Ethan Landry Oneshots

Dessert*

warnings: female reader, cunnilingus, semi-public, oral (female recieving),
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Your bottom lip swelled and pulsed under the stress of the white bone, surfacing blotches of red underneath your glassy Fenty lipgloss.

Your parents were beyond thrilled when you announced the news that you were bringing home a boy for the holidays, let alone the personification of a puppy dog.

Regardless of his excitement to meet your family, staying in your parent's house came with its downsides. Going home for the holidays meant spending time with your family. Spending time with your family meant no privacy and no privacy meant less time Ethan could spend with his face stuffed in your cunt just as he was at that very moment.

He could not be deeper if he tried, nose nudging your swollen clit as his tongue lapped at your soaked walls.

Dress bunched above your belly button and your leg hiked over his shoulder, Ethan knelt on the bathroom floor as you gripped the marble basin of your Aunt's guest bathroom.

You laced your fingers through his messy curls, not a single care in the world if the ring on your finger that he bought you for your birthday got tangled as your nails scratched at his scalp and gripped his hair in a bunch.

The accidental tug of his locks elicited the rumble of a moan from his throat, the sound's vibrations tickling your centre.

"Fuck," your hips jerk forward to grind against his mouth, his smooth tongue flicking your clit and dragging it in between his lips.

Staring at the clock on the wall, you winced. 9:22pm. You knew for a fact desert was brought out seven minutes ago.

"Ethan," you whisper, voice husky, "we need to go- fuck!".

Ethan never meets your gaze, too focused on the sweet taste of your juices on his tastebuds. His favourite dessert.

You became dizzy at the squelch of his long fingers sliding into your hole, coaxing you closer to your orgasm. With one final stroke of his tongue flattened on your cunt, you gush on his mouth. He looks up at you; full lips coated with a thick layer of the silky, sweet substance.

As he stands, your white dress drops to its normal position above your knees.

A florid blush paints his soft cheeks, his nose nudging yours as he kisses your lips gently.

"Do you not understand what the word 'behave' means?"

Your scolding has his face hiding in your neck, kissing over the gold 'E' pendant that hangs in the cove of your décolletage.

" i'm sorry," he mumbles, hands on your waist, "was sick of waiting for dessert."
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CREDIT: https://www.tumblr.com/saintels