Prompt: In April Showers you have this line: "He had lost count of how many boyfriends and fiancés she had had over the years. He only knew one year he had thrown a fit and there had never been any other man but him, which was only fair since he had stopped sleeping with other women around the same time." HADS prompt: the scene where Haymitch threw a fit over Effie being with other men? (I know there's a fic where Effie gets jealous and they agree to be exclusive but rarely Haymitch insisting)
Fun fact in my stories I think it's always Haymitch who gets them to exclusivity bc Effie knows better than to ask… Also, don't ask me why this went where it did. I just woke up with that story stuck in my head and it fit this prompt. Capitols are another level entirely, my lovelies.
The coconuts in this is heavy, go forth at your own risk XD
Three's a Crowd
As the convertible hurled its way around night traffic, too fast and too recklessly, it occurred to Effie anyone could have seen her, taken pictures… Her face could have been plastered on every newspapers the next morning and she would have looked absolutely wrecked, completely ruining the image she had so carefully built for herself.
Not that she really cared at that particular moment.
Not about the fact that the speed was ruining her wig style or the fact that she had left tipsy two bars ago and was now very drunk. Not about the arm Seneca had casually tossed around her shoulders or the fact his hand was toying with the strap of her dress, the tips of his fingers inside her bodice, barely brushing her breast, even though he was shamelessly flirting with Gregor on his other side. Not about the fact that Esther was far drunker than she was, much too drunk to be safely behind the wheel, or that her husband Tiago was even more wasted than the two of them combined and didn't seem to be able to stop laughing about something or other.
She didn't care because her boyfriend had just broken up with her. And it hadn't been undeserved either, no matter how vehemently she had protested his accusations.
She had told Haymitch first thing on Reaping Day there were would be no funny shenanigans this year, no accidents, no slipping against a wall or tripping over a bed or a couch – or the dining-room table. She had been honest and very clear. And, in answer, he had seemed determined to provoke her at every turn, to start fights, to make her blood boil until… Well, suffice to say there had been funny shenanigans, accidents and that they had slipped and tripped more than once and over a variety of things. She wasn't sure if she had betrayed herself somehow or if her boyfriend had just been fed up by the rumors Caesar regularly kicked up on live TV…
She wasn't sure if she was truly upset with the break-up, to be honest. Sex with Haymitch was… Well… It was worth losing an insipid rich man. She would find another one. It was the Capitol, there were plenty of fish in the sea.
If he hadn't chosen today to do it, she probably would have been fine.
But launch day?
Launch day was always difficult for her and the Sixty-ninth Hunger Games had only proven her right on that front. Her tributes had lasted three and eight minutes respectively. And all because they hadn't listened to the only advice Haymitch had given them: stay away from the Cornucopia.
The boy had gone quick but the girl… It had taken time.
And she didn't want to think about any of it anymore so when Seneca had told her he was sneaking out of the official Games' launch party with their friends, she hadn't thought twice before accepting.
Esther and Tiago were the kind of friends she saw often but only late at night with a glass of champagne in hand. Gregor, she had never met before. He was an athlete of some kind, famous enough, and, clearly, he was also on Seneca's menu for the night.
"Alright, sweetest?" Seneca whispered, his nose bumping against the shell of her ear as Esther cut the path of another car to commandeer a free parking spot. If what she did could be called parking. Because it looked to Effie as if she had simply tossed her convertible halfway on the pavement, halfway on the street. Not that it mattered. Tiago was wealthy enough to buy her ten more if she so wished. He had been on her own mother's potential prospects list for her or her sister once upon a time, before Esther had decided she wanted him – and had snared him.
"I want to dance!" Effie beamed at him, a bright smile on her lips. It probably didn't reach her eyes because Seneca tossed her a knowing look but gallantly helped her out of the car, keeping her hand firmly in his once they started making their ways to the club. She entwined their fingers, grinning when he winked at her.
The thing between her and Seneca was easy. Safe.
Perhaps she wanted something easy and safe that night.
The club was packed but one look at the Gamemaker and escort in their midst and they were allowed in ahead of the queue lining outside. As it turned out, maybe they shouldn't have bothered leaving the party because, in the time they had spent in the last couple of bars, almost everyone had migrated from the Headquarters to here. She spotted a few escorts, quite a good number of Gamemakers, she spotted a couple of victors amongst whom Brutus…
Technically, it meant she should have gotten herself under control, slipped back into her good old persona of dumb debutante: sexy but not vulgar, witty but not snarky, cheerful but not ditzy, bubbly but not annoyingly so… Except… Well… She was too drunk to care. Which was why she never got drunk in public if she could help it.
