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mykinkiscarmy · 3 months ago

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Kitty’s Back - Rated E

Ariel Ecton x Bruce Springteen smut??? as requested YES. DLDR.

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Bruce sat across from her, still half in his sweaty clothes, curls damp with post-show adrenaline and mischief glinting behind his eyes.

“You always start with the hard stuff?” he asked, voice low and raspy.

Ariel blinked, fingers tightening on her pen. “I… um, well, I figured we’d talk about the tour first, and then your… your latest album.” She cleared her throat, determined not to blush At his antics.

Bruce smirked, leaning forward to grab a water bottle from over her shoulder and locking eyes with her when he breath hitched at the proximity, “You’re from the Chicago Times, right? They usually send the old guys. you’re a little easier on the eyes.”

“That’s—” Her voice cracked, and she coughed. “That’s very cute. But I’m here to do a job.”

“Sorry, honey,” he said, eyes twinkling. “What’s your name again? Ariel?”

“Yes.”

“That’s real pretty. Like the mermaid.”

“Like the journalist.” She met his gaze, proud of the snap in her tone—until he grinned, wide and slow like honey.

“You always get this worked up, or is it just me?”

Ariel felt her cheeks go hot. “I’m not worked up.” She slightly whines out.

He leaned back with a chuckle at her pout, “‘course you’re not.”

And damn it, her pen did tremble just a little as she scribbled, “Interview began at 10:42 PM. Subject: insufferable.”

That flannel shirt he had shrugged on over his sweat-slicked tee was still unbuttoned, sleeves pushed to his elbows. Her eyes caught the edge of a faded tattoo on his forearm.

“You writing something flattering?” he asked.

“Something accurate.”

“Mm.” He leaned forward again, elbows on his knees now. “Let me guess—you’re new at this, but you’ve got something to prove. You dress like you don’t want anyone to notice you, but your questions say otherwise.”

Her brows lifted. “Are you interviewing me now?”

Bruce grinned. “Maybe I just like getting to know a pretty face when it’s sitting in front of me.”

Ariel laughed—an awkward, startled sound that made her cover her mouth. “You know this is wildly inappropriate, right?”

He nodded slowly. “And you’re still sitting here.”

She hesitated, then raised her pen, trying to regain footing. “Fine. New question. What keeps you coming back to the stage after all these years?”

Bruce scratched his jaw, thoughtful. “Hmm. There’s nothing like being wanted, is there?”

The air tightened.

Ariel looked down at her notebook, then back up at him, heat behind her eyes now. “So… you stay for the applause?”

He tilted his head, gaze lingering. “Nah. I stay for the ones who show up with real questions. Real hunger. Makes me feel alive again.”

A beat. Then, softer: “You didn’t answer my questions.” He says almost pouty.

“F- fine.” She huffs, “What?”

“You ever done this before?” His voice dropped just slightly, velvet over steel. “Or is this your first time?”

The heat flushed her face instantly, too fast to hide. “You mean—what do you mean?” she asked, feigning confusion, already knowing damn well what he meant.

Bruce grinned slow. “Interview. Or…” He gave a lazy shrug, letting it hang between them. “This.”

Her throat tightened. “I—I’ve interviewed people before.”

“Yeah?” he said, eyes narrowing like he didn’t believe her, or maybe just wanted her to squirm a little longer. “Anyone who looks at you like I do?”

Ariel blinked. “Mr. Springsteen—”

“Bruce,” he corrected smoothly.

“Bruce,” she echoed, firmer now, even if her voice did a little dip at the end. “I’m a professional. I came here to get your thoughts on your music, not to…”

“Fall for me?” he teased, smirking.

“Jesus Christ,” she muttered, more to herself than him, scribbling nonsense on the edge of her notebook. “This is so far off the rails…”

But Bruce just chuckled, eyes never leaving her. “You can ask your questions, darlin’. I’ll behave.”

And despite every nerve in her body telling her to get back on track, Ariel glanced up at him through her lashes and muttered, “Good. Because I’ve still got twenty minutes. And you haven’t answered mine, either.”

Bruce leaned back, arms stretched along the top of the couch like a lion giving her room to pounce—or run. “Baby, I’ll stay here with you all night.”

