully delicious." He took a step towards here that there wasn't really room for, his hand on her back not allowing her to move away as he plastered his body to hers, melting his lips onto hers and letting their mouths and tongues mingle sweetly. "And so are you," his words breathing chocolate onto and into her. "Now, where were we? Oh yes, going to look at your version of Lilah's present -"
He began to guide her towards her room, not hurting her in any way, but not letting her resist him, either, until she was standing next to her bed.
"Is it in your nightstand? Is that where you keep all of your naughty things?" he asked with a subtly small, suggestive smile.
"Yes." She didn't bother to say that she didn't own much in the way of naughty things, unless one considered the occasional bottle of lube - that she didn't usually have much use for, either, specifically because of him - to be naughty.
Tom's hands were on the drawer pulls but he was looking at her for permission to do so.
With a heavy sigh, Lauren gave in somewhat less than gracefully, nodding as she sank down onto the edge of the bed, knowing that at least there was nothing else in there she would have been embarrassed for him to find.
When he lifted it out of her drawer, he turned to her, using his hip to close the drawer and fixing her with a puzzled look. "It's still in the box. In fact, it's new-in-box - the tape's not even been broken on it."
"Yep."
Tom sat down on the bed next to her. "Why would you have one of these completely untouched, may I ask?"
It was her turn to raise her eyebrows at his. "Oh now you're asking my permission?"
He colored profusely - almost as much as she had and still was. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to overstep -"
"Cool your jets, Hiddleston." Lauren leaned her chin on her hand. "It's a leftover from a couple of exes ago. He wanted to . . . to use it."
Tom's eyes widened. "Oh himself?"
For someone who was so smart, he could definitely be obtuse. "No, idjit, on me."
"Oh. And he didn't because . . . ?" He hurried to add, "If you don't mind my asking."
Lauren shrugged. "I don't know. I've never liked them much. They're so . . . artificial. Even the really expensive ones that claim not to be. To me . . . " She wasn't at all sure she wanted to admit anything more to him, so she stopped.
But he, of course, seemed to be hanging on her every word even more so than usual. "To you they're what?"
She could feel her cheeks burning again.
Still.
Yet.
"A . . . uh . . . well . . ." she squirmed, not really wanting to tell him what she was thinking.
Tom put the vibrator on top of her nightstand and scooted closer to her as he pulled her against him, whispering in an almost plaintive way, "Please tell me. I'm very interested."
There was no way she could meet his eyes if she was going to say this, so she stared at her hands instead, where they lay in her lap - dangerously close to his.
"I just -" She sighed heavily, figuring what the hell. "They're a very poor substitute for the real thing. Nothing -" she swallowed hard, unwilling to believe she was actually saying this to him. "- nothing feels the same - nothing feels as good - as the real thing, you know? When you're with someone that hopefully you have feelings for, that you're comfortable with, that you want to make feel good and who you know wants to do the same thing for you . . . nothing plastic and artificial can compete with someone else's fingers or tongue or . . . " She couldn't quite make herself say any of the many synonyms for "cock" that came to her mind, and knowing she'd said entirely too much anyway already, she tried to squirm away, but got nowhere against his calm strength.
She heard his breath sigh out of him loudly. "I think I understand perfectly, Lauren, my love," he said, bringing the back of her right hand to his lips, then turning it over to kiss the palm, tickling it with the tip of his tongue. "And I agree. Nothing feels like the real thing, with someone you care about who cares about you."
Keeping hold of one of her hands he reached out with one long finger and tilted her chin up so that she met his eyes as his lips covered hers very softly before he pulled a little away. "I'd like to be that someone for you, if you'll let me."
"No fucking way!" she giggled. She couldn't help it. She snorted. Practically in his face, she snorted, surprised at his shock and totally unable to stop the way she began to giggle nervously, uncontrollably at what she considered to be a completely preposterous idea, missing the way his eyes slid from hers to stare at his own hands.
"I've not known you to have a boyfriend since we met - is it . . . is it me you aren't attracted to, or is it that you just don't want to at all - with anyone?"
Lauren stopped mid-chuckle, her hand over her mouth. "Fuck me, Tom, you can't be serious with that question."
"But I am. I'm dead serious." His eyes claimed hers for a short time before he looked away again in a move she recognized as her own around him.
