do you believe me now? | 7
in which spencer reid and inexperienced!fem reader sleep together for the first time
series masterlist
18+ (smut)
warnings/tags: loss of virginity, oral f/m receiving, so much praise, pain during sex, unprotected sex, cr**mp**, bit of overstim, soft dom spence, if u don't like that freak shit (love and intimacy) this is not for u, spencer is a nerd, they're both nerds actually and that factors in heavily, you may get more from this part by FIRST reading how they met in this bonus chapter
a/n: thank you all for being patient, ilysm, this was the most laborious thing i've ever done for no reason and also this part changed so many times and is not what i expected it to be so pls go in with tempered expectations and keep in mind that this story is more about the characters and their specific relationship dynamic than just being porn. i truly have no idea how you guys will react to this but i sincerely hope you love it and them like i do<3 also it's twice as long as the other parts so feedback would be very very appreciated! again i love u all and enjoy the penultimate part!
Spencer’s lips are on yours, and you weren’t expecting it—hell, you weren’t expecting him to be in your apartment. After all, he’d wished you goodnight and walked out only a moment ago.
“Spencer—wh—”
But he’s insistent with his lips, kissing you bruisingly over and over like there’s nectar on your tongue and he’s parched for you. Still, he has enough decency to not completely ignore you, exhaling a quick excuse over your flushed lips.
“I missed you.”
This time, though, you dodge his hungry kiss. Part of you thinks, as he watches you, eyes alight and breathing heavily, that he sort of likes your playing hard to get. It’s not something you do very often, admittedly.
“We’ve been apart for like, maybe a minute.”
“I didn’t even make it to the parking lot.”
Your face heats.
“Well you can’t just—you can’t just walk in like that! And I thought you said we weren’t supposed to mix fighting with pleasure.”
“Then start locking your door. And I thought you said we weren’t fighting.”
You roll your eyes in response, though your heart is still pittering in your chest.
At least his hands move to your arms, stroking up and down relatively chastely—although he has this way of making everything seem intimate. Especially when paired with those amber eyes of his—glowing like a candlelight beacon in the window guiding you home. He speaks in low, appeasing tones and darts his tongue over his lips.
“I originally said it’s a bad idea for couples to sleep together after an argument. But you know—makeup sex is ubiquitous across culture and time because it works. Anger and arousal trigger a lot of the same hormones, specifically norepinephrine which is involved in feelings of longing and—”
“Spencer.”
“You know what else?” He mutters in a way that feels dangerous. “It tends to feel better than regular sex.”
That earns a shaky exhale from you. Whether from irritation or arousal is anyone’s guess—probably a combination of both.
“So you came back to fuck me?”
It’s probably evident to Spencer from your choice of language that this already isn’t going exactly as he’d planned. He doesn’t answer right away—just regards you, gaze bouncing between your two eyes like he’s trying to calculate your level of anger.
“Is that what we’re calling it now?”
You push him away and move to walk down the hall.
“Maybe your window of opportunity has passed.”
A warm hand wraps around your wrist in the dark of the hallway and he pulls you back until you’re falling against something tall and warm and lean. The smell of polished amber and sandalwood overwhelms your senses.
“What’s wrong, angel? What happened in the minute I was gone to change your mind?” His voice is scratchy like a favorite record. It’s the voice he could hold you captive with. The one you have a very difficult time saying no to.
“I don’t know,” you mutter, unintentionally leaning back against him. “What happened to change yours?”
His response comes pressed against your ear, half-lost in your hair.
“You’re upset that I changed my mind. I thought you wanted this, honey.”
“I do,” you admit, letting your head fall back against his shoulder and bringing his arm to wrap around you. “And if you hadn’t walked out earlier I would’ve done it. But… I’m tired of us doing everything on your timeline. You just… you expect me to be amenable to what you want, constantly.” His nose and lips press into your shoulder.
“What do you mean?”
“Like… I’ve been begging you to sleep with me for I don’t even know how long. And you keep changing your mind, and I feel like you’re being really confusing about it. Obviously you don’t have to sleep with me, you never did, but I just feel kind of… jerked around. And you did it again tonight.”
A beat of silence.
“I understand your frustration,” he appeases, securing both his arms around you. You cling weakly to his wrist, to his warmth, like he’s a tether in a storm. “Would you prefer to wait until you initiate it?”
“No. Yes! I don’t know,” you huff, disentangling yourself from his arms and continuing toward your bedroom. “Now I’m annoyed at you again.”
He follows you right through the door.
“Just tell me what to do! I don’t want to be annoying.”
“I can’t. I’m being unreasonable.” You flick on your adjoining bathroom light and examine yourself in the mirror. Yeesh. The eye makeup situation is abysmal after all the crying that has taken place over the course of the evening.
“So choose to be reasonable and tell me what you want from me. I’ll give it to you.”
You frown at your reflection, pushing your hair back and rubbing at some excess mascara.
“No, you’re not understanding me. I’m not choosing to be unreasonable. My thought process regarding the situation is inherently unreasonable and there’s nothing I can do about it because it’s just the way I feel.”
“The feeling being that I’ve been too domineering over how our sexual relationship has unfolded?”
Spencer watches you in the bathroom mirror, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed as you tip some makeup remover onto a reusable cotton pad. You try not to check him out as you nod, but it’s impossible—with his sleeves rolled up to show defined forearms cradled in capable hands, and his hair all messy.
When he pushes off the wall you freeze, unsure of his next move—until he’s gently spinning you around and taking the bottle and cloth from your hands.
“Maybe it would help,” he begins, soft as he focuses on the new task, carefully bringing the round to your right eye so he can remove the bleeding mascara. You allow your eyes to flutter shut. “If I remind you why I’ve been so hesitant.”
“Because you hate giving me joy.”
He laughs, nothing more than one huff from his nose.
“You’re spoiled and we both know it.”
Point taken, as he gently wipes your makeup away for you. Your silence is his cue to continue.
“Everything I said about worrying that you would regret choosing me is true. It was especially true when I thought you felt lukewarm toward me. And all of that confusing stuff I said in the phone is true too—having sex for the first time is incredibly intimate and weird and sometimes scary. If you’re not 100% sure about your partner, or if you think your feelings are unrequited, it’s hard to be completely comfortable in such a vulnerable situation and your likelihood of getting hurt or having regrets skyrockets. I know that from experience. I wanted better for you than what I got. Still, I know it was wrong to project my feelings about the significance of sex onto you. In that regard, you’re right. I was being domineering, and I guess… I guess to an extent I’m still deflecting. I shouldn’t be trying to pretend like it’s about you when in reality I mostly just didn’t want to get hurt again. I didn’t want to go through that again, and that’s okay, but I shouldn’t have made you feel like it was something you could have changed.”
You try to process that.
“Go through what?” You whisper hoarsely. Something about having him at such close range while he takes such care with you feels whisper-y.
“Sleeping with someone who didn’t love me back.”
Your reply is small.
“Oh. Right.”
How could anyone not love him back?
Spencer’s reply is simple and kind, without a hint of, obviously you dumb bitch—which is pretty much what you’re thinking to yourself.
“Does that make sense, lovely? Do you understand why I wanted to wait?”
He lets you ponder for a while in comfortable-enough silence as he finishes removing your eye makeup with a characteristically gentle hand. When you open your eyes, he looks genuinely content, screwing the lid back on the bottle as if he’s got an eternity to wait for your answer.
“Yeah. That part makes sense. But why did you seem so… I don’t know, like, wishy-washy about it?”
Spencer’s eyes dart up to meet yours, brows slightly raised. Then a small laugh bubbles up from somewhere inside him.
“Because I’m obsessed with you. I thought about you like that constantly. I still do.”
Your breath catches at the casual admission.
“Oh.”
Spencer hums, setting the bottle down before tenderly thumbing away some excess mascara that he must have missed from under your eye.
“You didn’t think it was easy for me, did you?”
“Well… kind of,” you admit, tracking his eyes until they meet yours.
“Not sleeping with you has been among the hardest things I’ve ever done. Especially when you started begging me. That first time, when I picked you up from Penelope’s and you asked me why we hadn’t had sex yet…”
He trails off, still rubbing at your cheek as he loses himself in thought.
Eventually, you grow impatient, prompting, “what?”
“It’s not a nice thought.”
“Well, you have to tell me now,” you insist.
He half smiles, thumb straying to your lips.
“It was just… you had no idea what you were talking about, and you were ready to throw a tantrum in my living room until I gave you what you thought you wanted. Part of me was imagining bending you over the couch right then, since you thought you were so ready.”
It feels like someone has snipped the pulley that keeps your stomach in place.
“Spencer,” you splutter, convinced your cheek is tangibly heating under his touch as your head reels at the revelation that he could have such a deeply dirty and mildly sinister mind.
“I told you it wasn’t nice.”
You swallow.
“Is that… is that still what you want?”
His brows flicker again and he tucks hair behind your ear.
“To bend you over my couch? No.”
Your face warms even more and you turn to leave the bathroom, sick of his teasing.
“Okay, goodni—”
“Hold on.” Spencer catches you by your waist and pulls you back into him for the second time tonight. A dangerous smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. “I know what you meant. And no, I don’t want to bend you over my couch.” He laughs, slipping a hand under your shirt to rub your back. “You know what I want. I’m more interested in learning what you want.”
“I want…” Your eyes dance between his, and your heart flutters against the confines of your chest as you realize what you’ve wanted for so long is finally yours for the taking. “I want to stop talking about it.”
His expression neutralizes and you know it’s probably intentional to stop whatever feelings you assume him to be having color your decision.
“Oh?”
“I just think we’ve talked about it enough.”
Before he can say another word, or ask you another question, you kiss him with such passion there’s no way he can doubt how much you want this.
Only a moment passes before he allows himself to lean into it, cupping your face between reverent hands and taking control of the pace of the kiss, slowing it down until you can hardly breathe. Your little noise of want has him quickening the process, pressing against you until you’re walking backward out of the bathroom. It’s like the first crack in a dam. After that, everything becomes inevitable.
Your knees hit the back of the bed and you sit down hard on the mattress, smiling up at him. You skim the front of his thighs with your palms as he smooths your hair.
Spencer groans, leaning down and kissing you til you’re on your back.
“Don’t make that face.”
An affronted huff from you breaks the kiss up and he pulls back to study your expression.
“What do you mean don’t make that face? I was just smiling at you.”
“I know you were. And you have such a pretty smile it makes me feel guilty about… defiling you.”
Your brows flicker up and your mouth drops open with an affronted scoff.
“Watch yourself. I’ll defile you.”
“You already have,” he admits with a half-laugh as he kisses you again. “My mind was never this dirty before we met.”
“Hm. Tell me you like my smile.”
He pauses and then chuckles dryly against your mouth.
“I love your smile. You’re gorgeous. Any more demands?”
Pleased, you shake your head and pull him closer, wrapping your legs around his waist.
“Not currently.”
“Really?” he murmurs, trailing kisses over your cheek and down your jaw, “I’d do just about anything you asked me right now. You don’t want to take advantage of that?”
The sensation of his lips just below your ear threatens all rational thought in your brain, but you manage a reply with only a slight delay and a hint of a waver coloring your tone.
“I shouldn’t have to demand things. You should just know to do them.”
His kisses drag lower, warm and unhurried and you’re trying not to let your hyper-sensitivity from going a week completely untouched show—but you doubt he misses the way your breath catches, or the barely audible squeaks, or the arch of your back or the tightening grip on his shirt.
“Well, for future reference—” he nips at a sensitive spot and you gasp quietly, even as you tilt your head to offer him more access. More room to bite, if he so chooses. “—I happen to enjoy it when you make demands of me. Especially when those demands entail letting me call you pretty.”
“I’ve never not let you call me pretty before,” you huff. It’s a touchy subject, and Spencer can probably sense your hackles rising, but he has you right where he wants you and so he pushes anyway.
“No. But you never believe me. We’ve had this conversation. You always act like I’m walking you to the gallows when I compliment you.”
It’s hard to make a defense when he’s leaning his weight onto one arm so he can unbutton your jeans, when he’s looking down at you with sparkling onyx and scorched-earth eyes like you’re something to be consumed. But not violently, no—ardently. Like fruit heavy on the vine. Like you’re a religious rite to the devout and deluded. A sacrament.
But it’s not a blind passion. Spencer knows you; every inch of you and every loose thread on your soul begging to be pulled. He knows you and he still wants you like this. To be perfectly honest, you’d never thought you’d feel comfortable handing yourself over to someone like this—vulnerable and all your layers of armor shed. Never in your life would you have thought you could trust a person so implicitly that you’d hand them a knife and show them exactly where to press, that you’d say, I know once you open me and you see me you’ll not want to change a thing.
You adore him. Cosmically. Enormously. In every dimension. He’s lodged so deep in your heart you have no choice but to love him eternally.
It’s deep in the midst of all these very profound revelations that you realize Spencer has stalled with your zipper undone. His hand has strayed to your hip, to sweetly push your shirt up and trace love letters into warmed and downy skin with his thumb.
“I just wish you could see yourself how I see you,” he says softly, the weight of the truth a strain on his vocal cords.
Sometimes, he is so kind it’s like a punch to your stomach. You’ve never been quite as kind as him. And nobody’s ever been as kind to you as he is. You’ve done nothing to deserve his kindness, but you know he needs a place for it, and you’re here with open arms.
He studies you a moment longer, swallowing as his eyes trail over your face and lower. You want to reach out and brush strands of caramel hair out of his face, but he seems to be thinking so hard you’re hesitant to distract him.
“I’ve never told you this, because I know you’d just shoot it down, but… you are genuinely the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met in my life.”
Something twinges in the depths of your stomach—the darker shades who live there and exist solely to whisper not enough not enough not enough to you every minute of every day.
But they’re simply not a match for the softness you find when you do reach out for his hair, or the way he looks at you. Spencer loosely wraps his fingers around your wrist—not a cuff, but an affectionate hold.
“Do you believe me?”
There’s so much earnest hope in his voice it almost jars you. He so badly wants you to understand how feels about you—he’s been trying to tell you for months and all you know how to do is refute his praise and insist on your worthlessness.
Ever since Spencer, you don’t see the faces on magazine covers or in superhero movies, no matter how mathematically flawless they are. Nobody gets close to being as beautiful as he is in your eyes. He’s in an entirely different echelon, and despite how you feel about yourself, you have to accept that he might feel the same about you.
“I do,” you say, equally soft, and 100% honest. You believe that he believes it, and that’s enough. It’s all that matters.
The shallow knit of his brow loosens. His lips ease into a suggestion of a smile. But it’s most visible in his eyes—the way smoldering coals reignite, melting the amber glass of his irises until they’re molten.
The way he kisses you then, you’d think you’d lassoed the moon and pulled it down from the sky for him. But apparently all it takes to make him incandescently, contagiously happy, is to accept a compliment.
There’s a renewed sense of urgency on his breath as he kisses you deeply and quick enough your heart is racing. It only goes faster when he remembers his previous task and begins tugging your jeans down, but he doesn’t even bother to pull them past your knees before his hand is creeping up your thigh. Goosebumps race each other across your body as you try to remember what it feels like—what he feels like. But you can’t, even as his thumb fans over your inner thigh and pushes it open, gently encouraging you to give him more access to you.
“You’re not wasting any time,” you breathe against him while he traces the edge of your underwear.
“Do you want me to slow down?”
Judging by the way the tips of his fingers only barely shy away from the fabric, he really wants the answer to be no. But you know in his searching gaze that he’d never push you.
“No, it’s fine. As long as we… don’t go this fast the whole time.”
“We won’t.” The hasty words are of lower priority than the next kiss he plants to your swollen lips. “We won’t. I just missed you so much.”
“Yeah?” You giggle airily as he drags his fingers over your clit through the material, trying to ignore the way it makes your head spin.
“Yes. Yeah.”
You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him like this, so… desperate for you, as he drops his lips to your neck and presses barely-there kisses everywhere he knows you’re sensitive. Just the feeling of his breath against your skin has you shivering. His hand between your legs only brushes your most nerve-dense spot, but a few touches in and you’re already wound up, like if Spencer doesn’t give you more soon you’ll burst. And not in the good way.
When he finally commits to actually kissing your neck, you squeak, warmth emanating from that spot just below your jaw all the way to your toes. The frantic energy of earlier is slowly melting away, and he loses focus with his hand, as it begins straying wider, stroking your hip, your inner thigh, your stomach. It’s like your nerve endings are on overdrive, delivering twice as much feedback to your brain as they normally would. Each touch feels like he’s conducting electricity over your body, like you’re a plasma ball. He’d probably like that analogy—you, a core of alternating voltage, and him, the conductor, tracing a path and giving all those electrons an easy release. If you weren’t so distracted, you’d tell Spencer you found a way to work Nikola Tesla into your mutual sex life, and he’d probably propose on the spot.
But that electricity is building fast—even more so when he drags his lips down just above your collarbone. Your breath hitches, simultaneously trying to crane your neck to give him more room, and curl into him so as to escape the stimulation. Finally he pulls away, and losing the softness of his mouth while the air feels so cold against the places he’d kissed almost hurts.
“You’re a mess,” he chuckles affectionately, raising his hand to brush hair away from your face before stroking the heated high point of your cheek. “What am I going to do with you?”
It’s teasing, but so low and gentle and honeyed it swirls your stomach.
“Whatever you want,” you admit quietly. It’s a shy confession more than it is a salacious flirtation because he already has you. And you want nothing more than for him to act on that in any way he so pleases. Whatever he does, it will be careful, and kind, and because he loves you. You know that no matter how he takes you apart—he’ll put you back together again.
“I don’t know if I can. You’re all jumpy.”
God, he has the prettiest smile—even when it’s twisted with sarcasm and a thin veneer of guilt, like he knows he shouldn’t be teasing and just can’t help himself.
“I’m not,” you defend, face heating further. “I’m not nervous. I don’t know what it is.”
That sticky sweet tone is back, pooling in his eyes and dripping all over you like nectar as he languidly looks you over.
“I didn’t say you were nervous. Just a little bit jumpy.”
It’s not accusatory—he’s simply stating a fact. Easy, gentle, designed to soothe.
You shrug helplessly and chew on your lip, unsure of how he wants you to respond. It’s definitely true that excited as you are, you’re slightly on edge. You feel taut as a string on a guitar, tense and waiting to be yanked at any second.
His expression is serene, and his thoughts inscrutable as he continues lavishing you with his eyes, down to where he’s lying over you and back up. His lips part, but he doesn’t speak for a moment as he formulates his words.
“Can we try something? There’s this tantric exercise that might help you relax.”
Your brows draw earnestly and you nod up at him, not requiring any convincing even though you have no idea what he’s talking about.
Spencer directs you to sit up, and you do—kicking your jeans all the way off so you can sit criss-cross with your hands braced on your ankles.
He’s next to you on the bed, at a slight angle, one of your knees in his lap. You blink at him.
“Now what?”
“Now you give me one of your hands,” he says, tone tinted with a hint of an amused smile, as if your impatience is funny to him. Of course it probably is.
Frowning only a little, you unlock your left arm and hold it out for him, watching curiously as he takes your one hand between his and flips it palm-up.
“Did you know,” Spencer begins, voice low and confidential, “that the fingertips are the second most sensitive part of the human body?”
“What’s the first?”
“Lips,” he murmurs, eyes fixed on your hand where he’s brushing the tips of your fingers light enough it almost tickles. “They’re both incredibly important for keeping you alive, which is why they’re one and two. But you’ll be particularly sensitive anywhere you’re vulnerable.” His words are trailing off as he brushes his thumb over your palm and to the delicate skin of your wrist. “Like here.”
His knuckles skim up your forearm, to the crook of your elbow.
“And especially here.”
You’re fascinated as he traces back down the length of your arm and over your inner-wrist, feather light. Then up once more, with the blunted edges of his nails, and your breath catches. You’ve never noticed how sensitive such an innocuous part of your body could be, but it has your stomach flipping—more so when he looses a breathy laugh. “You know, some people are actually able to reach orgasm just by light stimulation to this area.”
Your response is just as airy—you don’t recognize your voice when it comes out like that, hanging in the pitch black between you.
“Really?”
An affirmative hum from him, as he lifts your hand and places an intentional kiss over your pulse at the bend of your wrist. Your chest aches and heat is pooling in your stomach as his gently trails them up the delicate skin of your arm. Maybe you should be embarrassed by the reaction you’re having—after all, it’s just your arm. But he treats every part of you like it warrants love and attention and intimacy. Even the parts you typically ignore. Certainly parts you never considered to be sexually or romantically relevant. It’s dizzying. It’s like magic.
“Arms up,” Spencer finally directs, just as sweetly as he’s doing everything else, and helps you tug your shirt over your head. Every brush of fabric, every seam against your skin registers more than it normally would. Everything is heightened, and despite your state of undress you’re still warm. “Your neck is really sensitive, too. It’s the most commonly acknowledged erogenous zone.”
Erogenous zone. Of course this all comes back to biology.
“Tilt your head for me, honey.”
Utterly entranced and useless to not abide by him, you do so. Spencer brushes your hair over your shoulder, and if the slip of it down your back weren’t enough, the graze of his fingertips against the nape of your neck has you shivering.