“I don’t need all night,” she replied, trying for sass but landing somewhere between breathless and brave. “Just enough to get the story.”

He grinned, slow and wolfish. “Then ask it.”

So she did.

“Why’d you stop writing love songs?”

That made him pause. His fingers drummed lightly against the armrest behind her, and the light in his eye dimmed just a touch—still warm, but quieter now.

“I didn’t stop,” he said after a moment. “I just got better at hiding ‘em.”

Ariel scribbled the words down, even as she felt them settle in her chest like a whisper. “Why hide them?”

Bruce shrugged, looking at her in that way again—like he saw things she hadn’t said aloud. “got sick of pretty girls like you with big brown eyes taking advantage of my big heart.”

She sighs heavily, exasperated, “Oh, spare me.”

“I’m serious, Ms. Ariel!” He smirks, “People get real funny when you show ‘em your heart. Either they take it or they drop it. That’s how I used to feel anyway.”

Her pen slowed.

“And now?” she asked.

“Now?” His eyes flicked to her lips. “I think I might be ready to let someone hold it again.”

Ariel’s breath caught.

The air in the dressing room suddenly felt too tight, like it belonged in a different kind of scene entirely. He looked at her notebook, then back at her. “That on the record?”

Her face falls back into a scowl he finds cute, “Will you be professional?”

Bruce smirked. “Depends. You gonna quote me? Or kiss me?”

Her jaw dropped open for a split second—long enough for him to laugh, deep and rich.

“I’m joking,” he said, not joking at all.

And Ariel, cheeks on fire, finally cracked a smile. “You’re a menace.”

He winked. “Yeah, but I’m your exclusive.”

And damn it, she really did forget her next question.

——

Ariel tucked a loose curl behind her ear and clicked her pen shut with a definitive snap, trying to reclaim her pulse and her pride all at once. “Well,” she said, standing and smoothing down her slacks, “I think that’s everything.”

Bruce leaned back against the couch like he’d just played a second round. “You sure? I could talk all night.”

“I know,” she muttered, collecting her things into a neat little stack like armor. “But some of us have deadlines.”

He watched her with that same lazy, amused interest, like she was an unsung lyric. When she crouched to zip up her bag, she felt it— that stare. She straightened, slinging it over her shoulder. Her notebook, the last thing left on the coffee table, fluttered open slightly.

Bruce reached for it.

“Hey—” she started, stepping forward, but it was too late. He had it in hand, flipping through her sharp scrawl and highlighted lines with an infuriatingly smug grin.

“‘Subject flirts shamelessly. Denies nothing,’” he read aloud, brow lifting. “That true?”

“Give it back, Mr. Springsteen.”

“Bruce.”

“Bruce,” she said, reaching for the notebook. “Give it back please.”

But he held it just out of reach, grinning wider now, the two of them caught in a ridiculous little tug-of-war.

“I like when you say please.”

She reached again over broad shoulders, standing on her toes this time, and that’s when it happened—

His hand wrapped around her waist and tugged her tightly to his solid torso.

She froze and turned. Their faces were suddenly close. His fingers still curled around the notebook, hers curled around his bicep. His cologne hit her first—cedar and sweat and smoke—and then the heat of his body, and then—

“I can have a kiss now, Ms. Ariel?” He whispers, dark brown eyes taking in the curve of her lips, “I behaved.”

“No, you didn't. Not even once.” She responds, breathless.

The notebook dropped between them with a soft thud, forgotten on the floor and their lips meet.

He kissed like he performed—intentional, hungry, practiced in how to build heat without haste. His hand slid from her waist to the small of her back, fingers splayed, anchoring her like he was afraid she might slip away.

She should’ve pulled back. She knew that. She was a professional. This was her first major piece for the Chicago Times. She should be thinking about ethics, integrity, boundaries—any of it.

But all she could think about was the taste of his mouth, the faint rasp of stubble on her chin, the way he’d said Ms. Ariel like it was something precious.

When they finally parted, barely an inch remained between them. Her fingers were still curled into the sleeve of his flannel, and his forehead bumped lightly against hers.

“You always kiss your interviewers?” she whispered, voice husky.

