Just His Girl Being So Attracted To Simon And Him Not Understanding It. (18+)

Ghost discovers something about himself.

Simon snaps his hips against you, hitting something deep enough you feel it in your stomach. Your breath hitches, your eyes roll back, you take the opportunity to grab him by the back of the neck and drag him down against your chest. You all but smush Simon's face into the crook of your neck, gasping against his ear as he continues battering your poor cunt.

"That's it," you breathe, "fuck, such a good boy, so good for me." Your back arches, you can feel his cock twitching inside you, the fat length of it bullying you open even when you clench around it. It burns perfectly, makes you feel tight even when he's stretched you loose.

"Baby," you coo, trying to meet his thrust(try being the operative word when Simon has his weight crushing you, your legs locked behind his back to keep him in place), "fucking me so well, it must feel good." You feel a tentative nod against your shoulder and the dam holding back your tongue breaks. "Yeah?" You pout, draw your voice higher, let him hear the moan he pulls from you, "This pussy's yours baby, fuck it like you own it. Such a good puppy, filling me up better than anyone."

Simon's teeth tease your skin, a warning you don't listen to. Why would you? His cock is pistoning in and out of you with a desperation you've never felt before, it's all you can do not to melt under him. If he wasn't laying on you, you might have. Each time he hits you just right you feel like a little more of your brain drips out of your ears. You can't stop the words dripping out of you though, even with the whines and whimpers Simon drags from you. His teeth dig into your shoulder and your eyes flutter closed as you moan openly.

"Tell me how much you love it Simon," you whine, "fuck your master with that big stupid cock."

You don't miss the whine that draws from him, the desperate choked thing that snaps its hips tight against you, pushes its cock as deep as he can manage and pulses inside your cunt. Your eyes roll back feeling him come. You drag your hand through his hair, scratching lightly as you practically purr for him.

"There it is," you turn to kiss the edge of his cheek, drag your tongue over the rough stubble along his jaw, "good boy."

Simon's teeth release their grip, and he pulls back. You get the briefest glimpse of him tipping his head back to draw a heavy breath before his hand is covering your mouth. You're held down against the mattress, lucky he isn't cutting off your oxygen as he presses his hand harshly against your lips. "Would you shut up," Simon growls, his free hand moving to rub at your clit, dragging the come that spills from your cunt on his shallow thrusts to slick his movements, "If you're still talkin', must not be doing a good enough job."

You mumble out a muffled "I love you" and see Simon smile in response. You're going to pay for running your mouth, but it's worth it.

oh but simon holding you by your waist for easy manhandling, rutting your clothed cunt against his chub, crooning and cooing about how pretty you look. you’re so wet, your slick dampening your panties, and simon teases that if he keeps this up, you’ll probably start to get even his grey sweats wet :((

“simon, please,” you mewl, squirming, your fists tight on his worn out tee. “please fuck me ‘ready.”

simon puffs a fond laugh, his grin is his only answer, before his bulk falls back to the cushions of the couch, dragging you closer to his front. it makes your tits press flushed against his chest and simon shoots a quick look at the visage they make, his rosy cheeks turning brighter.

“goddamn, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice rumbling in a pleased groan. “y’really are a sight f’r sore eyes.”

his hand falls from your waist to map out the tender parts of your hip before falling just atop the swell of your ass. your breath hitches at the weight of his touch, fire scorching down your spine, bubbling with anticipation.

simon studies you throughout, eyes furrowed in his silent delight. he loves you like this, after all. he loves seeing you all whiny and begging, all teary-eyed and warbled murmurs. he loves feeling the tremors racing through your body, your desire bloating, expanding, so tangible as you turn desperate eyes to him, pleas dripping from your pouty lips.

yeah, simon thinks, feeling his breathing go ragged. you always did know how to beg prettily.

he squeezes your ass, giving in, and you hiss, eyes fluttering at his fondling touch. he begins rutting you against him again, grinding your cunt over his bulge, and you squeak, your strength getting zapped out of your knees.

it makes you tumble, and you fall with no grace. it makes you slip, your already-sensitive clit grinding against simon’s chub.

you let out a gasped out moan at the glide, your eyes crossing at the quick eruption of pleasure that seizes you. simon catches you before you can topple out of his lap completely, his laughter trickling from his scarred lips.

“relax, doll,” he teases, thick arms surrounding you fully. “can’t have you hurtin’ y’rself.”

you sniff, so overwhelmed with your need, and rest your cheek on his shoulder. simon adjusts you on top of him again, before he noses along your temple, breathing you in.

