Nate Maloley Imagines

See Yeh Break

Okay lovelies lets imagine this for this imagine.

Imagine Nate is British and you are thigh riding him on a balcony.

Tumblr imagine by: smut- hub

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This vacation is an absolute blessing. A week away from the madness and noise of fans and paps and meetings. From the moment the two of you arrived to your private little getaway on the coast, Nate's been warm and relaxed, and you couldn't ask for anything more than that.
When you wake up and the other side of the bed is empty, though, a deep pout finds its way onto your face. Lazy morning cuddling is one of your favorite activities, and this week has been the perfect time for it, when your sleeping schedules are synced and there's nothing pressing to prepare for. But the sheets are empty now, still clinging to his scent but void of his familiar warmth.
You stretch out, shielding your eyes when you turn over into blinding sunlight. Wind ruffles your hair and you can smell sea water on the breeze. The doors out onto the balcony are wide open, leaving you with a breathtaking view that forces you to stare for a minute before you can move.
Slipping out of bed in just your panties, you find Nate's button-up from last night, crumpled up on the floor along with the rest of the clothing he shed before settling in for a much-needed sleep. You slide your arms into the shirt, which smells even more of him than the sheets, scented with his cologne. After quickly brushing your teeth, you pad into the doorway to the balcony, fumbling lazily to button up the borrowed shirt.
You find Nate around the corner, white t-shirt thrown on atop his red Calvin Kleins, seated and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. He's staring out at the water, so content that you're almost in awe. Not a single line troubles his face, and you swear you can even see a slight quirk to his lips.
"Hi, baby," you greet quietly after admiring him silently for a few moments.
His head swivels in your direction immediately, lips lifting more when he sees your body clad in his clothes and the messy hair you're sporting.
"Mornin', love. Y'sleep well?"
"Very well." You walk toward him and he leans back, arms opening up for you. He pulls your back into his chest when you slide onto his lap, pressing a quick kiss to the shell of your ear before he settles his chin on your shoulder. Your eyes wander the horizon, blissfully in love with the view you've been gifted.
"Pretty, innit?" Nate whispers, fingers tracing over the tops of your thighs.
"This place is amazing," you agree, leaning your temple into the side of his head.
Nate appreciates this moment, relaxed and alone with his favorite girl in a beautiful place. He revels in it, but he's also been itching for you since his eyes opened this morning and found you sprawled out beside him, practically glowing while you slept. Now that he's got a bit of time for him and nobody to invade his privacy, he's all too aware of how long it's been since he's done anything more than kiss you, and the first thing on his mind isn't himself. It's not your lips around his cock, or burying himself deep inside your pussy until he's filling you up. Instead, his first thought is simply making you come.
His mind has been running all morning, even staring out at the sea that was meant to distract him. Flashes and memories of you, fucked out and blissful. He keeps remembering how your face twists up, how your mouth falls open, the way your neck gives out and your head falls back when you're coming. He's so desperate for those memories to be replaced by the now. He wants fresh images, he wants you clinging to him, he wants to watch you and see how good he can make you feel. The thoughts have his cock twitching to life in his boxers, and before he knows it he's got his mouth on your neck, inhaling the faded scent of your shampoo while his tongue darts out just below your ear.
"Nat- oh." You suck in a heavy breath when his teeth dig into your skin and he sucks, pulling blood to the surface. "Don't leave marks, Nate , you can't-"
"Got a week fo' 'em t'heal, pet," he reminds you, nipping down your neck and pressing softer kisses to your shoulder when he peels back the collar of his button-up. "Can do wha' we want."
Nate's hands slip up the tops of your thighs and squeeze at your hips. He presses another kiss to your shoulder and hums, an idea popping into his head that has him shuddering with anticipation.
"Turn 'round, love."