“Only the ones who make me nervous,” he murmured back, eyes half-lidded and wrecked with want.

Ariel’s brows lifted in disbelief, breath catching. “You’re nervous?”

Bruce gave her a crooked grin, dimples flashing. “Baby, I haven’t been nervous in fifteen years… ’til you walked in here with that notebook and those big, pretty eyes.”

She bit her lip, unsure if she wanted to laugh or melt.

His hands wander until they settle themselves under the thick fabric of her sweater, pressing hot kisses over her neck as she lets his hands explore the expanse of her skin.

“You smell pretty too, all uptight and clean like flowers.” He says reconnecting their lips until she can see her tinted lip balm over his nose.

Her laugh escaped in a breathless huff. “S–shut up.”

He nips at her bottom lip, “Speak like a lady, Ms. Ariel.” He grumbles, groaning when she tugs his hair in retaliation. “Oh, you like it rough, huh?”

He bends to tug her up by her waist, catching under her thighs as she wraps her legs around his waist and carrying her over to the dresser mirror.

“This is so—,” she whispered into the crook of his neck as he carried her across the room. “You are so fucking ridiculous.”

He stopped only when they reached the tall dresser mirror, its surface streaked slightly from time and fingerprints. The reflection was almost obscene—her flushed face, sweater hiked up around her brassiere, thighs clinging to his sides, and Bruce, hair wild, mouth parted, looking at her like she was the last verse of a love song he’d never dared to write.

He leaned her gently back against the dresser, his hands never leaving her. “I’m just a man,” he said, gaze dropping to her lips again, voice low and hoarse. “And you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Liar,” she muttered, half-laughing, half-melting, “Y- You’re gonna get me fired.”

“I won’t tell, if you don’t, baby.”

He made quick work of her slacks, tugging them down her long legs with her assistance in lifting her slender hips. His fingers play with the hem of her underwear, before tugging his flannel and undershirt off and returning to the object of his gaze.

The dark patch in the apex of her womanhood enraptured him.

His eyes dipped lower, drinking in the wet spot blooming at the apex of her underwear like it was some kind of reward. Ariel couldn’t look at his eyes—not when her sweater was bunched up around her ribs, her bra shoved beneath her breasts, and her thighs clinging to either side of a man who’d been famous longer than she’d been writing book reports.

She felt so naked and so easy…

Bruce looked at her like she was sacred. Then he grinned like he was about to ruin her.

“You sure you want this, sugar?” he rasped, voice low and frayed. “’Cause once I start, I don’t know if I can stop.”

She nodded, or maybe she whimpered—she didn’t trust her voice. Not when he was rubbing his nose along the side of her neck like he had all the time in the world.

“Say it for me,” he demanded softly, but there was steel in it. One hand still anchored her by the waist, the other slid beneath her panties, fingers brushing heat and slickness. His brows twitched in satisfaction when she gasped, knees shaking.

Ariel swallowed, then gasped as his fingers found her clit. “I want it. Please?”

“Yeah?” he breathed, dragging the fabric down her legs and tossing it somewhere unseen. “And i got it for you, baby.”

He didn’t undress completely. Didn’t need to. She heard the clink of his belt, the soft drag of denim as he shoved his jeans down just enough. His hips pressed forward, cock heavy and hard against her thigh, and Ariel swore she lost her damn mind right then and there.

Bruce nudged her chin up with a single knuckle, forcing her to look in the mirror. “Don’t hide,” he whispered. “Look how fuckin’ pretty you are.”

Her sweater slid further up as he adjusted her, spread her wider, dragged her to the edge of the dresser until she felt the cool wood bite into her ass. Then he pressed inside her in one slow, deep thrust that made her eyes roll back.

“Oh—fuck—”

“That’s it,” he grunted, head bowed against her forehead. “Pretty tight pussy, fuckin’ heaven.” He roll his hips in a circle and she whimpered, pushing at his hips with one trembling hand,

“Don’t run from it, baby.”

Ariel tried to stay quiet—tried to be quiet—but he was merciless. Each thrust angled just right, each slap on her hips deliberate, and when she squirmed to shift the pace, he caught her hands, threaded his fingers through hers and pinned them above her head against the mirror.

