87's POV – Skin
A/N Warning: this chapter contains graphic sex (a lot of it). I really hope you like it, this is my first attempt at smut. If you do, please let me know!
202305RJUN17
"I have been wondering what your skin would taste like since Paris" Jo breathed in his neck before sliding her tongue from his left collar bone up to his jaw.
Since Paris? Fuck
His groan turned into a growl as she whispered in his ear:
"You taste good"
He had always found women who talked in bed – any sort of talk, dirty talk included – quite annoying, but this time the only effect Jo's words had was turning him on even more, if possible.
87 searched her mouth almost frantically and slid his right arm down from her shoulder blade to her rump while bending her right leg around him so as to ground his cock against her core with more strength.
He still couldn't believe that he had Jo in his arms. A certain, undefined hope had started kindling in his chest in the afternoon, but, come evening, it had faded away with her cold, detached behaviour, as if she suddenly felt the need to move warily around him. He had come to the conclusion that it must be because he had killed the doctor, after he had promised to save him. No matter what she had said the other night, joking on his intentions about the man, she was only angry. But seeing him shoot down the helicopter had probably frightened her. So when she had said that she wanted him – twice – it had taken him a while to make sense of her words. A long while if he had to be honest. He had almost fucked it up.
Quite slow-witted for a man who prides himself to have the reflexes of a feline.
And yet there she was, wrapped around him, sighing and gasping at his touch. If his mind was still unconvinced, his body had not paused to ponder. He was so aroused that he feared he might come in his ridiculous underpants just like that, like a teenager going second base for the first time.
Jo slid her hands under his t-shirt, stroking the small of his back with her fingers, then up towards the neck, delicately scratching her nails over his shoulders. He liked it. He liked that she wasn't marking him as her property by leaving raw lines on his skin – as women too often tended to do with him. In this specific situation he wouldn't mind – at all – but in the past he had always found very irksome the necessity to hide his torso and neck during a mission because of some female scratches or love bytes. He also liked how she twined her elbow firmly around his right arm but gently avoided touching the dressing that covered his wound. Not that he would feel pain if she did. In this moment he wouldn't notice even if she bit into it. But he liked that she cared. He liked everything she did.
He moved his left hand up from her leg and placed it inside her t-shirt on her flat stomach before running it up to the lower half of her breast, reaching her nipple with his thumb. Jo arched her back to give him easier access while rubbing her cunt over his cock. A deep growling sound, barely human, escaped from his throat as he kneaded her breast.
Finally
It was soft and firm at the same time, even better than he had expected, it generously filled his hand, her hard nipple rubbing the centre of his palm. He had never thought of himself as a boob-obsessed guy but with all the times he had watched Jo naked, by now he had fantasized quite a lot about her gorgeous forms. He had known from the beginning that she was fit and athletic but, now that he could finally touch her, he realized how physically strong she was, how well-knit, how responsive. He was inebriated.
Jo started tugging his t-shirt so 87 stood up on his knees and took it off. She pulled up her head and upper back from the pillow and imitated him and in a second there were two ridiculous smoking bulldog t-shirts crumpled on the side of the bed. She laid back down and watched him entranced, her face flushed, her mouth slightly open, her lips red and swollen, her hazel eyes almost black with desire, her nipples as hard as they could get. Her eyes were roving over his body the way his were doing on hers. They had both seen each other naked – or almost naked in his case – but this time it was different, it was like they were looking at each other for the first time. And 87 had never seen anything more beautiful.
He plunged down onto her, lowering his head and kissing between her breasts, slowly running his tongue up her neck; her breath hitched when he licked and sucked her nipples. Then she pushed him up, reclaiming space to put her mouth on his chest, caressing his ribs, his bruises and brushing her wet soft lips all over his skin. 87 massaged her arms, her back, her legs, then he slid his hand inside her boxers and she let out a deep sigh when he cupped her mound, pressing his hand against her warmth, but without moving it. When the pressure built up, Jo whimpered and started rubbing her cunt against his hand. It was the signal he was waiting for: he let one finger, then two, slide delicately inside her wet folds, then let them trail up, along both sides of her lips, up and down, carefully avoiding her clit. She moaned in his mouth and fumbled to take his cock, stiff as a stone by now, in her hand. Jo opened her eyes and, for a second, she looked on the point of saying something, then bit her lips with a tiny smile – which looked more like a smirk – and closed her eyes again. The elastic waistband of his trunks was too tight to accommodate both her hand and his hardon so 87 ripped his mouth from hers, pulled away and they both sat up to undress. In an instant the two pugs-decorated boxer shorts joined the bulldog t-shirts on the floor.
