“Will you at least look at me?” He doesn’t mean for his voice to be as loud as it is, but you’re sitting on the couch with your head turned from him. It’s driving him nuts that he can tell you’re angry but not telling him why. He wipes his hand down his mouth, exasperated, and he keeps switching his weight from foot to foot. He didn’t know he could be anxious and exhausted all at once until now.“I told you, it’s fine,” you insist, adamant about not getting into it. It’s not fucking worth it, and you know it’s not. Not like you can change it, anyway. You’re nearly positive about that.
“It’s not fucking fine!” His body shrinks just a bit, hating that he’s basically yelling, so the next sentences are overly soft. “You’re pissed. I know you’re pissed. But I can’t help you if you don’t fucking tell me what’s going on.”
“If you wanna talk so badly, why don’t you go message her or something?” You know he knows exactly what ‘her’ you’re talking about. You’re still not looking at him, but you can practically feel his jaw drop.
“You’re kidding.” He chuckles humorlessly and shakes his head. “You’re fucking – that’s what this is about? I told you, I don’t even think of her like that.”
“Yeah? Could have fooled me.”
“I was presenting her with an award! You know all that shit is written down on a teleprompter.” He steps just a few feet towards you.
“Oh, so kissing her on the cheek, hanging onto her like she’s a goddamned tree that was all scripted? Oh, good to know.” Your words feel like acid in your mouth, but you can’t get yourself to stop. But at least now you were looking at him, eyes like daggers.
“What did you want me to do? Act like a hated her while we’re standing in front of hundreds of people?” He’s gesticulating all over the place, like he always does when he’s worked up.
“No!” You insist, the heat of anger pressing against your chest, and you stand up to get in his face. “Just maybe not act like you’re fucking her in your head every time you’re around her.”
“You really want to get into this?” His tongue presses to the inside of his cheek, and you can see the ammo filling up in his head. “Okay, fine. What about you, huh? You think I didn’t notice you gawking at What’s-His-Face whenever he was around?”
“I was starstruck!” You fire back, immediately defensive. “Sorry I’m not used to being around A-Listers all the time. Jesus. You know I listened to his shit all the time when I was a teenager.”
His grits his teeth and glares at you, green eyes boring into your face. “Oh, yeah. I know. I fucking know. And I also know you probably got off thinking about him, huh? Didn’t you?” He steps to you again, shoes bumping against yours. “Touched yourself thinking about him fucking you.” His words burn with venom, but you suddenly have trouble figuring out if it’s making you more angry or just turning you on.
You push the thought to the side as you retort. “You’re telling me you never got off to her?” You hiss, tilting your chin up at him. “Never stroked your cock thinking about her sucking it off? Not once?”
At that, his hand comes up and grabs your jaw, pulls your face forward so that it’s millimeters from his. “You’re the only one I think about, and you know it.” His voice deepens, drops to a harsh growl that sends a shiver up your spine. Still, he can see the fire behind your eyes. “You don’t fucking believe me, do you?”
“Prove it.” Your hands find the belt loops of his jeans and pull his hips forward, and that sets him off.
He smashes his lips into yours, the hand not on your face weaving into your hair and tugging. He uses his weight to push you back towards the couch, shoving you down onto it roughly. Swiftly, he grabs your legs, tossing them to the side like you’re a rag doll so that you’re laying across the couch properly before climbing on top of you.Instinctively, your legs part to accommodate his body, wrapping around his hips so that his pelvis presses into yours. “Feel that?” He questions, roughly pressing his erection further into your thigh. “You’re the only one that gets this cock. You hear me?” He grabs your hair again, forces you head back so that he can attack your neck with his mouth. He bites at your pulse point, and a moan pushes past your throat despite yourself.
But you don’t respond verbally, instead focus on undoing his pants and getting them the fuck off. He follows suit, the two of you rushing to get each other naked, and you mentally thank the powers that be you got that IUD a couple months ago for situations like this. He nearly tears your shirt in half in the process of getting it off you, and the rush of how rough he’s being goes straight to between your legs.
Once he’s got you naked, his lips latch to your nipple, taking it between his teeth and rolling it with his tongue. His hands finds your other breast, long fingers pinching the sensitive bud and forcing you to bite your lip so you don’t scream in pleasure. “Don’t do that,” he growls, pulling away from your skin to look up at you hungrily. “I wanna hear you. Wanna know I’m the one making you feel good.” His tone is dangerous, almost threatening. The submissive side of you eats that up like candy.
With that, he reaches down and lines himself up with your entrance, pushing himself in unceremoniously and to the hilt. You hiss, fingernails digging into his bare back as your walls adjust to him. “Fuck,” is all you manage to get out before he’s pounding into you. Your head falls back, eyes rolling as moans fall from your lips like a chant. His head falls to the crook of your neck, and you take this second of silence to fill it with your own words. “Bet you she can’t take your cock like this.” Your voice is hoarse with arousal as you tilt your head, lips right to his ear. “You’re mine.”
He takes that as incentive to fuck you harder, rougher, and he props himself up on his hands so that he can lock his eyes with yours. “Damn. Fucking. Straight,” he grunts out through gritted teeth before reaching down, lifting your leg up and draping it over his shoulder. The adjustment has him hitting you impossibly deep, and you scream out a moan loud enough to shake the walls. “That’s it. You look so slutty right now. So fucking hot.” His cock twitches and he readjusts, the tip of his dick slamming against the bundle of nerves inside you.
“Don’t stop,” you respond, suddenly begging. Every thrust becomes a test to see how hard and how deep he can go. You’re positive you’ll have bruises tomorrow, but that just pushes you closer to the edge. Your nails dig into his skin, and part of you knows you’re probably drawing blood, but you can’t find it in you to care.
“Shit, shit, shit,” his eyes screw shut as his movements lose their rhythm. The knot in your abdomen snaps, throwing you straight over the edge, and it’s then that his jaw drops, following your lead. “Oh, fuck.” You can feel him spilling inside you as your body shakes, dopamine rushing through your veins like heroine.
He drops above you, chest flush with yours, as you both come down from your highs. For a moment, the two of you just lay there, panting, hair matted to your foreheads. But it’s you that decides to break the silence. You hand begins to smooth down his hair, and you tilt your head to try to get a look at his face. “…I’m sorry,” you whisper, and the words get him to look at you.
Slowly, he leans up, gently presses his lips to yours. “I know. Me too.”
“No, I know you don’t mean it. I do. I just get… Scared.” Blood rushes to your cheeks at the admission, the core of the argument laying itself bare.
He presses kisses to your cheek, your temple, anywhere he can reach. It’s a comforting move: a habit he’s picked up over the time you’ve been together. “Don’t be. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Promise?” Your voice breaks.
“Always.” He shifts to wrap his arms around you, holding you close, and it’s only then that the tightness in your chest dissipates. He’s yours. And you’re his.