“Keep still,” he murmured, brushing his mouth over her cheek. “Take it. You can take it.”

She didn’t know if she moaned or sobbed.

“Thought you were gonna stay professional?” he teased, hips slamming into hers. “You came in here all buttoned up and bossy… look at you now. Makin’ a pretty little mess on my cock.”

His hand slid from her wrist to her throat, fingers wrapping around gently, holding her gaze in his own.

“You like that?” he asked, voice rough, eyes glued to hers. “Want a little more?”

Bruce’s rhythm deepened—harder, rougher—planting both hands on the dresser beside her hips like he needed the leverage to drive deeper. The mirror rattled behind her with each thrust, and Ariel’s breath caught in gasps she didn’t recognize as her own.

“Goddamn,” he grunted, eyes flicking down to where they were joined. “You’re fuckin’ perfect like this, baby. Fuckin’ soaked.”

Her hands scrambled against the muscles of his back before slipping up, around his neck, and into his hair again, playing with his ear lobes. He groaned into her collarbone when she tugged at the curls at his nape, but it wasn’t until she brought her lips to his ear, voice low and filthy, that he shuddered. Hips faltering.

“You like fucking pretty little reporters in dressing rooms, Mr. Springsteen?” she whispered, breath hot and sinful. “Like turning them out, stuffing them full while they wear their sweaters like good girls?”

With a wet grunt, he gasped, “F- fuck.”

“Bet you never had one talk b- back to you while you did it, huh?” she continued, teeth teasing the lobe of his ear. “You like when they talk back, don’t you?”

He cursed again, rougher this time and thrust up so hard her back arched off the dresser, one hand flying back to brace against the mirror. She groaned, breath stuttering, loving the way his control collapsed beneath her words.

“You gonna cum in me, Bruce?” she whispered, leaning back to pick his jaw up, holding his eye, “Gonna lose it inside a girl you tried to tease all night?”

His hips jerked at the sound of his name on her tongue, like it short-circuited something in him. He reached down, gripped the back of her hips hard enough to bruise, and thrust up again, again, again until she was a mess in his hands, sobbing and gasping into his neck.

“F—fuck,” he hissed, hand tightening on her hip, voice cracking, “Ariel, cum for me, honey.”

His fingers whipped around to rub gentle circles at her clit, playing her willing body like he plucked the string of that guitar watching them in the corner.

Her threshold broke, she gasped once and loudly, her eyes crossing and thighs trembling. Her mouth fell open against his neck as she cried out, soft at first, then louder when the wave hit her full force.

“That’s it, baby. Just like that.” She heard him coax, hips continuing to rsvish her at his chosen pace.

Bruce groaned at the sound of her falling apart like it unraveled something primal in him. He didn’t stop rubbing, didn’t stop thrusting—until her nails clawed down his back and she whimpered, overstimulated and too full, panting hot into his skin.

“Bruce—“ she begged, raw and desperate, “Please!”

That was it.

His whole body stilled for a fraction of a second—like something sacred breaking open—and then he groaned, deep and raw, spilling into her with a trembling curse and her name punched out of his chest.

Her reflection was ruined—sweaty, wild-eyed, mouth swollen and pink. Her sweater was tangled beneath her arms, and Bruce looked like some beautiful disaster out of a dream: hair wrecked, eyes blown wide, his jaw dotted with bruises from her mouth.

“You okay?” he murmured, brushing the tip of his nose along hers.

She could barely nod. “Are you?”

“Yeah…” He leaned forward to peck her lips again, once then twuce. “That was off the record, right?”

“Shut the hell up please.”

“I like when you say please.”

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so yeah. sorry.

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mykinkiscarmy · 3 months ago

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taking it slow

Summary: having sex with Carmy for the first time. Somewhere along the way… he discovers he has a bit of a size kink.

Warnings: size kink, piv no protection, Carmy has a rlly big dick okay, praise praise praise, soft dom Carm vibes, minimally proofread if you’re reading day of posting.

Word count: 2690

Carmen is nervous. It’s not his first time having sex, but it’s his first time having sex with you—which is a really big deal to him. His heart beats a mile a minute inside his chest as he walks hand in hand with you to his apartment.

