luvrgeorge

[luvrgeorge]

the thrill of the game

summary: this event was glamorous, everyone in their best clothing, sipping expensive champagne, but none of that mattered, because george was here, and you and him love to play a game at these events, who will cave first? pairing: george clarke x fem!reader warnings: mature (MDNI) WC: 4k

the room was crowded, loud, packed full of faces both familiar and unfamiliar. you loved these events, socialising with people you hadn’t seen in a while, getting a bit too tipsy with your friends, but there was one thing about these events you loved the most.

you could feel his glare every time you moved, his eyes following you through crowds of people, studying your expressions and movements. you loved the thrill of the game, seeing who can tip the other over the edge first, who can take it just a bit too far, but it always ends the same, you and george naked in a hotel room.

he looked hot—undeniably, effortlessly hot. he always did, of course, but these suit and tie events? they were something else entirely. They gave him a kind of elegance that made your pulse trip over itself.

tonight, his black suit hugged him in all the right places, the cut so precise. the fabric clinging to his shoulders, broad and powerful, tapering down to a waist that made restraint feel like a joke. the tie was the only thing that looked tight—everything else was smooth, commanding, deliberate.

he moved with that quiet confidence that always made people stop mid-sentence. even now, surrounded by people and murmuring voices, his presence pulled focus like gravity. and you stood there, trying to keep your own cool while your eyes betrayed you, tracing his every line, every movement.

you knew what was under all of it. the suit didn’t hide much, not really. it hinted, seduced. It left enough to the imagination, sure—but your imagination didn’t need to work that hard. you’d memorized the terrain, every muscle, every scar, every inch of warm, unforgiving strength that lay beneath those expensive layers. and the worst part? he knew you were watching. of course he did. that slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth wasn’t for anyone else.

you were doomed. absolutely doomed. you had no faith in yourself for winning tonight—not when he looked like that. and deep down, a part of you didn’t want to win. not really. you wanted to lose. badly. completely. willingly. but god, you were dying to win, just this once.

you tried to keep your glances to a minimum this time, only looking at him when you knew he was looking away, and this time, he was talking to a girl. you couldn’t see her face, but from behind she was slim, taller than you, and wore a gorgeous burgundy dress, falling down to her feet. it didn’t make you jealous, at least not enough to cave this early into the night, but it made you motivated, motivated to win this night, motivated to make him surrender first.

you scanned the room, eyes drifting lazily over glittering gowns and stiff tuxedos, all the polished elegance starting to blur together. you weren’t looking for charm or conversation. you were looking for a weapon. someone attractive enough to make george’s jaw tighten, to make his eye twitch the way it always did when he pretended he didn’t care.

your gaze paused at the bar.

he was tall—taller than most in the room—and built like he belonged on a rugby field, not behind a hotel bar. his black shirt strained ever so slightly across his chest as he moved, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows in that perfectly careless way that made it obvious he didn’t care much for the dress code. scruffy, but clean. confident without trying. his hair was short, messy in that intentional way that walked the line between rugged and boyish.

he was exactly the kind of distraction you needed.

not too polished. not too perfect. but solid, striking. the kind of man who’d draw george’s attention the moment you leaned in just a little too close. you pictured it already—the way george’s eyes would narrow, how he’d try not to look but wouldn’t be able to help himself. how his fingers would twitch at his sides, itching to pull you away, to remind you who you belonged to.

and god, you wanted to push him just a little further. make him feel it.

so you took one last sip of your champagne, set the glass down, and started walking toward the bar—hips swaying just a bit more than usual, every step deliberate. the game had started, and tonight, you didn’t plan on playing fair.

‘what you drinking?’ the bartender said, flashing you a smile. the event was classy, an open bar with smart attire, so you doubted they served your usual rum and coke combo. you looked around the room, women all holding glasses of champagne or cocktails.

‘surprise me, what do you think i’d be drinking?’ he smiled at you, walking away and grabbing a glass, mixing up something with whiskey.

‘whiskey sour?’ you took the glass, taking a sip. the whiskey burnt your throat, but you could handle it.

‘you’re good at this y’know’

‘i do a lot of these events, and i can always spot a girl who likes whiskey’ he clearly wasn’t good enough at spotting them, you hated whiskey, and the drink was disgusting, but that was never the point.

you were leaning over the bar, maybe a bit too far, listening to him speak, giggling a little to much, over-exaggerating all your movements.