The warmth of him at your throat feels completely brand new, despite having already had his lips there only minutes before. But now they ghost over your skin with a kind of novelty, and your own lips part in silent pleasure, head lolling to allow him greater access.
“Lie back.”
Without hesitation (but perhaps a bit sluggishly in your stupor) you obey, sliding down until you’re propped up only by pillows once more. Spencer takes his place propped above you once more, thighs slotted with yours as he quickly picks up where he left off.
The sweet kisses are perfect and feel so much better than you’d ever thought to notice before—but at the same time your core aches and there’s that pressure building again that’s starting to get to you.
“Spencer,” you try, and it comes out hoarse but you don’t care at all. “More.”
“You want me to leave marks?”
And the offer is so tempting you’ll wait a few more minutes to ask for what you really need, nodding semi-frantically and ‘mhm’-ing desperately.
As he gently latches onto a spot that will require concealer later but feels fantastic for now, one of his hands slips down your side, just barely letting his nails skim, and your back actually arches. It’s a shocking amount of stimulation for being nowhere near any sexual hotspots. That tiny caught breath dissolves as his fingers continue down just as lightly over your hip and thigh. Your muscles tense as you chase and run away from the feeling. It’s ridiculous.
There’s no point in trying to keep your eyes open now—they grow heavy and you let them fall shut as he sucks another love bite to your throat.
“Feels good, doesn’t it? It’s kind of weird.” He says, voicing your thoughts as he eventually decides the mark will be sufficiently dark.
“Yeah,” you agree, lacking all eloquence as he caresses every sensitive place you didn’t know you had and your hips writhe minutely in a little desperate dance of your own creation.
“Most people aren’t aware of the potential of the erogenous zones that aren’t actual sex organs. They don’t pay attention to them. You know what else is an interesting function of erotic stimulation to areas that aren’t directly involved in reproduction?”
“Hm,” you hum as his hand skims to your back. You lean into it and he promptly undoes your bra with a single hand—a skill you’re not even sure you have.
“It releases not quite as much oxytocin as an orgasm but more than sexual pleasure alone. So you’re less tense before sex than you usually would be, and you’re primed to build more trust and feel more connected with your partner during.”
God, he’s a nerd. And it’s so, so hot.
You roll over on your back again and look up at him through half-lidded eyes. The corner of his mouth flickers as he takes in your expression, before trailing downward, following the path his fingertips make over your skin as they tug the straps over your shoulders. Trying to stop him, to be shy, would be a pointless venture. He’s seen you like this and you want him to see you again.
A shaky exhale of his own brings a little smile to your face as he pulls your bra away and observes the newly bared skin with a hunger that you can feel.
“I missed you,” he murmurs, eyes cast pointedly down and thumb brushing over the side of your right breast.
“You mentioned.”
“I’m not allowed to say it again?” He teases, leaning down to kiss you soft. Your lips curve against his.
“You can say it as many times as you want.”
Spencer hums, finally thumbing over your breast’s sensitive peak. It sends a chill down your back and seeing as you’re already worked up to the point of near insanity, the pleasure from such a simple touch is much stronger than it would be otherwise.
“Good. Because I missed you a lot.”
After that, he doesn’t waste much time—only toying with your flesh for another minute as he kisses you before his hand is skimming down your abdomen and dipping below the waistband of your underwear.
“Please,” you whisper, tilting your hips toward him when he doesn’t move to touch you anymore.
“Please what?”
“Spencer, don’t.”
He smiles at this, pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth as his hand travels lower. Fingers slip between wet folds and he begins making the lightest of circles over your clit.
“You’ve probably been waiting long enough, huh? I should be nicer.”
Your answer is a breathy almost-whine as you seek more friction against his hand.
“Yeah.”
“Yeah,” he agrees, pressing down harder. The sensation sends sparks down to your toes and you attempt to clamp your legs shut around his wrist. “These need to stay open,” Spencer chuckles, “or else I can’t help you.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” The words are a sweet sing-song against your cheek as he kisses you there, before hooking his fingers into the fabric of your underwear and pulling down. You try to help wiggle out of them as best you can, gasping when he tosses them away and immediately returns his hand between your legs. He dips his head down, tongue lathing over your breast, and teases you with the tip of one finger circling around your entrance.
“I need—”
“Shh. Let me worry about it.”
With that, he’s dipping his ring and middle fingers just barely inside of you to the first knuckle, then back out, before pushing a bit deeper, and repeating the cycle until they’re as far as they’ll go. When he slowly starts fucking you with them, still mouthing sweetly at your breast, you’re ready to melt.
The room is quiet except for your breathy mewls, the lewd, wet sound of his fingers inside of you, and the blood rushing in your ears. Soon your breast pops from between his lips and he finds somewhere else to leave his mark. Spencer is turning you into a work of art, with his fingers, with his mouth. You don’t mind at all. You’d let him sign his name, if he could—but you doubt he’d let you get his name tattooed.
Soon you stop fighting the perpetual tug of your lids down and let them flutter shut, loosing a freer moan as he brushes over that sweet spot inside you. Even when he’d told you how to find it over the phone, it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t like this—maddening enough to have your hips twisting again and that hot bed of coals in your tummy sparking.
“Spencer,” you warn, leg twitching as he stokes the fire beyond the point where you can passively enjoy it. Either he’s got to slow down or he’s got to let you burn all the way up. You practically jump when you feel his tongue flick over your clit—you hadn’t even been aware of his shifting positions. Maybe you’re more out of it than you’d previously thought. Your eyes shoot open and he does it again. “Oh, fuck.”
The words are simple, quiet, and apparently that’s not enough. Before you can even process the sensation of the tip of his tongue on you he’s latching onto your clit, suckling in a way that has your vision momentarily going out. You cry out and kick involuntarily, hips jumping up, but he captures your leg and presses you down into the mattress so no matter how much you squirm and squeak you can’t get away.
“Fuckfuckfuck, Spencer I wa—ah—sn’t ready—oh my god.”
He remembers his fingers deep inside you and begins rutting them and you hiss, inhaling sharply through your teeth before letting it all out in a tremulous moan. The orgasm is building up so quickly it almost feels like an attack on your poor body as you try to process it all to no avail. Every sound you make is a vulnerable mess of pleasure and pain, a clear fear of surrendering to something inevitable. Of course, it doesn’t really hurt at all. As usual, he’s blindsided you. Found you unprepared. You rake your fingers through Spencer’s hair, continuing on with your shaky moans that sound half-worried.
“Oh, please.” Really, you’re just pleading to be put out of your misery. It’s in moments like this, as the black is creeping in around the edges of your vision and your thoughts become threads in the tangle of an existence knotting in on itself with no discernible end or beginning in your mind until everything is completely abstract, that you’re reminded why the French refer to orgasm as the little death.
Your fingers lace tight enough in the wilds of his hair to pull, and he groans against you, and those vibrations are your undoing. You succumb to the dark momentarily but he continues a loving assault of gentle kisses to your clit—careful enough so as to be inoffensive even after the euphoria abates and you’re hypersensitive, still relishing soft strands of hair between your knuckles.
You’re breathing hard as you blink your vision back, looking down at him as he looks up at you from his place between your legs and rubs the top of your thigh.
“I wasn’t ready,” you pant, lips flashing into a tired smile that doesn’t hold a candle to his own livelier one.
“Took it like a champ.”
If you weren’t already so warm his sarcastic comment would inspire more heat in the apples of your cheeks.
“Dr. Spencer Reid using sports idioms?” You smile as he climbs back up your body.
“It’s unreasonably sexy that you said idiom and not simile.” He kisses you, grin mirroring yours, and you don’t complain about the slick still on his lips. “And look at that. Not afraid to kiss me when I taste like you anymore.”
“I remember what you said,” you whisper, eyes bouncing between his, glowing amber pools in the low light. The words echo in your head from the first time he’d gone down on you and you’d been hesitant to taste yourself.
One day, I’ll make you come just like that again, and then I’m going to fuck you, and you’re really going to want me to kiss you then, angel.
“So do I,” he points out needlessly. “Eerily prophetic, hm?”
“I think you just like going down on me,” you laugh.
Without the light on, his smile is just as brilliant as usual.
“You might be right about that.”
Another interlude of quiet begins, but you don’t mind it. Taking this slow, as desperate as you’ve been for it, feels nice. Easy. Waves of burning need ebb and flow, but for now, it feels nice to be bathed in his candlelight gaze, know you’re loved, and nothing else.
“What next?” You whisper after a long moment, lifting your hand to trace the line of his jaw. He leans into it slightly, lips brushing your palm.
“That’s up to you, angel. What’s going to make you feel most comfortable?”
Your bottom lip rolls between your teeth as you think and he tracks the movement, corner of his mouth twitching fondly.
“It might help if you weren’t fully clothed.”
“I think we could probably do something about that.”
He pecks the tip of your nose playfully and then he’s pushing off the bed. Your brow wrinkles as you follow suit only partially, sitting up with your legs folded under you and pulling the sheets over your body to combat the chill and the vulnerability of being completely naked.
“Oh, my god. You had your shoes on that whole time?”
“I got distracted,” Spencer defends, almost tripping over himself in his hurry to slip the loafers off.
You clutch the sheet to your chest, watching the adorable way he pushes his hair out of his face as he rushes. He’s so clearly excited—it shows in the flush of his cheek and his even worse than usual coordination.
“But on my bed?”
“I’m sorry,” he says without seeming very apologetic, leaning down to catch your chin between his thumb and forefinger and pressing his lips to yours. “I’ll pay to have your comforter dry cleaned. I’ll buy you a new one. I don’t care.”
“How chivalrous.”
“I am,” he insists against your lips, shaped by what is surely a boyish smirk.
Unsurprisingly, you get lost in the kiss, dropping the sheet to hang onto his shoulders. Spencer takes advantage of the once-more revealed skin, rubbing your thigh with slow passes in a way that has you all lit up again already. It doesn’t help that his tie is skimming right over the recess between your folded thighs as he leans over your seated form, kissing you deeper as the moments pass.
“You’re distracting me now,” you scold, but your voice is quiet and smiley as your noses brush.
“Do you want to help me with my clothes?”
You nod, heart hatching like a cocoon and already slipping a finger into the knot of his tie so you can tug perhaps not gently enough. He chuckles, bracing himself with his fists on either side of your lap as you pull and yank until the fabric comes loose and you slip it from around his neck, flinging it blindly for dramatic effect. Then he slowly draws back to his full height, until you’re about eye-level with his chest. His gaze fixes on you, feverish and intent as he finds the buckle of his belt without looking. The slide of leather on leather, the jingle of the metal has the hairs on the back of your neck rising and you fight a chill as he pins you with his stare—feeling rather powerless as he towers over you, still essentially fully clothed while you’re completely naked.
You probably shouldn’t be as thrilled by it as you are.
Spencer tosses the belt on the floor and watches on, utterly charmed as you rise to your knees. His hands find your waist, steadying you as you begin unbuttoning his shirt with slow, careful fingers.
“See?” You murmur bashfully. “Helping.”
His voice is equally as soft.
“Very helpful. Thank you.”
The tension in the quiet room gets to be too much and you have to focus hard on the task at hand, failing to bite back a twisty smile. For once, he keeps his stupid perfect mouth shut and lets you push the fabric of his open shirt from his shoulders in humid silence.
Your fingers skate down his torso and you watch the muscles tense. You wonder if he notices the way he pulls you slightly closer or if it’s subconscious as you both track the path of your hands.
“Your button is on the wrong side,” you note, voice wavering slightly, once your fingers stall at the waistband of his pants.
Spencer chuckles. You feel silly.
“Men and women’s clothing tend to have the buttons on different sides, if that’s what you mean.”
“Oh.” A beat of silence, before the words come pouring out. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that. I’m still a little bit nervous, I think.”
“That’s okay,” Spencer assures you, hands gliding up and down the soft lines of your waist. “It’s okay that you’re nervous. But I’m going to take really good care of you, okay?”
You nod, not looking away from the exposed skin of his torso.
“And if at any point you need to take a break or stop, you’ll tell me.”
“I will, but… I don’t need to stop right now.”
“Then you can go as slow as you want.”
You swallow and take a moment to gather yourself before continuing on undoing his pants. With his assistance, you pull them down, and with them his boxers tug an inch or two lower, exposing a subtle v-shape before it disappears beneath the waistband. The fabric is obviously tented. A ball of nervous anticipation spins faster in your stomach, drawing all the heat in your body down between your legs. He’s pretty everywhere. You’d nearly forgotten.
Spencer’s stomach tenses under your light touch as you drag your fingers down, down, just to the waistband. It’s then that you look up at him for permission to continue, and find his eyes already on you, heated and intense.
“Go ahead, honey.”
Again you find yourself quite excited to touch him, but you start cautiously, simply letting your hand fall over the shape of him through the fabric. Even that has his chest rising and falling at a slightly quickened rate, and one of his hands finds your unoccupied one, twining them together. That small gesture inspires you to bolden your explorations, becoming more insistent in the way you palm at him. He feels big, which is a concern of yours. But you try not to let that intimidate you.
Already he’s quite hard, you suspect from going down on you earlier (which is flattering as much as it embarrasses you) and your fingers graze a small wet patch of fabric. You fixate on the shaky little breath he releases as you push down his boxers with new fervor, and his cock springs up.
He’s still perfect.
You smear beads of precum down his tip, and he sighs, letting his head fall against yours as you both watch. A few coquettish pumps and he’s humming, kissing your face and dragging his lips down your neck where he makes a home for himself. Apparently the sight of your hand wrapped around him had been too much to bear.
“So good. Missed this.”
“It’s just my hand,” you whisper, a little insecure that he’s maybe playing it up for your benefit.
“It’s you.”
His voice is so breathy, you sort of have to believe him.
“Can I…?”
Too nervous to voice what you really mean, you trail off, but it apparently doesn’t matter to Spencer. He lifts his head like he’s in a stupor but you’ve said something urgent.
“Anything you want. You can do whatever you want.”
“Okay. Um…”
You let go of his hand (and his dick). Spencer automatically rotates to accommodate you as you end up on your knees on the wooden floor in front of him.
“This is what you want?” He breathes, already pushing his fingers through your hair and gathering it back as you look up at him and nod.
Very quickly you have him back in your hand, trying to remember what you learned from the few times you’ve done this. You start perhaps a bit softer, less eager to prove yourself than you have in the past—simply dragging him over your tongue before enveloping his tip in your mouth, and releasing with a pop. Despite being overtly, explicitly, and undeniably sexual, there’s something almost chaste about the way you handle him. It’s a (dirty) expression of love, and you think he understands that as he rubs at your cheek affectionately.
Eventually, however, you get too excited, and you take him into your mouth in earnest, bobbing your head slowly and seeing how much of him you can take without gagging.
Spencer makes the prettiest noises—they’re breathy, and not ostentatious, but he’s got such a nice speaking voice it’s like his gasps are bars in a song. You whine around him, wriggling your hips in a rather pathetic display, and then all too quickly he’s tugging your hair so you can’t keep him in your mouth.
“What?” You ask, closer to pouting than you’d care to admit and voice slightly hoarse. “You said I could do anything I want.”
“Not if you’re that good at it. Come here.”
He helps you up and catches you in a deep, messy kiss before you’ve fully regained your footing, swaying against him, but he holds you fast, pulling away slow like strings of honey trail between your mouths.
Spencer’s eyes are fixed on yours, lips parted in a sort of wonder before he glances down to your own mouth, wiping the shine from your bottom lip. Any moment you’re expecting him to say something, to tell you you’re beautiful or perfect or that he’s in love with you—but instead he just meets your eyes again, that same wonder-struck look on his pretty face. A tiny, breathy laugh forces itself from his chest like you’re a genuine miracle.
You feel so observed—seen in a way you’ve never been seen, looked at closer than anyone has ever looked at you before. And he still looks at you like you’re the human embodiment of love, the closest mortal manifestation of the divine, Galatea come down from her marble pedestal. The way he looks at you has your heart pounding and your breathing hastened. Adoration has never been something so physical, so tangible, ever before in your life. Your blood hums at the frequency of his electromagnetic field—an energetic aura that surrounds each person and can be detected from several feet away, as he’d explained it to you. It originates from the heart and if you spend enough time close to someone, syncs up the beating of your most vital organ with theirs until it’s a perfect match. Maybe that’s why, almost as quickly as your heart had begun to pound, it slows again, and you feel any reservation flush from your body like a fever.
“Okay,” you breathe, cataloguing every angle and curve of his face to store with all the rest, all the moments that feel important. Of course, you’ll never remember them like he does yours. But you’ll be damned if you don’t try your hardest.
“Okay?” Spencer asks. He understands the confirmation for what it is, and searches for signs of hesitation on your face while rubbing reassuring circles into your hip. You nod resolutely.
As he lays you down on your bed, it feels like you’re entering some kind of altered state. Everything is muted and glowing with a watercolor aura in the dark and you really only care about the man on top of you and the way moonlight dances on his skin and the way he smells like smoky amber and rain. He makes sure the pillows are fluffed under you, before sweeping your hair from beneath your shoulders into a corona around your head. All the while his eyes are so soft on you, just like his hands, and his lips when he leans down to touch them to yours.
One of said hands finds its way to your jaw, trailing down over your neck and collarbone, before settling over your breast where he swipes a thumb over your nipple, lightly, slowly, several times.
Once again you’re struck with the odd feeling, even with his hand on you like this, that the situation isn’t sexual in the way you’d anticipated. It’s not pornographic, or even very dirty. Everything Spencer does, even as his hand sneaks down between your legs, he does because he loves you.
“One more like this,” he mutters against your jaw after a moment.
“Why?”
Your impatience yields a smile you can only feel against your skin.
“Just want you relaxed and feeling good. That’s all.”
When you assent, his fingers are already slowly pushing inside you.
It seems you’ve entered some sort of time warp as well, because you reach a gentle peak in what feels like record time, aided by his easy murmurings and saccharine praise.
“Perfect. That was perfect,” Spencer says with a kiss to your shoulder as he slides his fingers from you and you feel yourself literally dripping onto the sheets. “Can I ask you something before we get carried away?”
“Mhm,” you hum, sweet and compliant as pleasure dulls your inhibitions for the second time tonight and your head lolls into the pillows.
“Baby,” he croons, voice soft as worn paper as your lids flutter and lashes brush febrile cheeks, thumbing over the heated skin. “Need you a little more alert, sweet girl.”
“’M trying,” you whine, though it’s half self-effacing laugh. Spencer chuckles too as you shake your head and take a deep breath, trying to reinvigorate yourself. “Okay. Go.”
“Well… we don’t have any protection.” Before you can groan, loudly, he hurries on. “And that’s… I’m okay with that, if it’s what you still want. I trust you. But there will come… a moment of reckoning. And I need to know where I should… reckon. So you don’t end up surprised.”
Now you’re really laughing—a giggly mess beneath him as your arms loop over his shoulders.
“Stop it,” he whines, pressing his nose to your cheek as you turn your head in an effort to not snort at your boyfriend to his face. “That was for your benefit, you know. You get squeamish.”
“I’m sorry, I just can’t take you seriously when you refer to it as reckoning.”
“Fine. I’ll rephrase. When I come, you essentially have two options. Inside, or on your stomach. Tell me where you want it.”
Your breath catches and your stomach does that tripping-over-itself thing again.
“Um…”
Another fond half laugh, at your expense, is pressed against your skin. It’s enough to prompt you into answering—he doesn’t have to say anything to make his point about your being squeamish.
“Inside,” you mutter, shy as you attempt to bring him closer so he won’t be able to look at you quite so closely. You wonder if he’s remembering the conversation you’d had over the phone last week—before he’d accidentally kind of broken up with you—about this very subject. You certainly are.
“Okay. I want you to have everything that you want.” A few kisses to your neck later, between nips, he speaks again. “Just need to hear that you want this one more time.”
“I want this,” you repeat, obedient and honest, plain and simple. “Now, please.”
Spencer responds by first kissing you, firm and loving. It soothes you, and he punctuates it with a kiss to your cheek, before he’s reaching down and guiding himself between your legs. You feel surprisingly calm, more overcome with love and the light pleasure rolling down your back as he drags himself over your clit than you are by nerves. Still, you pointedly hold his gaze, not looking down in case you psych yourself out. He slots himself in place, tip resting against your entrance.
“Remember, if you need to stop at any point—”
“I remember,” you cut him off hurriedly.
Okay. So perhaps you’re still slightly nervous.
He watches you, sympathetic though you’re not sure what for.
“I need you as relaxed as possible, okay? I want this to be easy on you.”
You take a moment, scanning your whole body for tense muscles. When you feel sufficiently relaxed, you offer Spencer a small nod, and at that, he begins pushing into you ever so slightly.
At first, it just feels foreign. He’s going so slowly, so carefully, you’re not sure he’s moving at all—until he finds resistance and the odd full feeling changes to a hint of burning stretch. Your hips jump and your breath catches, and Spencer stops immediately, relieving the pressure with a tiny shift in position.
“It’s gonna hurt,” you realize, eyes darting between his like he might be able to tell you otherwise. You’d always been aware of the possibility, but you were holding out hope that you’d be one of those people who didn’t experience any pain their first time.
“Just for a minute. Then it’ll feel good, angel.”
You swallow and nod. At the end of the day, you trust him completely. You trust him enough to let him hurt you.
“Super deep breaths for me.”
He watches intently as you follow his directions, taking several deep breaths in succession, before he begins pushing into you once more. The pressure builds and builds until he pushes past that point of resistance, and it’s like he’s breaking you in two.
“Ah,” you gasp, abs twisting as your body tries to escape the sensation without any input from you.
“I know. I know, baby, that was the hardest part. Breathe.”
He drops his thumb to your clit, rubbing circles with light pressure to distract from the pain.
You nod, lips pressed together tight as the deep ache muddles your brain. It’s an insistent pressure against something does not seem to want to budge. It burns and stretches and is laced with sour, flirtatious pleasure so that you can hardly tell what it is you’re feeling. Mostly, you’re dizzy and hot.
“Relax, just like that,” he strains, looking down. “My good girl. We’re almost there, baby.”
Cries spill unbidden from your mouth and your eyes shut as he continues to open you up deeper, until finally, finally, his hips settle into the cradle of yours.
Spencer sighs a curse under his breath, so quiet you don’t think it was meant for you.
He’s inside of you. It’s bizarre.
You whimper, and he snaps out of whatever revery he’d been in.
“You okay? How does that feel?”
You take a shuddering breath, closing your eyes and trying to clear your head to no avail—your thoughts are like TV static.
“I’m good. I need… I need a minute.”
“You can have as much time as you need. It’s a lot, huh?”
“Yeah,” you admit, voice small and weak.
“I bet,” he agrees, peppering soft kisses all over your face. “But you’re doing so well. Proud of you, brave girl. You’re doing so well and we’re gonna make sure it feels good soon, okay? Whenever you’re ready.”
“Will you please kiss me again?” you whisper, and Spencer’s brow knits with concern.
“Of course, angel. Of course I’ll kiss you,” he says, and makes good on his promise with his lips on yours. It sweetens the ache. “I’ll do whatever you want. You can have anything. You’re so perfect.”
He kisses you again, just as lovingly, and soft, like you’re delicate. All the praise is only contributing to your lightheadedness, but you don’t mind at all. It feels good.
“You can… you can move.”
“Okay. We’ll go really slow, yeah?”
He waits for your nod before his hips are pulling back and you arch at the odd sensation. When he pushes back in, eyes carefully locked on yours the whole time, you keen slightly, frowning and brain shorting out as it tries and fails to process this new feeling.
“Uh-huh. You’re okay, I promise.”
At first it doesn’t feel good. It mostly hurts. But slowly, the pain begins to abate as you acclimate to having him inside of you, and he’s careful the whole time.
“Spence?”
“Hm?”
He sounds concentrated on the task at hand—you’re entranced by the sight of him above you, the parted lips, the unkempt hair over the brow furrowed in pleasure and focus. But he’s never too busy for you.
“Does it… um—” you pause to hold back a whine—“what does it feel like for you?”
At this, he slows even further and chuckles—it’s a strained, slightly breathy sound.
“For me?”
“Mhm.”
“You feel perfect, baby. You feel so fucking good.”
The slight fry in Spencer’s voice as he curses, which is a rare event in and of itself, flips your stomach, turns you on immensely. The idea that you’re giving him pleasure too—it’s almost overwhelming. That’s when it starts feeling good.
“Oh—” you squeak, jaw dropping and bucking your hips inadvertently as the first bolt of true pleasure shocks deep in your core. He hums.
“Yeah, is that it, sweet girl?”
But you can’t answer for a long moment. Your brain is melting as your legs lock around him.
“Mm—it’s—it feels…”
“I know it does,” Spencer murmurs.
You whine and press your face into the curve of his shoulder as each thrust gently rocks your body. As the pace picks up bit by bit, you feel yourself clenching hard around him. His hips stutter and he hisses.
“Ah. Can’t do that, lovely.”
“What? Did I hurt you?”
He laughs breathily.
“No, you didn’t hurt me. You almost pushed me out. You have to relax.”
“Sorry,” you whisper. “’M trying.”
“You don’t need to be sorry. I know you’re trying, baby, you’re being so good for me.”
Your nails skim his back—a small expression of a much larger desperation. Once he’s sure you’re relaxed around him, begins going faster.
Your gasps and soft moans come more often now as he finds a steady rhythm and it feels so different when he’s actually fucking you. It feels like he’s everywhere. Every time your hips meet you feel the sweet shock of it in your teeth, your toes, the back of your neck. In the best way, you feel consumed by him. It’s not at all like you’d imagined, and it’s perfect.
“Wait, Spencer,” you breathe, struggling to form the words. Immediately he stops again, lifting his head from your shoulder to examine your face.
“What is it?”
He sounds just as wrecked as you feel, panting and strained and it feels good to hear.
“I wanna watch.”
For a moment his eyes dart between yours like he’s trying to determine what you really mean—but you said exactly what you meant. Then he laughs, a huff of air from his nose as he presses his head to yours and gives you a quick kiss.
Your toes curl as he readjusts his position, holding himself a little higher and resting your heads together so you can both look between your bodies.
“There,” he murmurs as he slowly begins to withdraw again. “Like that?”
But you can’t answer, because you’re too busy whimpering at the sight of him pushing into you. The feeling seems to increase tenfold as you watch it happen. Distantly you wonder how the fuck it fits.
“Yeah,” you whisper. “Like that.”
Spencer takes this as a blessing to find a pace again, slower now as he seems to be just as enthralled by the sight as you are.
“Give me your leg,” he rasps after a few moments like that, and you don’t know what he means exactly but you lift your right leg slightly only for him to press his hand to the back of your knee and push toward your chest, effectively opening you up and giving him more range of motion. It also enables him to fuck you even deeper. Again he slows, apparently savoring the feel of you yielding around him all the way down to the hilt.
Black spots dance in your eyes as he settles at your deepest point—not pain, necessarily, just overwhelming sensation. Your jaw drops and you choke out a moan as he presses into recesses you didn’t know you had, as he shows you a part that you might have gone the rest of your life without knowing existed. He stops there, like that. Everything stops there, like that. If the cars on the road below ceased to drive, if the airplanes froze in the sky, you’d not be the least bit surprised. Somehow, you’ve unlocked a small eternity. There’s no sound but your joint heavy breathing and your heart pounding in your ears. The words just come bubbling up out of you in a little whine.
“I love you.”
Spencer’s breath pauses for a moment before he’s letting it all out at once, brushing his lips up the ridge of your nose before they settle on your forehead in what seems like a permanent kiss. A few breaths in, you allow your eyes to flutter shut. Your heart rate slows down a touch, and you settle into the moment, never having been quite so content as you are like this—never having felt quite so adored and safe.
“I love you,” he finally echoes, voice rasping, lips still pressed to your skin, still breathing against your hair. When he starts to move again, drawing back ever so slowly, you hiss softly. He raises his head from yours, and you look away from where he’s pulling out, meeting his eyes just in time for him to push back in, just as deep. They shine in the mostly-dark room and you moan unabashedly. It’s a high-pitched, sweet thing, nothing that will have the neighbors complaining—but so clearly true, from the depths of your soul, an expression of everything you’re feeling—not just the pleasure.
Although that’s good, too, as Spencer shapes you to him again and again, the head of his cock kissing places nobody’s ever been and places you hope nobody else will ever venture to. This is all you need. Him.
“Jesus,” Spencer groans, eyes fixed on your face as he fucks you slowly. But you can’t bring yourself to talk, too new to this kind of pleasure to find it anything other than mind-boggling and world altering. Your lips are still parted, allowing each sound to pass without filter. “Listen to you, beautiful.”
When he stops again, just to look down and marvel at you, you’re conflicted. On the one hand, you can taste the pleasure on the back of your tongue and he keeps taking it away when it’s so close. But on the other—you’re just as overwhelmed as he said you’d be. Your body has never had to process this kind of sensory information before, and you’re exhausted, but it’s so good.
“Spencer,” you manage. He looks up, pupils blown and eyes lidded where they’d normally be wide. “Please don’t stop.”
He swallows, spurred into action again as soon as you say it.
“Good?”
You nod and whine again as he picks up the pace bit by bit, remembering to push your leg back once more so he can get as deep as you need him.
“So good,” you exhale at the top pitch of your voice. Your brows pinch and you release a fuller moan as Spencer finds a speed that’s fast enough to constantly feel good no matter where he is. You’re gasping for breath, back arching—and he finds a new angle, catching against the spot inside you that renders all those years of human evolution that gave you sentience and intelligence a waste. He chuckles airily at your series of series of affronted moans and halted gasps.
“Right there? That's a good spot, isn’t it?”
“Oh, go—fuck, fuck!”
It feels so good it almost hurts, and your eyes are stinging to prove it. Your legs clamp tighter around him and you realize there’s a very lewd wet sound and you can’t believe that’s you.
“Spencer, you’re—oh my god, I love you,” you whine, and it sounds like you’re pleading for your life. At this makes his own sound of pleasure, and hastens his messy circles on your clit as if in reward.
But it’s too much all combined.
Your hand claps to your mouth to obscure the loud, licentious moan that comes out—but Spencer immediately moves his hand from between your legs to grab your wrist and pin it gently to the bed, intertwining your fingers.
“Don’t do that. Let me hear.”
You nod, and he lets go of your hand to return his fingers to your clit. If possible you get wetter around his cock—you can feel yourself gushing.
“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you whine as if pained.
“Yeah? Gonna finally let me feel you cumming, angel?”
He has a filthy mouth when he wants to. The words hit like high voltage to your core and the very pit of your stomach. You can’t even respond beyond a desperate sob.
“Show me, baby. I’m right here. Let go.”
You cum around his cock with a broken cry and it’s like a purge of every drop of angst you’d felt over the past week or so—hell, it’s a purge of all the insecurities that had bubbled to the surface since you started dating him. None of it matters anymore. How could it matter when you have him? When you have this?
The orgasm washes you out like a tidal wave, taking everything with it. It’s strong, and it’s so good, so intense, your body is overwrought with sensation and it’s too much even though it’s perfect. Your brain is drawing a blank as it tries to react to the feeling, and it’s like every button on the damn panel has been hit.
“Fuck, I’m close,” Spencer grits, and you feel it in the way he adjusts his position, shifting as he grips at the edge of the mattress for leverage and the thrusts become messier, needier. You gasp as his other hand tangles in your hair, turning your head to ghost your lips over his forearm. It’s not entirely surprising when his own lips find your shoulder—but the feeling of him finding his release just as his teeth sink into your skin does come as quite a shock. It doesn’t hurt, and you’re sure there’s no skin broken, but it’s an undeniable fact that he has grounded himself in the throes of passion by biting down on you.
Inside you, he feels hot. Searing, almost, as his spend tries to fill space that doesn’t exist. There is absolutely no room for anything else inside of you. Stars dance in your eyes at the overstimulation, but long after he’s finished he’s still fucking into you—albeit much slower and with far less technique. Spencer moans like a two bit whore, like he’s reached pain to a point of ecstasy, and to you it’s as good, as special as the singing of the planets. If he’s as sensitive as you are now, it’s no small feat for him to keep going on like this. It’s a testament to how much he doesn’t want it to be over. The pleasure is carrying him away, but you’re beginning to feel how soft you must be and how if he continues on like this you may bruise like an overripe peach.
“Spencer,” you manage, skating your hand up and down his back in what you hope are soothing lines. “Baby.”
He whines as his lips detach from your shoulder, but his hips finally slow to a stop, nestled inside you.
“Jesus, fuck, I'm sorry,” he breathes, opting now to bury his face in your neck (with significantly less biting this time).
You’re still reeling, toes still curled, still struggling to breathe as your head spins and spins and spins. His chest pushes against yours with every heaving breath, hot and heavy on your skin, and that’s the only sign he’s still alive until his hand eventually reanimates in your hair, scratching your head tenderly.
For a span of minutes, you stay like that—silent, twined together like caducean serpents. His weight on top of you is perfect. This, the lack of differentiation between your body and his, is perfect. You don’t know where he ends and you begin and you don’t need to. It’s a blissful moment.
“Hey.”
Spencer’s voice is hoarse when he finally speaks, lifting his head to look at you with flushed cheeks and messy hair and sparkly eyes.
“Hi.”
He smiles.
“You’re so pretty.”
“You too,” you murmur, moving your hand from his back and pressing your thumb into the hollow of his cheek. His eyes map the curves of your face as he pushes your surely askew hair back.
“How do you feel?”
It takes you a moment to seriously consider his question, scanning your body for any undue pains, but for the moment, you find none, beyond a dull aching throb that you can manage.
“Good. Tired.”
You wince at the uncomfortable feeling of him pulling out. Spencer hums sympathetically and presses a sticky kiss to your lips which makes it a little better, though you can’t ignore how uncomfortable all the previously pleasant wetness has become between your legs.
“Here—stay here, I’ll get a wash cloth and—”
“It’s fine,” you insist, holding on even as he tries to roll off of you. “I just need… will you stay here for a little bit?”
“Of course,” he promises, now pressed close to your side and propped up on an elbow, “whatever you want.”
You lavish in his gaze, warm like a spotlight, as he strokes your cheek and plays with your hair. Very quickly you’re lulled into a doze, eyes fluttering shut. Minutes stretch. You feel drunk on waking dreams, and perfectly at peace. Safe.
“Angel girl,” he christens you fondly. More than anything, it’s an observation, so lovely it sinks into your skin like a balm, soothing every tired muscle and little mark he’d made. Even half-asleep, it makes you smile.
“You’re an angel,” you slur, reaching blindly for him, and he chuckles, catching your wrist and helpfully settling your hand on his cheek.
“I thought you were asleep.”
You hum, “mm-mm,” looking up at him with just as much adoration as he has for you. Those cuddle hormones must be kicking in because soon you’re attempting to pull him back on top of you. He doesn’t quite comply, probably for fear of crushing you—rather he settles next to you, gathering you in his arms.
Silence blankets the two of you, but it’s not unpleasant as you just watch each other with barely-there smiles curling your mouths. This kind of intimacy still manages to give you butterflies, even after everything else you’ve done. This kind of satisfaction, reverie in the sound of each other’s blood flowing and lungs filling. Setting aside words because you don’t need conversation as a pretense for wanting to be around each other anymore. You don’t need an excuse to look at him like this. You don’t need words any more than you need clothes. It’s enough to just be.
“I love you,” he says, a soft reminder, and entirely redundant with the way he’d already been looking at you, touching you.
“I know. I love you too.”
The smile flickers brighter on his face.
“And thank you.”
Your eyes narrow minutely as you consider what he could possibly be thanking you for.
“For what?”
“For loving me. And trusting me. It’s…” your heart squeezes as you realizes tears are pooling in his eyes. He takes a moment and clears his throat. It’s incredibly endearing. “It means a lot to me. You mean a lot to me.”
You look down, thumbing at the sheets where you’ve hoisted them over your bodies.
“You do realize how lame we are if we have sex and both immediately start crying, right?”
At this he laughs loudly but not loud enough to pop the little bubble you’re in, and you look up just in time to catch the brilliance of his smile, the way it changes his whole face and he becomes superhuman in his beauty, the lines that form by his eyes and the way they narrow and crystalline tears bead his lashes like precious gems.
“Don’t cry,” he requests gently, hypocritically as your own eyes sting. The way his smile fades is like the sun setting. Gorgeous, like everything else he does. “You’ve cried so much, honey. Please don’t cry.”
You sniffle, gathering yourself.
“I’m not. That would be pathetic.”
Spender leans forward to kiss you tenderly a few more times. Ordinarily you’d worry about coming across as clingy when you hold onto him so closely and so insistently like this, but for now you don’t care. Neither does he, it seems, as he seems unable to get you close enough. Eventually, you end up curled against him, head tucked under his chin and dozing on and off as he traces shapes into your skin.
“What are you writing?” You mumble some time later, cheek smushed against his shoulder. He only responds with a soft hm, like he was lost deep in thought. You clarify, “it feels like you were writing something.”
“She Walks in Beauty.”
Your lips pull into a sleepy smile.
“The Lord Byron poem?”
The first time you’d met Spencer, he’d inadvertently caused your painstakingly annotated copy of Lord Byron’s works to go flying all over a cafe, and then kindly helped clean up the pages and reorder them for you in record time. Among the poems had been She Walks in Beauty.
“Yeah. I was trying to figure out when exactly I fell in love with you, and as someone who is deeply skeptical about love at first sight, I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I keep coming back to our first conversation. I mean, I believe in genetic compatibility, and how that contributes to attraction and what we think of as chemistry, but—”
“Wait, what about our first conversation did it?” Your cheeks ache from smiling as you speak. “As I recall I was being a bitch and I was covered in coffee.”
He laughs dreamily, still tracing letters over the small of your back. You wonder what part of the poem he’s at now.
“Yeah, mean to me and covered in coffee is pretty much exactly my type. But I think it was actually the annotations on that copy of Lord Byron’s works. They were so insightful, and personal, I—it kind of took my breath away, and I know I shouldn’t have read them all but I couldn’t stop. You were compelling, and charming, and funny and wildly intelligent and beautiful and… and I didn’t stand a chance.”
Everything aches. It’s a good ache. Despite being seconds from tearing up all over again, you snort. He never told you about that first day.
“You thought me writing ‘sister fucker’ in all caps every time he mentioned Augusta was charming?”
“Oh, obscenely so. But now that I’m looking back, I feel like… I feel like I can’t remember not being in love with you. I mean, I remember when I realized I was, and that was later. But it was like I met you, and then I was just… waiting for you to catch up.”
You grab his hand and interlace your fingers, watching the way the ambient nighttime light from the window and the bathroom dips them half in color.
“We were pretty much on the same page. I was debating courthouse versus small intimate ceremony as soon as you left.”
You watch him watching your joined hands, features soft and relaxed, fiddling with your fingers absentmindedly as he speaks.
“Definitely small intimate ceremony. I have too many friends who would kill me if they weren’t invited to the wedding.”
You giggle and pretend the thought doesn’t give you butterflies. You imagine a ring on your finger, the one he’s got between his own. Marriage had never been something you’d considered. Not when you had no reason to. It seemed like something for other people. But maybe one day, it will be for you, too.
“Did you know Lord Byron had a daughter who is regarded by many as the first computer programmer? She wrote the first algorithm for a theoretical machine that was so complex it couldn’t be built with the technology available at the time. It was called an Analytical Engine.”
He sounds almost wistful as he gives you the utterly unprompted, but still welcome, abridged version of her life. The description is ringing a bell—but you can’t quite place her, sleepy as you are.
“What was her name?”
“Ada Lovelace. She was exceptionally gifted. The odds of parent and child being so extraordinary in their respective fields are incalculable, but from a purely theoretical perspective, negligible. I mean, they’re both massive historical figureheads. That’s extremely uncommon.”
You adore it when he goes off on these tangents—the passion that stains his voice, the ardor that grips him until he has no choice but to tell you exactly what’s got him so excited. You could listen to him talk for hours. It means he’s here with you, and he wants you to love what he loves.
Since he met you, that’s all Spencer has wanted—for you to love what he loves.
You want the same.
“Pretty name,” you murmur, eyes fluttering shut. “Tell me more.”
3K notes
·
View notes
Wanna Make You Mine — {Feat. Minji}
5k words
A/N: Hi, it’s been a while! I felt like I should write and post something, and here it is. This was not written in my best condition, but it’s Minji😌. Honored to have had @chunksworld as a beta-reader and an editor! If you find some amazingly well-written sentences most likely it’s from him haha☺️
Enjoy!
******
It was a few days ago when rain poured heavily, unexpectedly leading to one of the hottest encounters you have ever experienced in your life. And the more you reminisce, the bigger your smile grows, bittersweetly. If someone told you it was a dream, you’d buy that. A fever dream, albeit a short one. But it hasan everlasting lingering image carved in your heart. It was fire-hot, it was ice-cold. Like bubble gum you savor it when it tastes sweet, but it diminishes when the sweet is gone.
The day you forgot your umbrella is a day you will never, ever forget. It was a surprise, a super hot one to you. And like a hit-and-run, it stuns you, and then leaves, barely leaving any marks.
******
You don’t precisely remember since when, but there’s something about her that made her stand out to you. Multiple times you caught her looking your way then quickly avoiding your eyes–it happened enough for you to sense how unusual it is.��
It’s not because she stands out; she doesn’t. She is considered by many as a model student and everyone likes her. Acing quizzes, straight A’s and with a courteous manner. She was given every admirable virtue in her heart, and radiates it like it’s her body odor. A waking proof that humans can be perfect. But she’s not the one to boast about it, keeping down people’s envy in the level of admiration and friendliness.
For you, Kim Minji is just another student who happens to be in the same school as you. Sometimes you get a nod as a sign of greeting from her and sometimes she just passes by. Still, everytime you run into her, her tranquil smile tells you how she became the model student that she is. Not a single person in this school would succeed in disliking her. You see how everyone says hi to her just to hear it back. And with no exception, she does. To you, too, of course. Sometimes she says “hi” first, and sometimes you do.
A respectable student. That’s it. Nothing less, nothing more.
******
Today it is raining. At this point, it’s plausible that God knows you didn’t bring your umbrella for the third time this month. Third time you brought an extra tumbler, third time you left your umbrella at home, and the third time it rained. Youthink of repenting but deep in your mind you know God owes you a big apology, not the other way around.
The downpour is heavy so you decide to wait in school knowing that it will die down in a few minutes, well that's what you hope because you don't want to risk getting any of your stuff wet.
You are and have always been a quiet kid in school—an introvert. Just the right amount of friends, not really prone to being bullied, a surprisingly average amount of female interactions and above-average grades. Just one of those boys who loves listening to music, watching movies and a bunch of other things.
Can’t spend a rainy day without music on your headphones, can you? Plus, it’s just you in this big hallway so you wear it and turn the jazzy classics on while you stroll lazily along the windows. You blindly step to the comforting rhythm of the song watching the droplets kiss the window. Guess you won't blame God for the rain this time.
You look at the dark gray concrete walls, white window frames, bright gray limestone floor, and the wooden doors of the classrooms you walk by. With the music flowing through your ears and rain crashing on the windows right in front of you, even the gloomy colors of the school building looks rather comforting.
So you walk, and walk, and walk until you’re back in front of your classroom. The rain has become a lot more silent than when it started and it’ll get dark soon. You want to spend your Friday evenings at home and not in school.
The rain will have stopped by the sunset and theair would beclean then. You wouldn’t want to miss the glow of the setting sun with such a crystal clear sky. You imagine the view it’d give you, which songs would be perfect to listen to and you just can’t hold a smile back.
“Oh! Oh… hey…” When you open the door, Minji is frightened by you. She looks disheveled from head to toe. Her hair is frazzled, her face ruddy, her breath heavy. But what’s more desecrating is that her shirt is open, her unblemished midriff has a layer of sweat-like liquid coating it, taint on her gray bra. All of it is sent to your brain to process, which causes it to cease functioning for a second.
“D-don’t mind me.” Then she rushes to what you assume to be the restroom Kim Minji, who has never even opened a button of her shirt in school before and yet you just saw her bare belly. You’re blushing, trying not to think about it but you fail miserably. It feels dirty to be like this—she isn’t one of those provocative types of girls to you… or she wasn’t.
But you can’t explain why she’s so frantic with her skin so exposed. Why was she so out of breath and sweaty? Why was she so surprised to see you and then proceeded to rush outside the classroom?
Has she been sacred or sanctimonious? Has she been exemplary or errant?
You know it’s a rash judgment.
You step inside the classroom then walk over to your seat where you find an oddly-placed puddle on the desk. Not as big as a spilled bottle of water, not as small as the drool you usually make when you doze off with your face buried in your arms during class.
You examine it by dipping your finger on it.
Definitely not water.
Then what?
“What's this?” You find a blue switch and pick it up.
“Hey,” Flabbergasted, you turn around so quickly that it slips out of your grip. It's Minji who's standing at the door frame, leaning slightly on the wall.
Her shirt is still open, and so are the stains on her bra and her messy hair. It seems like she didn't tidy herself up in the bathroom.
“Did you spill something on my desk, Minji?” For the moment you think that's what happened. Every clue provided to you is telling you just one thing, and you're pretty sure you got it right. Maybe she'll apologize, and you're going to say it's nothing and help her clean it up. She'll then thank you and say you're such a nice person.
Well, it sure is a possible series of normal things to happen.
Unless Kim Minji brings a crazy plot twist for the two of you only.
“No, I didn't.” And step by step she approaches you. The way she walks draws your eyes to her slick legs and the uniform skirt she's wearing: dark gray as always. But it hangs way higher than usual, so high and short that you almost catch a glimpse of her underwear.
You're just standing there still, wondering why she’s acting unprecedentedly strange. You don’t even recognize that she’s already just in front of you. You’re trying your best not to look at her breasts even when she slowly squats down to the floor.
“You dropped this.” You realize when Minji hands it to you that it is a switch. That she wants it in your hand and that she wants to see you flick your finger on it and turn it on.
“Minji, is this…?” There is only a shy grin on her face. Swear to god, you didn’t even imagine in your dreams that such a thing would happen to you. You’re yet to escape the stage of denial, to be honest. Where was the heads-up to begin with?
“Wanna try turning it on?” Her tone is so casual that you didn’t get it the first time. You’re just totally dumbfounded. Minji sees it, knows it and understands it.
“Go on, do it.” Her eyes are on your fingers. Her teeth dig into her bottomlip. Her eyelids flutter. Your thumb is now on the switch, ready to flick it on. Your thumb presses on it, just enough for the knuckle to whiten up, but not really turn it on.
Her arms hug your neck, and the moment she does, you flick the switch up. You didn’t mean to, but when she hugged you your thumb automatically moved so it was turned on with a clicking sound. An embarrassed gasp leaves your mouth.
But when she buries her face in the crook of your neck and moans all the gibberish improvised excuses building in your head washes away.
At the risk of sounding grandiose, it’s rather the situation she lures you in that is overloading you mentally. It hasn't even been 5 minutes since you ran into her.
“Y-you know…” At this point you can’t even imagine what’s going to unfold. If she confesses that she is in fact an alien from Saturn you’ll sense no absurdity. You’ll just breathe it in.
You feel her body shaking by how her weight changes every second. And you’re standing there like a dumb statue, not knowing where to put your hands, even when she’s almost climaxing mere inches away and your lust is getting completely heightened by it.
“I’ve had a crush on you for so long…”
No one couldn’t have ever anticipated that. For a moment you forgot to breathe; Minji has taken it away. And when she bites into your shoulder you gasp, feeling the tingling sensation rushing down your spine.
“I’ve liked you eversince the first time I saw you by the way.” She’s struggling to make her words distinguishable in between moans and hisses, while you’re struggling to come up with a proper reaction to what you’re currently experiencing.
This whole situation you find yourself in is so foul and so hot given that she’s one of the most admirable students of your school. She was supposed to be out of your league and yet somehow the timid and quiet boy is who she wanted all along.
“You’re going to make me cum…!” Hearing it coming through her lips makes your head spin, makes your cock throb painfully inside your pants. You don’t even expect yourself to think straight, nor want to think straight.
During the day she’s a model student, then after school she becomes a kinky pervert. It’s the least possible thing in your life to happen and yet here you are.
But when she cums and squirts on your pants, you’re proven very wrong.
“I… I like you.” Out of breath she whispers, still cumming and you support her by her bare waist. You switch off the toy and just let her go through the bliss of post orgasm.
As she comes down her arms let go of you, still panting. “Do you like me too?” That’s not even a question, as her eyes are on your shirt and her hands are already halfway down unbuttoning it.
“Minji…” You take her already open shirt off of her arms before fondling her breasts over her bra. Your eyes are fixed at the pair in your hands while you can feel hers glaring into your eyes.
“Mhm. Go on. Take as much as you like.” Her hands seductively unbutton your shirt, one by one, from the top down. She’s not in a hurry but in a matter of seconds your top vanishes. Then she puts her lips dangerously close to yours, hovering and tickling your lips with subtle skims.
“But don’t forget to let me do the same, okay?” She sounds so full of confidence but her face is as red as yours. The eyelock doubles and triples the heat between you two and when the distance is completely eliminated by a messy lip lock, your heart begins to beat out of your chest.
Her tongue is aggressive inside around yours. Her hand is already a hand of a luster, already sneaking down on your pants sending shivers up to the crown of your head so easily. You grab and unhook your belt, and Minji purrs delightfully when she sees your erection spring out ontoher belly.
“This is a yes, right?” Minji pushes you lightly, just enough for you to know that she wants you on the desk. Her tummy brushes against your erection as she climbs up to face you again after swiftly removing her bra. You’re met with her mouthwatering pair of breasts pressed against your bare chest.
“I don’t understand why…” Her fingers trace down your jawline to your lips. The placidity oozing out from her words is making you fret over—inside, you want her to take advantage of this one-way situation as much as she can. Your hands find her sweaty tits and fondle them softly, and she moans with a dreamy smile.
“But you kinda make me feel things. Unexplainable, but certainly that’s more than just love.” It's an overwhelming lust you obviously planted in her. You can see how ripe it is, and now you’re reaping it. It’s sweet, the flesh, the hue is so mature and obscene.
“Say something, hmm?” When you part your lips to say ‘I like you too’, however, her tongue ties a knot on yours. You feel the pace suddenly upshift when she strokes your cock slowly and when you involuntarily moan and flinch. Your breaths overload your lungs while your mouth has totally fallen by what the intertwined tongues are doing inside.
“Minji… I-I like you too.” You didn’t mean to just whisper it. However it somehow did work as the cue to make her start pleasuring you with her hand.
The smirk on her face is almost a burden to your already weary mind, topped with the anticipating lip bite. And those glaring, sly eyes which eventually force yours to squeeze shut. The sensation is too much for you to take in as it is, so your nails dig into your palms hard and your head tilts backwards.
You don’t look comfortable at all—you aren’t, with all the unreal touches and heated breaths being poured on your skin. But that doesn’t mean you’re not enjoying this, of course. Her hand is pumping your cock at a constant rhythm, her groaning voice matches yours as if it’s as tantalizing to her as well.
“I’m glad you said that.” As if her confession was to be ignored by you. It was more of a seduction than a platonic confession to think about. Not that you can properly think while you’re getting mentally wrung by her.
“You would’ve never known…” Minji slows down her hand around your throbbing cock. You open your eyes to be faced with her orbs mere inches away.
Lust doesn’t seem to have dispersed from the jetty pair of pupils. “...how many times you relieved my stress from all the studying.” She continues her lewd confession of her sexual fantasies about you which could’ve been kept a secret… But what more to hide when you two are touching each other’s sex and mixing body fluids?
When your fingers brush against her inner thighs, she hisses and tightens the grip on your cock. Nearing her core, you can feel the moist lust seeping out, leaking and running.
“Do you think about me often too? Who am I to you?” You hesitate. But she doesn’t want any lies. Nor do you.
“You’re just a… the model student of the school. A pretty one. A pretty, smart girl that I run into often.” You amazingly finish the sentence while riding off to the very edge of your patience under her bewitching strokes.
Just enough to feel incredibly heady but still seconds away from exploding on her hand. Your fingers aren’t idle either, as two of those smoothly enter her damp entrance. The tips of your fingers reach her toy inside and you pull it out slowly.
You see her belly flutter from the sensation of it. “Put your fingers in deeper,” She pleads as grinding herself on your fingers, situating you two in a mutual masturbation.
