ikissdhimbck | OOM: Room #100 -- For Tommy Gavin

"None?"

The thrum of her heart still echoing in her ears severely limits her math skills, but she knows it's been several months since they met.

"Y'do realize I can hurt you if you're lyin' t'me, right?"

More blinking.

"Honey, most of the blood in my system is in my groin right now. I can't lie. I can barely form-- complete--"

He trails off, eyes wide and pleading.

"All right, all right."

She's equal parts soothing and smiling; she wouldn't laugh at him, not now, but he just looks so pathetic. She doesn't want to risk pushing him to the point of frustration.

She cups his face, getting on her tiptoes to kiss him, soft and sweet.

"Okay. Thank you. Jus' — tell me if that changes, hm?"

Her nose brushes his, hands sliding down his arms to come to rest over his knuckles. She encourages his hands to her waistband. Lips inches from his, she breathes a too-soft 'please?', catching his bottom lip and sucking lightly. She's trying to relax him again, every small movement — hips brushing up against his, thumbs slipping across his bare stomach, lips feathering his mouth, chin, cheeks, jaw — accompanied by a soft word.

"Promise me?"

He's quickly brought back to the same point to just before the moment she'd asked her question, because he's easy that way.

With her encouragement, his fingers slip under her waistband, pushing her sweatpants down over her hips by increments. As she plies him with the most intoxicating of touches and kisses, he'd say yes to anything.

"I promise."

He might have to be reminded at a later date, but for now, he'll agree to it wholeheartedly if it means getting her pants to slip further down her thighs.

She presses a kiss to his sideburn, and smiles against his ear.

"Okay."

Her teeth scrape the dampness of her exhalations off his skin. Biting, kissing, tasting — holding him at her level, while her body shifts against him. She's helping encourage her pants off without pulling away.

Eventually the cotton pools at her ankles, leaving her in nothing but her silk knickers. A satin ribbon holds them up, like a gift wrap bow sitting against her belly.

His hands sweep over the incredibly smooth fabric that clings to the curves of her hips and thighs, and as he gets caught up in her teeth and tongue and lips, something primal clicks in his brain. He decides that it's time.

He pulls away, and without warning, he wraps one arm around her middle and sweeps her legs out from under her with the other. Destination: bed.

The last time he did this was when she was drunk. And fully clothed. Her being sober and nearly naked is much more fun.

Her breath catches.

"Anyone ever tell you y'have a flair for the dramatic?"

Laughter dances in her words as he carries her the few short feet to the bed. Her fingers curl around his collar, making sure he doesn't go far when he sets her down again.

"Doesn't seem fair, you fully clothed."

Hint, hint.

A wolfish grin. "All the time."

Setting her down, he moves onto the bed and straddles her, hovering over her on his hands and knees. He bends his head to plant a row of kisses across the tops of her breasts, his hair sweeping over her clavicle.

"I was gonna get to that," he murmurs, smirking against her skin.

Raising himself back up, he tugs his t-shirt up over his head and flings it off. If he didn't do the kind of work he does, he'd be just this side of skinny, but as it is he's still solid and sturdy, with lean shoulders and ropey arms.

With his tousled hair hanging in his eyes, he looms over her again, as he then starts to unbuckle his belt and undo his fly.

Goosebumps rise everywhere his hair brushes her skin. She's breathing hard again, trying to will the tremor out of her fingertips.

Hands brush his torso, curious and light, reading his body like braille. When he leans forward again she can't help but pull her nails across his skin, tracing the line of his waistband all the way to his fumbling hands. Lifting her head, kissing him with passion, she attempts to take over.

Their fingers tangle and he exhales a growling hum into her mouth, a hint of a smile pulls at his lips.

This leaves a hand free to glide down her belly, rapidly rising and falling as she breathes. He finds the satin ribbon and tugs the knot free, and with the waistband loosened, he slides the silk down past her hips.

She moans, biting down on his lip. One hand falls away from his jeans to provide some leverage as she lifts her hips, helping him guide the silk past her backside.

Once she's finished hunting for buttons she manages to get his zipper undone, peeling his jeans open and pulling at them insistently.

With a growl and a grunt, he only breaks contact between their mouths so he can lean back and shove both his jeans and his briefs down to his knees.

By the looks of it, he's ready to go.

Her silk knickers get pulled all the way down her legs, his rough hands following in their wake, and he tosses the garment aside where it lands somewhere near his t-shirt.

And then he's on top of her again, between her thighs, hips eagerly pressing against hers.

The world narrows.

His name is on her tongue, mingling with gasps and moans.

Her hand curls in the bed sheets, as her other skips down his spine.

Her leg shifts, catching on his hip.