"Get real," she said, a big smile on her face that invited him to laugh with her, although it wasn't working for some reason, as if he couldn't begin to comprehend just how preposterous that idea was. "You've got to know that you'd be hard pressed to find a woman in the entire fucking universe that would ever, ever, ever turn you down."
Those exquisite eyes were back on hers, making her feel caught in them, vulnerable to him, as she had been to no other man. "Except for you," he whispered softly. "You just did."
Her eyes went round. He couldn't have meant what he said, could he?
Wait a minute. What he was saying now?
"But Tom, I'm not - I'm - I'm just me. I'm a slob. I'm not even pretty -"
She found her cheek cupped in his palm. "Don't say that about yourself," he chided fiercely. "I think you're gorgeous." His other hand reached out to take hers and press it over the bulge in his black jeans, leaving his there, lying over hers, trapping it against him. "I want you. I've wanted you since before we met, when Luke used to tell me stories about you and how funny and smart and pretty you were. I made him introduce us, you know. I annoyed him mercilessly until he did."
That was new - and unbearably exciting - information.
Tom Hiddleston had wanted to meet her.
She owed Luke an apology for having called him a bald faced liar every time he'd told her that.
Lauren's head was spinning, her fingers naturally contracting over him without thinking - until his hips rose to press himself even further into her hand, his breath catching audibly in the back of his throat.
He didn't know how she could possibly have missed just how much he wanted her, although she apparently had. Hell, he was in a constant state of arousal around her, adjusting his position frequently and never really finding any kind of relief - and she had shown absolutely no signs that she wanted things between them to change at all from the their very platonic relationship, so he hadn't pushed. He knew she'd had a bad time of it for the past two boyfriends, which he'd heard more about from Luke than from her. She could be annoyingly closed mouthed at times, but he'd heard enough from their mutual friend to know that he was glad they were both in the States instead of here or he would have definitely felt compelled to hunt each of them down and at the very least deck them for being such dicks to her.
When he'd seen what the present was, he knew he'd reacted like a preadolescent boy, but he hadn't been able to control it, for some reason, his head filling with thoughts of her using it on herself . . .
And then she had gotten angry - for the first time that he'd ever seen - and had spilled the beans about the fact that she did own the same vibrator, and he'd been consumed with the idea of her letting him see it, as proof, he guessed.
As a way to get to her into her bedroom.
He didn't know where he'd gotten the idea of simply standing up with her still against him, held perpendicular to him at waist level, but he'd been quite tickled that she hadn't really put up any kind of a fuss about it.
And then he'd seen the cake she'd so sweetly made for him, and she'd thoroughly but quite daintily licked the frosting from fingers he'd left in her mouth more out of shock that she'd allowed him to put them there than hoping she'd clean them off with her tongue . . .
And he was lost from that point on - from the moment their chocolate cake lips mingled and he felt every bit of breath leave his body.
He knew he was pushing her - knew that she was truly mortified at the mistake she'd made in the first place, and now, having allowed him into her bedroom she seemed terribly nervous and uncomfortable - and he suppose that all of his embarrassing, intimate questions weren't helping the situation at all, but he was so curious about her that he couldn't seem to stop himself, although he tried to remember his manners.
Well, some of them, anyway.
And now he was sitting there, with that tiny hand of hers resting atop himself as he continued to grow steadily beneath it, and he was humiliated to realize that that was pretty much all it was going to take for him, especially if she kept up that gentle, squeezing rhythm she'd begun almost absently. He found he was entirely unable to prevent himself from raising his hips in concert with her motions, eyelids fluttering shut as he braced his hands on the bed behind him, a stifled moan escaping through taut lips.
And then he heard, "Oh, holy crap, I'm sorry!" and her hand was gone.
His eyes snapped open and he growled softly at the back of his throat, his hand snaking out to capture her wrist and drag her hand back to where it had been.
Those wide eyes of hers were quite the sight, but he refused to relent. He wanted more of her touch, and as he held her to him, he used his other hand to work the button at the top of his pants open, then drag the zipper down, moving her hand slightly to one side but not allowing her to regain either possession or control of it as he did so.
His voice was deep and ragged, commanding and pleading at the same time. "Touch me, Lauren, please!" Tom's fingers around her wrist brought her hand back to rest over him, but with the only thin, pliable layer of his boxer briefs between them.
She started at his guttural groan as her fingers closed around him, and she surprised him by somewhat tentatively adjusting her hand to a better fit, although it was still much to small to encompass all of him at once.
He wondered if her quim would be like that, too - small and tight and barely able to handle all of him.
