“We grew up with bigger bedrooms and far more surveillance than the likes of Dion,” he says, amused, and he reaches with his free hand to palm her ass.
At that, Jill abruptly stops, pulling him to her. He must know, even when under the influence, that such words can't go without reassurance.
"That is correct," she agrees, tugging his arms around her waist, possessive. It doesn't matter that he's making a puddle on her nice floors, or still stinks a bit. "You're mine. Mine to use, mine to worship, mine to love... and mine to hose off when you come home smelling foul."
He pulls her in tight without a second thought, and he lifts her right up into his arms, intending to just carry her up the stairs himself. It also puts his face right level with her neck, and he nuzzles in briefly.
"Yours," he agrees. "Stinking or not. Preferably not."
Probably unsafe, wet as they are, but he won't drop her. Jill breathes out a soft laugh, leaning in to brush her lips against his temple through wet hair.
"Oh, preferably not stinking, but I'll keep you anyway."
She's precious cargo in his arms, boosting her up and putting a strong hand along her thigh to prompt her to wrap her legs around his waist, and he starts up the stairs.
"How very kind and generous of my lady," he murmurs.
Her thighs squeeze him, and she presses close. She's eager to get them both warmed up. Their wet clothes don't deter her from being affectionate, fingers pushing his hair away from his eyes.
Clive tromps up the stairs, quiet as he can be, dripping all the way. It feels nice to have her pressed up against him, weight fully against his chest. He gets a hard-on with a speed that would put a teenage boy to shame. She smells nice. Everything about her is nice.
"It is taking every bit of my self-control to behave at all." It's also a significant amount of his good cheer right now, despite the way his wet trousers are chafing at him.
He sets her down on the edge of the tub and doesn't even bother to step out of the way before he starts peeling off his wet shirt, stood right between her legs.
He drops the shirt to the floor with a wet sound as it hits the tile. His skin is streaked with leftover muck, a gray wash that catches in the lines of his abs and pools in his belly button. His fingers go to the lacing on his pants.
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In they go, and Jill tries not to look at his mucky footsteps from earlier.
"Be careful."
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“You wouldn’t want a bigger one?”
(Given her tastes.)
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"This is plenty big. What would we do with more space besides force Dion to live with us?" She teases.
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"Doesn't this place feel warmer?" She asks, genuinely curious. "I prefer our bedroom to what I had in Rosaria."
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“I like it better because of you.”
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Literally, some nights.
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"That is correct," she agrees, tugging his arms around her waist, possessive. It doesn't matter that he's making a puddle on her nice floors, or still stinks a bit. "You're mine. Mine to use, mine to worship, mine to love... and mine to hose off when you come home smelling foul."
She smiles.
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"Yours," he agrees. "Stinking or not. Preferably not."
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"Oh, preferably not stinking, but I'll keep you anyway."
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"How very kind and generous of my lady," he murmurs.
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"Nothing would make me not want to keep you."
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"Mmm. Will you get in the bath with me?"
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She gives him a look, amused but skeptical.
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"I do know you're not entirely in your right mind, of course," she continues, "So I won't be too cross were you to misbehave."
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"I'm easily swayed, at least."
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"Out of your clothes, please."
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"Yes, my lady."
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Both at the feel of his muscle beneath her palms and the bulge she spies in his pants.
"Very nice."
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“I’m glad my body pleases you.”
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"Even when wet and filthy," she teases.
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