Recollections

Smut X

Bus Ride

My senses hardly register.

"No sleeping," He mumbles into my ear. I hum quietly and refuse to move. I'm too damn comfy. "Love."

"No," I groan, pushing against him more, loving the warmth he emits. "Sleeping is happening."

"No," he argues back, echoing my tone from my last response. I feel his hand move from my knee to dip into where my legs meet. I jolt up and smack his arm.

"Baby!" I squeal, moving myself entirely so that I sit beside him instead of on his lap and sideways. "We are on the bus," I quietly scold.

His lips pull up in a mischievous smirk, making my heart race.

"No," I drawl, watching his eyes light up in humor. His hands expand and pull back into fists on his lap.

"Então?"

I huff and swat his hand, which is reaching for my waist. His eyes turn dark in a split moment, warning me against retaliation.

"'So', we're on a bus with people," I grumble. I let him wrap his arms around my waist and pull me onto his lap. I let myself drop back against him, causing him to huff at the small but harsh impact.

"E?"

"English, dipshit," I growl. My body is wired for him, and he knows it. But I'm at least trying to seem largely unfazed. Though I'm far from it.

He chuckles as his hand snakes back to my center, his other hand grabbing onto mine. "Don't fight me."

The hand feeling around rubs over my jean's hem, his fingers pushing harder when he rubs down into my thighs. I exhale and squirm, feeling his hands both grip tighter, telling me he won't let me do shit.

My spine sends shivers, my nerves light up like a Christmas tree. I bite my lip, trying to be quiet. My hand being held from all movement closes tightly, gripping against his hand. He interlocks our fingers, learning down to my ear. He says nothing, but breathes deep and exhales with a very soft groan.

I bite my tongue, this time, my chest heaving up in a sudden breath. I'm desperate to feel control, when my body seems like it'll spiral out of control at his touch any minute.

"Don't make a noise, love."

I don't have time to question when his roaming hand pulls me into him, rubbing against my sensitive heat beneath all these constricting layers. His lips lean down to kiss just below my ear, making me wish I could exhale, if I knew it were safe to do so. His hand detours down the inside of my thigh, his other hand pulling from our interlocked fingers and instead to wrap around my ribcage.

I whine softly, truly only enough for him and myself to hear. He hums with inquisition. "Did I not say to be silent?"

I don't answer, his hand pulling back up to above my jean's waist. His hand travels gently under my shirt hem, feeling up my supple-skinned torso.

"Fuck," I repeat in my head, over and over. I wish to say it aloud so bad. My hips push back against him, my head resting back against him.

"We finish at home."

I freeze, my body screaming to force his hand back on me, regardless of the people. I don't. Instead, I whip my head around to find his eyes, light colored as ever and showcasing sheer enjoyment. I groan and grab hold of his jaw with my hand.

"When we get home, I'll finish, and you'll listen to me."

He only smiles. I can tell he thinks I'm joking. He has no clue.

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