Although he’s teeming with nerves on the inside, he doesn’t let it show for a second. Quite the opposite, actually. He’s the definition of calm when you press your lips against his in the elevator. You’re too eager to wait for him to make the first move, so you take matters into your own hands.

Carmen only pulls away from you for a moment when the elevator opens up. He deftly walks you backwards out of the elevator to the door of his apartment without letting his lips leave yours. After pining you to the door, he deepens the kiss, letting his tongue trace across your bottom lip while he digs in his pocket for his keys.

Once he opens up the door and guides you inside, you instantly try and pull him by his jacket to the first piece of furniture you see, the couch. He makes a noise of protest against your lips. “No—not gonna fuck you on the couch for the first time. Bedroom’s this way,” he says, holding your hand and leading you down the hallway.

He sits down on the edge of the bed, giving you half a second to take in your surroundings. It’s obvious he cleaned the place—there’s not a single article of clothing on the floor. There’s not much decoration, only a couple of—

“I can give you a tour later,” he smiles, interrupting your train of thought. “C’mere.” He pats his lap gently.

After you’ve settled on his lap, straddling his hips, Carmy takes your face in both of his hands and brings you in for a gentle kiss. It only stays gentle for a moment though. His thumb pulls down your chin, letting him explore your mouth with his tongue. He licks into your mouth like he’s trying to devour you, and you would gladly let him at this point. At the same time, he lets a hand drift to your hip, urging you to grind onto him.

Carmy’s touch is tentative—almost hesitant. His hands remain firmly planted on your hips. It takes a moment of grinding on his lap for him to finally nudge his hand underneath your shirt. “Can I take your clothes off?” he whispers against your lips.

“Y-yeah—yeah, please.”

Carmy doesn’t even realize how big of a tease he is right now. He’s treating your clothing with a slow and steady mentality. As each layer is taken off, he pauses to kiss at your skin.

When he takes off your shirt, he pauses to kiss your jaw. Your head instinctively falls back, giving him more room to move onto your neck, then your chest. He trades kisses for small sucks and bites on the skin as he grows more urgent. He treats your pants the same way, trailing kisses down your legs as he pulls the fabric down.

He does not treat his own clothing with the same care. The second your hands slide underneath his shirt to feel his stomach, he rips the shirt right over his head. While Carmy works on his own clothes, you hastily unclasp your bra and push your underwear off.

You're gazing back up at his figure as he’s pushing down his boxers, revealing his very hard cock. You don’t try to hide your staring. At first, your eyes start at his chest, wandering down to his chiseled abdomen. They finally end up on his, quite large, dick. Your eyes widen at the sight of it.

Carmy turns pink under your gaze, heat rushing to his cheeks. He breaks eye contact by opening his bedside drawer, starting to rummage through it. “Uhm—I think I got some in here…”

You quickly grab his wrist to stop his searching. “I uh—m’on the pill, so you don’t have to if you’re comfortable…” you trail off. Your cheeks feel like they’re on fire.

His eyes dilate at your words. “Shit—yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah—that’s fine with me.” He’s nodding with those big thoughtless eyes as he speaks, and crawls over top of you.

His cock weighs heavy against your thigh as Carmy kisses you again. It’s a rough clash of tongues, leaving a string of spit between your mouth and his when he pulls away.

Carmy breathes heavy when he takes his dick into his hand, giving himself a few pumps. You gasp when you feel the tip nudge against your entrance. “I don’t know if it’s gonna fit—“ he mumbles.

“It can—I can take it.”

His eyes are locked at where he presses up at your opening, using his thumb to spread your fold apart to give him a better look. “I dunno, sweetheart. I think it’s too tight—I don’t wanna hurt you.”

Before you can voice a protest, he starts rutting his dick through your folds, instead. Every thrust bumps up against your clit, making you whimper. You’re thoroughly coating his cock in your wetness.

You can only stand it for so long. “S’not too big. I can take it. I promise I can,” you mutter. Your legs spread wider, eager to feel him inside of you.

Carmen zones out for a second, staring intently at your entrance. You’re pulsing around nothing, slick starting to make its way out of you and onto the bed sheets. It takes a whine from your throat for him to snap out of it.