Esther found them a booth in a corner and sent Tiago to get drinks for the lot of them. Seneca was flirting outrageously with Gregor but his hand was also on her thigh, slowly running up and down in an overture she knew by heart for having been there a lot of times before…
They drank more.
Shiny glittery cocktails and shots that made her laugh without restrain…
She refused the pills Seneca passed around, knowing better than mixing them with alcohol if she didn't want to make a complete fool of herself, but she also pouted until they all accepted to dance with her.
And dance they did.
The club had the kind of music she loved best for that sort of evening: deafening, upbeat, easy to lose oneself to…
She wasn't sure how she ended up between Seneca and Gregor, their hands trailing up and down her sides, the space between them almost inexistent… Seneca was behind her, Gregor in front… She turned sometimes but kept dancing – rubbing herself against them, really…
And it felt good.
It made her feel alive.
It stopped her brain from thinking about the boyfriend she hadn't been able to keep or the children she had yet again failed to save – if not indirectly killed.
She wasn't sure how long they danced, just that, at some point, Esther begged off and they all stumbled back to their booth, out of breath, sweaty and the best kind of exhausted. She flopped back next to Seneca on the seat, not surprised when Gregor sat right next to her, closer than propriety or their short acquaintance dictated…
Seneca's arm was around her shoulders again and she snuggled into his chest. It was hard to say in the crowded club but she thought she could smell the familiar scent of his sweat under the expensive cologne that immediately enveloped her with its perfume. His hand was resting on her breast. Just lying there, as if it was an accident… But she knew better.
When he leaned over her head to kiss Gregor, she licked her lips, feeling a bit put out that he hadn't kissed her first. Then, he drew back and brushed his mouth against hers, looking at his would-be conquest, a question in his eyes. He didn't bother looking at her, she noticed, because he knew she would be game. She had been game for that kind of things in the past. Granted it had been a few years, but…
They had done plenty of threesomes together in their early twenties – once, there had even been something with five people and she still couldn't say if she had loved it or if it had been where she drew the line. On a night like tonight, when she found she hated her life a little and wanted to go back to a time when everything had been easy, it was a little too tempting to pretend she was still twenty, had no knowledge of the Games aside from what she saw on TV and that life would always be as easy as sipping a flute of expensive bubbly champagne…
Gregor kissed her.
His hand slid over her stomach, inching up enough that his thumb brushed the underside of her breast, found Seneca's fingers and played with them, accidentally brushing her nipple over the dress… Seneca's other hand found her leg, fell to her inner thigh, slipped under her dress…
Gregor was still kissing her and the kiss felt… Not wrong exactly but… She drew back. He immediately started kissing Seneca again.
She glanced around, a bit dizzy, a bit too aware they were in a public place… Nobody was looking though. The booth was in a dark corner, Esther was straddling Tiago's lap and they certainly weren't the only ones making out… It was late enough that everyone still in the club was pairing up, helped by alcohol, drugs and anything that could take the edge off…
We're so broken, she mused, just as Seneca's fingers brushed against her lacy panties…
He stopped kissing Gregor to drop a soft kiss on her neck when she didn't spread her legs further. It was an unvoiced question.
And, for how certain she had been that this would be fun a few minutes earlier, now she wasn't so sure…
Because…
Well, she wasn't twenty anymore, was she? And…
And the fact was that the reason Gregor's kiss had felt so wrong was because…
She wanted Haymitch to kiss her.
She wanted Haymitch to kiss and fuck her and make her forget about that horrible day and then, afterward, if she was lucky and he was feeling generous, maybe he would hold her for a little bit and… Haymitch's hugs were the best hugs. And sex with Haymitch was…
It was different than sex with Seneca would be – and not only because of the extra inches and thickness; granted he had ruined her a little bit in that area but Seneca was more than well endowed too and, given his general build, Gregor probably was a decent size so there would be no complaining.
Sex with Seneca would be fun and sexy and it would be a long game of seduction and sensuality and pleasure…
Sex with Haymitch was wild, animalistic, violent in ways that left her wearing fingers-shaped bruises for days…
And she craved it.
She didn't really remember how she extirpated herself from the booth and her friends. If Seneca was disappointed, he quickly consoled himself with Gregor and let her slip away in the night without comment. She wasn't really steady on her legs and she had the bouncer find her a taxi. She could have called a Games official car but… That seemed like too much work when there were taxis hunting potential customers nearby.
