citrus-taste | desk sex | Parabellum
Apr. 9th, 2016 09:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aftanithTitle: Her Turn
Fandom: Parabellum (original fiction)
Wordcount: 3066
Pairing(s): Stelian Frost/Sparrow
Warning(s): implied/referenced rape/noncon, dubious consent
Contains: desk sex, sexual fantasies, slight femdom, hand jobs
Prompt(s):![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
citrus_taste #50. wildcard (desk sex)
"Did I stutter?" she demanded, and Frost's heart pounded even faster as he hurried to obey. But once the desk was clear, its various clutter swept carelessly into the chair he'd just vacated, he paused.
"On the--?"
Sparrow cut him off. "On the desk," she repeated. "Lay down."
For a moment, he didn't move. To say this was unexpected was to massively understate the situation; after yesterday, he hadn't planned to ask her to even entertain the idea of doing this again for at least a few weeks--months, possibly. The thought that she might bring it up herself--the thought that she might not just ask for it but demand it--hadn't even crossed his mind. And yet.
And Sparrow--Sparrow didn't look amused at all to see him hesitate; she was staring him down, a steady almost-glare that seemed to be daring him to tell her no, and fuck if that wasn't doing something to him. Ignoring the little urge in the back of his mind that, too, was daring him to test her, to see what exactly she would do if he tried to deny her what she wanted, he moved, swinging his body up onto the surface of the desk with as much grace as he could pull off, and once he was laying flat on his back atop the admittedly uncomfortable wood, he reached toward her--
--and wasn't the least bit surprised to see her pull away from him. "No," she said, voice scolding. "We already did this your way yesterday; today's my turn. So behave yourself."
Frost couldn't help the grin that captured his lips as an entirely different urge seized him. Back on his birthday, Octavian had thought himself clever, trying to scare Sparrow with his so-called "gift", and Sparrow's questions afterward had seemed at the time little more than horror-tinged curiosity, a way for her to try to come to terms with her fear of Octavian Donahue and all things related to him--a fear that he, admittedly, may have encouraged a bit more than was wise. But after the other night, when she'd handed him over to Simon and gone so far above and beyond his expectations that he'd been tempted to offer Simon some kind of reward (and he gladly would have if he'd actually thought Simon had done it on purpose), he was starting to come to the realization that there might be something to the idea.
What he'd done with Simon, the other night and in the past, was far from his only experience with taking on the role of the submissive partner, but that--submitting to anyone, let alone someone like Simon Ides--had never been something he craved. It was a refreshing change of pace, something he sought out and enjoyed on occasion, not as a routine. But he hadn't lied to her last night; he would be more than happy to submit to Simon on a regular basis if it always got that kind of response from her. He would be even happier, though, to let her take control instead.
And she'd reacted so well to the suggestion, hadn't she? She'd been writhing in his lap, spine arching and ass rubbing against him while he pleasured her, and it had only been when he'd tried bringing up Nadia that she'd suddenly turned cold. Involving Nadia, it seemed, was taking things a step too far--at least at this point. But she'd been entirely willing to go along with him when the fantasy had just been him, her, and Simon, and he was entirely willing to give her both Simon Ides and himself on a silver platter if it meant she'd keep this up.
But as much as the thought of letting Sparrow have her way with Simon turned him on, right now his mind was more on the other possibility of that arrangement--a possibility he could try to bring about right now, if he so dared. "Behave yourself," she'd said, and what exactly did she plan to do with him if he said no?
"Can this desk hold both of us?" she asked, snapping him back into reality.
She eyed the furniture distrustfully, and Frost couldn't have been less concerned. "Who cares? Even if it can't, I can't think of a better way to break it."
That apparently hadn't been the answer Sparrow had been looking for, and she gave him a reluctant sigh. "If this damn thing breaks while I'm on top of you..." she started, then trailed off with her threat unfinished, and Frost was in no mood to leave it at that.
"Yes?" he pressed, and if Sparrow's sudden frown was any indication, his voice had been perhaps a bit too eager. She was staring at him like she wasn't what he was, let alone what he was getting at, and her voice was sharp and terse when she finally answered.
"I'll be pissed." Obviously. "Now shut up."
Frost watched her closely as she lingered beside the desk, her gaze very visibly trailing up and down his body, and he simply waited for her next move, trying not to smirk as she scrutinized him; if there was one thing he had going for him in the uphill battle that was trying to seduce her, it was that she definitely liked what she saw. (And he dreaded to think how much harder this would've been if she hadn't.)
Carefully, Sparrow drew herself up onto the desk, looking as if she expected the entire thing to collapse the moment she added her own minuscule weight to it. Then she straddled him, lowering herself down onto his hips, and it was all he could do not to seize her right then. Sparrow's eyes were drawn to his hands, and she must have caught sight of his split-second twitch of movement before he halted himself, because the ghost of a smirk appeared on her lips, and they parted for just a moment, forming what looked to him like the beginnings of a "G" sound before she clamped her mouth shut again, apparently thinking better of whatever she had been about to say. Instead, she leaned forward, lowering herself over him, and pressed her lips against his.
He was sure he let out a sound at that, something somewhere between a moan and a gasp, and fuck if he wasn't thrilled with this entire turn of events. It was almost too good to be true, really, and for a moment, the thought crossed his mind that he might simply wake up once they got to the good part--but no, if this had been a dream, it would've taken an entirely different direction. The moment the words "behave yourself" had crossed her lips, this entire scene would have played out in a very different manner.
Sparrow's tongue delved into his mouth, and for once, he let her do as she pleased with him instead of guiding her; she knew what he liked by now, after all, and she gave it to him seemingly without any of her usual hesitance, punctuated by the little bites to his lower lip that he'd come to expect from her. He couldn't recall ever having been with a woman--or a man, for that matter--who'd enjoyed biting him anywhere near as much as Sparrow seemed to, but he was far from complaining; as it was, he was going to be jerking himself off to the feeling of her teeth--and her tongue--on his ass for a long time yet.
But at the moment, that was not the thing he was imagining. "Behave yourself," she'd said, and with that came the implicit threat of consequences--and at the moment, he was all but convinced there was nothing he'd enjoy more than facing them.
On that front, Frost was beginning to suspect that letting Simon take control the other night--letting Simon spank him the other night--had been exactly what the two of them had needed, and the look on Sparrow's face when Simon had done it--after all that adorable concern had been eased away, that is--had been what Frost had been looking for all along: genuine, uncensored lust.
And so while Frost never would have claimed discipline as one of his kinks before the other night, right now he couldn't seem to take his mind off it.
Frost watched her as she broke the kiss and leaned back, straddling his waist with a kind of defiant confidence that he hoped could only mean that she, too, was beginning to see that she belonged there, belonged with him as surely as he belonged with her, and that this wasn't something she had to wait for him to offer or even something she had to ask for. This was something he wanted her to take.
Her eyes were locked on his as she started to strip. His eyes wandered downward as she lifted her shirt up over her head, admiring each newly exposed inch of skin. She was beautiful, for all she still bore the unmistakable signs of twenty-one malnourished years in Solares, and he knew she was only going to get more gorgeous--healthier by far and perhaps even slightly more voluptuous--now that she was actually eating regularly and with nutrition in mind.
It was only when his gaze wandered back up that he realized the mistake he'd made. It was the same he'd seen Simon make the night of their threesome, and he hadn't quite understood it then; now, though, it was impossible to either misunderstand or overlook the meaning behind her sudden frown. Sparrow was looking at him as if she didn't understand why he was staring. What the hell was going on in Solares, he wondered, that it could leave a woman as attractive as Sparrow convinced that she didn't deserve his--or Simon's--attention?
"Sp--" he started, words of protest and comfort on his lips in a heartbeat, but she interrupted him, firm and immediate, and he fell obediently silent.
