ikissdhimbck | OOM: Room #100, for Tommy Gavin

His groan is muffled against her lips, and he returns the kiss just as hard, as his hand sweeps underneath her to follow the the taut arc of her back.

At this point all her cues are clear.

He reaches between them and grasps her wrist, pulling her hand away to pin it to the bed beside her head. Wrenching his mouth from hers, he meets her eyes with a fierce and lusty gaze, and presses his hips firmly against hers.

She grunts when he pins her down, half-heartedly resisting. She feels in no way threatened by him, she just doesn't like relinquishing control sometimes.

She's built to roam free.

Her gaze hones in on his, dark — almost angry — full of desire. The intimacy is ferocious, in stark contrast to the last time they laid together.

Breathing hard, her hips rock against his. She drowns in the friction, steadily working herself up as she tries to position him at her center.

He knows she bucks against being restrained in any way. This certainly isn't as far as he could push her -- right now it's just his way of playing with fire.

With their faces just inches from one another, her breath is hot on his parted lips; her cheeks are flushed and damp from his own breath, the close space between them rapidly heating up.

Pressing the palm of his free hand flat against the small of her back, he angles his hips forward, the head of his shaft meeting her wet flesh just as she rocks downward. With a growl through clenched teeth, he curls his fingers tighter around her wrist at the sensation, his raspy breathing quick and shallow, his eyes burning.

Her struggle is forgotten the instant she feels the press of his flesh. She's thrown into open space for one delicious second, breath caught in her throat, heart skipping a beat, weightless and thrilled. She tosses her head back as he slides inside her, letting out a sharp cry of pleasure.

Jesus. The fit is still tight; she barely notices the way his grip tightens on her wrist.

(Or the way her grip tightens in his hair.)

She hooks her leg over his hip, pressing him in deeper. Little by little, inch by inch, thighs trembling around him. God, she almost hates this, and all she can think is more.

Her cry raises goosebumps up and down his arms. The quiver of her thighs as she takes him in drives every coherent thought out of his brain.

He runs his lips and teeth along her upturned jaw.

"Relax," he rasps into her ear.

Each time she exhales, her inner muscles loosen a fraction, and that's when he pushes deeper into her, bit by bit. The friction is still almost deliriously unbearable; he has to steel himself against coming too soon. Eventually he does slip all the way inside her, and he pauses for a moment, the both of them breathlessly clutching at each other.

Her teeth sink into her lip.

Relax.

She concentrates on breathing, taking him in, resuming her slow struggle to free her hand. Once he's as deep as he can go, she opens her eyes.

His hair tickles her cheeks. She holds his gaze, lips quivering, chest heaving. She's wrapped up in him so completely it's hard to know where he ends and she begins. Her lips bush his. She nudges his nose with her own. Their foreheads touch, hand slipping to the back of his neck, holding him close.

"Don't make me beg."

She kisses him tenderly.

He loses himself in her in this moment, in her touch, her whisper, her body wrapped around him, inside and out.

His grip loosens on her wrist. He returns her kiss, fingers twining with hers, palm-to-palm.

And his lips don't leave hers as his hips begin to move, firmly but slowly at first, wordlessly letting her set the pace that she wants.

She lets out a hard breath with each thrust, voice going from strained and tense to warm, smoke in a shot glass, as he adjusts his pace.

She squeezes his hand.

Her eyes roll back, and she concentrates every other sense on him. The taste of him, the feel of his mouth and tongue, the way he smells (she thinks about catching him just out of the shower, just after a shave), each pleasured sound and breath egging her on.

She wraps her free arm around him, chest chafing against his, yearning to feel every inch of him, hot and slick and strong.

As they settle into a rhythm, his other hand slides along her side, caressing the dip of her slim waist, following the movement of her hips. He would trace every curve of her body if he could right now, committing every slope and swell to memory, like the press of her breasts against his bare chest, the tension of her firm thighs on either side of him.