“i’ve got you, kid,” simon croons over your muffled whines, brushing his knuckles against your jaw. “i promised you, didn’t i?”

“yeah,” you murmur, voice breathy. “need you now.”

“of course.” simon presses his lips on the top of your head again. “i’m all yours, after all.”

he wonders what he must have done to be given the chance to have a darling dear like you love him.

simon riley x fem!reader

cw: smut

not even five minutes in and simon is already pussy drunk.

he’s whining and moaning in your ear like the whore that he is. he’s got you pressed into the mattress, your legs spread wide to accommodate his bulk, and your pussy stuffed full of his fat cock. he’s rewarding you with deep strokes that make you dig your nails into his back until crescents are embedded deep in his skin.

“jus’ like that, si. you’re doing so good for me, baby,” you coo, breathlessly.

your praise comes out a little slurred, but simon understands every word. he wants to be good for you, wants to make you proud. and he does, making you see stars when he pulls out slowly, then bullies his cock back into your drooling pussy. his husky laugh fills your ears when you start yowling and clawing at his back, crying about how it’s too much.

“c’mon kitty, back’s still healin’ from the last set of scratches you gave me,” he rasps in your ear. his back stings like a motherfucker, but marking him up keeps you grounded.

you let out a strangled please please please when simon’s cock hits your g-spot repeatedly.

your pussy is damn near choking him to death and he loves it. he loves having you split open on his cock. if simon could keep you like this forever he would, having you strung out and full of his leaking cock while he pumps in and out of your sloppy hole until he can no longer function.

“pussy’s like heaven, baby,” he chokes out with a snap of his hips, before murmuring thank you, thank you, thank you.

you’re incapable of stringing together a decent reply. your eyes are blurred with tears and your thighs are shaking while he tears your shit up. with every moan and gasp you let out, simon fucks into you faster, almost frantically. and when he hooks one of your legs over his shoulder and grinds into your pussy, his cock kissing your cervix, you arch up off the bed. the constant waves of pleasure is all you can focus on, when your orgasm takes you by surprise, punching the air out of your lungs.

simon barely gives you time to breathe, before he’s flipping you over and mounting you from behind. “need you to give me one more,” he hisses out, before groaning at the sound of your pussy making loud squelching noises around his length. “you’re being such a good girl f’me, takin’ my cock like you were made for it.”

“simon!”

“keep singing, lovie.” your wails bounce of the walls when he covers your body with his, then drives his cock even deeper into your pussy than before.

simon’s muttering about filling your hole to the brim with his seed, while he ruts into you like the beast that he is. and then he’s asking how am i doing, baby? to which you respond with you’re doing so well, simon.

simon knows he’s doing his best when he’s the reason your hair is all over the place, and when your eyes and pussy are leaking, and your mouth is wide open from your constant cries of pleasure when he reaches around your body to rub your clit raw.

“simon, please.”

“what do you need, lovie?”

you whine at the hint of laughter in simon’s voice when he asks you that. he knows exactly what you need. “wanna cum. i need it,” you whimper, while rocking back on his cock.

you almost burst into tears when he pulls out, leaving you empty and leaking. but then simon’s repositioning the both of you so you’re now in his lap. you have to hold on for dear life when he starts bouncing you on his cock, his large hands gripping your ass like a vice to keep you steady. through your loud whining and moaning, you can hear simon swearing and gasping, as his hips surge up frantically.

“f-fuck!” you bury your face in simon’s shoulder to smother your wails. you’re so loud, you know someone other than simon can hear you.

and then it all becomes too much. the bouncing, the way simon’s cock keeps hitting your g-spot, and his soft that’s it, that’s it, cum on this cock. i know you can do it, baby, so give me what i fuckin’ want.

you cum with a choked cry, you’re body shaking almost violently in simon’s lap as a feeling of euphoria washes over you. and when you come down from your high, you talk simon through it. he let’s out a whine when you start to rock your hips and clench around his cock. you laugh softly at the dazed look in his eyes when he tells you that your pussy will be the death of him one day. you continue to fuck yourself on simon’s cock, it being more for his benefit than yours. he’s fucking up into you with urgency. your pussy feels so good and he’s so close. you can tell by the way he keeps muttering fuck, fuck, fuck.

you press a few sloppy kisses to his jaw, before pulling back, “gonna cum for me, si? hm? want you to fill me up, make a mess of this pussy.”

simon’s not sure if it’s your words, or the way you’re writhing on his cock, but as soon as his hips start to stutter, he’s cumming in your pussy with a cry.

when he starts to pull out, you stop him, asking him to stay inside of you a little longer.

and you know simon, he can never say no to you.