‘just to let you know, i’m not into girls’ the bartender said. you moved back slightly, unsure of what to say. ‘but i know what you’re doing, that guy over there, the tux, the hot one’ he nodded towards george, but you didn’t look. ‘you’re making him jealous, what is he, an ex? a new thing?’ you laughed.

‘george? he’s…’ you started, but the words caught somewhere between your throat and your pride. what was george, really? not a boyfriend. not just a fling, either. he was a habit. a comfort. a storm you kept walking into, knowing full well how it would end. you could lie. say george was nothing. or say he was everything. but neither felt quite right.

george was just the guy you went home with after nights like these—after the noise, the lights, the tight dresses and fake smiles. he was the one who pulled you in like gravity the second you got too close. but he didn’t text you good morning. he didn’t ask about your day. he didn’t take you to dinner, didn’t hold your hand in public.

you weren’t dating. but you weren’t just sleeping together, either.

“he’s a friend,” you said finally, the words feeling a little hollow, a little dishonest, even to yourself. your fingers tapped against the bar, casual, careless. “a good friend.”

the bartender gave a knowing smile, not pushing for more. but it hung there, unspoken—how ‘friend’ didn’t quite cover it. how there were glances and touches and late-night calls that didn’t belong to friendship.

‘so what, you guys sleeping together?’ you laughed again, shocked at his bluntness, but finding comfort in the fact he understood. you nodded in response. ‘so why are you flirting with me?’

you sighed, rolling your eyes. ‘we have this thing, an unspoken thing really, it just started happening’ the bartender laughed. ‘at every event, we see who caves first, who can make the other more jealous before we give up and leave together, it’s all a bit of fun really’

‘so, it’s a sex game? he’s gonna come over, pull you aside and you’re gonna go have sex?’ you cackled at the bar tender, admiring his blunt charm.

‘that’s what i’m hoping for, you don’t have to entertain it though, thank you for the drink’ you pick up your drink, smiling at the bar tender.

‘he’s looking at you, you know’ you stopped. ‘the girl he’s talking to is still there, but he hasn’t said a word in a while’

‘does he know you’re looking at him?’

‘no, he’s completely fixed on you’ you smirked. ‘how long before he comes over?’

‘i don’t know, i’m usually the one to find him first’ the bartender moves closer to you, placing his hand lightly on your neck, whispering in your ear.

‘tonight’s boring, i’m happy to play along with you, just smile and laugh, he’s still watching’ you did exactly that, giggling at every word he said, despite having a completely normal conversation.

you could feel george’s sharp eyes like daggers in your back, you knew he was watching you, knew he was seething with jealousy as another man placed his hands on you.

after a few more minutes, you felt a quiet shift in the air beside you—someone new, close but not intrusive. you turned slightly, and there she was.

the girl george had been talking to.

you hadn’t seen her face before, not properly. god, she was beautiful. not just pretty—striking. effortless. her features were sharp and soft all at once, the kind of face that made people stop mid-sentence. she stood confidently, alone, ordering just one drink—a cosmopolitan. something crisp, pink, elegant. something george would never touch.

your stomach twisted, just slightly.

you glanced around for him then, for the first time in a while. scanning the crowd, looking for that familiar silhouette, that black suit that always seemed to cut through a room like a blade. but nothing. no george leaning smugly at the bar, no smirk waiting to meet your eyes across the room.

you turned back toward the bartender, your expression questioning. he only shrugged, brows raised like he had no idea either. he hadn’t seen where george went, and clearly, the girl hadn’t followed.

when she left, drink in hand and heels clicking softly across the marble floor, you exhaled.

‘thank you’ you said to the bartender, sliding him a generous tip. he grinned, pocketing it with a nod.

‘this was fun, good luck with the rest of your night’ he said, a little amused, a little pitying.

you move back through the bodies of people, searching for george. there was no sign of him anywhere. not a glimpse of that sharp black suit, not the familiar shape of him leaning in a doorway or watching from across the room. it was like he’d vanished into the glittering crowd, swallowed whole by champagne and chatter. the girl had wandered off too, back to the cluster of people you assumed were her friends, already laughing at something someone else said, his brief distraction forgotten like it meant nothing at all.

you were just about to search elsewhere, the lobby, the bar, the crowd—when you felt it.

a hand on your back. firm. warm. possessive without being rough. fingers grazing the bare skin on your back, resting just enough to let you know they could move if they wanted to. and then—hot breath on your neck, too close, too intimate for the public setting, but somehow exactly what you’d been waiting for.

