Rush
"I don't get why you are in such a rush."
Grant looks at her in the mirror as he does the buttons of his dress shirt, his mouth pulling into a smirk. "You know I have to take care of this."
"Well, I think you should take care of me first," Skye says, her voice light, teasing, intended to get a rouse out of him. His smile widens as he gazes at her–lying on the bed sideways, her mess of tangled locks fanned out on the white sheets as she bites her lower lip and fondles her bare breasts, the nipples pinched between her fingers, rolling the hardened nubs, as she draws her legs up, clenching her thighs together to create some friction. She is the eponym of everything that's seductive on this earth. She's completely naked–it's not that she's shed her clothes for his benefit; she just didn't bother putting them on after last night.
They are on this mission together–his job is to strike up an acquaintance with the target, gain his trust, get an invitation out of him to the private auction selling Chitauri tech, the one S.H.I.E.L.D. just can't get the location of otherwise. The lion's share of the job is his–it's a men's world, after all, or so the target thinks–, while she's his back up, his extra pair of eyes, and source of distraction, if needed. Phase one of the mission is already a success–he made contact the previous night, rolling dice in the Monte Carlo casino, with his personal Fortuna in his lap, whispering into his ear. And now he is ready for phase two: breakfast with that target, during which he hopes to obtain the invitation they came for. He reckons it'll be a piece of cake–the guy is as clueless as they come, and a bit of flattery and a bit of comradery (bromancing, Skye'd call it) will do the trick, he's sure.
"You know I want to," he says (oh, how he wants to–he can never have enough of her), "but I can't. Not now." He walks over to the bed, slipping on his sport coat. "But…" he draws out, running a finger along her arm before he leans in, "…I'll be back in hour. Wait for me," he asks, then kisses her. It could be awkward, kissing her upside-down as she lies on the bed, but it's not; she curls her arms around his neck right away, and opens her mouth, inviting his tongue in, deepening the kiss, sending shockwaves of pleasure into his very core. When he pulls away, he's pulling her too, at first, her upper body rising from the mattress as she refuses to let go. She lets out a huff when he pries her hands away and she falls back. "One hour," he promises before walking to the door. "And then… we'll do whatever you want."
She pouts. "It better not be longer than that," she says, rolling to her side and looking at him, her chin resting in her hand. "Because then I'm starting without you," she warns with a smile.
His hand on the doorknob, he turns back to her for a moment. "I'll hurry back to you." And with that, he's gone.
When he gets back, a little bit over an hour later, he is high on the success of the mission–it was a piece of cake, the guy singing like a little birdie after Grant told him an anecdote or two, and expressed how interested he is in alien tech. And this buzz in his veins is the very same he's felt countless of times before, the one that has had him lift Skye and press her against the wall, or bend her over the armrest of the couch, and then fuck her into oblivion.
He needs her. Now.
Skye is, for once, exactly where he left her–sprawled out on the bed, sideways, her feet dangling off from the side, fast asleep. If it's not for the tray on the table and the hotel robe thrown haphazardly over the back of the nearby armchair, he'd think she didn't even move from her spot ever since he left.
He stands by the foot of the bed for a moment, just gazing at her–she is a sight to behold, every inch of her; the sun-kissed skin and the lithe limbs, the round breasts and tantalizing hips, the dark, mysterious eyes and the lustful mouth. He is so lucky to be chosen by her.
He starts undressing then, before he'd wake her–why make her bother with taking off his clothes, if she is already so deliciously naked? So he slips off his coat and shirt, gets rid of the shoes and pants, until he is standing there bare like the day he was born, his member already half-hard–the mere sight of her, and the knowledge of what to come is enough to make his blood rush south.
It is only then that he climbs over her, careful not to jostle the mattress too much. One leg between her slightly parted thighs, he leans over her, a smirk on his face, and presses the first, hot, open-mouthed kiss on her stomach, just above her pubic bone. He moves upward from there, kissing along the planes of her abdomen, one hand resting just above the juncture of her thigh. She wakes around the fourth or fifth kiss–she lets out a content moan and slides her fingers into his hair, pushing his head down.
"Hm… you're late," she mewls as he takes a nipple into his mouth. Of course she starts with the reprimand. "How did it go?" Her voice hitches at the end of the sentence as he gives her nipple a hard tug.
"Like a dream," he answers, letting her breast go with a pop as his hand sneaks down between her legs. "Now…" He parts her outer folds "…what should I do to make up for my tardiness?"
She moans, loudly, as he slides two fingers into her core, curling them slightly, then she puts both of her hands on the top of his head, pushing him downward. "Down, boy. Get to work," is all she says.
So down he goes.
Letting her guide him down, he settles between her legs–the sweetest place in the world–, hikes one of her thighs on his shoulder, then he gets down to work–as she asked–, his mouth on her. There's no preamble; he licks and sucks and teases with vengeance, letting her feel the passion, the overwhelming need coursing through his veins, driving her towards the climax with a burning urgency.
He wants–needs–to see her unravel.