She tried to compose herself in the back of the car. She fixed her make-up as well as she could in the dimmed lights, tried to style back her pink wig in something decent, smoothed the flounces of her dress…
She used a side entrance to get back in the Center, eager to avoid the mass of fans and press always gathered in the front at all hours of night and day. She hesitated to take off her heels in the elevator because the sole of her feet hurt but she wanted Haymitch to want her and her legs would look better with the stilettos on so…
When the doors open and she stepped into the penthouse, she immediately regretted leaving the club, leaving Seneca and Gregor… Twelve's floor was dark and deadly silent and it was only too easy to imagine the voices of her dead tributes bouncing off the walls as they talked to each other, talked to her, talked to Haymitch…
The only source of light came from the living-room. A changing light that, she knew, came from the muted TV. The Games were mandatory everywhere but, in the Center, it means you could never turn off the TV. Even when you switched channels the livefeed from the Games turned into a small square in one of the bottom of the huge screen. She didn't know if it was a sort of punishment for the victors or if it was genuinely made to make the staff's life easier… Maybe it was both.
Haymitch often ended up sleeping the liquor off on the couch so she headed there, telling herself if he wasn't there she would fix herself a last cocktail.
"Had fun, sweetheart?" the familiar voice sneered right before the lights flickered on automatically, alerted by her movements. He must have been still for a long time for the technology not to have detected his presence.
He was sitting in an armchair, a glass clutched in his hand, a dark look on his unshaved face. His jacket and waistcoat had been discarded on the back of the couch, the tie had been torn off his neck and his shirt was half-unbuttoned… He sat with his legs spread like a tomcat, taking far too much space… He looked…
He looked like a cocky ruffian and she wanted him.
She tossed her clutch bag on a nearby side table, grateful when it landed on the lacquered surface instead of bouncing off to the floor – her aim really wasn't that good when she was drunk and she didn't really want him to know she was that drunk because he might get all weird about it.
"Quite, actually." she replied, schooling her voice into nonchalance.
"Didn't expect you back so soon…" He was still sneering, his grip on the glass so tight his knuckles were white. He was angry, her soaked brain whispered, but… why? Because she had left him at the party without warning? He did it plenty with his own friends and she had never… He brought the glass to his mouth and downed half of it. The sudden jerky move startled her. "Sure seemed to have a lot of fun at that club…"
Her thoughts reeled to an abrupt stop.
"Sorry?" she whispered.
He hadn't been at the club.
He couldn't have…
"Saw you." he spat. "Didn't think you'd like me to come say hello, though. Seemed too busy getting pawed at by Crane and his pretty boyfriend… Didn't want to bother you."
How much had he seen?
She swallowed hard. She had done nothing wrong, she reminded herself, what she did with her own body was her own business and…
"So… Which one got to fuck you?" he snarled. "Or did they take turn?" He made a show of looking at his watch. "Bit quick for two of them, yeah? What's the problem? Couldn't keep it up?"
She pursed her lips. His anger was contagious. "You are out of line."
One second the glass was in his hand, the next it was shattering against the wall in a downpour of glass and whiskey – well away from where she was standing though, he hadn't aimed at her. He pushed to his feet, his face a mask of fury. "I'm out of line?"
"Yes." she snapped. "I do not see how it is any of your business if…"
"If you like to get tag teamed by two guys like a slut?" he cut her off with another sneer.
She shot him a glare. "Do not call me names. You may have a narrow old-fashioned idea of what sex should be…"
"Oh, go fuck yourself!" he scoffed.
She lifted her eyebrows, painting an innocent expression on her face. "I just did and it seems to be a problem for you." She tilted her head to the side, watching him. "What is the matter, Haymitch? What is it you truly object to? The threesome or the company I keep?" He hated Seneca. She wasn't sure why. She just knew he did. "Seneca…"
She hadn't expected him to move and certainly not so fast but, suddenly, there he was, pinning her to the wall with a hand around her throat. She immediately gripped his wrist. She hated being choked and he knew that. Even to play, even in the worst of the roughest sex, he knew better than wrapping his hand around her throat…
He sneered harder but let go at once, pushing himself away from her and heading for the liquor cart in the corner.
But he didn't move fast enough that she didn't see the hint of lust in his eyes.
"Does it turn you on?" she challenged. "Is that it? The thought of two men fucking me?"
"You're sick." he spat. "Capitols are all sick."