“i love you,” you sigh out happily once you and simon are lying down, his cock still in you.

you can’t see his face, but simon’s eyes are bright when he says, “i love you too.”

a/n: idk i was listening to

Through Me (The Flood) - secret baby fic Simon Riley / female reader - 18+ mdni - more vacation - smut

Simon left the windows open last night.

He’s not sure what possessed him to take such a risk. The vacation flat may be on the third floor, picked for the view over the beach and shoreline, but the height is not something that would thwart someone with an objective. A mission to kill.

A person like him.

He supposes he left them open because he wanted to watch the thin cotton curtains wave in the breeze. He wanted to smell the salt and hear the birds. He wanted to memorize the sunrise’s painting across your bare skin, the broad strokes and dappled splotches of dawn that turn you into a living canvas, a work of art. The prettiest one he’s ever seen.

You’re hardly covered by the sheet, on your side, one arm above your head, the other stretched out towards his side of the bed. You slept like a dead woman last night, gone to the world, lightly snoring and tossing in the small hours. He stayed up for most of it, tracing the slope of your nose with his fingers, counting your spots, birthmarks, moles, the whole lot. You’re usually a light sleeper home, your subconscious skimming just under the surface, ready to wake you at a moment’s notice for the baby, an instinctive driving you to hover on the edge of deep sleep.

He says he’s not sure what possessed him to let the sun in so early this morning, but deep down, he’s aware of the farce.

He wants to catch it in the light. The small angular sapphire on a gold band, the one he slipped on your ring finger last night while you were lost in your dreams. It’s a simple thing. Unremarkable even. Unobtrusive, as it should be. It doesn’t call attention to its size, or you, or who may have put it there, but it sits so naturally, like it’s always belonged.

He slipped it on six hours ago and well, he’s tired of waiting for you to see it for the first time.

He pulls you into your body, little spoon to his big, and tugs the hand wearing his ring into his, carefully shifting your knee forward. You sigh.

“Simon?” He kisses your shoulder, your neck.

“Go back to sleep sweetheart.” The thick of your ass is plump at his hips, hard cock settled in the cleft between your cheeks.

“What’re you doin’?” You yawn, still not able to really open your eyes, and he nudges at your temple.

“Just a little cold mama, there’s a bit o’ a draft in here.” He traces down your slit, pleased to find you already wet, probably from when he played with you clit earlier this morning. He hefts up on his arm, lining up with you before slowly pushing his way inside your body. You’re wet and warm and perfect, and he groans into your neck, weaving his fingers between yours. His thumb strokes over the stone in your ring, cock still and sitting in your wet pussy. You moan.

“Ah-“

“Feel good?”

“So full.” Your lashes flutter. He kisses your cheek.

“Be good for daddy, sweetheart. Keep those eyes closed, stay nice and still. Keep me warm.” He’s savoring the moment, dragging it out, practically edging himself, waiting for the second you truly wake up and realize what he’s done, what’s happening.

You whine. He slaps your ass, lightly, enjoying how you jiggle and ripple afterwards. The sun tired you out yesterday, effects still lingering, and he rubs a soothing palm over the swell of your ass, shushing you. “My sweet girl, look’t you. Keepin’ my cock warm, hungry for it even in your dreams.” You whimper, clenching, and he starts to move, dragging in and out of your heat, holding you too tight to his chest. Your mouth hangs open in a permanent gasp, fingernails sinking into his thigh.

“Oh my god.” He directs your hand onto the pillow in front of your face, his fingers locked on yours. Another thrust, deeper this time, enough to make you squeak, and then he whispers in your ear.

“Open your eyes mama.” His heart is a sharp staccato, frantic snare drum rolling through his head. He waits, and waits, slowing the roll of hips until your brow furrows, confused at the stall of his pace.

The curtains wave, picked up by a breeze, and the sun skitters across the foot of the bed, slowly spreading up the mattress, over where he’s sunken deep inside you, to the pillow, your face, your hand.

The sapphire sparkles in the morning light.

A beat. Then two. The blood pounding in his ears-

“What… Simon… wait… did you-“ you’re babbling, confused, stunned, and he pulls away, almost completely, before bludgeoning back inside your pussy until there’s no room left, and your back arches.