To Lauren, it felt as if this was some sort of aberration out of time, as if she was having a hard time distinguishing between her fantasies and reality, and thinking that this really wasn't happening anywhere but in her fevered mind helped her feel less nervous.
She was doing something she'd always dreamt of doing - cupping him, reaching lower to make certain not to neglect his balls as she gathered them against the thick column of him, her every movement slow and deliberate, her eyes locked on his until he collapsed back onto the bed, balling the bed sheets into his fists at her efforts, soft and subtle thought they were.
The breath panted heavily out of him, as if he'd just come in from a long, arduous run, and Lauren's self-confidence soared that she was able to make him feel that way. It emboldened her to remove his hand and hers - even though he cried out at the loss of her warmth and stimulation - to tug his pants down.
All of a sudden, Tom shot up and, in a matter of about three seconds, divested himself of every stitch of clothing he had on, then lay down before her again, catching her hand in his and her eyes with his, saying breathlessly, "Please."
This time she didn't need him to guide her where he wanted her, nor to hang around to convince her to stay there.
Lauren stretched out on the bed next to him, on her side, but didn't scoot up towards his head at all, much preferring to stay close to her goal, which she set about stroking and exploring with tantalizingly soft, undemanding strokes.
He was a beautiful man, and in this was no exception. His cock was long and thick, heavily veined and powerful looking, rock hard and pulsing with desire, twitching occasionally as she explored every bit of him, mentally noting what areas, what movements, got the best reactions from him, then repeating those in a rhythm that was at once predictable and surprising as she threw in other things to pique his interest - licking her own palm to then make a fist and present it to the very tip of his cock, driving it into her hand to approximate the tightest possible pussy and drawing a shuddering moan from him as he lifted his hips to take her hand more fully, until she had wet every bit of him, then releasing him to gently but firmly cup his balls, rolling them like dice at a craps table, until she gave in to one of her greatest urges and leaned down to suckle eagerly at each one of them.
As Tom's hand came up to thread his fingers into the riot of short curls at the back of her head, encouraging her wordlessly, she flattened her tongue at the very base of him and licked all the way up that tremendous tower of flesh, cleaning the pre-cum off the tip with one last dexterous swipe as his hips rose so that he could maintain contact for as long as was humanly possible.
She didn't make him wait long, settling herself between his legs and burying her face against him, rubbing him all over her, turning her head to bury him with her curls as she heard his breathing becoming more and more labored. Then she reached up both hands so that each thumb and forefinger could claim a tiny, proudly erect nipple to worry as she set her mouth on top of him, lips tightly pursed, opening it very slowly over him, keeping her cheeks pulled in, forcing him past her lips as if she was a reluctant virgin and he a conquering warrior, so that he could feel every warm, wet oral secret she owned as she sank - hands free - down over him to the hilt to flick her tongue out to swipe at his tightly gathered balls.
"Jesus bloody fucking Christ!" he whispered and it became something of a chant as she did exactly the same thing in reverse, only to start it again as soon as she was free of him.
But he couldn't take a lot of that. He didn't have it in him to let her torture him for long like this. He'd wanted her for far too long for that.
So his big hand found its way into her hair again and he felt her relax against him as she let him guide her into a much faster motion that concentrated more towards the tip of him, although he did occasionally encourage her - somewhat less than gently - to take all of him, which he knew was not an easy feat, yet she never hesitated and he never heard any signs of distress as he hit the back of her throat and beyond.
"Lauren, my God, I'm going to - I - I can't stop -"
She raised up, off him, for just a split second, long enough to murmur softly, "Cum for me, Tom. Please. I need to taste you -"
And then she was as he held her head still, fucking her mouth just once, holding himself well inside her as his cum streamed down her throat in violent spurts.
He held her there for quite some time - coming down so slowly that his cock continued to twitch for long moments afterwards, hips jerking up spasmodically, although she held her mouth very still, knowing he had to be incredibly sensitive.
Eventually, quite a while later, he withdrew from her with a start, releasing her and sitting up as he apologized profusely. "I'm so sorry. I just kind of got lost there in the aftermath - I was just floating on the cloud of pleasure, you know?"
His cheeks were stained red and he just looked that much cuter to her for his not so hidden blush. "I know, and I'll take that as a compliment."
"Aren't you uncomfortable lying there all contorted like that, though? Come up and lie next to me; let me hold you."