‘you giving up yet?’ he murmured, voice low and smug, like he already knew the answer.

you turned, slow, letting him see the full weight of your reaction. and there he was.

that damn smirk stretched across his face like it belonged there—lazy, confident, a little cruel. his eyes held that familiar spark, something between amusement and warning. he was close, closer than necessary, his suit still immaculate despite the heat of the room, his tie slightly loosened like he was getting tired of pretending to behave.

‘didn’t know we were playing,’ you said, though it came out softer than intended.

he chuckled, not moving back. ‘you always know.’

and you did.

‘who said i’ve given up?’

‘you’ve left your boyfriend at the bar,’ he said, voice thick with amusement, eyes locked on yours like he was watching you unravel in real time. ‘so i assumed you were coming to find someone better.’

you scoffed right in his face, the sound sharp and disbelieving, even as your stomach twisted at how accurately he’d read you. you tried to roll your eyes like it meant nothing, like the heat creeping up your neck was from the whiskey, not him. like your legs hadn’t started moving the second you realised he wasn’t anywhere in sight.

“i’m not caving this time,” you said, lifting your chin just enough to make it sound like you meant it.

he smiled at that—slow, smug, knowing. the kind of smile that made it clear he didn’t believe you for a second. not because you were weak, but because he knew exactly how to make you forget why you ever tried to resist him in the first place.

“well,” he said, voice dropping to that low, dangerous murmur he reserved just for you, “when you’re ready, i have a room upstairs.”

your breath caught, just slightly. not enough to be obvious. but he noticed. of course he did.

“in the meantime,” he continued, leaning in close enough for your perfume to catch on his collar, “i’m going to ask your boyfriend for a drink.”

and just like that, he turned. didn’t wait for your reaction. didn’t give you the satisfaction of a final glance. his hand slid off your back as he walked away, slow and deliberate, the touch lingering. you felt the absence of it immediately, like a warmth torn away too fast.

you watched him head toward the bar, straight toward the bartender, the curve of his shoulders relaxed but purposeful. you knew him well enough to recognise what he was doing—staking territory without ever having to say a word.

he was playing dirty, and god help you, it was working.

you hated him, hated how unfazed he was by everything you did, hated how he never caved, always pushing you to your limit. as strong as you tried to be, he always won. but you were determined to for that to change.

he was leaving the bar, but just before he left, you walked up to him, leaning in close and taking the key card out of his jacket pocket. you turned to the bartender, reading the room number from the card ‘room 34, i’ll be there for when your shift is over’ the bartender smirked, knowing exactly what you were doing, but george was non the wiser.

you head towards the elevator, leaving george and the bartender behind, without sparing a single glance.

you enter the room, finding the mirror to check your hair and makeup, adjusting your dress. you loved dressing up for these events, you loved shopping for the most perfect outfit. tonight you had chosen a long black satin dress, backless with a sultry slit in the leg, paired with golden heels. you loved doing your hair and makeup too, spending so much time on the little details, ensuring your hair was curled perfect, each strand sat so beautifully down your back. it was almost a shame it would all be ruined soon.

you sit on the edge of the bed, ankles crossed, fingers twitching slightly in your lap as you wait. the room is quiet, apart from the low hum of the hallway beyond the door. then, a faint beep — the key card on the door — and the slow turn of the handle. you straighten up quickly.

he steps into the room, the dim light catching on the bubbles in the two flutes of champagne he carries. he looks at you like he’s starved — but his gaze is soft, gentle in a way that makes your stomach tighten. without saying a word, he crosses the room, hands you a glass, and takes a slow sip of his own, his free hand sliding onto your waist like it’s meant to be there.

‘took you long enough,’ you murmur, lips brushing the rim of your glass as you drink.

‘you played dirty tonight,’ he says, pulling you closer, his voice low and warm. his breath hits your collarbone, and you can already feel your skin prickling beneath it.

‘is that not how we play this game?’ you say, your voice light, teasing.

he smirks, leans in, and presses his lips to your neck — not hard, just enough to steal your breath. your body reacts before your mind does, tilting into him, heart racing under his touch.

‘you know…’ his hands are moving now, up and down your back, slow and possessive. ‘i hated seeing you with that guy.’ you felt a sense of pride, knowing that you made him jealous, knowing that he couldn’t stand seeing you with another man.

another kiss, deeper this time, and you gasp, gripping his shirt.