"No. Quiet," she ordered, and from the look on her face, any attempt to go on would earn him nothing but her wrath.
Silence, on the other hand, earned him something quite different. She reached down, unpainted nails clicking against the buttons of his shirt as she flicked them open one by one, and the look on her face grew more frustrated with every one. She furrowed her brow, practically glaring down at the little bits of plastic standing between her and what she wanted--standing between her and him--and when she finally had them all undone, she pushed the fabric away from him impatiently. The frustration, however, didn't fade.
He watched her survey him, her gaze on his chest before shifting downward, and whatever she was thinking, she came a decision quickly; her hand moved to his groin, flicked open yet another button, this one at the front of his pants, and pushed the fabric of his pants out of her way.
Frost took a sharp inhale of breath as her hand settled onto his cock, the fabric of his boxers between their skin but the contact was beyond welcome nevertheless. He watched her face, reveling in the downright sinful smirk his gasp brought to her lips, and he moaned softly as she groped him through the silk. There was a certain satisfaction on her face afterward that he could only take as encouragement; he was thrilled to realize that she was enjoying this, enjoying his reaction to her and the sounds he made. And he was more than willing to indulge her.
As her fingers slipped inside his fly and brushed lightly--hesitantly--against his skin, he leaned up into her touch, just slightly, just enough to make sure she knew how much he wanted this. How much he wanted her.
He got exactly what he was after, not a hint of hesitation in her movement as she took him into her hand and started stroking. She was still being more carefully gentle than he would've liked, but there was something adorable in that, just as there'd been something undeniably sweet in the way she'd acted during the night they were with Simon. Her uncertainty had manifested for the first time in wholly unexpected concern for his well-being instead of over-reactionary defensiveness, and it was a more than welcome change.
She glanced up at him as she stroked him, just for the slightest second before her gaze darted away again in some oddly adorable combination of shyness and embarrassment. But however shy she might have been about what she was doing to him, she didn't stop; he felt her free his erection through the open gap of his fly, and he was relieved to see that when her hand left his skin, it was only so she could quickly strip herself of her pants, tossing them away as if they were hardly even an afterthought for her, and Frost liked to think there was a certain impatience about her as she ripped her thong off and disposed of it, as well.
But even if he was imagining the impatience, he wasn't imagining the lust in her eyes as she turned back to him. She was straddling his hips, so close to touching that he could feel her proximity, and her eyes met his. "You can touch me now--as long as you don't do anything stupid."
War, he wanted her right now, and he practically surged forward to--
Sparrow's hands hit his chest, palms flat against his pecs, and she pushed him firmly down until he was once again lying on the desk. "See," she said, that scolding tone back in her voice, "that qualifies as stupid. I said touch me, not sit up."
There was nothing he could do to stop the new surge of arousal that sent through him. She was so close to indulging him right now, kept inadvertently bringing him back to the fantasy she'd accidentally sparked, and he was so close to asking her to do it. The worst thing that could happen was that she'd refuse; and even if she did, it would put the seed in her mind as surely as she'd put it in his. He'd get what he wanted from her sooner or later; perhaps he should start working toward that inevitability now?
"Sorry," he told her, and he waited eagerly for her response. There was always a chance, he supposed, that he might be able to goad her into giving him what he wanted. The question was, of course, whether that was actually the best way to go about getting it.
Sparrow shrugged, and her gaze broke from his as she looked down, lining her hips up with his in obvious preparation. "Don't do it again."
He felt himself smirk in spite of himself, and he couldn't stop the word that slipped past his lips as she glanced back up at him. "Or?"
For her part, Sparrow looked entirely lost--and more than a little skeptical. She raised a brow at him, apparently disinclined to play along. "Or you're going to have to take care of this on your own," she promised him, nodding down at where their hips were about to be joined, and Frost had to laugh.
"In that case, I promise I'll behave myself." For now.