His teeth lightly rake her lower lip as their mouths briefly part, only so that he can tilt his head the other way, and he resumes the kiss, his tongue twining with hers in a serpentine dance.

Time passes.

She loses all sense of the world outside of their bodies. Nothing seems to matter but the way he touches her, kisses her; the heat building between them, the dampness, the way their pace steadily quickens. She doesn't know how long it's been, hands still clutched, lips breaking only when it's too hard to breathe. Her ecstasy is muffled by his, the taste of the moment heady when she feels the rise toward release.

She drags her nails down his spine, whispering his name, arching hard. She needs closer. Just a little closer to unravel completely.

Edited 2012-09-19 01:31 (UTC)

His back rolls under the scrape of her nails, shuddering with pleasure.

Breathing a guttural growl into her mouth, he digs his fingertips into her thigh as he matches the insistent push of her body. His hips buck harder, faster, punctuated by rough, hot grunts against her lips, driven by the need to get her closer to that edge.

If he loses focus, he'd come right now, every nerve is wound so tight his insides could snap at any second...

Almost there, almost there--

He drives strangled moans out of her that get caught behind clenched teeth. Jesus.. The line between pleasure and pain blurs, her heels digging into him, her fist curling in the bed cloths.

She yanks her head back, teeth dragging sharply over his jaw, and reclaims eye contact. Dark, fierce, and impassioned, holding his gaze, making him watch as the pleasure peaks —

"Ah — !"

Sound stops.

Her jaw works.

She squeezes his hand tight

and the whole world crashes in on her.

She jerks against him, her orgasm hitting so hard she sees stars, every inch of her going completely rigid, seeking his support. Her legs are wrapped around him so tight his hips might leave bruises.

Sweat runs into his eyes but he blinks the sting away just to keep watching, her gaze burning into him and spurring him on until-- until--

Her body reacts like it's been touched with a live wire and it's more than enough to shove him straight into oblivion.

She wrenches a strangled cry from him, half-growled, half-hissed; half-pleasure, half-pain.

His hips still buck erratically, even though he can barely move with her legs clamped so tightly around him, keeping him deep inside her.

He holds on for as long as he can to the mind-and-body-numbing high.

He holds on to her.

Just a few. More. Moments...

She relaxes slowly. Her muscles are burning, but she doesn't want to let go of the ecstasy or the pain. It settles between her shoulders, in her calves, keeping her lit even as the waves of bliss begin to subside.

He's still rocking erratically, and she opens herself up to him, holding on as long as she can to every throb of pleasure. She runs her silk-clad foot down the back of his thigh, rising against each press deeper, moaning as the dimming sparks of release turn to a low, hot hum.

Just a few more moments...

Drowsy-eyed, she pushes his hair back and cups his cheek, her everything focused on him as they spend each other completely.

Eventually his body gives out, utterly, deliriously exhausted, and his limbs turn stiff and heavy. As his fingers loosen from her hand, he leans his face into her palm, eyes closed, turning his head slightly to brush his lips against her wrist.

For a lost second or two, he has to remind himself where he is.

"Oh my god...," he mumbles almost incoherently through a deep, groaning sigh.

He opens his eyes a crack, then drops his head to her shoulder to bury his face in her hair. Resting the leaden weight of his upper body on his elbows so he doesn't smother her, he remains where he is until the rest of him decides it wants to move.

Sex with a woman who rides horses is one of Tommy's favorite things.

He'll be able to feel her heart racing when he kisses her pulse point. Everything feels heavy, sated, her lungs aching like never before.

She breaks a rule with herself. She wraps her arms around him, and hugs him close. It's a rule made mostly on the assumption that Tommy would balk at the intimacy, that it's something they just don't do. She's discovered she doesn't have any idea what they do or don't do, and right now she needs him. She needs the closeness, the intimacy. She needs the minute to come down.