‘you knew what you were doing,’ he murmurs, voice rough against your skin, ‘and god, it worked, i've been waiting for this all night.’

he finishes his glass slowly, never breaking eye contact, like he’s savoring both the drink and the tension. then, without a word, he takes your half-finished glass from your hand, brushing your fingers as he does. he sets both flutes down on the table with a quiet clink that feels final, like the closing move in a long-played chess match.

he pulls off his tailored suit jacket and tie, his hands returning to you, fingers tracing up the side of your neck, brushing your jaw, then slowing over your lips. his thumb lingers there, pressing gently, parting them just slightly. he smirks, like he already knows what’s coming. he leans in — his mouth just a breath away from yours, and you can feel the warmth of it, the tension strung tight between you.

but you pull back, just enough.

‘not yet,’ you whisper, your breath catching.

he freezes, brows furrowing, lips parting as his eyes darken with need. there’s a flicker of frustration in his face, but it’s tangled with desire, with the hunger that’s been simmering between you both all night. your hands rest on his chest, grounding him, letting him feel how close he is — but denying him all the same.

‘tell me i win.’

he blinks, thrown off for a second. ‘what happened to this not being a game?’

‘just tell me,’ you say, your voice quieter now, more dangerous. ‘tell me i win, and then you can do whatever you want to me.’

his lips curl into a smirk again, but it’s different this time — there’s a flicker of surrender in it, a knowing. he moves in close, slowly, one hand sliding up the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair, the other resting heavy on your hip like he’s holding back from pulling you in.

his mouth brushes your ear as he whispers, low and deliberate, ‘you win.’

and that’s all it takes.

you crash into him, lips colliding in a kiss that’s messy, breathless, hungry. his hands waste no time — one slides down the curve of your bare back, the other hooks beneath your exposed thigh, pulling it up and around his waist with practiced ease. your body presses fully against his, and he holds you like it costs him nothing — like he’s wanted to do this since the second he saw you.

your fingers twist into his shirt, mouth moving against his like you’re trying to make up for every second you made him wait. he lifts you slightly, holding nearly all your weight in one arm, and the sound you make only pushes him further.

he lifts you up effortlessly, your legs tightening around his waist, arms locking around his shoulders. your fingers slide into his hair, gripping just enough to make him groan against your mouth. he walks you toward the bed, each step slow, controlled, like he’s savoring the moment. when he reaches it, he lays you down with a tenderness that contrasts the heat between you, like you’re something delicate and breakable. his lips never leave yours — not for a second — the kiss deepening as his body follows yours down.

his hands wander into your dress, fingers tracing outside your lacy, dampened thong, so close to what’s underneath. he hooked two fingers underneath, slowly inserting them into you. you let out slow, breathy moans into his mouth, untucking his perfectly uncreased shirt to grip onto his back, leaving marks in his skin. ‘god baby, so wet, just for me’.

he knew your body so well, he knew every inch, every flaw, everything you liked, everything you didn’t, and still, somehow, he could make you feel things so new, so intense, so raw. the rush was almost instant, no warning, no preparation, overcoming your entire body with an orgasm so passionate that you crumbled in his hands. you were breathless, finished, but so desperately needy for more of him.

you pull him back into your body, kissing him as you struggled to unbutton his shirt enough for him to pull it over his head. you unbutton his trousers, clawing for his hardened cock beneath. he kicked them off with his shoes and boxers as you went to unzip your dress, but he stopped you. ‘keep the dress on’ he growled, repositioning you both on the bed.

he laid down at the top of the bed, pulling you towards him. you straddled his lap, feeling his cock so close to your heat. ‘ride me baby, show me how much you need me’. you positioned yourself over him, sliding down slowly. no amount of experience with george could ever make you used to him, he was so big, stretching you out, hitting every inch of your insides.

you started slow, rocking back and forth, george gripping your hips, guiding you. ‘you’re doing so well gorgeous, fuck, you’re amazing’ he let out low, soft groans as you moved, sounding like a pure symphony humming in your ears. you let your dress straps fall down your shoulders, breasts spilling out to george’s pleasure.

your knees were buckling under the pleasure, you leaned on george for support, tired, but starving for more. george know you couldn’t handle it, not now. he pulled you off him, flipping you over and straddling the top of you, re-aligning himself. he thrusted deeper than you were willing to go when you were on top of him, going hard and fast, grabbing your hands and holding them above your head. he was insane, so gorgeous, build so perfectly, fitting in you like a jigsaw, like he was made to fuck you and only you.

he increased his pace, your moans growing louder and deeper. he moved in to kiss you, hungry and passionate, your arms still restrained, legs wrapping around his waist, your heeled shoes digging into his back.