She's excited, and scared, and hot, and breathless. She's electric.

Her head falls back, hips shifting just so.

His mouth finds her bared throat, teeth raking over her pulsepoint.

One hand slides down her side and along her thigh, grasping it tightly and hiking it higher up on his hip.

And as her hips shift, so do his, and his hardened flesh drags against her wetness. With a growling moan at the sensation, he grinds against her again, working her up, fingertips digging into her thigh.

"Oh."

Her nerves shift from tense to over-sensitive so fast it almost makes her head spin. Years of being pent up, reserved, proper shatter in an instant, and her skin jumps and hums under his touch. She rocks against him.

Her fingertips sink into the dimples in his backside, pulling him closer.

Her breath shudders in her lungs, but she manages two words.

The first is his name

and the second is a soft

"Please."

Tommy ought to have some sort of Pavlovian reaction to the word please by now -- perhaps bracing himself for an undue interruption.

But he doesn't. (It would suck if he did.)

He angles his hips. And he thrusts, pushing into her--

A sudden groan escapes through his teeth and he blinks wildly.

"Jeezus Christ," he exhales in between breathless panting, catching himself before he starts to come.

She wasn't kidding when she said that it'd been a while. The last time he was with a girl this tight was when he was in high school. Catholic high school.

Her breath catches roughly, head tossed back so hard that her back comes off the mattress momentarily.

She tries cussing, but it only comes out as a hiss.

At length she relaxes, biting her tongue. Her eyes flutter open, impossibly blue and wide as the pleasure mixes with pain.

When she arches beneath him, his free hand fists in the pillow at the overwhelming sensation of her body going taut, her breasts chafing against his chest.

Still panting hotly, he mouths up the side of her neck and along her jaw. He catches sight of her fluttering eyelids.

"Y'alright?" he grunts, his hair brushing her cheek as he kisses her under her chin.

The hand on her thigh moves underneath her to press at the small of her back.

She bites down hard on her lower lip, eyes squeezing shut again.

"Mmmhm."

Burying her face in the crook of his neck, she slowly uncurls her hand from the bed sheets and grasps the side of his neck, thumb brushing the skin behind his ear. Her fingers slip into his hair.

"Don't stop."

She grazes the scar on his hip, dragging her nails up along his spine.

He bows his head against the side of her face, his deep, heavy breath moist on her skin.

Then with a growl and a shudder, his back arches under the scrape of her fingernails and his hips reflexively snap forward, thrusting into her again. And again. And again.

His rhythm is hard but steady, and not at all in the vein of making love but something more primitive, more animalistic, as his senses narrow down to simply reveling in how she feels around him, under him, all over him.

She gasps with every movement, lips trembling against his neck. Eyes shut tight and hand pressed to his back, holding on hard, she struggles to find his rhythm. It's different from how she remembers. It's intense, and nearly painful; it's almost like her first time all over again.

She keeps going tight around him, sucking air in between tightly clenched teeth and letting it back out in groans. She holds on to a fistful of his hair, tugging now and then like she's handling a pair of reins.

It might be a subconscious reaction but when she tugs his hair, his hips shift, angling deeper as his pace becomes more drawn out.

"Pull harder," he growls.

His hand roams her body, caressing her back, the slim curve of her waist, the softness of her breast with his warm, heavy touch.

She maunders breathlessly, invoking a few deities and several very unladylike words. They wash over his skin, sticking in places, leaving letters of perspiration she inks her fingers with.

She splays her hand, gathering a bigger handful of his hair, and pulls tight.

Choking his name, she rises to meet his thrusts. Her body touches his in waves; stomach to stomach, chest to chest, legs wrapping tight around him to keep their hips snug. With every thrust deeper, she goes tighter.

Exhilarated, he barks out a louder growl as his scalp is left tingling, giving no indication to ease up.

The friction doubles when she starts to thrust back, and her lithe movements drive rough grunts and groans of encouragement from his lips. There's something satisfying about getting her to blaspheme, to talk dirty, to move dirty.

And Christ, her legs -- that's how he knows she wants him deep, and wants to keep him deep, and in the process, keep him turned on, because goddamn.

She isn't going to last much longer.

Her skin is singing, her heart fit to burst, and everything has narrowed down, down, down to the breadth of a pinhead. Pleasure, and pain, and a burning in her lungs, half-moons in her palm from clenching her hand so tight. Mouth ajar, silent screams on her tongue; her stomach contracts, jumps, rises.

"Tommy!"

She shudders, throwing her head back. She arches against him, stars behind fiercely clamped eyelids, and goes taut as a bowstring. Her hands slide to his backside and press him closer, nails digging into his skin.

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