You twist in his lap, legs spreading on either side of him. Glancing down, you notice the slight bulge in his boxers and the sight makes your mouth water immediately. It's been a while since you've gotten to do anything nearly this intimate with Nate . When you arrived to your room, it had been your first thought, but you knew that he was tired and in need of refreshing, so you had let it slip from your mind. Now, though, with him underneath you and his hands sliding heatedly up your back, you realize how much you've wanted this, to be reacquainted with him.
Your hands slip down the front of Nate's t-shirt and tug at the elastic of his underwear, fingers brushing against the coarse hair below his navel, eager to see his pretty cock.
"Not now, pet." He stops you, wrapping his fingers around your wrists and placing them back on his chest. You can feel the pout slip onto your face, and you know how ridiculously childish you must look, but you really want to touch him.
"Oi." He frowns back at you and leans in to kiss the pout off your lips. "Don' be mopin', now. I got plans befo' yeh get into my pants."
"But, Nate -"
"Stop tha'. Be good fo' me." His hands are firmer when he grasps your hips and lifts them up from his lap.
"What-"
"Y/N." He sounds frustrated. You're not sure if you should feel bad or if it's better to get him riled up, but you press your lips together. "Love, jus'-" he huffs out a sigh and moves you until you're seated on his thigh. His eyebrows are drawn together, lips forming a scowl. Despite the knowledge that you've annoyed him, the angry set of his face flips a switch deep in your gut that makes your stomach clench.
"So stubborn," he mumbles, lifting his leg up against your clothed center. "All the time."
"I'm not-"
"Would yeh jus' hush?" He shakes his head and lets out an exasperated chuckle, forcing your hips down until you're biting your lip at the pressure. His fingers aren't gentle by any means as he slides you up and back down his thigh. A gasp leaves your lips when you feel friction on your clit, hands knotting in the shoulders of his t-shirt.
"Want yeh t'ride m'thigh, pet." His fingers nimbly undo the buttons at the bottom of the shirt you're wearing, pushing the material off to the sides so he can have a clear view of your actions. "Think yeh can do tha' fo' me? Can yeh grind on m'leg 'til yeh come? Make a mess o' your panties?"
You moan in assent, ears ringing in the aftermath of his words. You've never done this before, as much as you've fantasized about it. It happens often. You find yourself staring at his thighs all the time, clad in his tight skinnies, wide and muscular. They're sinful, actually. It's surprising just how much affection you have for them. Thighs aren't usually a first priority when it comes to what women want in men, but any part of Nate can have you shaking away devilish daydreams.
"Jus' like tha', pet." He hums in approval when you settle into a slow pace, focusing on the pressure more than the speed. His thigh is solid beneath you, hardened from the extra trips he's taken to the gym. You feel a bit silly, like a teenage girl dry-humping her crush, but the way his fingers dig into your flesh and the raspy growl of his voice when he praises you make everything much more intense. "Doin' well, love. 'S it feel good?"
"Yes," you whimper, eyes falling closed when you tilt your hips forward and press your clit harder against his leg.
"No, no," you plead, opening your eyes when he pulls his hands away from your body and rests them on the arms of his chair. He looks high and mighty, like a king on his throne, eyebrows lifted while you please yourself. "Don't," you beg him.
"Don' what, love? Haven' done anythin'."
"Want-" you cut yourself off when your voice cracks, stilling your movements to focus on your words. "Want your hands on me," you inform him breathily.
Nate stares at you for a moment, eyes lighting up in a cocky sort of pride. Then he sucks in a breath and glances down, lips parting.
"Christ," he mutters, two fingers slipping between his thigh and your panties. He hadn't realized the extent of your arousal until you stopped moving. You gasp and jerk your hips away from him, shocked by his sudden movements. "Fuckin' soaked. Can feel how wet yeh are. Soaked through." He grabs at the front of your panties and greedily slides his fingers inside, brushing the tip of one between your folds. You sigh, your heart rising into your throat when his eyes dart up to find yours, pupils blown wide.
"Wanna take these off, then?" He looks expectant and excited, like he's cashing in a winning lottery ticket. "Ride m'thigh bare?"
It only takes a few seconds for you to collect your thoughts and nod enthusiastically. The barrier hadn't bothered you, but losing it can only make things better. The thought of rubbing up directly against his leg has your body pulsing, heat burning through each of your nerves in unison.