She ignored that like she always ignored his grumbled protests every time she taught him something new in bed. He had had very basic skills in the bedroom before her. She liked to think she had taught him a lot.
And the alcohol made her bolder still.
"Would you like to try?" she insisted. "Fuck me deep while I suck someone else? Or you would like to watch someone fuck me while I moan around your cock?"
The vulgarity had the exact intended effect.
He didn't even reach the liquor cart. He whirled around and he was right back there, in her space. She hadn't moved from the wall, she was leaning against it for support, and when he slammed both hands on either side of her head, she found she needed it. He leaned forward enough that their noses bumped, that ugly sneer still on his lips…
She wanted the sneer gone and the familiar smirk back on. She liked the smirk whether it was smug, mocking or amused. The sneer… The sneer was a little hurtful.
"That gets you going?" he hissed in her face. "Thoughts of getting fucked by another guy when you're blowing me?"
She shrugged. "I could get licked instead of fucked if you would rather have another woman with us… Tell me that idea does not turn you on."
"No." he answered, meeting her eyes straight.
She saw a lot of things in his gaze: lust, how drunk he actually was, how angry… But no trace of a lie.
Funny. Two women at once was usually a classic fantasy for men, not one they would pass on if offered on a plate.
Although she found… That was probably for the best. She didn't really like the idea of sharing him with another woman. A man, it would have been different. He wasn't interested in men and he wouldn't have gone for it, it would have been all about her, but a woman…
She licked her lips. "I didn't actually sleep with them tonight."
She wasn't sure why she was confessing that much because, again, she didn't have to justify herself. What they had was… It was no-strings attached. It was casual. It was…
He was searching her eyes, looking for the lie… Some of the fury ebbed from his gaze when he realized what she was saying.
She wasn't expecting the attack and, so, she cried out in pain when he suddenly bit her throat. It wasn't a gentle bite either. She felt his teeth break the skin and it would take days of liquid foundation and artistically draped scarves to hide the mark… When he unclenched his jaw, he licked the abused patch of skin and that… Well, that got her all tingly.
"You're mine." he growled against her skin. She startled because it was the first time he had ever said something like that. No matter how many other boyfriends she had had over the years, it was the first time he… "You don't get fucked by anyone when you're sucking me. You don't suck anyone when I'm fucking you. You don't fuck or suck anyone else. You're mine. Got it?"
When she didn't answer immediately, he nipped at the delicate skin right under the previous bite mark, the threat obvious.
"Yes…" she breathed out.
"Say it." he ordered, the growl still very much a thing. It was sexy. Sexy in a way it shouldn't be. They were both too drunk. This felt more dangerous than usual. This felt…
"I'm yours." she murmured, pressing her head back against the wall, giving him better access to her throat. "All yours…"
"Only mine." he insisted, his hands pawing at her breasts, her ass…
"Yes." she agreed.
The kiss was savage. More teeth than tongue, more claim than seduction…
And it was exactly right.
She hadn't felt much when Seneca had kissed her and Gregor's kiss had felt wrong somehow.
But this…
This was right and she kissed back, fought back for control, and…
He shoved her to the floor. She landed on her hands and knees but didn't have time to chide him about the rough treatment before he was right behind her, tossing the ruffling bottom of her dress up and over her back. She tensed when she felt the cold hint of a blade sliding against her skin. He never brought his knife to play, not even that one time she had told him she found it sexy. He didn't trust himself. The same way he didn't trust himself to tie her up. So she was surprised… And, perhaps, it went to show they shouldn't have been doing this, that they were too drunk and too angry and too… sad.
The blade brushed her hip and then her panties were ripped off and she heard the clicking of the knife hitting the floor far enough behind her that she knew he had tossed it away… The cool air on her exposed parts sent a shiver running down her spine. Or maybe it was the anticipation… She widened her stance a little, steadied herself for what would come… Surely enough, she heard his belt being undone, the sound of paper being torn…
Trust him to always remember condoms. Even wasted he would remember.
She hadn't expected him to be gentle so she wasn't surprised when he grabbed her hips and buried himself into her with two powerful thrusts. It hurt a little. He was big and she was… Well, she was small when she wasn't wearing heels and puffy dresses. When he was feeling generous, he gave her time to adjust. He clearly wasn't feeling very generous that night.
"You're so fucking wet." he groaned.
Not that much. Not enough.
