rosarianoath

“Entice,” he says, lifting his arm to wrap around her as she settles in. He closes his eyes briefly, letting the sensation of her mouth and fingers wash over him. “And frighten perhaps the smallest bit… but I don’t mind.”

This is comfortable, if not a little cramped. But she kind of likes being cramped with him. She tugs his boxers down so that she can free him, fingers eager for hot skin.

"I'm hardly frightening," she chuckles, hooking a leg over his because she can. "I'm only eager to make you happy."

He’s hard and hot and, as he thinks with some concern, liable to make a significant mess of both of them. He flushes just thinking about it, and looking down to see her slight fingers wrapped around his dick only makes him run hotter.

“It is that very eagerness that gives you power over me,” he murmurs.

"Then does that frighten you, too? That smallest bit."

She smiles, stroking him, full lengths up and down. It's more for her than for him, at first--she's missed how he feels in her palm.

“It is frightening to succumb completely to any power.”

With her on top of him it’s harder to buck up into her hand, but founder, he tries anyway —- he has to do his share of the work, doesn’t he?

"It shouldn't be so when the power only wishes to make you happy," Jill teases, fingertips playing with the head of his cock as he tries to thrust. "You'll learn."

With time and practice.

This isn't where he thought bedroom talk would go, and it's intriguing. He closes his eyes again with a pant of a breath.

"I'll learn," he repeats. Confirms? He isn't sure.

Leave it to Clive to take it as a command. Jill strokes him fully, looking down at her hand around his cock.

"I hope I'm worth the wait."

"You already––" He moans. He doesn't return to the sentence.

He needs something to do with his free hand, so he takes her face in his palm and directs it back to him so he can kiss her deeply, hungrily.

It's a perfect little noise from him, one that has her smiling into the kiss until she greets his tongue with her own. He tastes warm and familiar.

She strokes him with reverence, steady and sure. He deserves all her love despite the bumps in the road. She knows that.

Orgasm comes so fast he can't even warn her; before long, he's spilling milky white come, long, thick ropes onto his own belly and shirt, others caught on her fingers as she jerks him and sliding around with every stroke. The kiss is crushing for an instant and then eases off as he can't do more than seize up, clutching her face and panting into her mouth, eyes rolling back briefly.

Perfect. Every moment is perfect, from the mess between her fingers to the pressure from his hold and his mouth. She moans against his lips, gentle with his cock as she slowly rests it on his belly.

"I've missed that," she says quietly before busying herself with kissing down his jaw to his neck, tongue searching for his pulse as he comes down.

Clive clutches her, the sensation hitting him like a lightning bolt to the gut before it's gone again, leaving him with an odd weightlessness. His chest rises and falls heavily, and he can only nod and breathlessly press a kiss to her forehead, her temple, whatever he can reach in turn.

"I have too. Thank you."

She turns at some point to catch his lips in a sweeter kiss, sticky hand moving over his belly and smearing the mess already there.

"My pleasure," she tells him with a smile and a nuzzle of her nose against his. "I would make you feel like this every day if I could."

How a lady like her could enjoy running her fingers through his mess, he'll never understand, but he's glad she does. He chuckles, closing his eyes again.

"Perhaps someday I'll let you."

Right now, that level of attention makes him nervous.

"And we'd never get anything done," she says, amused. She puts her hand on his hip so that she can push herself up and press a kiss to his brow.

And then, because they're on the damn laundry, she grabs a shirt from behind his head to use to clean them both up.

"Best take your shirt off so I can wash it."

She won't complain about the view.

He's loathe to take his shirt off and risk getting his own cum in his face for his trouble, but it must be done. He sits up with a little groan and pulls off his t-shirt with the fabric held as far away from his face as possible.

"The rest, too?"

Jill's wiping her fingers clean with the other shirt while watching him, smile on her lips. He's handsome. Everything he does reminds her of the fact--even something so simple as sitting up to take off his shirt.

Her smile widens and she nods.

"I suppose you should..."

Clive, scruffy haired and only one orgasm away from having been dead asleep, looks at her like she's the slyest thing on the planet.

"At the lady's request," he says, tossing the shirt in the pile with the rest of the dirty laundry... or what he assumes is dirty laundry. He starts pulling off his socks. "I should shower anyway..."

"That's a wonderful idea," she tells him. The smile remains on her face as she watches him, the muscles and lines of his body moving as he leans this way and that.

"Will you be steady on your own two feet?" Surely it's dangerous to go alone.

Jill looks a moment away from giggles.

“I think I will survive, but I will not say no to you,” he says, getting to his feet with his wet cock in one hand. His boxers are wet where he’d rubbed against them, and the wet smear of come lingers on his belly. “You can start it for me if you like…”

Jill, with no attempt to hide her joy, hops to her feet. She does pause to press a kiss to his shoulder before scurrying off to his bathroom, turning on the water a moment later.

She's happy. She hopes he is, too. This is playful and sweet--but no less affectionate, she thinks.

He cracks a smile, not quite swift enough to kiss her head in turn, and he follows after her. His bathroom is small and cramped, and he has banged his elbows many times in the narrow shower stalls, but it gets the job done. He waits for her to step out so he can step in.

"I'll be quick," he promises.

She still has a smile on her face when he swaps spots with her--any hopes of getting in there with him are dashed when she sees how much space he takes up--and she leans in for another kiss, this time on the lips.

"Next time, I'll insist you take a bath upstairs."

But she'll leave it at that, fingers brushing over his hand before she gives him a few moments of privacy to wash his junk.

He kisses her briefly, amused, his back against the wall the whole time.

"Next time," he promises.

He has to wait until she's practically out of the bathroom to close the door behind him.

And he is quick, as promised, emerging not five minutes later with wet hair and damp towel around his waist. He shuffles off to his room to get clothes.

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