Shallow, heavy breaths ghost across the skin between her thighs as hot puffs of air travel down the length of his chest, and she watches him with narrowed eyes for a poorly masked wince or any other kind of movement that might betray him for the liar that he is. But his chest continues to expand underneath the weight of her body as he attempts to catch his breath, his right hand continues to move up and down the length of her calf as her still electrified nerve-endings continues to spark, and his lips continue to be set in that well-satisfied smirk leaving her with no choice but to believe him when he says that she is not too heavy for this.
Not too heavy but maybe too demanding because each time she tries to move backwards, tries to reach behind her back in the hopes of finding him hard and ready, his fingers curl around her hips or her wrist and pull her focus back to his chest, his shoulders, or his neck. A distraction technique that barely works because those areas are his kryptonite not hers and, besides, it has already been five minutes since their last go around.
But she caves when the twenty-two-year-old billionaire with a questionable claim of tremendous stamina shows just how well he knows her as his hands slide up the outside of her thighs to slip under the silk of her negligée and splay over her hips. When the fingers of his right hand trail across the skin of her stomach and then dip out of sight to press between her thighs; when the fingers of his left hand squeeze around her hip and tilt her back just enough to allow those fingers pressing against her inner thigh to slip between her lips and gather the wetness on the tips of his fingers.
And just as quickly, just when her eyes begin to roll upward towards the ceiling until only the whites of her eyes are visible, he pulls his fingers away and brings them to his lips. With eyes closed, he wraps his lips around his fingers and slowly licks them clean as she wraps his name around a groan of frustration and allows the five letters to fall from her lips and echo around the room.
He smirks at her, murmurs words about how payback is a bitch around his fingers as he continues to clean them off, and then swallows those words whole when he feels the weight of her body on top of chest shift up and away. Fingers fly to curl back around her waist – the ring on his left finger digging into her skin through the negligée as he pulls her back down on top of him – and his eyelids lift to see her staring back down at him with that smirk he knows all too well on her lips. That smirk that reminds him of how she can give just as good as she gets; that smirk that reminds him of how well-matched they are for one another.
Those fingers of his left hand curled around her waist over the fabric of her negligée grip tighter as those of his right unfurl and move to cup her breast. Palm to silk, his hand evocatively kneads and cups and caresses until her nipple pebbles enough for him to gather it between his thumb and forefinger and play. With her senses. With her wits. With her nerves.
And she shifts her hips against his chest as she greedily drinks in the sensations – those sharp spikes of need and desire – he expertly orchestrates with tactile stimulation, as she attempts to find relief for the building, welling heat. She nearly misses the way his other hand has released its grip and begun to tug on the fabric shrouding her from his view, but she catches him all the same when she feels cool metal brushing against her skin and her surprise mixes with her anger and frustration as she pushes his hands away from her body. Dark eyes may silently implore him, but the words pour forth unchecked as she smoothes the silk and the lace back down over her body.
"Chuck, you promised," she hisses as she draws her legs up and braces her hands against his chest in preparation of pushing herself off and leaving him alone.
The forward tilt of her body allows her belly to brush against his chest, and his fingers move not to curl around her wrists or her hips but to stroke softly against the swell of her body. The soft and tender gesture snatches away her anger, and the fascination and excitement in his eyes shining through harsh exteriors and strong defenses causes her to pause in her movements.
"I just want to see you," Chuck informs her as his fingers trail over the fabric pulled tight over her belly. He raises his other hand, curls it around her wrist, and pulls her hand upward so he can press his lips to her palm. "All of you."
His gaze lifts towards hers over the top of her hand as he touches his lips to her palm once more, as he waits for her nod of approval. And Blair shifts her gaze away as she slowly nods her head up and down, refuses to look him in the eyes as she feels his fingers brush against her hips, curl around the fabric, and slowly pull it over her head.
"You are—"
The long pause, the way the fabric has become bunched under her breasts due to the pause in his movements causes her eyes to snap towards his, but the wave of self-loathing already coursing through her is drowned under the weight of his admiration. His dark eyes shine bright as his eyes trail over every curve, every bare patch of creamy white skin, and his lips remained parted as though he is still trying to find the right word to describe how she looks.
And this time it she who nudges aside his hands, who grasps onto the silk fabric of the negligée and slowly, evocatively pulls it over her head because she knows the meaning that look, knows the thoughts and the memories swirling in his head. Her hips shift and sway against his chest to the music in her head as excitement and inhibitions bubble forth, as own her lips part into a wide smile when he finally completes his sentence.
"You are amazing."