He hadn't touched her and, sure, she had been aroused enough over the course of the night but she was nowhere near ready for him. She didn't protest though. Not even when he grabbed her nape and pushed her down until her face was pressed to the floor, her ass in the air… The tinge of pain felt good. She knew there would likely be some blood and she would need to hide it quickly when he would slip out but the pain was mixing with building pleasure…
The way he was pounding into her, she knew if she wanted to come that would be left to her so she leaned her weight on her left shoulder and slipped her right hand between her legs as well as she could…
"Need something, sweetheart?" he taunted.
He batted her hand away and put his fingers right there… He didn't touch her the way he knew she liked. He didn't stroke and pressed. He tugged and flicked and tortured… And it drove her mad…
For a good five minutes, the only sounds were the obscene noises of flesh slapping against flesh and her increasingly loud keening whimpers…
His pace picked up, his hand went back to her nape, gripping hard, and he stopped pinching her clit…
She wanted to come too and, in a panic, she tried to touch herself again…
He mercilessly batted her hand away again.
And then he came, emptying himself with a long satisfied groan that made her hiss low in her throat out of sheer frustration.
Unfair…
Unfair!
He collapsed on top of her, bringing them both down flat on the floor, with her trapped under him on her stomach… She felt the burn of tears in her eyes at the undeserved punishment. If she had known he was that bothered by her seeing other people she would have… It was unfair!
"You are cruel." she snapped, sniffing to hide the tears in her voice. "You are an… an…"
"Oh, so you can say fuck, suck and cock when you're trying to get a rise out of me but you can't say asshole when you're trying to insult me?" He chuckled in her ear in a way that suggested he was finding it adorable – although that was probably the post-sex talking because she was fairly sure Haymitch didn't find anything adorable as a rule. "What's your problem anyway, princess?"
"You know very well what my problem is." she hissed.
She was glad he was back to calling her princess though. Princess was the best pet name because it was hers alone and he mostly called her that when he was in a good mood. Certainly not when he felt like tossing glasses at walls and wrapping his hand around her throat…
"Maybe I do." he challenged, propping himself on his hands. "Roll over." She did as she was told because, really, there was no fun in being crushed on her stomach against the cold hard floorboards. His grey eyes were stormy when he lowered himself back down on top of her, pining her down. "Maybe I want to make sure you got it, though."
"If you mean the fact you are an utter barbarian without any manners whatsoever, yes, thank you, I gathered." she scoffed, the words slurring together a little.
"I mean…" he growled, hooking his arms under her thighs and forcing her to lift and spread her legs. "…that this is mine."
He let go of one of her legs to thrust three fingers inside her.
It wasn't good enough after the frustration of having him slipped out before she could reach completion. But then his mouth was right there. Hot and warm and… His tongue…
She arched her back as he toyed with her clit, sudden shots of pleasure making her wriggling her hips… He had to let go of her second leg to pin her hips down. She tangled her fingers in his hair…
She had been the one to teach him that particular trick.
He had never gone down on any woman before her.
And that… Oh, that made her feel so powerful…
He grazed her clit with his teeth. "Mine."
"Yours…" she whispered without a conscious thought. If he needed to hear it, well… It wasn't exactly like it was a lie, was it? She compared every lover to him. She… "Oh, fuck, Haymitch…"
He chuckled right between her legs. "That's it, sweetheart… You scream my name…"
She resisted the urge to tell him Seneca wouldn't hear her from wherever he and Gregor were having their own fun… She didn't care if he was feeling possessive. She would give him anything he wanted if he would just…
His tongue touched her just right and she exploded.
She wasn't sure if she ended up screaming his name or not. Just that when colors finally came back to her sight, she was lying on the floor, with her legs open flat, and Haymitch was lying on his side next to her, watching her, his head propped on his fist, his other hand resting on her pubic bone like he owned it…
She took the time to get her breathing back under control, to savor the delicious aftermath before she turned her head to look at him.
His face was closed and she knew him well enough to know he was feeling self-conscious about the whole thing. Not the sex but the whole obsession with her saying she was his.
It was a delicate situation to navigate because he was allergic to feelings or commitment or anything that could imply attachment… It would have been easier if she hadn't been so drunk.
She trusted her instincts though.
And her instincts told her she needed to diffuse the tension quickly before it snowballed into a Big Thing.
She covered his hand with hers, guided it down a few inches until it was between her legs again, where she was slick and hot. "If this is yours…" She let go of his hand and blinding groped around between them until she felt the slippery used condom he hadn't bothered to take off and she could wrap her fist around him. He was limp now but she felt him twitch under her fingers, knew that if she worked at it she could have going him again soon… "Then, this has to be mine. No other woman gets to play with it."