"Up." Nate pats your bum gently and you rise, allowing him to slide your underwear down your legs. He leans forward to plant a slow and deliberate kiss on your hip before sitting back. If you thought he looked like a king before, he looks like a god now, hair swaying in the breeze and mouth quirked into a suggestive smirk. You have to use his arms to steady yourself when he guides you back down onto his thigh.
"Can you kiss me, too?" Your voice is small and thick with want. You've only gotten a few pecks from him, when what you really want is to taste his tongue, feel his stubble scratching against your upper lip. "I want you to kiss me."
Nate lets out a grunt when he pulls you forward and feels your slick folds on his bare skin. You choke out a moan at the direct contact, fingers threading into the hair at the nape of his neck. One of his hands grasps onto your hip, the other snaking around to splay across your lower back. You can feel their heat burning imprints into your skin.
"Please, Nate ," you whisper when he hasn't replied.
"I will 's long as yeh tell me befo' yeh come," he answers, nodding and pressing his lips to the side of your jaw before trailing off. "Need to see yeh break. Haven' seen yeh fall apar' in so long."
"Okay," you agree, cheeks flaring up. You slip over his thigh again, gasping at the unperturbed friction, and that's when Nate finds your mouth, cutting off the sound midway. His tongue finds its way into your mouth and you can taste the dull mint of his toothpaste. You sigh, content with his mouth and hands on you, your belly tightening with each assisted flick of your hips.
Nate is on fire beneath you, he's sure. His lips are moving slowly, heatedly on yours and he can taste the sweet familiarity of you. Your pussy is grinding roughly down on his leg, and he's sure he'll need a shower with how much you're dripping, smearing your wetness on him. But he couldn't care less. His cock is fully hard in his boxers, screaming at him to do something, that you're naked and ready for him to fuck you into tears. It takes everything in him not to just pull his boxers down and move you over a few inches. He wants to see you without the distraction of his own pleasure. He needs it.
"Gonna come, pet?" he asks when you pull away from his lips. You're gripping his hair so tightly that he's sure he's going to lose a few. Your jaw is set, tell-tale crease between your eyebrows deepening with each rub along his thigh. His fingers dig further into your hip to keep himself grounded because, fuck, you're not even coming yet and he could come in his pants. "Come fo' me, love. Know you're close. C'mon."
Nate's hands are edging you faster on his thigh. You feel like you're teetering right on the edge. Your stomach is flipping, legs shaking with the mounting pressure of your orgasm.
"Nate , fuck, I-" You pull your hands from his hair and instead find his shoulders, in need of something solid to grip onto. "Fuck."
He's watching every detail of your face. There's so much blood flooding to his cock that he feels light-headed, and you look like an earthbound angel in his white shirt with sunlight framing your hair. He's not sure how much more he can take. He lifts his leg up, holding you in place, adding pressure to your clit while he keeps you moving at a fast pace. And then you're gasping loudly, entire body tensed. He keeps your hips moving for you. Your face twists up, your mouth falls open, your head tilts back, just the way he remembers. You're chanting his name like a mantra and he's really aching in his boxers, which are probably sticky with precome and just as damp as your panties had been.
"Fuckin' perfect," he mutters, only stilling his hands when you suck in a breath and drop your forehead to his shoulder. Your chest is pressed up against him, heaving desperately for air. His fingertips push underneath your shirt, skim your lower back, up your spine. He's grinning like an idiot, replaying the fresh images like a film reel. But then you shift in his lap and your knee brushes his cock and he chokes a bit, remembering that he needs to fix himself before he explodes.
"Sorry," you whisper airily, head still spinning from the intensity of your orgasm. You press against his chest to stand on shaky legs, biting your lip at the sight of his precome-stained boxers.
"Made a mess o' m'thigh, love," he observes huskily, admiring the way your juices glisten on his leg. He'll clean that off in the shower, maybe fuck you properly. But he's got other ideas for now.
"Would yeh get on your knees fo' me? Wrap those pretty lips 'round m'cock? Hm?"
He leans back on his throne, insurmountable view laid to the wayside as you drop down for him. He could really get used to this place.