"Good," came the only response, but Frost barely even heard it as she rolled her hips forward to rub against him. He groaned, long and loud and undeniably delighted, and he felt her sink down onto him a moment later, his cock sliding into her wet heat.
By the war, this was so much more than he would've dared hope to get from her; his pressed his hips up into hers eagerly, unable to take his eyes off the sight of her watching him and grinning in her satisfaction--until the moment she seemed to realize what she was doing, and the expression disappeared. The moment it was gone, replaced by something unmistakably close to anger, she thrust down against him hard and tore another deep groan from his lungs.
His hands were on her hips before he even realized he was moving them, and he matched her aggression with his own eagerness, letting her ride him hard and fast while he thrust up into her.
As her hands fell to his shoulders and the sounds of pleasure and sex--and wooden furniture scraping against the hardwood floor--filled the room, Frost could only marvel at this. At her. She'd gone far and above his expectations today, and he loved her for it. She felt amazing against him, her slim hips in his palms and all the hot, wet skin between her legs pressed up against his groin. It was all he could do to keep himself lying there like she'd bade him; all he wanted to do was seize her, pull her into his arms and crush her body against him. To feel her pelvis against his as she squirmed in his lap. To feel her tits pressed up against his chest while she slid her arms around him. To feel her lips and her teeth and her tongue against his neck once again.
That, or have her bend him over his desk like he'd wanted and spank his ass raw. He'd love that, too.
But he put the thought aside for now, filed it away in the back of his mind for next time; he'd get an opportunity to bring it up sooner or later, he knew, and after he did, it wouldn't be long before he got to see it fulfilled. Asking her to submit to that kind of treatment herself, he knew, would get him nowhere, but asking her to treat him like that would be giving her something he was sure she wanted already (whether or not she was prepared to admit it). If nothing else, it would be an opportunity for her to punish him for what he'd done to her, and he was sure she'd love every second of it if he could just convince her to give it a chance.
And at this point, he was all but sure he would be able to convince her. He rather doubted, in fact, that it would take much effort at all.
© 2016 A.F. Tanith
Fandom: Parabellum (original fiction)
Wordcount: 3066
Pairing(s): Stelian Frost/Sparrow
Warning(s): implied/referenced rape/noncon, dubious consent
Contains: desk sex, sexual fantasies, slight femdom, hand jobs
Prompt(s):
citrus_taste #50. wildcard (desk sex)"Did I stutter?" she demanded, and Frost's heart pounded even faster as he hurried to obey. But once the desk was clear, its various clutter swept carelessly into the chair he'd just vacated, he paused.
"On the--?"
Sparrow cut him off. "On the desk," she repeated. "Lay down."
For a moment, he didn't move. To say this was unexpected was to massively understate the situation; after yesterday, he hadn't planned to ask her to even entertain the idea of doing this again for at least a few weeks--months, possibly. The thought that she might bring it up herself--the thought that she might not just ask for it but demand it--hadn't even crossed his mind. And yet.
And Sparrow--Sparrow didn't look amused at all to see him hesitate; she was staring him down, a steady almost-glare that seemed to be daring him to tell her no, and fuck if that wasn't doing something to him. Ignoring the little urge in the back of his mind that, too, was daring him to test her, to see what exactly she would do if he tried to deny her what she wanted, he moved, swinging his body up onto the surface of the desk with as much grace as he could pull off, and once he was laying flat on his back atop the admittedly uncomfortable wood, he reached toward her--
--and wasn't the least bit surprised to see her pull away from him. "No," she said, voice scolding. "We already did this your way yesterday; today's my turn. So behave yourself."
Frost couldn't help the grin that captured his lips as an entirely different urge seized him. Back on his birthday, Octavian had thought himself clever, trying to scare Sparrow with his so-called "gift", and Sparrow's questions afterward had seemed at the time little more than horror-tinged curiosity, a way for her to try to come to terms with her fear of Octavian Donahue and all things related to him--a fear that he, admittedly, may have encouraged a bit more than was wise. But after the other night, when she'd handed him over to Simon and gone so far above and beyond his expectations that he'd been tempted to offer Simon some kind of reward (and he gladly would have if he'd actually thought Simon had done it on purpose), he was starting to come to the realization that there might be something to the idea.
