𝐍𝐎 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐋 ━━ 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘺

𝐱𝐢𝐱. chapter seventeen

denim, donuts, and dates

✍︎︎
content warning.

"drew, touch me," elle whispers into the air, sensing his presence above her. his applewood scent that she's grown so familiar and fond of wafting in her nose. she still hasn't asked him what kind of fragrance he wears or if that's just his old spice deodorant. derrielle still hasn't opened her eyes, not even a peek, forcing herself to commit to the tension blossoming between the couple.

"i was but i don't think i will anymore," he states, steeping away from her beautiful figure and sitting on her desk chair.

he was, truly. he wanted to surprise her. he wanted to hear her little gasps and the shortening of her breath when his frigid fingers touched her hot skin— but she caught him hovering above her. she ruined the fun.

elle tuts, "fine, you did this to yourself." sitting up from her spot on the soft sheets as she finally looks at him: his denim-covered thighs seemingly thick and rough, she's surprised to find him in a pair of blue-wash jeans and a tight black tee— the clothing department usually had him in polos and khakis— so this is a sight for sore eyes.

drew's eyes fall upon her as she rolls over to the other side of her bed, flashing him of her barely-covered ass, her hands dipping into her bedside table and pulling out a red scarf. curiosity penetrated his brain as he watches her smirk, wrapping the scarf securely around her hand as she slides off the bed and tiptoes over to the back of his chair.

"what are you—" he begins to ask, feeling her presence, until his words are caught in the back of his throat as she leans down and kisses right below his right ear.

"do you trust me?" she murmurs, her hands grabbing his wrists from his pockets and crossing them behind the spine of the wood.

"of course, elle," he answers, his voice still suspicious of what she's planning.

his girl hums in amusement, quickly, and expertly, tying his hands to the stiles of the wooden desk chair. the fabric of the red scarf is abrasive against his soft skin as he tugs; sending him into a frenzy as he realizes that he wasn't getting out of this so easily.

"word of advice, try not to struggle."

derrielle could've tied it so tight that there would've been no way that he could get out, but she chose not to. there should always be an illusion of balance. so that she'll have her way and then at an opportune moment he'll have his... or, in other words, elle will have her fun either way.

"derry, how did you—" drew asks, pulling at the scarf as his arms grow impatiently more tired and uncomfortable.

—"lots of practice, darling. comfortable?" derrielle interrupts, walking back around and finding herself in between his legs.