His hands are on her hips, mouth on her ear whispering ‘so gorgeous,’ ‘just like that,’ and the question that breaks her more than the heat in his pants pressing against her, ‘you wanna ride me?’ She whimpers, voice a shock to both their ears, moans when fingers dig deeper into her skin, bruising in a way they never had before, stutters when he doesn’t ask again but demands, rough and urgent. He laughs against her then, thrills at her unspoken reply of thrusting hips. She’s wet for him, soaked through flimsy lace and and he’s never wanted anything more in his life than to lose himself deep in that tight, moist heat.

He tells her, filthy words that aren’t usually his spilling forth as he works his zipper open, pushes fabric out of the way and slides into her. It’s exquisite, he thinks, he says, she’s exquisite, working those hips like that, wrapping those impossibly long legs around him in that chair like that, grinding down on him like some sort of wanton whore and she shakes with the intensity of it, of the friction and the heat and his words dripping with every sin he’s ever wanted to commit. He’s gonna come, he tells her, gonna come in that hot cunt of hers and with one more thrust he does, loud and hard and long.

He’s pushing her off of him, pushing her to the floor and spreading her legs and sucking on her clit with no abandon, pulling away to work his tongue inside of her, taste himself there, tell her he wants to make her come, wants to hear her scream his name. He slides his mouth back up, tongue flicking steady against that hard bundle of nerves, fingers slick with his own release moving inside her until he feels her clench around him, hears his muffled name around the thighs pressed to his ears.

He’s lapping gently at her, barely perceptible strokes of his tongue as her legs fall to the sides, working her back up to a slow, sweet pleasure before she’s come down from the first. He can feel it when she tenses, hears her surprised, strangled gasp as her second climax spreads warmth throughout her body. She’s gorgeous like this, he tells her before he starts working on a third, soft and pliant under his hands, his mouth, hushing her cries of ‘I can’t’ when he nuzzles against her, telling her she can, telling her ‘you can, you can do it for me,’ and ‘do you want to come for me again, do you want to come all over my mouth?’

It’s not a question and they both know, she loves nothing more than to make a mess of him, she wants to obey that primal command, wants to see his mouth and chin shiny with spit and slick with their exertion. He hovers over her, darts his tongue out to taste her again, moans when she bucks up against him, when she sets her own rhythm of hips against his face, nothing more than a minute’s worth of messy work to bring her a third release of the night.