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Exactly how long have you been laying here?
Time feels like an illusion, shed like your clothing and panties across the room that is currently filled with the soundtrack of your moaning and Dante’s muffled, soft grunting as the couch you’re spread across rocks gently back and forth across the wooden floor.
He’s on his knees, face buried at the apex of your spread thighs, large hands digging into soft flesh so hard you’re sure that indentations will be left to admire later this evening. Your hips drag across the lower half of his face, one of your hands tangled in his hair while the other dangles off of the side, knuckles dragging across the floor.
Another orgasm rips through you, sending tremors through your body, and it appears this one was the last he wants to administer via tongue, removing it from inside of you and lifting his face slightly to speak.
“You ready, beautiful?”
Blue eyes peek up from between your legs, the silver brows that top them raised jovially. Giggling, you nod and spread your legs wider to accommodate his width the very best you can on this too-small-for-both-of-you piece of furniture.
Your bed is just a few steps from here but where’s the fun in that? Things started here, beneath the final dregs of the wintery sunlight drenching your living room, they may as well finish here too.
Sliding between your thighs, he leans in to kiss you, allowing you to taste the fruits of his labor across his messy mouth. His hands fall to your waist, sliding lower to wrap around your hips. Ceasing the kissing, you whine when he taps your clit with the sticky head of his cock.
“I think you’ve made me wait long enough,” you grumble, attempting to pull him closer with your legs and arms both.
Dante does all he can to prevent you from getting your way as usual, rocking his hips so that the bulk of his girth presses down over your wet, sticky folds.
“You weren’t complaining when my mouth was full.” Chuckling, he rocks back and forth. “I seem to recall a lot of ‘more’, ‘please’, and ‘don’t stop’…”
Looking up in annoyance, you find it hard to do a thing besides smile wryly to match the grin he’s pointing down at you. His eyes are soft yet they pin you in place, your arguments and annoyances dying while adoration sprouts in their place.
“I love you,” you whisper softly, hands reaching and sliding across his forearms and biceps, feeling every inch they can.
Leaning down, he kisses your forehead.
“You play so dirty,” he whispers back, lips pressed against your hair. Finally, he angles his hips so that he can push the first inch of himself inside of you before you can protest that your sweetness wasn’t merely an attempt to get him to bend to your whims even if he clearly fell for it.
What can he say? There’s no one else he’d rather be a fool for.
Your mouth drops in a gasp, head following behind it, eyes fluttering shut as pleasure consumes you once more. The loss of your eyes on him and your bodies offends the man who loves you and he leans in, closing the distance between your bodies, burying his fingers in your hair and wrapping the length of it around his fist.
As gently as he can, Dante tilts your head downward, handsome smirk across his face.
“Would hate for you to miss the show.”
Your eyes widen, a whimper escaping while witnessing the positively sinful sight of his length disappear inside of your warm, welcoming cunt and then reappear with one wicked thrust of his hips. Each thrust rocks your body alongside it, your mouth falling open with a breathy whisper of his name.
“You like that?”
All you can manage is a nod, mind far too hazy to come up with anything clever to say. An unusual circumstance for the brilliant woman that you are to find herself in but he’d be lying if he denied loving being the one who fucks you dumb.
“Feels good,” you mumble, reaching across your body to graze your fingers down his defined torso, fingers crawling while you fight against the grip he has on your hair trying to tip your head backward.
“Nuh uh,” he teases with a chuckle, keeping your eyes firmly pointed at where his glistening cock continues to prod the spot that nearly has your eyes rolling back into your skull. “I’m not done yet.”
Whining, you attempt to wrap your legs around his hips to pull him closer. He stops you in the act, pulling out completely and plunging back in, mission abandoned in favor of a squeal and squirm across the couch.
He loves how reactive your entire body is to him — your toes curl and feet arch in response to the crown of him buried deeply. Your back arches and your hips cant eagerly, attempting to meet his frantic pace. That pretty face twists into something he can only describe as heavenly, pursed lips and bitten lower lip and gently furrowed brow.
He can feel how close you are, your cunt desperately clenching and working to keep him buried deeply, which only tips him closer to the edge himself. Every inch of him buzzes with delight, your hands now exploring more than just his torso, back to feeling his forearms and biceps and chest. Unexpectedly, he leans down and presses his forehead against yours, insisting upon eye contact.
Two can play your little game.
“I love you,” he mutters, wetting his lips with his tongue, brows furrowing as his thrusts grow more frantic.
As if the magic words were muttered, your back arches off of the cushions, moaning loud enough the neighbor starts to knock on the wall across the room, rattling the picture frames. The couch continues to rock across the floor thanks to the strength of Dante’s thrusting and you laugh breathlessly, reaching up to cup his face, fingers caressing his stubbly jaw.
“Not as much as I love you,” you taunt.
He uses his grip on your hair to pull your face against his, kissing you before this little back and forth erupts into a full blown power play. There’s no way you could ever love him more than he loves you, so consumed with it that even the simplest brush of your lips against him sends him careening over the edge of pleasure, spilling inside of you, his home.