Perhaps now she'll be better able to attempt words. Not right this minute, however. She nudges him to suggest he roll onto his back, still breathing quick and deep.

Her arms slide around him, holding him in an embrace -- and he's brought back down, to this room, to this bed, to her, to himself.

It's not something she's ever sought from him, to be held. He hasn't exactly been one to give them out either, but...

He won't pull away. Not until she's through.

And he takes her cue easily enough, first leaving a kiss on the side of her neck before slowly raising himself up off of her. Their bodies break contact, goosebumps sweeping up and down his limbs, and he flops onto his back beside her with a rough sigh.

She grimaces as he leaves her, groaning just under her breath. The eagerness and confidence that had been such a turn-on for him will leave her aching, but she can't convince herself to regret it.

After a moment, she follows. Ending up on her hip, one arm draped across him, she drops a kiss to his breast before resting her chin there. Her face is turned toward him; she blinks lazily, chasing the stars from her vision.

The moment skin touches skin again, he folds his arm around her shoulders, pulling her body close against his side. Saying nothing, he just gazes back at her from under heavy-lidded eyes as he slides his free hand along her arm laid across his middle.

The silence stretches on for a few more moments. Words don't seem important right now.

"You all right?"

Was that all right?

A corner of his mouth pulls back and he breathes out a short chuckle.

"'Course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

His voice is low and raspy and rumbles in his chest.

He reaches up and tucks a lock of her hair behind her ear, brushing the backs of his fingers against her damp temple.

"And you?"

Her eyelashes flutter, and she tips her head closer to his touch.

"Dunno. Nothin' says y'would be."

She tilts her chin down, almost obscuring her mouth against him. It's just as well, as her next words come out more shy and sweet than accusatory.

"This time I didn't — bang all your brains out?"

He kind of...winces at that, chuckling sheepishly through a groan as he rubs his face in his hand.

"Uh. Heh. Um."

She doesn't sound annoyed, but he can't help it -- there's only one thing to do: explain himself.

"That's-- that's an expression. Y'know, 'to bang one's brains out.'" (Yes, he actually presented the verb in its infinitive form.) "It's complimentary, really. It just means that when we-- y'know, uh, bang each other's brains out, we have really great, really intense-- uh--"

Has he ever used the S-word with her before? He can't remember.

"--sex. Which kinda just leaves you dazed and kinda at a loss for anything else, so-- uh. Yeah. Uh. This counts."

Her gaze is steady on him.

"Complimentary?"

It's not really a question.

"So it's somethin' you'd say to a lady in your world if y'wanted t'give your regards?"

"No!"

Oh god, more explaining. Some of it from behind a partial facepalm.

"I mean-- no. It's meant to be, y'know, a good thing, and the way I said it, I definitely meant it to be a compliment, but it ain't really something you say-- uh, in polite company?"

He's never had to use the phrase 'polite company,' ever.

"Lemme put it this way, it's usually a phrase that guys like me and Voodoo use when we talk about women."

Hmm. What's that sinking feeling?

"Not that I've ever talked about you. Except for this once. Okay, maybe twice. But! Listen, I can explain. I was only tryin' to get Voodoo off my back. We bust each other's balls all the time, but when he steered things toward, well, you, I didn't wanna say much, 'cause I didn't think it was appropriate--"

Tommy has just used the word appropriate.

"--so, y'know, I just told him, look, man, I ain't gonna use her beautiful tits, her awesome ass, her gorgeous legs, or the look in her eyes after we've banged our brains out as material, so you can just forget it. And that was the only time I ever said anything like that about you, and I only said it to throw 'im off, to shut 'im up. 'Cept he latched onto that last part, obviously. He wasn't supposed to repeat the damn thing in front of you, but he's an idiot, so."

He sighs, wondering how deep this hole he's dug himself has gotten so far. At least they had sex first?

"'M sorry."

Apologies seem to be the flavor of the evening.

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