He bends his head and presses his lips against the skin in the valley between the swell of her breast and the swell of her stomach. Chuck runs his tongue against the underside of her bare breast as his fingers move to trace the curve of her stomach, and her head tips backward as she purrs in delight. But he pulls away after a moment allowing his head to fall back down onto the pillow so that his eyes can drink in the sight of her and memorize exactly how Blair looks at the halfway mark of her pregnancy.
The fingers trailing against the swell of her stomach move upwards to caress against the naked skin of her breast, to close over her pebbled, pink nipple whilst the fingers that once encircled her wrist stroke against the silky skin of her inner thigh. Movements that stroke the fever burning through her senses, that cause fractured gasps to fall from her lips and her eyes to roll upward until only the whites are visible.
Beneath her, she feels him shift, feels him try to seek out the warmth of the heat that flares through her body with every caressing, sculpting touch, and she shifts ever so slightly to allow his fingers to slip against the swollen folds between her thighs, to allow him to caress and claim every curve with hands that touch and eyes that watch. She slides her legs against the sheets, presses her legs into the mattress to help balance her as she reaches down behind herself and finds him hard and ready, hot and heavy in her hand.
Her dark eyes shine bright when she hears his purr of delight; her lips twist into a smirk when she hears his groan of frustration over the way she releases him. Her own groan of frustration spills forth when his hand leaves her breast to curve about her bottom, when his hand moves from between her thighs as she braces her hands on his chest.
Both hands this time because pregnancy has thrown off her balance, but that undeniable pull coupled with years of practice guides him to her. And when she feels him there – the blunt head caressing her slick flesh – a shudder of anticipation tears through her body because it has been over twenty minutes now and the desire to have him has become unbearable. Pregnancy turning all her thoughts and desires towards sex and allowing her to be the wanton person society told her so often she shouldn't be.
From beneath her dark eyelashes, she watches his face, his eyes as she rises a fraction higher, edges back a little more, and then slowly – savoring every sensation – slides him inside her. An 'oh my god' becoming an 'oh my Chuck' when she feels him deep inside her, feels him touch the spot only he could ever find as he lifts his hips off the mattress and rises to meet her.
The fingers cupping her ass flex and grip and dig nails into her skin as his lungs tighten until they hurt, as his body throbs hotly weeping with need as he waits for her to move. The fingers once sliding between her thighs now rise to sweep against her neck, to strain forth just enough to push the headband from her hair. And brunette curls – thicker, fuller, and shinier thanks to the pregnancy – cascade down her back and over her shoulders brushing against her peaked nipples and framing her face.
"Amazing," he repeats once again when her gaze catches hiss. And she reaches out towards him, touches his chest tangling her fingers in his chest hair and feeling his body quake before skirting upwards to press her fingers against his throat and feel him swallow in anticipation.
The light on the bedside table serves as a spotlight for her actions tonight allowing him to see not only the sensuous female he has always known her to be but the powerful woman who rips away his control with every sight of her passionate soul freed from the confines of her own expectations for herself. Her desire for perfection and her stumble into the well-worn rut of her brain that tells her she's not good enough are forgotten because here on a stage of her own making under the gaze of his eager and appreciative eyes Blair is all that and more.
Her spine arches, her belly presses forward as she guides them both further into the fire, and he aids in that quest for more – always more – by gripping her thigh just above her knee and moving her leg wider, opening her more fully to every touch and sensation. But because she is in charge, because this is her show, she pushes away his hand and lifts herself up on her knees to hover over him. To allow the blunt head of his erection to brush against her wet warmth until her name tumbles off his lips in a desperate plead.
And only then does she smile down at him and slowly lift herself upwards before sinking back down as she watches him watch her. As she puts on another kind of show for him without any inhibitions because it is her hands that rise to brush against her breasts, her body that sets the pace for them. His strong, powerful woman showing him just how strong and powerful she can be as she reminds him of just how much he craves the taste of her, the feeling of her bare skin, the scent of her arousal, the sight of her completely uninhibited.
And he tries to breathe, although –he never fully recuperated from before, and tries to relax and let her lead. But he begins to unravel when she sinks down completely and lets all of him inside her, when the underside of her pregnant belly brushes against his stomach as though to remind him with touch and sight of just what possibilities and dreams she brought into his life and now will fulfill.
Chuck lifts his gaze from watching where they are joined, from where her body is swelling with possibilities to watch the spark of fire sweep through her, consume her, and drive her body against his in a different kind of dance that rises again and again to an escalating rhythm. To watch her he uninhibited, wild, and utterly free until the heat travels from her to him, catches them both into its grip, and pulls them over the edge with a purr of delight and a guttural groan, respectively. To watch the glow spread across her body – from her face to her naked breasts, from her newly exposed belly to her toes – in one more display of exhibitionism that he eagerly drinks up because Chuck Bass likes to watch Blair Waldorf just as much as she likes to watch everyone else.