‘you’re mine, only mine’ his words sounded so sweet, so possessive. he stopped kissing you, hand moving to your chin, tilting your head slightly to touch his and make you look him deep in his piercing blue eyes. ‘are your ready?’ you nodded, breathlessly, eyes locked together as you finished in harmony, george slowing down as he pumped inside of you, holding your hand and stroking your face. he kissed you one last time, deep, but romantic, slowly pulling out and laying beside you.

you were breathless and tired, head buried in george’s chest as it rose and fell, still warm and slick from your shared experience. the room was quiet, except for the faint hum of the city outside and the slowing rhythm of your heartbeats syncing beneath the thin sheets tangled at your waists.

‘i like winning’ you smirked, your voice a low whisper against his skin.

george let out a small, satisfied chuckle. his chest rumbled softly beneath your cheek as he dipped his head to kiss the crown of yours, lips lingering just long enough to make your pulse jump again.

‘you’re insufferable’ he murmured, but his fingers drew lazy, featherlight circles on the bare skin of your lower back, betraying the fondness in his words.

you turned your face slightly, your nose brushing his collarbone. ‘you love it.’

he didn’t argue. instead, he pulled you a little closer, as if the space between your bodies wasn’t already non-existent. The warmth of his skin, the faint scent of sweat and your perfume still clinging to the air—it wrapped around you like a cocoon.

‘you always do this,’ he said quietly, after a beat. ‘get all competitive, steal my focus, and then leave me like this—wrecked and entirely yours.’

you smiled against him, sleepy and smug. ‘that’s the intentions of the game’

his hand drifted to your thigh, squeezing gently, a silent reminder of the connection that still pulsed between you both. you felt his heartbeat under your ear, steady and real.

‘stay?’ he asked, softer now. vulnerable, even.

you didn’t answer right away. you just nuzzled into his chest and let your hand trace the faint line of hair down the center of his torso.

‘i was never planning to leave’.

[luvrgeorge]

i can please you better

Summary: you need george’s help to get ready, leaving him in your room alone as you go change, where he finds your most private items

Pairing: George Clarke x Fem Reader

Warnings: mature content (MDNI)

WC: 1300

the rush of getting ready was dawning on you, the panic rising like a tide in your chest as you realised just how far behind schedule you were. george was already on his way, and you’d barely gotten started. your makeup was half-finished, your eyeliner uneven. your hair had been curled with the kind of haste that left strands sticking out at odd angles. and just as you reached for your mascara, there it was — a knock at the door.

you darted through your flat, bangs still secured in a roller, pyjamas hanging loose on your frame. opening the door, you were met by george’s familiar grin — and an immediate laugh.

“are those… whinnie the pooh pyjamas?” he smirked, eyes glinting as he poked at your roller. “big night ahead, clearly.”

you swatted at him with a half-hearted glare and ushered him inside, heart still racing from the surprise.

“i need your help,” you muttered, already heading toward your bedroom. “pick an outfit for me.”

george followed, casually throwing himself onto your bed, arms behind his head like he owned the place. you pulled outfit after outfit from your closet, laying out three options on the bed. compared to his relaxed look — jeans and a striped overshirt — your choices looked like they belonged to an entirely different kind of night.

a pair of tight, flared jeans with a sleek black tube top. a red corset with a black mini skirt. and then the most daring of all — a slinky, backless black dress.

“definitely not the jeans,” george said, barely looking. “try the other two on. i’ll be the judge.”

you grabbed the corset and skirt first, slipping into the bathroom. changing quickly, you stepped out again and struck a pose.

george’s face turned a faint shade of pink, barely containing a laugh.

“what?” you asked, checking yourself in the mirror. “do i look ridiculous?”

“no, not at all,” he said quickly. “it’s hot — i mean, it looks good. just… try the dress too?”

you sighed, rolled your eyes, and disappeared again. halfway back to your room, something made you pause. a faint buzzing sound. silence. and then more shifting, like movement on your bed.

when you pushed the door open, your heart sank.

“what are you doing?” you rushed forward, mortified, as george held something up in the air — the unmistakable shape of your vibrator, buzzing softly in his hand.

your drawer was open. that drawer. the one you’d meant to lock. the one that hid everything.

he was laughing now, eyes gleaming with mischief, completely unphased.