Lauren did so, although she was biting her lip the entire way, not at all sure she wanted to do this on one hand, absolutely certain she did on the other.
His arms closed around her as he drew her against him and she realized that she fit perfectly into his arms when they lay like this, her head just beneath his chin, cheek pressed to his wonderfully naked chest.
It was her legs that she seemed to have a problem finding the right place for, because it seemed his longer ones insisted on resting between hers, and she kept lifting her top leg off of his until he reached down and caught it just above her knee, hauling it up and over his hip to place it high on his waist, pressing his junk against the zipper of her own jeans and making her whimper at the almost contact which had him chuckling low and knowingly in response, her knee caught around him, his hand not releasing its hold on her at all at first so that she had no choice but to keep her leg in place.
When their eyes met accidentally, he kept hers on him, issuing a warning growl, "Don't think that because I'm taking a few minutes to try to return to some semblance of coherency that I've forgotten about you, because I haven't."
Tom could feel her shudder in his arms at his words, and allowed his lips to curve into a wolfish smile. Perhaps she did want him, even just a little. He could work with that.
He decided that turnabout was fair play, so he placed his hand boldly right at the apex of her thighs, which were held well apart. It was warm and, unless he missed his guess, damp, too.
But that wasn't the best thing that happened.
That was the way she moaned then bit her lip to stop the guttural sound from escaping her as she tried to jerk her hips away from his touch. But he merely brought an arm low around her back - and, holding his other hand still right where it had been touching her - proceeding to contract his arm so that she slid onto him just as she had been.
As if his hand had always been meant to fit there on her.
And he was treated to another sizzling groan even though he had yet to move his hand at all against her.
All good signs, as far as he could see.
He surprised her by withdrawing his hand almost as soon as she'd settled on it again, but she forgot to be concerned about that because he was, instead, lifting up the hem of her t-shirt, which she made a belated grab at, but it was a very loose shirt and it came off over her head without so much as disturbing a hair on it.
Her bra was much more utilitarian than she would have preferred, not that he seemed to mind. The hand around her back rose up to expertly undo the clasp and, as his eyes held hers, he pulled it off and let it fall to the ground.
But he didn't stop to admire her then, knowing he'd be completely sidetracked if he did, so his hands found the waistband of her jeans and made quick work of them as well as her panties, leaving her as naked to him as he was to her.
Tom let his eyes drift over her appreciatively. "Fuck me, you're gorgeous! You've been hiding an amazing body under all of those t-shirts that are four sizes too big for you."
He could clearly see how nervous she was - she was shaking in his arms - and did his best to set about making her feel more comfortable, hugging her to him tightly and rubbing her back slowly before moving a bit away and taking her hand to show her just how she affected him.
He was already hard again. "This shouldn't happen, baby. I'm not sixteen any more. But I want you so badly already again . . . "
She gifted him with a small, tentative smile and his heart - as well as other parts of him - melted.
He arranged her just as she had been - her body open to him again as he put his hand back where it had been, only this time there was nothing between his flesh and hers besides her sparse smattering of pubic hair. And his eager ears were greeted by a soft sigh. even as she again tried to move away, but he was better prepared this time, the hand that had been rubbing her back dipping well down to cover her behind, knowing that the suddenness of that intimate touch would probably have her arching away from it and into his waiting palm.
And it happened exactly as he'd envisioned it.
"That's not fair!" she moaned as his fingers slipped her open around them, causing her to catch her breath and tense, even as he patted her bottom soothingly.
Dear God, how did he know to do that - touching her like this - those beautiful fingers between her legs and his other hand possessively on her behind, so that she had nowhere to go to get away from him?
Her entire body contracted hard when, as he kissed her deeply, one of those bold fingers found its way up inside her.
Tom was nearly speechless at what he found. "Lauren, my love, you are so amazingly wet!" His hips rocked forward, pressing his finger further into her.
She barely heard what he said. Her body was in control, back arched, eyes nearly shut, breath puffing violently out of her.
His mouth took advantage of what she was unconsciously offering him, mouth and tongue travelling avidly between taut twin points that only became more so the longer he flicked and suckled at them.
As he watched her avidly, a second finger joined the first, and he nearly lost it when her breath hissed through her teeth at the way he was stretching her open.
She was unbelievably tight, and he had to stop himself from imagining what she was going to feel like wrapped around him the way she was around his fingers.
