Nn-- I'm going to be very upset if you don't, Bigby.
[She's going to be very unsurprised, though she thinks she can at least get him to make coffee for her. Perhaps. It's worth a shot, anyway, and heaven knows Rosalind likes a challenge, especially when it comes with the thought of Bigby doing something nice for her.
But his ploy works perfectly: she's flushing, squirming thanks to that attention, too distracted to bother chasing after what he isn't giving her. Later, she thinks vaguely, and lets the matter drop in favor of grinding her ass back up against him again.
Fuck me, she tells him soon, too wet to dream of letting him just use her thighs. He doesn't need telling twice; with a groan he slips into her, stretching her open wide and filling her up, and Rosalind's mouth drops open, a moan slipping past her lips, her cunt throbbing around him.
It's not the most vigorous sex they've had, but what they lack in speed, they more than make up for in pleasure. Before long they're echoing around the bathroom, moans and whimpers and the wet sound of skin against skin, until at last he spills into her and leaves her aching for more.
It's very hard not to beg him to reciprocate, but luckily, he's not feeling particular cruel tonight. She slumps back against the shower wall, cold tile at her back, and gasps against the crook of his neck as his fingers slip between her legs.
The water's gone tepid by the time they finally exit the shower. Rosalind moves languidly, her muscles gone soft and pliant. She's a far sight from the uptight, tense woman she'd been arriving here, but a hot shower and an orgasm will do wonders for anyone, Rosalind included.]
How grabby are you going to be tonight?
[She asks it idly as they head into his room. She's almost certain he'll grope her at least once before they fall asleep. It's almost too tempting not to: she's stealing one of his button-ups, and the hemline falls only to her mid-thigh.
And . . . it's not that she's never slept with a man before. Of course not. She and Robert had shared a bed for nearly fifteen years; she's more than used to it. But it's odd to share one with someone who isn't Robert. She feels a little like an interloper as she sits on his bed, watching him as he moves about his room, but it's a feeling she keeps firmly to herself.]
Simply curious. You seem to have a particular affection for my backside.
no subject
[She's going to be very unsurprised, though she thinks she can at least get him to make coffee for her. Perhaps. It's worth a shot, anyway, and heaven knows Rosalind likes a challenge, especially when it comes with the thought of Bigby doing something nice for her.
But his ploy works perfectly: she's flushing, squirming thanks to that attention, too distracted to bother chasing after what he isn't giving her. Later, she thinks vaguely, and lets the matter drop in favor of grinding her ass back up against him again.
Fuck me, she tells him soon, too wet to dream of letting him just use her thighs. He doesn't need telling twice; with a groan he slips into her, stretching her open wide and filling her up, and Rosalind's mouth drops open, a moan slipping past her lips, her cunt throbbing around him.
It's not the most vigorous sex they've had, but what they lack in speed, they more than make up for in pleasure. Before long they're echoing around the bathroom, moans and whimpers and the wet sound of skin against skin, until at last he spills into her and leaves her aching for more.
It's very hard not to beg him to reciprocate, but luckily, he's not feeling particular cruel tonight. She slumps back against the shower wall, cold tile at her back, and gasps against the crook of his neck as his fingers slip between her legs.
The water's gone tepid by the time they finally exit the shower. Rosalind moves languidly, her muscles gone soft and pliant. She's a far sight from the uptight, tense woman she'd been arriving here, but a hot shower and an orgasm will do wonders for anyone, Rosalind included.]
How grabby are you going to be tonight?
[She asks it idly as they head into his room. She's almost certain he'll grope her at least once before they fall asleep. It's almost too tempting not to: she's stealing one of his button-ups, and the hemline falls only to her mid-thigh.
And . . . it's not that she's never slept with a man before. Of course not. She and Robert had shared a bed for nearly fifteen years; she's more than used to it. But it's odd to share one with someone who isn't Robert. She feels a little like an interloper as she sits on his bed, watching him as he moves about his room, but it's a feeling she keeps firmly to herself.]
Simply curious. You seem to have a particular affection for my backside.