“didn’t know you were freaky like that,” he teased, holding the toy like it was some kind of trophy.

you snatched it from him, cheeks burning. “girls don’t exactly get off the same way guys do, you know. we have to be… resourceful.”

george leaned back, still grinning. “resourceful, huh?” he reached in again, pulling out the dildo this time, inspecting it with mock seriousness. “really? this is your go-to? it’s so… average.”

“you say that like you’re any better,” you said, snatching it from him too.

“you don’t know that,” he shot back with a grin.

the room shifted then — subtly, but unmistakably. the air heavier. his smile didn’t fade, but there was something else behind it now. curiosity. tension.

he picked up the bunny vibrator, holding it gently. “this one i’m curious about.”

you narrowed your eyes. “why?”

his voice dropped just a little. “show me what it does.”

you stared at him, the words hanging in the air. your heart beat faster. his eyes never left yours.

you moved closer, deliberately, placing the toy into his hand. “your move, clarkey.”

his expression changed — focused, hungry. “well i can’t leave my best girl hanging” he reached for you, pulled you in, and kissed you. not playfully this time. not teasing. it was deeper. needier. his hands roamed with an urgency that made your skin burn. his hands wander all over your body, yearning to touch everywhere at once, but landing beneath your skirt. he pulls aside your underwear, groaning as he feels how wet you are ‘fuck, all for me?’ you nodded. ‘show me, tell me what to do’.

you turn the bunny on, handing it to george. ‘figure it out’. he looked up at you, his eyes, captivating and full of lust, staring into yours, grinning as he moves the toy towards your most private area. he inserts the longer side, allowing the smaller to place perfectly on your clit. you were filled with an instant rush of pleasure, moaning into the air as george was kissing your thighs, covering you in marks in places no one would ever see.

he wandered back up to your face, kissing you deep and intensely as he thrusted the toy in and out of you, soaking up your moans. ‘fuck, this is taking too long’ he removes the toy, replacing it with his fingers, burying them deep inside you. his mouth finds his way there too, licking up every part of your wetness.

his fingers felt deeper, touching parts of you a toy couldn’t do, moving inside of you in ways a toy could never achieve. and god did it feel good.

‘fuck, george’ you were close, his fingers thrusting and mouth exploring. your toys had never gotten you so close, so quickly

‘do it baby’

your back arched beneath his touch, climaxing harder than you had with the toys, more intense than ever before.

he removed his fingers, moving back up to kiss you. ‘you taste so fucking good’. you move your hands under his shirt, pulling it off his skin and moving back into him, urging him to pull your barely worn dress, desperate to feel his skin on yours.

‘i need you’ you groan into his ear, hands entwined in his hair.

‘you have me baby’ he teases, kissing a line of fire from your neck to your collarbone, sliding his tongue over your nipples.

‘no’ your hand moves towards his trousers, tugging at his belt. ‘george, i need you’ he grins, pulling off his trousers, revealing his cock, and god, he was right. compared to him your dildo was exactly as he said, average. but george, he was anything but. he was longer, not by a lot but enough to intimidate you, the real difference was his girth. he was thick, very thick. he lined himself up with you, kissing your lips deeply as he thrusted into you. ‘fuck’ he was hard to adjust to, you’d been working off a piece of flimsy silicone for so long, your body could barely handle him.

‘tell me what you want baby’

your groaned at the sound of his voice, melting into him ‘faster, go faster’ he obliged, filling you up eagerly, overwhelming you with pleasure. you had been so desperate for your best friend for so long, picturing that the dildo was him, his cock, but god, you never could’ve imagined the real thing. you could feel him everywhere inside you, pussy stretching out around him.

‘george, i’m close again, george’ he pulls away from you, leaving you so close, so overwhelmed. he moves closer to your face, his breath whispering in your ear.

‘say i’m better’

‘george!’ you were so desperate, so desperate to finish together, you were aching to do so.

‘say i’m better than the toys you use to imagine me fucking you, say i make you feel better’ he was teasing you, almost with jealousy in his eyes at the thought of an artificial cock pleasing you more than him, the thought of a vibrator exploring you better than him.

‘you’re better - fuck, george you’re so much better’. that’s all he needed, kissing you with approval.

he thrusted his cock back inside you, going faster, harder, deeper than before. your moans grew louder, almost pornographic, as he drew you closer and closer to your climax.

you finished at the same time, and god, you wish you kept that drawer unlocked earlier. george falls beside you, pulling your naked body into his bare skin. your heart was racing, so hard it felt as though it would beat out of your chest.

‘so, how much do you really need those toys?’