noburden | inbox

Jill nods quickly, fingers pressing into his skin where she holds onto him as she grinds against his hand. She wants him. She always does.

His fingers ease out, teasing.

“Ought I carry you there wet and dripping?”

Another soft whine at his teasing, though her eyes are full of warmth. And lust, apparently, pupils large.

"I'll kiss every drop of water from your skin," she says against his hand. Slightly less romantic, but the intent is there.

Clive nods, skin brushing hers, and he takes his fingers from her entirely to shut off the water. The quiet is deafening, just the drip of water off them both. His cock bumps insistently against her. He looks at her for a sober moment, calm… and then lets her go entirely to pick her up with one arm around her waist. He’s taking her right to bed.

She goes with a laugh, and that at least is a quiet sound.

"I hope you can always do this."

Pick her up like she's weightless, she means.

Fuck her, he assumes. He hoists her right over his shoulder like a sack of grain and carries her off, dripping the whole way, soap bubbles still sliding down one armpit.

“Shh,” he just rumbles, and he plunks her down in bed on her back with a little too much enthusiasm to be gentle. Soft landing, at least.

She bounces with another small laugh, moving up the bed to give him space.

"Am I supposed to remain entirely silent?"

"Somewhere between silence and a theater show," he says, amused, and he stands over her for a beat just to look at her, long limbs and glistening skin and all, before he crawls after her, dripping. He presses her legs wide with his body, cock bobbing between them, a particular swell to his chest as he looks down at her, a hunger in his gaze. "You wanted me to leave you sore?"

As he looks over her she takes him in. A strong body that's filled out over the last year, and though he's fighting beasts well below his skill and strength, he seems more muscled than ever. She loves it.

She looks up at him as he moves over her with pure adoration, reaching up to cup his cheek.

"I do. Would you like to do that to me?"

The question makes the breath he's drawing in catch; yes, he could say, but it's harder to stave off the apprehension when she's being so sweet, so gentle. Determined not to think too much about it, he just nods, and gathers both her wrists above her head to pin them with one broad palm.

She worries he is thinking about it too much, but doesn't wish to dampen the mood by questioning him too much. With her hands pinned, she still tries to lean up to kiss him, settling for nipping at his lips if she can't land it properly.

"I enjoy being at your mercy," she reminds him. Even if she wiggles and squirms.

He can be a little mean to make this work, he thinks. He keeps his face away from hers with a little huff.

“Good,” he murmurs. He lets his weight sink into pinning her, and the other is free to grasp himself. He bumps the fat head of his cock against her. “Deep breath now.”

It's terribly mean not to kiss her, but she likes it when he teases her even if she looks mildly affronted. He'll give in eventually. He always does.

Taking a deep breath with his weight against her isn't easy, but she does as she's told, breasts and belly rising. She can't help but smile at him.

He drives in, all the way home, the snap of his hips mean and quick. He hunches over her, mouth dropping to hers to stifle any sound.

Good that he knows she'll be loud. She cries out against his lips, admittedly a little surprised he didn't relent or go for something sweeter. But this is what she wanted, and it's perfect, and she squeezes her thighs around him as hard as she can.

This is only ever for them.

There’s a rumble in his chest as he swallows up that cry, and the way she tenses and flexes around him nearly makes him lose what composure he has with her. She’s wet — he’d seen to that — but a sudden strike is a sudden strike, and he stays where he is for a beat, pressed snugly against her.

Then he draws back just enough to drive back in hard.

Her nails are digging into her palms and she wishes she could hold onto him, clutch his back, drag her fingers through his hair. All she can do is flex her thighs around him, gasping and writhing beneath him with the next thrust.

She's sure to catch his eyes, let him see the pleasure in hers. The love.

"My Clive," she manages to pant off his lips, voice soft.

My Jill. Last time he'd been rough with her, he'd had the misfortune of his mind handing the reins to his baser instincts, and it's a surprise to see –– and remember –– how much she enjoys it. He finds himself gasping, his own pleasure threatening to take over baser thought again, and he hammers away at her, again and again, his torso lowering closer and closer to hers as he sinks to an elbow to kiss her more easily.

She loves him, she loves his strength, she loves the hitch of his breathing, she loves how he could so easily crush her with his weight. She loves when she can tell his pleasure is winning over the thoughts that must be swirling around in his head. As much as she loves to be railed, she wants him to enjoy the simple fact that he's free to let go.

And she hopes her own pleasure, her own gasps and moans against his mouth, encourages him. And if that doesn't, the fact that she climaxes as they're belly to belly should. It comes quick, but hard, and even muffled her cry is louder than even she would allow knowing they're not home alone.

Founder, it's so good to feel her come, her body smothered under his and his hips jackhammering away, the wet squeeze all around him. But it takes him a second to shift, just to clasp a hand over her mouth hard, smothering the sound best he can. His heart just about explodes, but what's done is done, and he just keeps fucking her through it.

The speed and force of his hand over her mouth makes her laugh, and it's a strange (muffled) squeak because she's being fucked as her body continues to pulse around his cock. It nearly makes her laugh more.

He slows, not for exhaustion but simply for the sound she makes –– strangled and odd, and he looks at her with some alarm. If it weren't for the delight in her eyes, he'd spring off her, but as is, he just slows, breathing hard, hand still over her mouth. He can't help but smile, anxious as he is.

She knows him. He can't hide the alarm or make her forget she saw it. Pinned and gagged, essentially, there's little she can do but look at him and try and kiss his palm. She's having a great time.

Clive shifts his weight onto one elbow, stilling in her flush to the hips, looking down at her. He lets his grip on her face ease, and when he's sure she isn't going to be screaming like a cat in heat, he lets it fall away entirely so he can kiss her instead.

"I love you," she says between one kiss and the next. A normal volume. "You feel wonderful."

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject