The Adventures of BFF!Bill and tiger

Part 3

If you had been able to think clearly–if your head and your body weren't drowning in waves of pleasure–you might have been able to determine that the reason behind how quickly you were reduced to a whimpering, moaning mess had less to do with the fact that Bill was hitting all of your spots so perfectly and more to do with the fact that it was Bill. It was comfort. Your level of comfort, of trust with the man so deliciously breaking you to pieces was unparalleled. It was Bill who had seen you at your worst. It was Bill who had hauled you over his shoulder one night at a club when you'd had a dangerous amount to drink, who carried you home like that while you Tarzan-yelled the whole time, who gently took your make up off and tucked you in bed, curling up behind you and staying awake to make sure you were alright. It was Bill who had carried you in his arms to his mom in the middle of the night, when you were visiting his home town and had come down with a high fever that wouldn't break for too many days. It was Bill who had comforted you when your match on a double date turned out to be an immature asshole, dragging you on the Ferris wheel you were already terrified of and then purposely rocking the cart when it reached the top.

"Knock it the fuck off," Bill had said at the time, in a tone of voice you had never heard him use before. It was almost feral.

"Come on, I'm just joking around," the guy mocked, "Who the hell is terrified of heights these days anyway?"

"C'mere, tiger" Bill had said much more gently, reaching out to you. You remember how he moved carefully so as to not rock the cart anymore, how he had put a protective arm around your shoulder, tucked you into his chest, his hand coming up to cover your eyes. "Just keep your eyes closed, and listen to my voice. It's just you and me, kid. Our feet are on solid ground, and it's just you and me alright?"

And now it was Bill who was taking his sweet time, working you up until you couldn't remember your own name. It was Bill who had his lips on your collarbone, leaving suckling kisses as he made his way down your chest. His hand reached out to cup you through your jeans, gentle pressure providing the delicious friction you craved. You whimpered. His mouth closed around a nipple, flicking it with his warm tongue as his palm pressed down harder into you. You wove your fingers into his hair and moaned, tilting your hips to rub back against his hand.

"Jesus, fuck," you moaned, and he pressed down on your mound harder, his palm rubbing the seam into your clit.

Releasing your nipple with a pop, he gave it a languid lick before nipping and kissing his way to the other one. He took his time, circling it, gently nibbling around it before sucking it into his mouth as he ground his palm into you with more intent, moving his hand slowly back and forth. Your breath hitched, your heart pounding out of your chest. You were sure he could feel it through his lips.

He moaned, sending vibrations through you, before his hand moved up to the button on your jeans and his mouth moved away from your chest.

"You good?" he asked, his cheeks were flushed, his chest was heaving slightly, but his eyes were ablaze.

"Bill," you moaned, your hands on either side of his face, trying to pull him back down. He let you drag him in for a kiss, all tongue and teeth and desperation as he flexed his hips into yours and moaned into the kiss. You licked at his upper lip when he pulled away and he nipped your chin, dragging his tongue from your jaw to your ear

"Say you're good, sweetheart," he whispered with no small amount of urgency, his hand tugging the waistband of your jeans.

"I'm–fuck," a harder bite to your earlobe, "I'm good, Jesus fuck Bill I'm fucking good," you groaned, deep and guttural, and gave his hair a light tug.