“That’s a ring, sweetheart. My ring, on your pretty little finger.” He thrusts again, snapping into you with a snarl. The ring is clouding his vision, the clutch of your pussy trying to milk him deep into your womb. “My ring, my babies, my wife.” The plural slips, future plans laid bare, but he distracts you with teeth to your shoulder, playing with your clit, persistent, frenzied pressure screwing your face up until your eyes are clenched closed and he’s fucking you so hard his hips slap against your ass with a shuddering, satisfying sound.

“Daddy- fuck. ‘m gonna come,” you pant, spine curling, and he cups your jaw. He’ll never not be able to look you in the face now, he’ll always need to see you, watch you, drink in every expression like they’re his salvation.

Maybe they are.

“Good girl, there it is, come for me, come all my cock.” You choke, you cry, keening in his arms, sweet kitten turned feral, and he bands a forearm around your chest as he rocks in and out, faster and faster, meeting you blow for blow, release spilling from him and into you, a reaffirmation of the bond you’ll carry, he’ll carry, for the rest of your lives.

“This is crazy.” You’re holding your hand up, staring at the gem glistening against the backdrop of turquoise sea. “You’re insane. You know that right?” He barks a laugh, tugging you down onto the blanket.

“I do know.” There’s sand in your hair, sand littered across your collarbone, sand on your nose. He feels insane right now, sitting by your side, studying the ring he gave you, his ring on your hand.

Fuck. It makes his cock hard. Fills that ache in his chest, the ever present one that he’s had since the day he saw you on the sidewalk with his baby wrapped to your chest. Wild instinct that demands he possess every single inch, every breath.

You’re the moon. The silver light on the desert in the darkest hours of the night. The one gentling the primal deep of the darkest waters, pushing and pulling them in a rapturous tide.

He’s the sea. You’re the moon.

He glances around the beach. Finally. He overheard you and Cami giggling about skinny dipping the other day, and latched onto your admittance that you’ve never done it, but always wanted to try. “We’re alone.” You blink.

“Okay…”

“Want to skinny dip?” Your eyebrows raise, and he gives you a small half smile. There’s a little excitement in your eyes, balanced with caution.

“What if someone sees?”

“No one will.”

“But if they do… you’ll be okay with someone else seeing me naked?” His vision ebbs in red.

“No one will see us.” He doubles down, and you snicker.

“I don’t know. Maybe we shouldn’t… if someone saw you naked they’d probably call the zoo for an escaped anaconda sighting or something, they’d-“ He rolls to his feet, snatching you by your waist, walking towards the tide. You shriek. “Simon! Put me down!” With one hand, he rips your bottoms away and pulls his down simultaneously, before flipping you into the surf, careful to keep his hands on you even as you go under.

When you come up sputtering, you’re trying so damn hard not to laugh, affixing fake outrage on your face like a mask that won’t stay.

You’re so fucking cute.

He tugs the top free, and then you’re both standing naked, floating in the crystal cool water, rolling with the waves. Your feet leave the ground with each peak, and Simon swims after you when you’re on top of one, wrapping you up in his arms and turning on his back.

“I’ll drown you.” You protest, but don’t attempt to wrestle free.

“Mama you couldn’t drown me if you tried.” The two of you float there, toes to the sky in the sea, his hand on your waist, tethered, until your fingers are wrinkled and he's kissed each and every one.

society needs more cat gifs

there is something sooo embarrassing about everything i have done and will do

finger

kate laswell x f!reader | ~3.6k words tags: alcohol, age gap (Kate is in her late 40s, Reader is in her 30s), cunnilingus, fingering, slight mommy kink, x2 'good girls', x1 'brat', porn with a dash of plot a/n: kate isn't married in this. reader has hair long enough for kate to grab. happy pride.

Forty swipes deep into dating app hell and down to the dregs of a beer, the bartender exchanges your glass for a tumbler. Face smushed into a palm, you stare incredulously at the liquor. You definitely didn’t order whiskey. Definitely can’t afford it. Even at a dive like this, your budget demands whatever’s on special, tonight being Rainier.

You’re quick to correct the bartender. No way you’re overdrafting again. “Hey–I didn’t order this.”

A knowing smile curves his mouth, and he jerks his head over a shoulder. “No, but she did.”

It’s a surprise your neck doesn’t snap when you look and a second that your jaw doesn’t hit the counter on its way to the floor. The she in question sits at the corner with her arm draped over the back of another stool. Older than you, maybe by a decade. She looks like a suit or off-duty fed, with a dress shirt undone to the top of her sternum, a blazer draped over her seat, and sandy hair pulled into a bun. Your eyes linger on the triangle of skin below her neck, and heat rushes up your neck when they pan to her face.

