( when was the last time anyone called her good? the bigger question: when was the last time someone said it and meant it as more than a play? (the biggest question of all: when was the last time she didn't let them take from her anyway, let them call her sweetheart and baby while she closed her eyes and pretended they all felt the same, fucked the same, wanted her the same?) not like jake, who says you feel so fucking good like being inside of her again is goddamn biblical. looks straight into her, and suddenly ani exists as the sun at the center of his orbit, blotting everything else around her into black.
a soft palm cups his jaw, possessive against the grit of his stubble. presses herself in — breath to breath, nose to nose, forehead to forehead, too needy to share the scope of his attention with anything but her. she flutters, impossibly tighter, impossibly wetter. drips slow and filthy where he's buried deep, leaking past his cock to pool into the carpet beneath them, gone by how that word — good — burns, lights up her nerve-endings worse than any cherry-red cigarette sting pressed too long to the skin. it sounds obscenely slick when he fucks back into her, hungry punctuation on her need. )
Oh. Shit. ( a punch of surprise through her ribs, a ricocheting gasp that darts out of her swollen, kiss-bloomed mouth and crashes into his. typical fucking jake seresin still unlocking new secrets in the corners of her body, even the ones ani didn't know existed, a scavenger's hunt for what sparkles in the dark. a pull of her teeth nibbles her lip, eyes sliding to the thick stretch of him swallowed by the shine of her cunt — perfect proof he was real, he was here. another breath, huskier: ) You look so fucking good inside me.
( he always did infect her with that gorgeous greed of his. because it's not enough to be good; it's only enough if he forgets every other place he's been but her, always his last safehouse, always curled around the ghost of him in her bed. it's only enough if he fucks her like he's forgiving her for every time she forgot who she is — ani mikheeva, who fights and claws for everything. ani mikheeva, who forgot how to fight and claw for him, who wears the cost of giving up like a bruise on the inside of her ribs.
her nails score down his bicep, red lines like she's tallying every thrust, every day without him. her other ankle drapes on his shoulder, despite the vulnerability in the position — folded up beneath him completely, trusting him with all of her soft parts she's spent months armoring. it shifts him deeper on his next stroke forward, the tease of his absence — the chase of him slamming home like a rhythmic promise, right into that fucking sweet spot that's always made her thighs vibrate like a body straining against g-force: i told you i'll always come back.
ani whimpers, hot and open, into his mouth — high, gutted, sounds she's only ever made for him — strobe lights in her vision, clit sparking where the hard planes of him grind against her. meets him with a desperate tilt of her pelvis, in an answer: i've always been yours to come back to. )
Yeah. You're gonna take care of me. You promised. ( an old, unforgotten vow. she tilts her head, mouths at the muscle of his forearm where it brackets her. a demand that won't settle for less — until it shakes like the rest of her, reassurance she hates needing: ) You gonna come in me, baby? Make up for every fuckin' night you left me empty?
no subject
a soft palm cups his jaw, possessive against the grit of his stubble. presses herself in — breath to breath, nose to nose, forehead to forehead, too needy to share the scope of his attention with anything but her. she flutters, impossibly tighter, impossibly wetter. drips slow and filthy where he's buried deep, leaking past his cock to pool into the carpet beneath them, gone by how that word — good — burns, lights up her nerve-endings worse than any cherry-red cigarette sting pressed too long to the skin. it sounds obscenely slick when he fucks back into her, hungry punctuation on her need. )
Oh. Shit. ( a punch of surprise through her ribs, a ricocheting gasp that darts out of her swollen, kiss-bloomed mouth and crashes into his. typical fucking jake seresin still unlocking new secrets in the corners of her body, even the ones ani didn't know existed, a scavenger's hunt for what sparkles in the dark. a pull of her teeth nibbles her lip, eyes sliding to the thick stretch of him swallowed by the shine of her cunt — perfect proof he was real, he was here. another breath, huskier: ) You look so fucking good inside me.
( he always did infect her with that gorgeous greed of his. because it's not enough to be good; it's only enough if he forgets every other place he's been but her, always his last safehouse, always curled around the ghost of him in her bed. it's only enough if he fucks her like he's forgiving her for every time she forgot who she is — ani mikheeva, who fights and claws for everything. ani mikheeva, who forgot how to fight and claw for him, who wears the cost of giving up like a bruise on the inside of her ribs.
her nails score down his bicep, red lines like she's tallying every thrust, every day without him. her other ankle drapes on his shoulder, despite the vulnerability in the position — folded up beneath him completely, trusting him with all of her soft parts she's spent months armoring. it shifts him deeper on his next stroke forward, the tease of his absence — the chase of him slamming home like a rhythmic promise, right into that fucking sweet spot that's always made her thighs vibrate like a body straining against g-force: i told you i'll always come back.
ani whimpers, hot and open, into his mouth — high, gutted, sounds she's only ever made for him — strobe lights in her vision, clit sparking where the hard planes of him grind against her. meets him with a desperate tilt of her pelvis, in an answer: i've always been yours to come back to. )
Yeah. You're gonna take care of me. You promised. ( an old, unforgotten vow. she tilts her head, mouths at the muscle of his forearm where it brackets her. a demand that won't settle for less — until it shakes like the rest of her, reassurance she hates needing: ) You gonna come in me, baby? Make up for every fuckin' night you left me empty?