Disclaimer: This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended.
CHAPTER NINE: THE BOYFRIEND EXPERIENCE
Molly feels it acutely, the moment he stops fighting.
For he stills. Quiets.
She's not sure what to make of it.
He stares at her for a moment which feels like an eternity, but then-
Without any warning, his arms wrap around her and he pulls her tight against him, his chest flush with hers. His hands bunch into fists, snarling and tugging at the fabric of her dress and he pulls her around, her knees slipping instinctively down to straddle his hips even as he presses into her, his mouth finding her own for a long, hard kiss.
She looks at him askance, about to ask whether he's alright, but before she can his mouth is on hers again, insistent and fierce and wanted.
"No," he says. "No talking- I know I can make you want this-"
"You don't need to make me want this," she pants.
Despite how unexpected the last few minutes have been, he really, really doesn't.
"Yes," he hisses, and the smile he shoots her feral and dark and unlike any look she's ever seen from him. "Yes, I do."
And before she can question him, before she can ask him about the things he's just told her, he kisses her again, long and hard and deep. The sensation, the sheer need in it, knocks her off-balance, her mind blanking. She's not even sure she remembers her own name.
This pleasure is so much more intense, even, than what came before.
Before she even realises what she's doing she's kissing him back, mouths and tongues and limbs tangling messily together. Her body singing with the feel of him, the knowledge that such recently-discovered pleasure is once again nearly in her grasp tossing aside anything remotely resembling sense.
She has been sensible, her body whispers, for quite long enough.
She must take what he's offering while she can.
So she does: She answers him kiss for kiss, touch for touch. They're both breathing loudly now and she finds she can't stop to draw breath, can't stop touching him, can't stop feeling and sensing and caressing, not for anything-
And then suddenly she's on her back, his body on top of hers, his mouth at her throat as his hands slide up underneath her skirt tug it up over her bare hips, her bare legs.
The thumb of one hand finds her clit, presses wetly against it even as his other hand finds her dress's zipper and yanks at it, grunting in frustration when it doesn't give.
She scrambles to help, hands finding the zipper and pulling it open; She has barely a moment to realise it's free and then he's yanking the damn thing over her head roughly, pulling it up and tossing it away.
The cool air of the room hits her bare skin, hands coming up instinctively to cover herself but he shakes his head. Takes her face in his hands, holding her by her cheeks as he angles her head and kisses her. She can smell herself on his fingers.
"I want to see," he says, "I want to see all of you-"
Molly's never had anyone say anything like that before. Not about her, not about plain little Molly Hooper. She'd not been prepared for this for this sort of… emotion from him, and she's not prepared for the effect it has on her. Because it makes her feel confused. Aroused. Fierce and aching and wanted. So, so wanted. And that's a thing she's not felt, she suddenly realises, not in years.
She doesn't know what to make of it, of herself. Of him.
She doesn't know what to make of anything that's happened since she stepped into this room.
"Let me see you," he's muttering, "I want to see you- I want to see, see-"
"You want to see this?"
And without giving herself time to think, to question, she reaches behind and unclasps her bra. Tosses it away.
She lowers her gaze to the bed as she does it.
She still feels it acutely though, when his gaze lands on her bare skin. She dares to raise her eyes, watches him through her lashes as his pupils dilate, tongue darting out to wet his lip. Heat swarms up her skin, a blush that's half arousal and half embarrassment making her close her eyes, turn her face from his expression. The sensation of his gaze on her is as obvious- as direct- as his hands and mouth though and closing her eyes does not make it go away. Rather it feels more acute, her memory and imagination supplying her with images of what his expression looks like, how he's staring at her-
And then she feels it: His mouth, his delicious, warm, wet mouth latches onto to one achingly tight nipple, suckling and licking, his arms tightening once more around her as he pushes her down onto her back, his other hand sliding down to press between her warm, slippery thighs.
Her entire body lights up with the feel of it, the warm, delicious slide of flesh against flesh setting her on fire. Making her moan.
Wanted, she thinks. Wanted, wanted, wanted.
It's been so long.
She lets out a low, strangled sigh at the feel of it, the sensation turning sharper as she spreads her thighs, pulls him tighter against her. His other hand curls around her calf, sliding her leg upwards so that her sole snakes along his back. The newer position opens her out as her previous one did not, pinning her beneath him. She feels a flash of alarm go through her at this new vulnerability and he slows, brows knit as he stares down at her. For a moment he looks utterly confused but then-
"Tell me," he says quietly. His nose nudges hers; He presses his hips into her, the tip of his cock poking against her inner thigh. It feels tender and lewd at the same time.
She's surprised to feel he's already half-hard again, refractory periods usually being what they were.
"Tell you what?" she asks and even as she says the words, she knows they sound stupid. Vapid. Flustered.
She's usually so much more sensible than this.