What he'd done with Simon, the other night and in the past, was far from his only experience with taking on the role of the submissive partner, but that--submitting to anyone, let alone someone like Simon Ides--had never been something he craved. It was a refreshing change of pace, something he sought out and enjoyed on occasion, not as a routine. But he hadn't lied to her last night; he would be more than happy to submit to Simon on a regular basis if it always got that kind of response from her. He would be even happier, though, to let her take control instead.
And she'd reacted so well to the suggestion, hadn't she? She'd been writhing in his lap, spine arching and ass rubbing against him while he pleasured her, and it had only been when he'd tried bringing up Nadia that she'd suddenly turned cold. Involving Nadia, it seemed, was taking things a step too far--at least at this point. But she'd been entirely willing to go along with him when the fantasy had just been him, her, and Simon, and he was entirely willing to give her both Simon Ides and himself on a silver platter if it meant she'd keep this up.
But as much as the thought of letting Sparrow have her way with Simon turned him on, right now his mind was more on the other possibility of that arrangement--a possibility he could try to bring about right now, if he so dared. "Behave yourself," she'd said, and what exactly did she plan to do with him if he said no?
"Can this desk hold both of us?" she asked, snapping him back into reality.
She eyed the furniture distrustfully, and Frost couldn't have been less concerned. "Who cares? Even if it can't, I can't think of a better way to break it."
That apparently hadn't been the answer Sparrow had been looking for, and she gave him a reluctant sigh. "If this damn thing breaks while I'm on top of you..." she started, then trailed off with her threat unfinished, and Frost was in no mood to leave it at that.
"Yes?" he pressed, and if Sparrow's sudden frown was any indication, his voice had been perhaps a bit too eager. She was staring at him like she wasn't what he was, let alone what he was getting at, and her voice was sharp and terse when she finally answered.
"I'll be pissed." Obviously. "Now shut up."
Frost watched her closely as she lingered beside the desk, her gaze very visibly trailing up and down his body, and he simply waited for her next move, trying not to smirk as she scrutinized him; if there was one thing he had going for him in the uphill battle that was trying to seduce her, it was that she definitely liked what she saw. (And he dreaded to think how much harder this would've been if she hadn't.)
Carefully, Sparrow drew herself up onto the desk, looking as if she expected the entire thing to collapse the moment she added her own minuscule weight to it. Then she straddled him, lowering herself down onto his hips, and it was all he could do not to seize her right then. Sparrow's eyes were drawn to his hands, and she must have caught sight of his split-second twitch of movement before he halted himself, because the ghost of a smirk appeared on her lips, and they parted for just a moment, forming what looked to him like the beginnings of a "G" sound before she clamped her mouth shut again, apparently thinking better of whatever she had been about to say. Instead, she leaned forward, lowering herself over him, and pressed her lips against his.
He was sure he let out a sound at that, something somewhere between a moan and a gasp, and fuck if he wasn't thrilled with this entire turn of events. It was almost too good to be true, really, and for a moment, the thought crossed his mind that he might simply wake up once they got to the good part--but no, if this had been a dream, it would've taken an entirely different direction. The moment the words "behave yourself" had crossed her lips, this entire scene would have played out in a very different manner.
Sparrow's tongue delved into his mouth, and for once, he let her do as she pleased with him instead of guiding her; she knew what he liked by now, after all, and she gave it to him seemingly without any of her usual hesitance, punctuated by the little bites to his lower lip that he'd come to expect from her. He couldn't recall ever having been with a woman--or a man, for that matter--who'd enjoyed biting him anywhere near as much as Sparrow seemed to, but he was far from complaining; as it was, he was going to be jerking himself off to the feeling of her teeth--and her tongue--on his ass for a long time yet.