Leaving those two there, he dipped his thumb into her tiny spring, then unerringly found the bud at the top of her cleft, pressing gently and rubbing, sliding and gliding over all of her, then deliberately teasing his way around her outskirts before deliberately dragging that big pad of his thumb up and over her again, adoring the way her head whipped back and forth, how she strained in a manner that seemed at once to be trying to get away from what he was doing to her, but at the same time, entreating him not to stop, either.
"T- T - T -"
A full, evil smile spread over his face at the fact that she couldn't even get his simple, one syllable name out.
"Tom," he whispered into her ear before nibbling at the lobe.
Barely breathing, she nodded her head. "Y - Yes. I - c-can't - please -"
Swirling his thumb deliberately over the most sensitive part of that very sensitive part, he whispered huskily, "Oh, I think you can and, what's more, you will, because I'm not going to stop until you do, Lauren."
Her hands, which, like the rest of her body were incredibly weak against what he was doing to her, came up to push against his arms in a token effort to stop him, but he was merciless, capturing them easily and holding them behind her back as he continued to rub and flick and occasionally pinch her as his fingers took what they wanted from her, pounding themselves into her.
She was very close, he could tell, and the next time he pulled his fingers out of her, he added a third, which he took his time pushing up into her.
The moment he did that, he felt her body stiffen in a way it hadn't before, and he knew he was on the right track.
What this man was doing to her was downright criminal. Lauren knew she couldn't take much more of it, and that third finger was her complete undoing. The simultaneous feelings of being forced to open for him while his thumb teased and tortured her was entirely too much for her body to take.
The tremendous bubble of sensations that had been building within her finally burst wide open, making her try to writhe and buck and arch and sob against him, but he never relinquished his firm hold, keeping her held tight and contained as he expertly forced her to orgasm after orgasm, holding her still for it, not letting up in the least until he thought she'd had enough.
And then he simply traded one sort of impalement for another as he presented himself to her opening and very slowly, very deliberately, claimed her as his own.
Neither Lauren's body nor her mind was anywhere near ready for his possession. But there was nothing she could do about it. He held her fast for his invasion, and damned if her body didn't send out a long, low groan that had her blushing furiously from it even though she was the one who'd done it.
Tom leaned forward to tug a nipple into his mouth, suckling hard before raising his head to say, "Damn, that was sexy, woman! Do that again!"
She couldn't shake her head fast enough. "I didn't mean," she had to take a breath in between because she was suddenly so short of it - "to do it that time!"
He lifted her chin, and, while staring into her eyes, he said, "I bet I can make you do it again."
"No, no! You don't need to - ! No!"
Long before he claimed his own ecstasy, he'd made her do that - and climax - another five or six times each - he frankly had lost track. She was amazingly responsive, and he found himself longing to spend the rest of his life making her cum at will.
He settled for bringing her off again just as he came into his own, so that his orgasm was milked out of him by her strong contractions around him, not only prolonging his ultimate pleasure, but intensifying it a thousand fold at the same time.
They collapsed against each other, and Tom's arms brought her tight against him, muttering huskily, "Damned if this isn't the best non-birthday present birthday I've ever had!" which got Lauren laughing as she allowed herself to relax completely within the realm of his arms.
Eventually she left the bed, despite the fact that he whined about her leaving and kept a hold of her as long as he could.
"I have to pee!"
"Oh, all right," he let her go ungraciously.
But he was much happier when she came back with two glasses of wine, a big slab of cake and another wrapped gift, plopping down on the bed next to him and feeding him a piece of cake with her fingers so that he could return the favor and lick hers clean this time.
"What is this going to be - a butt plug?" he teased, shaking the box near his ear.
"Is a butt plug going to rattle around in the box?"
"How would I know?" he asked indignantly. "I've never bought one."
"Not even for someone else?" The question just slipped past her lips.
"No." Tom stopped in the act of unwrapping his gift. "Why, have you ever bought one?"
Her blush was very, very telling.
"Tell me!" he demanded, the present forgotten entirely as he sat up and dragged her onto his lap.
"No."
His eyebrows went up and she wanted to forestall him getting all Alpha male on her.
"You might ply me with wine and see how that loosens my tongue . . . " she suggested.
"I kinda like your tongue the way it is, really. Damned near killed me." He reached out to dip his finger into the inch deep frosting, leaving big dollops of it on either nipple, then stretching out and taking her with him, whether she wanted to or not - so that he could have the unmitigated joy of licking it - and her - off.