"Tell me what you want," he says. His voice has such, such need in it. "Tell me what to do." He shakes his head, something a lot like confusion moving through his eyes. "I never- It has to be about you, it has to be about what you want-"
"I want you."
He shakes his head fiercely. "That's not enough."
Molly slides her hands free, takes his face in her palms as he had done for her mere moments ago. "Then what would be, Will?" she asks. Again he shakes his head. Frowns. "What is this all about, really?"
He opens his mouth to answer, to explain, but nothing comes out.
He looks so… so frustrated, with himself, she can't help but think. He looks almost lost.
"There's… There's all this, this stuff inside me," he says eventually. He sounds utterly confused. "I don't know what to do with it, how to get it out."
"And you think you can fuck it out?" The words come out more tartly than she intended.
If he hears the edge to her voice though, he doesn't acknowledge it.
"I don't know." He kisses her, hard and sweet, driving the breath from her. The sense. For a split second she truly can't remember which way is up or down. But then-
"I give people what they want," he says. "I know how to do that. I know how to fuck-"
Understanding dawns. "But you don't know how to do anything else, do you?" She gestures to their entwined bodies. "You told me something personal and now, now-"
Without warning he moves so that their positions are reversed, him beneath her now as he had been when they first lay down. She huffs out a sigh of surprised- all that air separating them- and he shakes his head, slides his palm up her belly. Across her left breast.
It feels awfully good, his long fingers closing around her, squeezing.
But it doesn't feel as good as when she rights herself, takes back a little control. She shifts so that they're now both sitting up, face to face, his hand still at her breast. She lays her forehead on his and in that moment she realises… He's trembling. They both are.
It feels so freeing, them being in the same state, together.
For a moment there's silence. Stillness. The closeness takes some of the urgency- the danger- out of his expression. Now he breathes and she can feel it against her face, one of her hands snaking up to wrap around the wrist of the hand at her breast.
His pulse is thrumming beneath her thumb.
So she leans in, kissing his cheek. His earlobe. His fingers tighten on her breast, his free arm circling around to grind her tighter against him. His free hands splays messily against the bare flesh of her arse and her own dig gently into his shoulders. His nape. His hair.
It feels good. It feels wanted.
"You're right," he says quietly. He sound breathless. His tongue slides along her throat, his teeth find her ear and bite. "I don't know what else to do. I've never… The client always tells me what to do. They always let me pretend."
She frowns at him. "Pretend what?"
"Pretend everything."
She looks at him askance and she can see him working up to something, something she suspects she won't like. Or might love. Either choice is really rather terrifying.
She sees the moment inspiration hits though. It's rather a lovely sight.
"There's a thing you can do in this game," he says. He addresses the words to her breasts, punctuating every few with kisses and licks and nips. He won't look at her and somehow… Somehow that feels more intimate than his gaze might. "It's… It's… It's a multi-day role-play, typically for a few days at a time," he's saying. His voice grows more comfortable, more controlled, as he speaks. "We call it The Boyfriend Experience."
She frowns. She's heard of The Girlfriend Experience before, where men pay a prostitute to go on dates. To pretend to care about them, for the duration of the arrangement.
Is that what Will wants with her?
When she doesn't speak he rushes on, the words tumbling one over the other. It's not just the pressure of wanting to be inside her that's making him speak, she can see that.
It's his wanting- maybe needing- a reason to want to be inside her that he's getting at and she can't help the thrill that his attraction gives her. She doesn't want to.
"You're, you're uncomfortable with the trappings of my profession," he's saying haltingly. "You've-No Molly, you don't need to apologise, you've not been insulting or rude. I just… I told you something and now it's awkward and this, this would make it a lot less awkward and it's on Meena's credit anyway and I could… I could…"
He looks right at her.
"I could show you how it's supposed to feel," he says quietly. "How… How it would be, with a partner who understands you. Who understands what they have in you." He reaches over to kiss her and this time it's gentle. Almost chaste. "When the week is over," he says, "you'd know, absolutely, what you liked. What you wanted.
"What you deserved.
"And I'd… I'd have fulfilled my professional obligation, in the best way I know how. I would… I would have done what I always do. What's comfortable for me.
"Would that… Would that prove amenable to you?"
And he looks at her, really looks at her. Those quicksilver eyes are electric.
Molly gulps, tries to gather her thoughts. Tries to be sensible and serious and, and stringless but all she can see is how good she feels. How much she wants this. How much he appears to want this.
She's given more for less, she thinks. She's bent far further backwards for a man's comfort zone, and he hadn't even managed to make her feel a tenth of the pleasure this one has.
He hadn't even bloody bothered to ask.
And she can feel it, that delight in being wanted, in being looked at and fucked and liked and being able to give him the same. It's actually astonishingly pleasant, is what it is.