But at the moment, that was not the thing he was imagining. "Behave yourself," she'd said, and with that came the implicit threat of consequences--and at the moment, he was all but convinced there was nothing he'd enjoy more than facing them.
On that front, Frost was beginning to suspect that letting Simon take control the other night--letting Simon spank him the other night--had been exactly what the two of them had needed, and the look on Sparrow's face when Simon had done it--after all that adorable concern had been eased away, that is--had been what Frost had been looking for all along: genuine, uncensored lust.
And so while Frost never would have claimed discipline as one of his kinks before the other night, right now he couldn't seem to take his mind off it.
Frost watched her as she broke the kiss and leaned back, straddling his waist with a kind of defiant confidence that he hoped could only mean that she, too, was beginning to see that she belonged there, belonged with him as surely as he belonged with her, and that this wasn't something she had to wait for him to offer or even something she had to ask for. This was something he wanted her to take.
Her eyes were locked on his as she started to strip. His eyes wandered downward as she lifted her shirt up over her head, admiring each newly exposed inch of skin. She was beautiful, for all she still bore the unmistakable signs of twenty-one malnourished years in Solares, and he knew she was only going to get more gorgeous--healthier by far and perhaps even slightly more voluptuous--now that she was actually eating regularly and with nutrition in mind.
It was only when his gaze wandered back up that he realized the mistake he'd made. It was the same he'd seen Simon make the night of their threesome, and he hadn't quite understood it then; now, though, it was impossible to either misunderstand or overlook the meaning behind her sudden frown. Sparrow was looking at him as if she didn't understand why he was staring. What the hell was going on in Solares, he wondered, that it could leave a woman as attractive as Sparrow convinced that she didn't deserve his--or Simon's--attention?
"Sp--" he started, words of protest and comfort on his lips in a heartbeat, but she interrupted him, firm and immediate, and he fell obediently silent.
"No. Quiet," she ordered, and from the look on her face, any attempt to go on would earn him nothing but her wrath.
Silence, on the other hand, earned him something quite different. She reached down, unpainted nails clicking against the buttons of his shirt as she flicked them open one by one, and the look on her face grew more frustrated with every one. She furrowed her brow, practically glaring down at the little bits of plastic standing between her and what she wanted--standing between her and him--and when she finally had them all undone, she pushed the fabric away from him impatiently. The frustration, however, didn't fade.
He watched her survey him, her gaze on his chest before shifting downward, and whatever she was thinking, she came a decision quickly; her hand moved to his groin, flicked open yet another button, this one at the front of his pants, and pushed the fabric of his pants out of her way.
Frost took a sharp inhale of breath as her hand settled onto his cock, the fabric of his boxers between their skin but the contact was beyond welcome nevertheless. He watched her face, reveling in the downright sinful smirk his gasp brought to her lips, and he moaned softly as she groped him through the silk. There was a certain satisfaction on her face afterward that he could only take as encouragement; he was thrilled to realize that she was enjoying this, enjoying his reaction to her and the sounds he made. And he was more than willing to indulge her.
As her fingers slipped inside his fly and brushed lightly--hesitantly--against his skin, he leaned up into her touch, just slightly, just enough to make sure she knew how much he wanted this. How much he wanted her.
He got exactly what he was after, not a hint of hesitation in her movement as she took him into her hand and started stroking. She was still being more carefully gentle than he would've liked, but there was something adorable in that, just as there'd been something undeniably sweet in the way she'd acted during the night they were with Simon. Her uncertainty had manifested for the first time in wholly unexpected concern for his well-being instead of over-reactionary defensiveness, and it was a more than welcome change.
She glanced up at him as she stroked him, just for the slightest second before her gaze darted away again in some oddly adorable combination of shyness and embarrassment. But however shy she might have been about what she was doing to him, she didn't stop; he felt her free his erection through the open gap of his fly, and he was relieved to see that when her hand left his skin, it was only so she could quickly strip herself of her pants, tossing them away as if they were hardly even an afterthought for her, and Frost liked to think there was a certain impatience about her as she ripped her thong off and disposed of it, as well.
