Nothing But Thieves Imagines (Mature Content)

A Small Thing - Conor

MATURE SEXUAL CONTENT 18+ ONLY

You're walking through the kitchen to the living room, munching absently on a slice of toast, when Conor barrels into your flat, pink-faced, tight-lipped and wild-eyed.

The door clangs shut, and before you can register what's happening, his bag is tossed into a corner and his hands are on you, slamming you to the wall.

The toast drops to the floor, sending crumbs across the floorboards. Conor's taut face is inches from yours, that vein his temple protruding. With a low growl he goes right for your neck, his tongue and teeth sinking into the soft flesh.

You cry out, a mixture of shock and sudden desire, as his knee pushes between your legs and his hands cup your ass, squeezing hard.

"Conor, what the f—" you gasp.

His chin comes up and his lips cut you off, their usual softness so firm and insistent against yours that your words melt into a soft whine. His heated, hard body, and his tongue burning into your mouth nearly overwhelm you, but you place your palms on his chest and press till he unlocks his lips. You're all for angry sex, but you need to know why.

His eyes are feral, like a hunter, a wounded animal stalking its prey, as you look at him in silent inquiry.

"They don't know," he mutters, then crushes his lips to yours again. You whimper and your body goes limp, but in a moment you gather yourself and press him back again.

"Baby, what's going on," you whisper, looking into those eyes again, your finger running softly against his cheek.

He ignores you long enough to slip his hands under your shirt and rip it over your head. You forget completely you even wanted an answer as his face buries in your chest.

His words are muttered, muffled while he runs his tongue and lips across your flesh.

"'So little, so small,'" he mimics in a high-pitched register. "Everyone thinks I'm this fucking cute little angel."

With a quick flick of his wrist he unsnaps your bra, exposing you completely. You suck in a deep breath as his hands come up to squeeze you, his mouth and tongue moving like a snake.

"They don't know what I can do to you." He looks up at you, watching you as his tongue works. "They don't know how loud I can fucking make you scream."

"Oh god, Conor," you whimper, as he runs his tongue on first one, then the other, then presses them together to get both at once.

"They don't know," he continues, while tearing open your jeans and pushing them down, "how hard I've fucked you on every surface of this flat."

You whine again as you eagerly step out of your jeans, and as Conor rises he brings your knee with him, hooked in the crook of his elbow, and pushes it up, opening you up to him.

Your moan and your head falls back into the wall with a thud as his fully clothed body leans into yours, his now-bulging trousers pressing against the thin fabric of your underwear.

His voice comes hoarse in your ear.

"And you like it don't you, love? You like how hard I give it to you?"

"Yes, baby..." Your reply is barely audible as Conor's free hand trails slowly down your chest, over your belly button, toys with the top of your underwear. You suck in a breath, hardly able to breathe.

"But you also like it slow, don't you, sweetheart? Like this?"

His voice is dry, sultry, as he presses himself against you, his hardness getting you right where you want it, and begins to move, ever so slowly, in tight circles against you.