She wasn't entirely sure what she was trying to say but she thought making it about sex was the safest bet, here.
He started touching her again. Gentle distracted strokes that made her breath catch and her back arch a little because she was still sensitive and… His lips brushed against her shoulder, her fingers reflexively tightened around him…
"Ain't like any other woman's been playing with it for over a year, really…" he said, a bit awkwardly.
Oh.
Oh.
"Not even in Twelve?" she whispered.
"Twelve ain't exactly the place for that kind of stuff." He sighed. "Women expect too much. One way or another they want you to pay for it. Marriage or money if they're desperate enough. And that's just…" He shook his head, taking his hand off her to replace hers on his penis. To get rid of the used condom, she realized. "It's a sad place."
So is the Capitol, she wanted to say but didn't dare. Not when he was sitting up to rummage in the pocket of the pants that were still tangled around his knees…
"Do you have an infinite amount of condoms in your pockets?" she teased, feeling the need to bring the conversation to a lighter level.
"Chaff taught me right." He snorted, tossing the new condom at her. She wished she had been in any state to catch it. As it was, it bounced off her forehead. He frowned, studying her, a flash of guilt passing on his face. "How wasted are you exactly?"
"Less than you." she lied, wrinkling her nose. "And, please, do not mention your awful friend when you are about to have sex with me."
"But you like threesomes so much, sweetheart…" he mocked, kicking shoes, pants and underwear off. She would have made a fuss about the socks he kept on but his hands were back on her, looking for a way to get her all the way out of her dress…
"Would you honestly share me with Chaff?" she asked, curious.
His eyes darkened again. "Wouldn't share you with anyone."
He was a bit brutal when he finally located the zipper and the dress tore. She pursed her lips and tossed him a disapproving look but she didn't truly care. She had hundreds of dresses, she had only one victor.
He was only happy once he had her naked and he could kiss and suck on her breasts… Then his lips traveled up and… She hissed in pain when his stubble rasped against the sensitive area of his earlier bite.
He drew back, making a face. "Ain't pretty."
She scowled. "Whose fault is that? Truly you cannot expect me to still look gorgeous when you use me like a chew toy."
He rolled his eyes, a faint expression of guilt on his face. "I mean we should probably put something on it."
She tried to probe at the wound but he caught her wrist before she could make contact, apparently certain touching was a bad idea.
"If it scars, I am murdering you in your sleep." she warned. "Just to be clear."
He snorted. "I'm shaking in my boots."
"You do not have boots on." she pointed out. "Only very ugly socks. With holes in them. Didn't I order you new ones just last year?"
He watched her with amusement. "Just how wasted are you, Effie?"
"The tequila is catching up to me." she admitted. "But I still want you again. Then you can carry me up to bed to make up for the whole throwing a glass scene…"
"We're putting something on your throat first." he decided, pulling away from her and picking up the still-wrapped condom while he was at it. Then, he outstretched a hand. She took it with a pout, annoyed that she would have to walk… But he used the grip to pull her to her feet and over his shoulder, causing her to shriek…
"Put me down!" she demanded, battling her legs. "Put me down!"
"Wanted me to carry you, no?" he mocked, patting her ass. "Settle down, princess."
"You are a ruffian!" she accused. "A barbarian! A… A… A…"
"Asshole." he reminded her helpfully.
"Asshole!" she repeated with a huff, trying and failing to fold her arms in front of her chest. She hated dangling upside down. All the blood was pooling to her head… "I can see it from here, you know, and it is not a pretty sight."
She slapped his ass for good measure.
He made a strange sound.
It took her a few seconds to realize he was laughing.
A real laugh not just chuckles…
"You know… You're at your best when you're torched." he told her very seriously, pressing a kiss against her own ass.
His stubble itched on the delicate skin.
That was a perfect summary of their weird relationship though, she mused out loud, too drunk to even care about how ridiculous she was sounding: the itch of an unshaved chin on smooth skin…
He almost choked on his laugher again and she pouted because she didn't like it when he was making fun of her – which was always.
But then he tossed her down on the bed and he covered her body with hers, apparently having forgotten he wanted to take care of her throat first, and told her in no uncertain terms that she was an itch in his ass…
That comment begged for punishment…
Well, it was a long one! I hope you enjoyed it! Even if it was dirty coconutsy XD Please let me know your thoughts!