Control The Uncontrollable // The Acolyte

46. A Loving Fight

"This is stupid," You laughed, holding Qimir in a protective, blocking position with a stick of wood.

Qimir smirked, before he lured his way out of your grip. His strength was greater than yours, but you were faster. Within seconds you were able to disarm him. Not that it meant the match was over. Qimir without a lightsaber was just as big of a challenge. You needed to get him to give up. This was your third round. He had one won, and you had won one. Both of you were sweating. This round was the one that truly mattered. Only the force knew who would win. Qimir stood right infront of his mattress, so cheatingly, you used the force to push the mattress forward, causing him to fall down.

You grin at the look of Qimir flat out on the mattress. You climbed at the top of him, and placed the wood stick against his throat. If the stick had been a real lightsaber, he had already been dead, so you were truly just being kind when you asked...

"Do you give up now?" You smirked, looking down at him.

Ah, you were formidleable. Qimir couldn't stop himself from smiling of your contagious laughter. He let his hands rest at the top of your thighs. He shook his head playfully.

"I never give up," He teased.

You lifted your eyebrows, clearly shocked by his confidence. The only thing on Qimir's mind was the fact of how close you were to each other. He could feel you at the top of his crotch, and he did his best to act normal about it, but truth is that he had been missing your tight walls around his cock for too long now. His mind couldn't think clearly.

"Ahaaa?" Your tone were questioning, as you moved the stick closer to his throat.

Your arm wasn't the only thing Qimir noticed moving. Your hips moved with your body. It felt good. He wished for your body to move more. he needed more. He knew you weren't aware of your own innocence, but it didn't mean Qimir couldn't enjoy having you close. The view from where he laid, with your thighs on each side of his hips alone was worth the suffering. He could feel himself twitch.

He grabbed your hand, holding the stick, moving it around for you to grab. Like a little fool, you couldn't stop yourself form competing. The friction was all Qimir needed. He had to work on himself to not give out a moan in the hidden pleausres. You suddenly grabbed the stick out of his hands, and stabbed it gently into his chest. Ah, you were such a needy winner.

"I won, your dead," You stated, doing your little victory moves on his lap.

Qimir could promise you, he felt everything but dead. Your victory lap lasted longer than he expected, it was almost like you wanted to move for him. He watched as you threw away the stick. You leaned down, placing one hand on each side above his head. You were smiling from ear to ear.

"To be a Jedi, you are a sour winner," He teased you.

He swore he could still feel your hips moving against his length, and he found it harder...and harder to keep himself composed. His hands were digging deeper and deeper into your skin. At this point, you must be doing it on purpose. It even felt like your skirt was moving up, but he might be the one to blame for that one. He just couldn't stop himself.

"Ah, my confidence scare you?" You tilted your head.

Fuck he swore under his breath. He could feel your hips teasing him. You were dangerous. The warmth between your legs were driving him crazy. What you were doing to him was inhumane. Qimir grabbed your hands, intertwining your fingers. He liked how close your face was to his.