Couldn't Help It - Jean Kirschtein

04. Please

╭──────⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚──────╮

04. Please

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

Word Count: 2.1k.
Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Alcohol Use, NSFW.

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

        You lose control, your eyes flutter shut and you allow your lips to connect. His lips are softer than you expected, but his kiss is rough and greedy. His tongue slips skillfully along your bottom lip, begging for access, which you allow. The flavor of whiskey overwhelms your taste buds, somehow feigning sweet when it mixes with the flavor of your last consumed beverage. It serves as a reminder that the decisions that you're making are fueled by liquid courage. A reminder that you ignore. Just as your fingers find themselves entangled in the locks of his mullet, he breaks away. His expression reads serious, yours dissatisfied.

        "Y/N, are you sure this is okay?" he mumbles, his gaze flickering between your swollen lips and your pleading eyes.

        You offer no verbal response. Instead, you gently tug on the back of his head, once again closing the gap between his lips and yours. You attempt to be mindful of the injury to his nose, but this time, your kiss is the one that manifests as rough and greedy. It feels as if you've been deprived of oxygen, and his touch is a breath of fresh air. He can sense your desperation and it fuels his arousal. His hands trail down the curve of your waist agonizingly slowly. He wants to get a rise out of you. When he feels the vibration of your whine on his lips, he solidifies his grip on your hips, using them like handles to pull you in a straddle. Your thighs rest on either side of his legs, and you can feel the friction of his growing bulge on your aching core.

        You grind against him needfully. He releases a guttural moan in response, grasping at your ass to encourage your actions further. Before you could react to his firm squeeze, in one swift motion, the exposed skin on your back meets the cool fabric of your comforter. His hands expertly glide from beneath your ass to the exterior of your thighs as an advantage to pull your body to the edge so that your legs rest on his shoulders. He's on his knees in front of you, his breath tickling your inner thighs teasingly. You shift your hips, a silent plea for him to do something, anything, to ease your libido.

He wants to taste you. He wants to please you. Before that, he can't resist adding a sly mumbled comment that temporarily sobers you up as though a bucket of ice water has been promptly poured over your head.

        "I bet Eren would hate how desperate his sister is for me."

        You push your weight onto your elbows, providing him a clear view of your face. The glare that you send him wipes the smirk clean off of his face.

        "Do not bring up my brother right now," you warn.

        "Yes ma'am," his smirk makes a reappearance.

        The peppering of teasing kisses along your inner thighs pushes those thoughts out of your head. The comforter feels warmer than it previously had when you collapse back down, your desire for pleasure overriding the momentary discomfort from his comment.

He pushes the skirt of your dress upwards, revealing the thin cloth that you had chosen as underwear. The black fabric matches your dress, but the stains of your dampness are still evident. The sight earns a gruff groan that travels in vibrations from his lips to your skin. He continues to press pestering kisses into you, his frequency faltering as he approaches where you most need his touch. After what feels like a perpetually long time, he presses one firm kiss to your core, the cloth still creating a barrier.