As soon as they were both naked Jo grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him to her for a kiss then, lying down, took hold of his cock and, spreading her legs, guided him to her entrance. She was so wet that he went right into her in one long, ecstatic move. She was warm and tight; the sensation was intoxicating. She threw back her head, her breath caught in her throat in a voiceless cry, then she moved to adjust to him, spreading her legs wider and shifting her hips. He stayed still, giving her body time to relax; only when he felt that the tension in her thigh muscles had eased he pushed slightly deeper, eliciting a hoarse moan from her mouth. Then he pulled all the way out, and in again, ever so slowly. His mouth covered hers, drinking every breath, every sigh, every sound, like a thirsty man in a desert. In and out, with deliberate languidness, relishing every inch, her warmth, the velvety slickness of her walls, their pressure, every time sinking deeper into her.
After a few minutes, Jo started squirming below him, whining softly, then bit the skin on his shoulder, not hard enough to leave a mark, but sufficiently to make him feel her teeth and send a bolt of excitement right through his brain. 87 took her cue and sped up the pace, thrusting in and out vigorously. She put her hands on his back as if to keep him as close to her as she could, her breasts pressed on his chest, their upper torsos moving in sync together as they made love.
With a strangled sound Jo took his face in her hands for a long kiss, then pushed him on the side and rolled over him, straddling him without letting him out. She started riding him, rolling her hips and rocking back and forth, her breast swaying and bouncing. The show drove him mad, he grabbed her buttocks and pulled her down, driving himself harder into her. Jo gasped, her eyes suddenly open, staring down at him with real helplessness mixed with hunger, then leaned forward, brushing her breasts on his face. 87 took one nipple in his mouth and cradled the other breast in his palm,
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
He wanted her, all of her. He was frantic. Jo quickened her pace, grabbing the headboard with her left hand and, with the right, touched herself, drawing small circles on her clit with two fingers. Her moans gave way, replaced by high pitched wails. She was loud and he liked it – and was glad to have chosen the most isolated bungalow of the residence. Her face was concentrated, feverish, dishevelled, harassed. He had never seen anything so sexy in his entire life. She was perfect.
87 knew she would climax right away. He could suddenly feel her inner walls in incredible detail, as if he'd got ten times larger. She came, her body jerking and shuddering, her contractions squeezing him inside her. She kept fucking him through her orgasm for long seconds, bucking wildly and shrieking breathlessly, until her release was complete and she came down, collapsing on his chest, panting and smiling. It was a miracle he didn't come too.
With a growl 87 rolled her onto her back and pulled out. Jo gasped at the loss of him inside her but he needed to cool down. He knew that if he kept moving, if he gave himself up to her tightness, her heat, he would explode. Instead he wanted to fuck her for hours
Unrealistic
Or at worst he wanted to make her come at least once more.
Stop. Breathe. Focus.
He cleared his mind the way he had been trained and only when he felt that the tension in his balls was easing he dared to sink into her again. He planted his forearms on either side of her head and fucked her in earnest while she clasped his shoulders with her hands and hooked her legs around his waist. But it was still too much. Her lips on his neck, her tongue in his mouth, her nails all over his skin, her cunt, so hot and wet…
Stop. Breathe. Focus.
He fixed his eyes on a black nail sticking out of the wall, shutting out her silky skin, the warmth of her body, her hot breath on his face, only registering, here and there, the pitch of her moans to measure her progress.
"Andrew"
As from a distance, her voice reached him
"Andrew look at me"
He was pulled back into the reality of their bedroom, she had his face in her hands and was searching his eyes with a somewhat furrowed expression.
"Let go!" she breathed, slightly shaking her head. She kissed him – or rather, she licked his bottom lip and upper teeth with the tip of her tongue – then added "I wanna see you come". She pressed a wet kiss just under his earlobe and whispered in his ear "I wanna feel you come".
And that was it. He was fucked. He plunged back into that world made of pleasure, of wet lips, long legs, open mouths, gorgeous breasts, sweaty skin… he thrusted even deeper inside her as she gripped his back… her tongue, her bottom, her hands… he hadn't realized how close to coming he was…. he had been all the time.
87 slipped his hands beneath her rump so no matter what their bodies did they would be touching, and he would stay in her as deep as possible. When he felt the pressure mount over the limit he grabbed hold of her back and arched himself towards her as he came. Then he stayed still, breathing from her mouth, inhaling her perfume, while she kissed gently, with the soft, wet part of her lips, his mouth, eyes, chin, neck, cheeks, nose.
It was over. Now he should pull out of her. Now there would come the inevitable awkwardness. They would clean up. She would try to talk, she would want to cuddle. He wasn't good at it. At neither of it. And yet he didn't want it to finish. He loved her. He was fucked.