His wish is soon fulfilled; it doesn't take him long to get her thrash around–he has to hold her down–, her hands in his hair, her spine arching as she screams his name (she's loud; a part, a really small part of his brain wonders if somebody will hear–he almost wants somebody to hear; to come here and see what he can do to her, how he can make her go wild). Then her whole body goes rigid, her thighs locking around his head as she comes, hard and fast and suddenly, with a silent scream, her voice stolen by the strength of her orgasm, as he keeps going, working on her with fervor, her core pulsing under his tongue.
When it's over and he raises his head from between her thighs, her body goes limp, relaxed under his hands, her short, panting breaths slowly evening out, her eyes fluttering closed–she always does this, she just needs a little time after a powerful climax to come back down, to rest, to collect herself. If he'd let her, she would likely fall asleep again, slowly drift off, lulled to sleep by the sated buzz in her veins.
Only he won't let her–he is not done with her yet.
He sits on his knees and slips his hands under her waist, then, with a quick, practiced move, he yanks her up, crushing her body against his, her legs on either side of hips, straddling him, his erect member trapped between their abdomens. One hand on the back of her head, he guides her face to his and kisses her–his mouth almost savage against hers, letting her taste her own juices, he forces her lips open, demanding entrance, while his other hand grips her hip.
He can feel the sluggish sleepiness leaving her body right away–their passions matched, she responds to his fire with fire, one hand on his head, the other on his back, her fingers digging into his flesh at his shoulder blade painfully-pleasantly, and she grinds against him, seeking friction, as he feels her grin against his mouth.
"So it really went well," she teases–she knows his tells–, her lips moving to his neck, to the point she knows drives him wild. "Really, really well." She bites into the flesh where his neck and shoulder meet, making his breath hitch.
"It was almost embarrassingly easy," he tells her, turning her head backwards, so he can gain access to her neck as well, while he lifts a hand to her breast, playing with that tantalizing mound. "He told me everything, I barely had to ask," he tells her between kisses pressed against the column of her throat. "I almost felt bad for him."
Her laugh is cut short when he sucks on her pulse point. "And?" she breaths.
"Business goes down in two day, in Athens. We report to HQ." He gives her nipple a hard pinch. "And then proceed with the plan." He grabs into her ass. "But first…"
Without giving her a warning, he lifts her suddenly–making her squeal–, and reaches between their bodies, grabs his dick and positions it at her entrance, so she sinks into him as he lets her back down.
No matter how many times they do this, it never ceases to take his breath away. The moment he pushes into her–when her warmth surrounds him–, the universe shrinks to the point where they are connected, and nothing else matters.
He barely waits to let her adjust; he starts moving almost right away, going fast, pistoning into her with hard, practices thrusts. It's not their slow and sweet lovemaking, the kind reserved for lazy mornings; it's wild and almost brutal, it's fueled by raw need and passion. He is hitting all the sweet spots inside of her, he is sure–she picks up the rhythm right away, matching thrust for thrust, clinging into his shoulder (if she'll claw his skin bloody, he doesn't care; he'll bear her marks with pride).
It doesn't last long; soon, he is feeling the tell-tale tingling in the base of his spine, the tightening in his balls–he is close, so close it's almost painful. But he refuses to come without her.
She can't be that far, either–she was still coming down from her high when he pushed into her, and now her thighs are tight around his hips, and her spine is arched, her head thrown back, exposing her neck to him. So he reaches down between their bodies and seeks out her clit, and starts rubbing it with his thumb, just the way he knows she likes it. Her breathing goes even more erratic right away, her moans becoming louder, her grip on his shoulders stronger, her nails close to breaking his skin. So he leans closer to her, puts his mouth on the spot on her neck that makes her lose control, then breaths into her ear, "Come for me, babe."
He is so grateful for the fact that she is getting better and better at obeying commands. The next moment her whole body seizes up, her voice gets caught in her throat, and her core, warm and wet and delicious, starts spasming around his cock, trapping him one moment, as if she never wants to let him go, then trying force him out the next. Her climax triggering his own, he lets out a low, guttural groan, spilling himself deep into her in hot spurts, while his mind goes blissfully blank, nothing existing in the world, just him and her.
Afterwards, he gently lays her down on the bed and settles beside her, so they can catch their breaths. She turns to him almost right away, throwing a leg over his thigh and resting her head on his chest, so he knows she can hear his heartbeat. For a while, neither of them speaks; he just takes a lock of her hair between his fingers, playing with it, while she draws nonsensical patterns into the skin of his abdomen with the tip of her finger.
"So…" she says after a while in that slow, husky voice of hers that he associates with the afterglow of great sex, "Athens?"
He nods. "In two days. We'll have to be there, of course, but it'll be more like a team effort."
She lets out a small, agreeing hum at that.
"But we are not in a hurry, right?" she asks, her hand sliding lower. "I mean, it's in two days. There's no sense in going back to the base. We could wait for the team here… or in Athens…" He understands completely what she is implying the moment her fingers curl around his member. Grabbing her waist, he pulls her on top of him.
"Of course," he says, then kisses her. "After all, I told you–we'll do whatever you want."