So she hushes Will, silences him with a kiss. He returns it, without worry or unwillingness or discomfort.
This is, as he had said, something he knows how to do, after all.
And then, when they both have to breathe, she pulls him to her. Lets him lay his head on her shoulder, his arms still curled protectively around her, making her feel so warm. So safe and wanted. It feels bother easier and more difficult, this new tenderness. But that doesn't stop Molly from moving, from pressing her entire body against Will's. His heat, his nearness, scorches her; He hisses in pleasure at the contact, nipping at her throat, shifting them so her weight's draped over his hips. His thighs.
She can feel his cock, completely hard now, pressing up against her wet, ready opening and when he looks at her this time, she feels not a sliver of doubt about how to proceed.
So she feels blindly about, pulls open the same bedside dresser that he had before. Her hand finds the condom packet, pulls it open and slides it on him even as their bodies keep pressing together, rasping together, the texture of his flesh and hers delicious.
The sensation is almost better than the feeling of his mouth on hers or his cock within her.
When the condom's fully on she pulls him to her, switches their positions so that now her back's to the headboard. Her thighs lie akimbo, him between them, and with a slow, careful press he pushes inside her again. Fills her again. The ache of him is sweet and tender. Their eyes lock, their breaths catch but this time everything's slower. Gentler. Neither one of them is driving on the other, neither of them seem to be in charge.
No matter what he may say he wants, she's not going to tell him what to do.
It works: He hisses and moves. She matches him. His belly and chest press against hers, jostling her, her skin lighting up in constellations of pleasure and pressure and sensation as their bodies hitch and move, as they push together.
He grips the headboard with one hand and her hip with the other, keeping her close to him.
Molly shivers at the feeling: So much skin, so much flesh, so much pleasure. So much that the rest of the world feels entirely unreal and far away. She's always loved this feeling, someone held tight in her arms. Someone's skin and breath against hers. It's what she's always thought sex is supposed to feel like, when it's good. When it's the best it can be. It should feel like you're both in it together.
And then she feels it, feels him.
He opens his eyes, looks up at her, and it's like… It's like she can see right inside of him.
Molly gasps, surprised. Something twists inside her, some powerful emotion, sharp and liquid and intense. She's had this experience only once before, with Tom in the early days. She'd looked down into his eyes when he was buried inside her and she'd seen… She'd seen him. Not his job or his haircut or his expensively well-thought-out bohemian suit or any of the other things he wanted her to see, the things he'd willingly shown the world.
No, she'd seen him.
She had, in that moment, seen him rather clearly.
And she had, in that moment, thought that she'd fallen in love with him, wanker that he turned out to be.
Something similar grips her now, as she stares down at Will. Something equally poignant. Not love- she's not so foolish- but tenderness. Understanding. The realisation that she's seeing something people rarely get to see in one another.
This is not the face that anyone shows the world.
And then he flinches and closes his eyes, pulls her closer even as he bars that insight into him to her. He starts mumbling things, asking her to fuck him, asking her to finish him. It's rambling and incoherent, even as it pounds its way inside her heart. Her blood. It is, in its own way, as seductive as his handsome face, his deep voice and the things he swears he knows how to do.
So she takes him, lets him take her. She can feel him deep inside her, pulling out and then pressing in. Widening her with pleasure. With kindness and patience and grace. Her climax comes suddenly, a sharp, emotional pang that darts out through her body like firecrackers and then she's kissing him, holding him through his.
Her nails dig into his shoulders so sharply they leave marks, but it feels welcome, right, natural, to do such a thing for him.
He comes apart, her name on his lips, his head buried against her breasts and all she can think is that she wants this. She wants this so much. She wants it to continue.
And in that moment she realises- She'll do anything to make sure that it does: Caution led her to Tom, bravado led her to Will.
She knows which choice she prefers right now.
When he's caught his breath and come down he turns to her. He's covered in sweat, still shivering, and it makes her feel so strong to hold him in her arms.
When she kisses him she tastes salt and flesh.
"Was that a yes?" he asks faintly. "Was that a yes to my proposal?"
She looks at him and for a moment, just a moment, her common sense again urges caution. Worry. She's not long out of a relationship and this man is a new and unknown quantity, for all the pleasure he makes her feel. For all the things he's told her today.
But then-
"You shouldn't talk about proposals to a girlfriend you've only known a week," she says and she sees his face crinkle into a smile, bright and boyish. There's just a sliver of relief in it. There is no worry or darkness and she tells herself that's a good thing.
"I'll take that under advisement, darling," he says. "Now come here."
And he opens up his arms to her. Wraps them around her.
He turns them so they're on their sides, him spooned against her back.
Molly turns in his embrace and nestles in, pressing her nose to his throat and soothing her misgivings. Dismissing them. He knows what he's doing, she's sure.
As he's already said, he's a professional.