Though the color is difficult to discern in the dim light, they’re half-lidded and fixed to you over the rim of her glass. She taps the top of the empty seat beside her—as if the free drink wasn't a clear enough invitation.

Not your usual type, but a drink is a drink. It’s polite to respond.

Your thumb swipes the app shut, and you pocket your phone, scooting off your stool on an invisible leash. A warm ball of excitement tugging you across the sticky floor, slowing time in your head. You ferry the whiskey like it’s some grand gift, desperately not wanting to spill a drop and make a fool of yourself in front of whoever the hell this woman is.

Her eyes drop, appraising you on the approach. You think you might be buzzing as loud as the lights. 

“Hi,” you pass behind as her arm lifts off the stool, allowing you to sidle into the gap between and hoist yourself up. You set the whiskey on a coaster and tap it with a finger. “Thanks for the drink.”

“Hope neat’s alright.” She replies, head tilting slightly, body turning angling toward you. “Bad day?”

“Bad night,” you correct sheepishly. “I, uh, had a date but they canceled at the last second.”

Her tongue clicks, setting her glass down to undo the cuff buttons of her sleeves. “That’s bad manners. Their loss, though. You’re a knockout.”

The way she says it so casually, oozing confidence you only dream of, momentarily stuns you. You’ve been called ‘cute’ and ‘pretty’, but—Your brain short circuits at the sight of her deftly rolling her sleeves. Slight tan, a dusting of freckles, and a couple of interesting scars. Your eyes flick to hers, an amused smile telling you she’s caught you ogling for the second time.

“Thanks. That’s kind of you to say.” you finally reply, taking a sip of the whiskey in a move you hope exudes poise.

She tucks the fabric to one elbow and starts the other. “It looked like you could use something stronger. Thought a finger or two would help.”

The whiskey nearly shoots out of your nose, but you swallow after an embarrassing choke.

She merely chuckles and extends a hand to pat your back gently. “Of bourbon, that is.”

“Y-Yeah, no, I know,” you sputter and pluck a cocktail napkin from a stack, wiping your mouth and praying for a spontaneous, you-sized sinkhole to open beneath your seat.

“I’m Kate.” She rubs a slow circle near the top of your spine, then flattens her hand to rest her thumb on the nape of your neck. It brushes over the skin once when you give her your name. She repeats it, lifting her glass. “I’ll take their place for the night, unless you object?”

The assertiveness is a stark contrast to your fumbling and the coy indecisiveness of women you typically attract. The question hangs off her tongue, dangling like a worm on a hook. She wants you to bite, you feel it in the heat of her gaze, and let her in. She must be a fed with a focus like that; no way she’s corporate. You’ve lived in the DMV long enough to spot them. Can’t throw a rock without hitting one, anyway. 

You smile, feeling the warmth of Kate’s palm through your shirt. “I’d like that.” 

“Yeah? Good.” She sips, shifting further until her knee skims the outside of your thigh. “Tell me about yourself, kid.”

That does something for you, and you file it away for later. You mirror Kate’s posture, turning so your knees interlace. You know how intimate this must look to the handful of other patrons, to the bartender, as if you’re already a couple. Yet it feels natural, like you’re supposed to meld into the complete stranger because she bought you a drink. A breath slips out when her hand leaves your back, the angle too far to be comfortable, and drops to your kneecap. It’s like a game of chicken, all these small touches, and you kind of want to lose.

You prattle off the basics. How you moved to D.C. two years ago for work, how the city’s grown on you, and on a tangent, that you’re actually pretty lonely. It spills out of you freely, unable to look away from the steel blues seemingly hanging off every word. It’s the most attention you’ve received outside of work in a long time. It’s that and the whiskey, must be, why the butterflies in your stomach migrate to your chest, evolving into the thrum of a bird’s wings. 

To your quiet delight, her attention isn’t the only thing she gives you—it’s her interest. She hums and affirms. She asks questions. Digs into the meat of the story you spout off about your shitty landlord. And she squeezes your knee when you share how you spent the last holiday alone in the city. You try to turn it around once or twice, though you abandon that line of questioning after she tells you she’s a ‘contractor’.

Before you know it, you’re finished with a second whiskey and incredibly warm and wanting.

Kate hits you with the Let’s get out of here and loops an arm around your waist outside the bar. In the cab, you let her slide her hand up your leg, stopping in time to eat up your pathetic whine with a languid kiss. Though she pays the fare, you leave a big tip—an apology for the makeout he couldn’t’ve missed through the rearview.

