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Seeking Her Pleasure

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Malia’s warm and soft and naked and in his bed and sometimes his breath catches at how lucky he is, after everything that’s happened, to have her with him this way. She’s beautiful and savvy and snarky as hell and he’s pretty sure he might be falling in love with her. Not like the way he thought he loved Lydia for so long, but something deeper, something sure. And sometimes the look in her eyes makes him hope that she feels the same.

He runs his hands down her body where she’s spread out on her back, and he loves her confidence, how sure she is of her own body. They’ve been kissing, rubbing against each other and it’s so good, he can’t get over the feel of her soft breasts against his own nipples, how well they just fit.

He’s nosing along her breast and his hand’s wandering toward her pussy when she says “Yeah, baby,” and something in him melts as he trails his fingertips into her folds, feels how wet and hot she is, and his cock twitches and his balls are heavy and oh, he wants, he wants.

“Can I --” he starts, and she lifts her head to look him in the eye and he flushes, he knows he does, in the dim light. She smiles a little, eyes dark, and that gives him the confidence he needs to say, “You want my mouth?”

She draws in a shaky breath and her eyes go impossibly darker before they flash blue and she nods, biting her lip. “Yeah,” she says, and her breathy voice goes straight to his dick.

He takes a breath and moves down, laying soft kisses on her belly, her hips, before he puts his hands on her thighs and spreads them so he can fit between her legs and his heart’s pounding, blood rushing in his ears, as he runs his fingers in the creases between her thighs and her pussy and then just takes a breath, shoves his face in and licks and sucks at her, finds her clit and tongues it firmly, and he can hear her harsh breathing, feel her fingers in his hair, when she yanks him up on top of her and kisses him, licking her taste from his mouth.

She’s panting when she says, “It’s so good, Stiles, your mouth, but I want you inside me, can you, do you have …” and he flails for the box of condoms and the lube he keeps in the drawer by his bed.

His hands are trembling so hard it’s a challenge to get the condom ripped open and rolled on and he takes a moment to be grateful for the dulling effect it’s likely to have or else he’ll be finished practically before he gets started. He squeezes hard around the base of his dick and sternly tells himself to wait, for fuck’s sake. She feels pretty freaking wet already, but he’s researched, okay, and extra slick never goes amiss, so he lubes up his cock and thinks about … baseball, about little league and the time he got an elbow to the balls when he’d played shortstop and collided with the second baseman. It’s enough to pull him back from the edge and talking of second base, Malia’s lightly palming her own breasts, arching into her own touch, nipples pointy and tight. She’s breathing fast and shallow, eyes fixed on his hands and his dick, and if that’s not the hottest thing Stiles has ever seen, well.

He’s suddenly unsure, he doesn’t just want to, like, jam his dick into her, and so he straddles her again, lowers down until he can kiss her softly, and she pants into his mouth. “I’m really ready, Stiles, can you, please, I want you to fill me.”

He can’t help the groan that comes out at that and he buries his face in her neck, shaking with raw need. He reaches for her pussy again, strokes his fingers along the wet heat of it, finds her clit and rubs it gently. Her hips buck and he reaches to guide himself into her, tries to be as slow as he can, but the tight clutch of her body around him is almost too much. She’s gasping for breath underneath him and for a quick, scared moment he’s afraid he’s hurting her and tries to pull back out but her hands are suddenly on his ass and he’s helpless when she lifts her hips and suddenly he’s as deep inside her as he can go, and he didn’t know his heart could beat this fast, this hard, that he could feel this good, every nerve ending in his body on fire. He can’t seem to catch his breath.

“Malia,” he tries to say, and it comes out almost like a sob. He’d be embarrassed but for the way she has tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes and he manages to say, “You okay?”

“So good,” she says, and laughs a little, shifts her hips, and the way he feels it around his cock sings through him and he gasps at the shock, the sweet friction. “You gonna move?” she asks, and he locks his hands on her hips, holding her still.

“I … don’t know if I can,” he admits, fighting to control himself. “I think I’m gonna come in, like, 2.4 seconds if I do.”

Her face softens. “It’s okay.”

“But I want, you need --” he breaks off suddenly and pulls out of her, grabs his dick to keep the condom on and to keep from coming, for fuck’s sakes, and says, “I wanna go back down on you till you’re like, on the edge, okay, and then we can come together?”

Her eyes are heavy-lidded when she nods and he goes back down, exploring with his tongue where she’s more open, now, from where he’d just been inside her, holy shit, before nosing up to her clit and just rubbing up and down, as slowly as he can, tongue and lips and nose, and every quiver she makes, every panted breath she lets out, just goes straight to his dick.

He pulls back enough to say, “Tell me when, okay?” and then tongues at her clit, again, flicking at it and then licking with the flat of his tongue, relishing her taste and the velvet-soft feel of her body against his mouth. He can barely breathe from how turned on he is.

Then her hips are rising and she gasps, “Now, Stiles, now, god, please,” and as fast as he can he moves up again, guides himself inside her and his eyes roll back in his head at how hot and wet and tight she is, at the jerking of her hips against his, the friction on his dick, and he somehow finds the coordination to pull out, thrust back in, and she grinds against him when he’s deep inside her and she writhes against him so he follows her lead, grinds back against her before thrusting out and in again, fast and hard, and she grunts underneath him, says, “Harder, Stiles, please, you’re not gonna hurt me, I can take it, please,” and he does, just thrusts in, and in, and in, and he’s suddenly coming his fucking brains out.

She’s still grinding against him where he’s buried inside her, and panting these sobbing little breaths, saying, “Oh, god, yes, yessss,” and he finds, somehow, the ability to say, “You good?” And she clenches tight around his softening dick and says, “So good, Stiles.” He drags his nose along her hairline, she’s sweaty and gorgeous and she keeps twitching against him in the aftershocks and he loves the feel of her under him, little movements like she’s still seeking her pleasure from him.

He reaches down to pull out, dragging his finger along her pussy and she groans and bats at his hand, probably overstimulated, he guesses. He ties off the condom and drops it on the floor, yes, it’s gross, he’ll clean up later, and then presses kisses up her body where she’s wet with sweat and she tastes salty and like he can’t get enough. He licks over one nipple, it’s soft, now, and she twitches away and laughs a little, as if it tickles, and then he kisses up her neck, noses behind her ear, to make her giggle some more.

She endures it for a moment and then grabs him and rolls him so she’s on top, pussy sticky and wet on his spent cock, and he blinks up at her, sex-stupid and adoring, he’s sure. “How soon can you get it up again?” she asks. “We need to do that more.”