“Carm—“ you pout. “Need you, please don’t tease me.”

“Sorry, baby. Wasn’t tryin’ to.” In the next moment, he’s lining himself back up. He can’t help the groan that leaves his lips as his tip makes contact with your hot, wet center. Carmen eases his hips forward, slotting the head of his cock inside of you. He fights the urge to let his eyes close at the sensation, but he doesn’t want to miss a single moment of your facial expressions.

Your mouth falls open as he presses inside of you. Your core pulses around his cock, wrapping him in warmth. He’s already losing his mind and he’s barely even inside of you.

Carmy’s over half way in when your hands jolt out to grab his where they hold onto your hips. A sharp whine stops him dead in his tracks. He takes a hand off of your hip to hold your hand, interlacing his fingers with yours.

“Shh—I know, sweetheart. You’re doing so good f’me,” he says in between kisses to your lips. He doesn’t press his hips any further. He pulls back a bit, not able to contain the low groan from the throat at the friction. “Already feels so fucking good. So fuckin’ warm and tight.”

“Just a little more, okay? You can take it—I know you can take it. Just tell me when you’re ready.” There’s no rushing tone in his voice, just pure sincerity. Carmen nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck while you adjust. He presses sweet, gentle kisses to the side of your face and your neck. After a moment, you nod your head. “You can move.”

Carmy presses in again, watching your face for any sign of discomfort. The only sign is your eyes squeezed shut. It’s a stretch for the rest of him to fit. He’s average length wise—maybe on the larger side, but his girth was more than you’ve taken before. It feels like he’s splitting you in half—in the best way possible at least.

When he bottoms out, he’s holding himself up by his forearms overtop of you. He presses kisses to your cheeks and your neck, mumbling praises. “Did so good, baby—feels s’good. So fucking perfect.” He struggles to keep his hips still, grinding into you.

The first true thrust makes your head spin. Carmy pulls out at a gentle pace until just the head of him remains inside of you. He pushes back in more quickly than before, taking your breath away. He’s just as affected as you are. His mouth is open, breathing deeply as soft groans tumble out of him.

He builds up the pace gradually, taking the time for you to adjust. It’s not long before you’re no longer wincing at the stretch. Finally giving you a chance to take in the sight of Carmen in front of you.

His hair is messily pushed back as a bead of sweat builds at his brow. His abs flex with every single thrust he takes. The gold chain on his neck swings back and forth, hitting his chest. You grab what you can of his body, one hand grabbing onto his bicep while the other holds onto the headboard for support.

Every thrust fans the flames building in your belly. You squeeze at his arm, nails digging into his skin. It’s never felt like this before, and it’s starting to make you dizzy. The sounds coming from the room are erotic—the sound of skin against skin. You’re so wet it’s practically dripping out from around his cock.

“I’ve never felt so full—you’re s’big, Carm.”

He pauses again, smiling at the way you whimper from the loss of movement. You can see the wheels turning in his head before he speaks.

“Can I try something?” He says breathlessly, and you nod your head frantically in response. He accepts the wordless answer for now, but he’s going to have to work on getting you to use your words later. Carmy sits up on his knees while staying inside of you and grabs your leg from around his hip. He has a dark look in his eye when he lifts your left and throws it over his shoulder. He thrusts gently into you, testing the waters. There’s a choked groan caught at the back of his throat that you don’t miss. His lips press to your calve, leaving a series of kisses on your skin. “This okay? Too much?” His voice is thin, like he’s barely holding himself together.

Another moan slips out of your mouth when Carmy does another soft thrust of his hips. “Not too much—shit, Carmy. I think—I think I can feel you in my stomach,” you babble.

At the sound of your moans, he increases the intensity of his hips. It’s not too much more; he’s still trying to take it slow and let you adjust. The words you just said are getting to his head, though. “You serious?”

“Mhm.” You reach for one of his hands at your hip and tug it up to your stomach. Carmy looks at you with a furrowed brow, but you completely ignore it. You manipulate his hand so that the base of his palm rests at your pubic bone, and his fingers splay in the space between your hips. You lay your hand flat over his and push down. “Feel it? Feel how deep you are?”

“Holy shit,” he whispers.

