She kisses him with fever and want and passion, yet their lips move synchronously in a slow manner. His hands are everywhere, stroking her body, taking his time. Kneading her breasts and stroking her thighs. She bites her lip and sighs every time he squeezes her.His kisses trail down to her neck and her head falls back and tilts up to give him more access. Their hips do not stop rolling together, yet their hands still wander and lips nip and suckle. They are starting off slow. Nice and easy.
But Hitch wants more.
She always wants more.
And Jean will always give it to her.
She grips his ass with one hand and breathes deeply, urging him to pick up the pace with an eager buck of the hips, her curves against his muscles, and a low purr rumbles in her throat. Jean groans, kissing his way back up her throat after leaving a hickey and travels across her jawline down to her awaiting pink lips, swollen from their kisses.
And he obliges.
She wraps her legs around his hips, moaning a breathy, “Yes. Just like that,” against his mouth, threading her fingers through his hair.
God, she’s beautiful. And she’s the most beautiful when she’s like this, he thinks. Vulnerable, bare, with her perky breasts and hardened pink nipples, with her flushed skin, with her hair splayed out around her head like a halo. The way her lips part before a moan comes out, the way her face contorts and twists when the pleasured sound increases in volume and octave, the way she says his name and screams it. Yeah. He’s paid attention. Hell...who was he kidding. She’s beautiful on Saturdays when she’s wearing no makeup and a baggy t-shirt and sweatpants, with a big-ass bucket of ice cream and that cute smile she makes when her favorite show is on. She’s beautiful on Sundays when she goes out in one of those frilly sundresses that reveal those soft, creamy legs of hers yet leave some to the imagination. She’s beautiful on Mondays through Fridays, when she’s so done with the day before it even starts and she smells like coffee and fresh apples, even when she comes home. And she gets to come home to him. Him.
He’s one lucky motherfucker.
And she never ceases to remind him every day.
“Fuck,” he growls, slipping an arm underneath her and hastily pulls her on top of him. Readjusting to their new position within seconds, Hitch cups the back of his head and begins to bounce up and down on his length, starting off slow before she picks up the pace.
“S-Shit…” she whimpers, latching her lips onto his. She’s close, he knows. He just knows. She’s bucking her hips desperately, moans octaves higher than they ever were, and if she doesn’t stop that throwing-her-head-back thing he’s gonna --
He groans deeply, grabbing her hips and pulling her down on his dick again and again and again, and she’s mewling and clawing at his back, and then the two let out a long cry as they finally fall. Together. She continues to ride him, riding out her release, and he smoothes his hands up and down her spine, shuddering against her. It takes him a minute to come back down to earth.
Hitch’s body goes limp in his arms and she puffs out a long sigh of exhaustion. She’s entirely spent. He almost laughs, but honestly he’s too tired to do anything right now, let alone making sure that his bodily functions were still working properly. She lifts her head from his shoulder and lets it dip down until it makes contact with his, slender fingers tracing his jawline. Jean tilts his chin up to kiss her, and his affection is returned heartedly.
He feels her smile against his lips and he can’t even hold his back this time.