You float through the hotel lobby in a haze of alcohol and lust, barely appreciating the swankiness of the place. Whatever ‘contractor’ really means, it pays well. She practically lassoes you into the elevator with one arm, her suit jacket draped over the other. 

“You can back out anytime.” She says, punching the button for her floor. “No hurt feelings.”

The blood in your veins itches with need as you grab her waist and haul her closer. You unabashedly stare, glossy-eyed. This woman, who’s been nothing but kind and attentive and generous—you want to return the favor. Tenfold. Something about her draws it out. “I don’t want to,” You whisper, the elevator softly dinging with each passing floor. “I want more.”

She smiles, hand fitting over the nape of your neck again like it belongs there, and reels you in for another kiss. It leaves you gasping when the lift stops.

Her room is a suite, another token of her apparent success. The best place you’ve ever stayed at came with a coffee maker. There isn’t much of a chance to admire it, though, since she plants you on the wall the moment the door clicks, latching it shut with her free hand. It’s a long, heated stumble further into the room, most of your clothes coming off with each step. It doesn’t hit you until she holds you at arm’s length to sit on the edge of her bed. She smirks up at you, tugging on the waistband of your underwear. Not to take them off but as direction.

You kneel between her open legs without a second thought.

“You still want more?”

Hours earlier, when your date texted a poor excuse to cancel, you didn’t think this was where the night would go. The weight of Kate’s gaze is heavy, almost as intoxicating as the whiskey lingering on your tongue. The anticipation is electric, and the view is…Well, you could get used to sitting on your knees if it’s her holding the reins.

You lay your hands on her thighs and feel the muscles beneath her pants shift. It’s heady, knowing someone this composed and enigmatic wants you, too.

“Yes.” You finally manage, hands sliding up to unbutton her fly and curling over the band to tug them down along with her underwear. Above, Kate chuckles, lifting her hips to allow you to peel them to her ankles. God, how desperate you must look when your eyes whip from her face to the patch of hair before you. Your mouth hangs open, drool already gathering on your tongue.

“You’ll catch flies like that.” she teases. 

Her hand lands atop your head. No pull or pressure. Yet. 

“But good answer,” Her fingers flex against your scalp. “Show me how good that pretty little mouth of yours is, shall we?”

Yes ma'am.

Without hesitation, you press open-mouthed kisses to Kate’s spread thighs, relishing the sigh of relief from above. You lay another on the hair above her pussy, inhaling her scent appreciatively, then give a few exploratory licks to her labia, avoiding where she wants you to wind her up. Something about a woman in control that makes you want to pick at a frayed edge and unwind her, even just a little bit. 

The hand in your hair tightens after more teasing, a silent Get to it. You still spare a couple more wet kisses, then lick a stripe over her hole before slipping it in. Her hips jut toward your mouth, pressure finally applied to your skull. You oblige her, searching for more of the vinous taste coating your tongue. You think it might be the best night of your life when she moans, your hands joining your mouth to gently spread her open.

“That’s it, just like that…” She rasps, voice thin and shaky. “That’s a good girl.” 

Your chest bursts at the praise, heat doubling in your cheeks. It cracks your eyes open, vision glazed. The sight of her, brow furrowed and lip caught between teeth—you did that. 

You dutifully continue, responding to each jerk of your head with soft groans, each one a direct line to your cunt. Pressing your thighs together, you feel how soaked you are, the cotton sticking. By the time you drag your tongue up to her clit, her legs shake, thighs trembling and bumping against your ears. Kate’s trying to keep them still; the tension beneath your hands charged and telling. When you wrap your lips around her clit to suck, you watch her eyes roll back and square your shoulders to keep her open.

“Atta girl.” She grits between her teeth, the fingers in your hair tightening to pull you snugly against her pussy. Her other hand fists the comforter, the fabric crinkling in her white-knuckled grip. “Don’t stop,” It’s almost a whine, bitten back and forced into a grunt. You could die here, nose buried in her bush and tongue stuck to her clit, chin slipping through her wetness. Drown or suffocate. It’d be a hell of a way to go.

But she comes, eyebrows pinched and mouth wide, going stock-still and rigid until the tension snaps. Kate shakes through it, letting all of one moan loose before clamping her mouth shut, baring her teeth to hiss instead. Her hips buck, and you carefully move with her, intent on catching everything she gives, greedily lapping at her until she tugs your head back.

A wet sheen paints your upper lip to your chin, possibly your throat, and you stare, hands on her knees, up at Kate. Her chest rises and falls with heavy breaths, her eyes dark and color high on her cheeks. Mild carpet burn bites your knees, but you don’t dare move. 