Then he’s just keeping his hand there, making eye contact while he rolls his hips up into you. You can’t take it, closing your eyes in pleasure. That’s another thing Carmy was going to have to work with you. “Hey—keep your eyes on me, baby. Keep ‘em on me, yeah?”

Your eyes open immediately at his instruction, meeting his gaze. You can barely make out the bright blue of his eyes; his pupils have grown, making the color a thin ring. “S-sorry,” you blurt.

“None of that,” he grunts. He’s still continuing to roll his hips while talking. “Nothing to be sorry about. I j’st wanna see those pretty eyes.”

He gets distracted by the pout on your lips, leaning down to give you real kisses again. This inadvertently pushes Carmy’s cock even deeper inside of you, almost like he’s folding you in half. All the while, he continues fucking into you. A sharp whine leaves your throat again, and your nails dig into the muscles of his back. Carmy freezes in place, worried he went too far—worried that he hurt you. “Shit—I’m sorry sweetheart—“

You vigorously shake your head. “Feels good—holy fuck Carmy.” You cry out. “Please don’t stop, please don’t stop.” You beg.

“That the spot? Yeah?” He murmurs as his thrusts start back up again. This time he’s more calculated, like he’s trying to hit that spot and make you lose your mind. “Such a good girl for me—taking it like you’re made for it.”

“Fuck. Squeezing me so tight.” Slick pools out from around his cock with every thrust, leaving a white ring around the base of him. “Those fuckin’ noises—shit,” he mutters.

Your eyes flutter closed. It’s all too much. The heat in your stomach was going to consume you at this point. You don’t even realize you’ve closed your eyes until you feel Carmy’s hand on your jaw.

“Remember what I’ve told you? Need to see your eyes, baby. Keep lookin’ at me and I’ll give it to you, I promise. Just keep you’re eyes on me; I’ve got you.”

In the next moment, he’s taking his hand from your jaw, and sliding it down your body to rub your clit with his thumb. Carmy is fully resting his forehead on yours, keeping his eyes on you.

“C-Carmy I—I can’t I’m—“

“Let go, baby, let me feel you cum around me.”

Those words make the tight band in your stomach snap. You pulse around him as your orgasm washes over you. You’re probably drawing blood with how deep your nails are in his skin, but you don’t care at this point.

Watching you come undone under him gets Carmy even closer to his peak. Your cunt squeezing him makes him pound into you even harder.

He wants to be closer to you—needs to be closer to you. He drops your leg from his shoulder, and practically puts all of his weight onto you; your chest is firmly pressed against his chest. Both of his arms wrap around your back, keeping you tight to his body. Carmy buries in face in the crook of your neck, and begins a reckless pace that takes your breath away. He’s going to town now that you’ve cum, pressing kisses to your shoulder and collarbone to try and conceal at least some of his whimpering.

He still manages to mumble more about how fucking good you feel, and all you can do is hold onto him just as tight as he’s holding onto you. You wrap your legs around his back and interlock your ankles to him even deeper. He groans loudly, like the wind has been knocked out of him. Your hands are tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck. You make a soft “uh” noise with every thrust of his dick. He’s on the verge of exploding. You’re all over him. Pulsing around him. Leaking around him. He’s convinced he’s died and gone to heaven.

He glances down and sees the ring of your arousal around his cock for the first time, and damn near loses his mind.

His hips start losing their precision, sloppily rutting up against you. Carmy lifts up his head from the crook of your neck to rest his forehead against yours. “C-can I—fuck—can I cum inside? M’so close.” His voice is filled with desperation and need.

“Shit—please. Please, please, please. Want it inside—please fill me up.”

A few more sloppy thrusts and Carmy spills deep inside of you with a whimper. His hips keep moving after his orgasm ends, lazily grinding his cum further into you.

He fully falls on top of you afterwards, trying to catch his breath. You muster enough strength to comb your hand through his curls. Your limbs feel like jelly. “Fuck, Carm.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever cum that hard in my life—holy shit,” he replies with a laugh.

“No like, I don’t think I can walk. My legs feel like jello.”

He presses another kiss to your shoulder. “I can carry you to the bathroom and clean you up. How does that sound?”

“Sounds perfect.”

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