But even if he was imagining the impatience, he wasn't imagining the lust in her eyes as she turned back to him. She was straddling his hips, so close to touching that he could feel her proximity, and her eyes met his. "You can touch me now--as long as you don't do anything stupid."
War, he wanted her right now, and he practically surged forward to--
Sparrow's hands hit his chest, palms flat against his pecs, and she pushed him firmly down until he was once again lying on the desk. "See," she said, that scolding tone back in her voice, "that qualifies as stupid. I said touch me, not sit up."
There was nothing he could do to stop the new surge of arousal that sent through him. She was so close to indulging him right now, kept inadvertently bringing him back to the fantasy she'd accidentally sparked, and he was so close to asking her to do it. The worst thing that could happen was that she'd refuse; and even if she did, it would put the seed in her mind as surely as she'd put it in his. He'd get what he wanted from her sooner or later; perhaps he should start working toward that inevitability now?
"Sorry," he told her, and he waited eagerly for her response. There was always a chance, he supposed, that he might be able to goad her into giving him what he wanted. The question was, of course, whether that was actually the best way to go about getting it.
Sparrow shrugged, and her gaze broke from his as she looked down, lining her hips up with his in obvious preparation. "Don't do it again."
He felt himself smirk in spite of himself, and he couldn't stop the word that slipped past his lips as she glanced back up at him. "Or?"
For her part, Sparrow looked entirely lost--and more than a little skeptical. She raised a brow at him, apparently disinclined to play along. "Or you're going to have to take care of this on your own," she promised him, nodding down at where their hips were about to be joined, and Frost had to laugh.
"In that case, I promise I'll behave myself." For now.
"Good," came the only response, but Frost barely even heard it as she rolled her hips forward to rub against him. He groaned, long and loud and undeniably delighted, and he felt her sink down onto him a moment later, his cock sliding into her wet heat.
By the war, this was so much more than he would've dared hope to get from her; his pressed his hips up into hers eagerly, unable to take his eyes off the sight of her watching him and grinning in her satisfaction--until the moment she seemed to realize what she was doing, and the expression disappeared. The moment it was gone, replaced by something unmistakably close to anger, she thrust down against him hard and tore another deep groan from his lungs.
His hands were on her hips before he even realized he was moving them, and he matched her aggression with his own eagerness, letting her ride him hard and fast while he thrust up into her.
As her hands fell to his shoulders and the sounds of pleasure and sex--and wooden furniture scraping against the hardwood floor--filled the room, Frost could only marvel at this. At her. She'd gone far and above his expectations today, and he loved her for it. She felt amazing against him, her slim hips in his palms and all the hot, wet skin between her legs pressed up against his groin. It was all he could do to keep himself lying there like she'd bade him; all he wanted to do was seize her, pull her into his arms and crush her body against him. To feel her pelvis against his as she squirmed in his lap. To feel her tits pressed up against his chest while she slid her arms around him. To feel her lips and her teeth and her tongue against his neck once again.
That, or have her bend him over his desk like he'd wanted and spank his ass raw. He'd love that, too.
But he put the thought aside for now, filed it away in the back of his mind for next time; he'd get an opportunity to bring it up sooner or later, he knew, and after he did, it wouldn't be long before he got to see it fulfilled. Asking her to submit to that kind of treatment herself, he knew, would get him nowhere, but asking her to treat him like that would be giving her something he was sure she wanted already (whether or not she was prepared to admit it). If nothing else, it would be an opportunity for her to punish him for what he'd done to her, and he was sure she'd love every second of it if he could just convince her to give it a chance.
And at this point, he was all but sure he would be able to convince her. He rather doubted, in fact, that it would take much effort at all.
© 2016 A.F. Tanith