“I want to cum with you.” Her words trigger so many things inside you. Deeper and darker things, something the superficial you don’t possess. Something every guy would hide and keep deep under the surface and wait for the very chance to bring up.
Your fingers move, inside and out while hers move up and down. Both relentlessly, hungrily almost. The desire to see each other drown in bliss is paralleling the desire to feel it for oneself. You’re almost there, hoping that she is, too.
“Minji, I-I am… I can’t-“ You’re miserably stuttering, tongue twisted by how unblemished the sensation is from all sides—her soft hands working ever so hard and hot on the head of your cock, her lewd moans tickling your eardrums. Her face, that face making a look that just screams sex.
In no time you explode first, spurt after spurt in her hands as she still keeps on pumping it with pace. Your groan never dies down until you’re completely out of breath and strength.
Then Minji restarts grinding on your fingers that she stopped when you blasted the turbid pleasure on her fingers. You look up from her cum-coated fingers to her eyes, and it’s a head-spinning hypnosis that beams into your eyes from hers.
Dense, intense, a bit lethargic in a way and flooding with lust—seeing her crush cum in her very own hand, must’ve sent her into another galaxy at least, possibly another dimension. That is what sex can do even to a woman of high status.
“That was so hot. Now will you help me with this?” You already are when you’re snapped back from drifting off in the ocean of bliss.
“I will.” You literally sigh words out as you still are trying to regain your breaths. You lay her down on the desks and crawl up to level with her face, fingers still making the dirty wet sound.
Minji’s face is a mess; it’s red, it’s sweaty, in need, desperate. Her eyes are fixed on your lips, her mouth agape, breathing into your face, it’s hot, her hands touching and squeezing her own breasts, her throat vibrates into your teeth and tongue when you kiss and bite it. And it happens to splash you all at once like a tsunami, but without the premonitory phenomena.
Kiss her neck, jawline and back to her lips. Her tongue welcomes yours, and after a few seconds she screams into your throat airily with her hands holding onto your shoulders.
“I’m close, I’m close, I’m-Oh!”
Hearing her you circle her clitoris with your thumb and it sends her away to bliss. To a heavenly abyss, where she doesn’t want to be bailed out. She’s squirting too, which makes it even hotter aside from her orgasming on your fingers. The watery sound makes you want to push into her even deeper.
You’re hard as rock again in no time after seeing the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen, the least touchable girl in your school cum under your body on your own fingers. In school, in your classroom, on the table.
“Oh my god, is that your bag?” It’s a black backpack that her secretion is dripping onto. Minji is more entertained than concerned to your eyes however, and so are you. You wouldn’t mind if your iPad is broken from all the water for now.
“No, I don’t care. Mine is over there I guess.” You’re not sure, but not that you ever want to be. Because your eyes lock before hers darting at your cock on her above her belly. Then she looks into you again. And that’s it.
“Do you want to-“
“Yes.” It doesn’t even need any brainpower to say yes. So you take your agonizingly hard cock to her entrance. First you rub it against her pussy slowly, and it makes her let out a small gasp.
Her hands are on your arms, tightly gripping. Her eyes, they’re fixed at yours, her beauty beaming at you, and it flutters when your tip enters her hot cavern. Her fingers dig a little deeper into your arms, her teeth into her lip, as you enter her bit by bit.
It’s a whole new sensation to be wrapped around the wet walls. And considering that this is your first time, it’s not odd to be totally enraptured and indulge deep in straight away.
“Mmm…!” Your eyes roll back when you push in until you can’t. The world around you narrows down to only you two, hot breaths, sweaty skin and a mutual high that you never want to be detached from.
“G-go on, I’ll make you feel good.” As if you need any more motivation to dive in.
Minji’s coquettish smile is the last thing you see before you spontaneously shut your eyes and groan as you go deeper and deeper. You’re barely breathing, barely thinking, barely sensing anything.
“F-fuck me…”
Her shaking voice cooing those words is a complete switch-off to your reason. She said it shyly, with a burning face and big eyes looking up at you—it must be her first time to do this—and single-handedly sending shivers up your spine.
“Ah… Mmm yes!” You begin to move, and even to the slightest moves she reacts so sensitively. Her walls are wringing around your cock, pulsing and matching her intermittent moans as you gradually, tantalizingly raise the pace.
It’s as if time itself ceased running. Just you and Minji, feeling every part of each other, moaning against each other’s skin, a locomotive with a broken brake. Broken brake, but with a fully functioning accelerator.
As you up the pace her hands find your shoulders for support as yours roam around her torso. Her sharp shoulders, to her perky tits, brushing your thumb on her stomach randomly, overloading her with your touches.
You lack subtlety and it’s even visible to yourself. Not knowing where to put your hands, not knowing what to say, only thrusting in and out and getting so worked up by hearing her moans and her face flooding with sex.
Eyes barely holding on, moans escaping her agape mouth along with her hot breaths, blushed cheeks. Her hands find the back of your head and pull you into a kiss, and it gives you the feeling of being possessed.
Like you’ve become hers.
Like you’re fucking her pussy and now kissing her with intertwined tongues for her, not for yourself. Which somehow, to your surprise, aggravates the lust deep inside you. A hidden need for the dynamics, even unseen to you.
Seems there will be plenty of time for you two to explore it further.
You go even faster in return for the kindling kiss she dragged you into. Her grip tightens, traps you in her arms—not that you ever want to escape—suffocating you with the sloppy lip lock.
And it throws a barrel of oil to your already-flaming fire. Your breath is completely taken by Minji, without any chance to get out, your will is rather on the side of dying with Kim Minji absorbing the last breath you have.
Soon her walls begin to pulsate around your cock, her screams that reverberate in your skull are now about to tip you over into unconsciousness.
“So good… I’m about to c-cum.” Her voice shakes. Your thrusts keep the pace, at a steady rhythm you’re pounding into her leaking pussy. The tightness goes up like crazy, her thighs lock your hips in and it makes you, forces you to discover her inside even deeper.
With every thrust Minji voices out how well your cock is stirring her inside. And the elevating tension in her moans lets you know how close she is to-
“Cumming…! Fuck!”
A trance. It is a frenzy, an ecstatic upheaval that overwhelms your patience, that demolishes the dam and lets whatever behind the wall flood in.
When her fingers dig painfully deep into your head, when her teeth leave an intaglio of her love, when her legs lock you in, for you to join her with the heady pleasure…
A streak of benumbing orgasm shatters your nerves as you paint her stomach and her heaving chest. It seems to never end, spurt after spurt until the repose is here. You can only stare at her—her still high face, cum-coated breasts and tummy heaving up and down.
You both are taking in the messed up view of each other, eyes locked but no words or signals delivered. You just stare into her eyes hoping that she makes a move on you first. To take you where she wants, perhaps. Another round could be awesome, but either way you’ll be so satisfied.
Together. With Minji.
“Let me bring something to clean-”
“No.”
Her hands snatch yours. Not strongly, but just soft enough to let you know what she means.
“Stay here for more… With me.”
******
“Hey. So… Can I ask you exactly when?”
Dark purple sky, humid breeze of midsummer. Clouds that showered the earth with their own bodies are now completely gone, and you and Minji are walking down the street towards the sunset.
“It was when you picked up my notebooks I dropped. You were putting on your headphones. Hair was just long enough to look good, and on top of everything… What I fell for was the smile on your face. I don’t remember the date it happened, but it was special. So special.”
Her fingers then sneak under your palm, in between your fingers and lock with yours together. It’s warm and soft. A romantic placidity under one of the most beautiful sunsets you’ve ever seen.
Her thumb lightly brushes on the back of your hand as you keep walking down the serene road. “But I don’t think you’ve wanted to do this since then, right? Not complaining, but it was quite an unexpected way of confession. Especially from you.”
Minji giggles with her crescent eyes looking down at the ground. “It’s been only weeks… I got so stressed out from studying and one day… I tried touching myself then I suddenly thought of you. Since that day, you know, it’s been like that.”
But there’s no shyness anymore. It’s not a secret anymore, at least between you and her. Nothing is. Nothing will be.
It’s a hot thing to think about. A girl touching herself thinking about you. And that girl being Minji is what surpasses your imagination. She even got caught pleasuring herself in your classroom today-
Or even that was part of the plan. You think of asking her about it, but at the same time, you don’t want to make any gaffe come out of your mouth. Right now is where the tinge of romance should fade in, not that.
“You can, you know, call me honey… If you… want…” Minji’s grip on your hand gets tighter as her shy laughters follow. It immediately makes your face burn. You look at her and find that it’s doing the same to her too.
“Okay, Minji-I mean, honey.” You feel your face drumming to the beat of your heart. But it doesn’t hide the happy smile on your face.
A girlfriend.
And a boyfriend.
It’s mutual from now on. The first love in your life starts.
“It’s my home already.” She stops in front of a white two-story house and turns to you.
“Alright, goodbye, honey.” You let her hand go but it doesn’t leave yours. Instead, a zesty grin blooms on her face and she hums an airy chuckle.
“Not before this.”
Her lips find yours. They don’t open, but it’s a kiss filled with heartiness, a long peck, with an artificial smacking sound made by her.
“See you tomorrow honey!”
******
It is raining just like yesterday; you forgot your umbrella just like yesterday too. And you decide to stay at school until it stops.
As if you’re seeing a deja vu of yesterday.
Only if you could see a deja vu of yesterday.
Minji didn’t run into you today. She didn’t come to your class to say hi. She didn’t come to her class.
She didn’t come to school today.
The day passed uneventfully just like yesterday. Class after class, lunch breaks and “see you tomorrow”s from classmates. But painfully, the only one who said it yesterday with a kiss wasn’t here to keep her words.
And the day ended just like that. No sign of Minji.
“You heard that?” Just before you put on your headphones, something penetrates your ears.
“Minji moved to New York!”
What?
You almost shouted but managed to deal with that.
First, it’s denial that hits you.
“What do you mean? I saw her just yesterday!” The other guy looks as confused as you are.
Second, the word ‘why’ comes up in your head.
“I don’t know, man. Everything I heard was the teachers talking that there was a sudden incident that left no choice for her family but to move.”
Third, denial again.
You wanted to stand up and ask them, but what you are going to get is a weird look and a “Why do you even care?”
Didn’t she tell me ‘see you tomorrow’?
It’s all complicated for now.
Maybe you yourself are to blame for not asking your girlfriend’s number.
But it doesn’t matter anymore, does it?
It was your first love, starting hot yet pure.
Now it’s as if all was a reverie.
The air you breathe hasn’t changed, the classes you attend were the same, it rained like yesterday, and your umbrella stayed at home again.
But there was no Minji, although you still hear her merrily say-
‘See you tomorrow, honey!’
******
815 notes
·
View notes