It’s like that for a few minutes. Her hand loosens its grip to pet your hair, her breathing gradually leveling out. Her scent permeates the air and your skin. God, even if you never see her again after this, she’s a part of you now.

“Up,” She suddenly says, standing and gesturing to the bed. “Take off the rest, then on your back.”

You scramble, wincing at the pops of your knees, but she doesn’t seem to notice. The clasp of your bra works with you, unfastening easily, and you shiver when the damp gusset of your underwear slaps wetly against your thigh on the way off. She grabs bottled water from the nightstand instead, drinking deeply, looking away at the curtains covering the windows.

Turning around, she twists the cap and sets the water aside, licking her lip free of a stray droplet. The pink tip of her tongue enough to expel a sharp breath.

Peculiarly, she leaves her shirt on but joins you, crawling onto the bed with a smile that might’ve passed for soft if her eyes weren’t so sharp. She leaves barely any breathing space, draping a warm leg over yours and pulling it toward her. Her elbow rests beneath her, propping her up with a closed fist to her temple. Her other hand drifts from the crease of your thigh, over your stomach, and between your breasts. Head tilting, her tongue darts out again in apparent study, drinking you in. Her attention to the physical is just as reverent as it is in conversation. 

You cannot bring yourself to speak, afraid you’ll break the spell. But you twitch once, when her fingers ghost over a hard nipple, and she smirks.

“Yes?”

“Please,” You whisper, not too proud to beg, and reach for her hand. “Please touch me. I am so fucking—”

Kate tuts, freezing your hand’s approach, then softens it with a hushed laugh. “Impatient. If that’s what you want, then let me work.” She pinches the bud between her fingers, slowly maneuvering to her knees. “You were so sweet at the bar. Don’t tell me I’ve brought a selfish brat home.”

A frustrated groan slips out, stuttering into a whimper as she withdraws to sit on her heels. Your teeth catch your lip to silence another when she moves between your legs, not sparing a single glance to her prize. Her hands spider up your shins and down your calves. It’s torture, and she’s incredible at it. 

Never in your life have you been called a brat past childhood, and certainly not in the bedroom. It pokes at that earlier inkling, urges it out into the open, but you stubbornly smother it. Maybe you are—but you don’t want to be for her. 

“Kate, please,” you plead again. “Please, I just–I just got worked up when I–”

“Shh. I know. I’m being awfully rude. I’ll take care of you, pretty thing.” Kate purrs, finally lowering her gaze to your dripping center, and her lip curls. It’s calculated, the glacial speed with which she approaches your cunt. Situates herself nice between your spread legs, returning the favor of littering your shaking thighs with kisses, adding teeth into the meatiest parts. 

Her nails lightly comb south through your thatch of hair, two callused fingers tracing over either side of your sex. A third finger teasing a trail through the wet, before dipping into the first knuckle. “Fuck,” she gaps, marveling at the ease. “You weren’t kidding.”

Surely you’d think of a smarter comeback other than the nonsensical babble you stammer instead.

Your stomach twists into knots as a second finger joins the first, easing deeper, thumb hovering over your clit like a trigger. Her fingers move slowly and deliberately, but within seconds you’re taking them to the webbing. They crook and drag against your inner walls, coaxing a stream of needy sounds from your lips.

“Wish you could see yourself,” Kate rasps, voice a hair lower. Brow narrowed with rapt attention. “Think you can take three?” She chuckles at the breathy little in a minute you force out. “Good girl, telling me how it is.”

Her fingers start to scissor and stretch, thumb occasionally tapping your clit to see your hips jolt. Your eyes are rolled back into oblivion when her tongue makes contact, and they snap open so fast you need to blink away black spots. Your hands hover over her head, unsure if she’s—fuck, if she’s—

She unlatches from your clit, giving it a peck before nodding at your outstretched palms. As if all business, she sinks back into your cunt mouth-first and closes her eyes with a groan. Your pussy squeezes at the sight, a needy whimper accompanying your fingers as they thread through her hair, ruining her bun. 

Kate alternates between devouring your pussy and tongue-fucking your hole, showcasing an almost animalistic side to the controlled woman who charmed you at the bar. The sounds muffled by your thighs, so hungry and urgent, it’s almost too much. You suck your lip into your mouth as the heat flooding your abdomen steadily migrates.

“K-Kate, fuck, I’m close.”

With a wet pop, she lifts her head, face flushed and mouth drenched. Though you quietly protest, your orgasm dancing out of reach, you let a curse shrivel on your tongue. Her fingers slow to allow a third to prod at your hole. It’s a stretch, even as slick as you are. The two of you groan as she feeds them into you. She drops a kiss to your thigh once they’re in, gaze flitting up to read your face on the first languid push and pull.

“Yeah?”

“Y-Yeah, oh, oh fuck.” Your answer turns stupid at the insistence behind Kate’s renewed thrusts. The lewd, squelching sound drowns whatever shreds of coherency and possibly dignity you have left.

Her mouth returns, sawing your clit back and forth, applying pressure in tandem with the plunge of her fingers. 

If she minds the number you’re doing to her scalp, she doesn’t show it. Her hair comes undone under your desperate hands, trying to fuse your cunt to her jaw. Tit for tat, though maybe she thinks as you do, finding a warm and wet pussy a suitable demise. 

With deliberate timing, her fingers bury themselves, bullying through the tight clasp of your walls, and teeth graze your clit. They sever the last thread of control, and your vision whites out. Head tipped against the pillow and heels digging into the bed, you shatter, voice unrestrained and echoing through the hotel room. A sliver of embarrassment stitches through the silence after, the neighboring suites an afterthought.

Kate cleans you in the afterglow. Your legs twitch uncontrollably as a towel dips between your legs, brain too muddled to appreciate her undoubtedly flattering words. 

She climbs into bed after that, tucking the pair of you underneath the sheets. You guess you’re staying the night when she folds around you in a spoon. She sighs, deep and satisfied, breath tickling your ear. “Good?”

“Better than good.” A tired giggle ekes out, snuggling into the bedding. Your eyelids droop, your head blissfully swimming from the faint smell of Kate on your lips. You swallow, unable to stop yourself from sleepily asking, “What’s after this?”

Her lips press to your temple in a prolonged kiss. Long enough to make you think you made a mistake. Then she whispers. “Sleep. A shower. Then room service in the morning.” She must sense your unease, though, as she adds, “We’ll talk then.”

You nod, half-lost to slumber already, savoring the figure eights she traces on your side. 

In the morning, you wake to an empty bed and a knock on the door. One foot in post-sex sleep-induced delirium, you find a robe in the ensuite and greet an amused-looking hotel employee at the door. Cart in tow, they breeze past you, lifting a cloche from a mouth-watering breakfast and a small carafe of coffee.

“Do I need to…pay for this?” You ask, head as scrambled as the eggs on the plate. 

“No, it’s being charged to the room.” The man says as he unloads the cart onto the room’s table. He delays his departure, though, and you get the message. He leaves with the last of your cash, and you spot a note tucked under Kate’s pillow.

Sorry to leave you like this. Duty calls. Take your time with the room. No one will bother you beyond delivering breakfast. You can reach me at this number if you need a finger or three, again. - Kate

You snort and shove a piece of bacon into your mouth to distract yourself from the ache between your legs.

Later, you consider adjusting your age preferences up a bracket across your dating apps before deleting them altogether. You send a text, and it’s under a minute that three dots appear. 

>> Miss me already, kid?

fiction and fantasy are so fun because it's like. if i met this man in real life i would drop kick him off a cliff within three seconds of him opening his mouth. luckily for him he doesn't exist so we can all happily ignore those red flags and pretend we could fix him

18+ mdni

“possessive ghost” this and “possessive ghost” that. i think that man gets off when his partner is possessive. the idea that you want and crave him just kinda makes him lose it.

the way you’d kiss along the calloused and scarred lines that etch his skin and and mutter “mine”, breathy and hot each time, has him melting against you. he’s putty in your hands anytime you tell him exactly what you need. he’s always good to you, because he’s yours.

he could have you pinned under his weight, your ankles resting on his shoulders or your legs around his waist, but it’s only because he knows it’s what you want. his rough hands hold your hips as his slam against you so his cock can hit deeper with each thrust. he stretches you so deliciously, your slick walls hugging every inch of him as he ruts into you.

he’s worked up because you’re clawing at his skin, moaning in his ear, panting into the air about how much you need him; how no one can give you what he does; how his cock is yours and yours alone.

he’s never selfish and impatient during sex, your pleasure was always first and foremost. but when you’re pulling him closer and muttering in his ear—feels so fuckin’ good, si. fuckin’ me so good with that cock…s’all mine, isn’t it?—his resolve completely shatters. he can’t last long when you stake your claim on him like that. and he cums hard, groaning while his cock twitches as he fills you with his thick cum. he holds you tight, hissing through gritted teeth as your walls milk him for all he’s worth. yeah…all f’you. i’m all yours.