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Richmond On 12

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The door was always closed during Biscuits with the Boss now. The questions have gotten decidedly less appropriate the longer they’ve been dating.

“Four? That’s all? We got to four on our second night, Rebecca.”

She blushes, remembering. “I know. You’re a quick study.”

His eyes twinkle at her, but he still seems mystified. “The way you come, Becca, so easy? Like a live wire. It can’t be four. Now I’m not talking with a partner- how about on your own? Must be higher.”

She’s blushing harder now. Why does this feel weird to her? They’ve been together over a month now, he’s seen her come upwards of, god, it must be forty times. They’re obsessed with each other. Her skin has taken on an almost permanent post-orgasmic glow. Keeley had said if you could bottle whatever it is Ted does to women they’d all be billionaires by now.

“Eight. I think? Definitely seven.” She says half-confidently behind her pink cheeks.

Ted appraises her from across the desk with some mixture of arousal and suspicion- like he’s planning something completely wicked.

Rebecca coughs, trying to short-circuit her own rising heart-rate, and takes a bite of biscuit, which calms her slightly.

“So, big guy, what’s your record then?” 

Ted grins wolfishly and drops his voice, roughening it around the edges as he answers. “Twelve. Couple nights after we conceived Henry. Nervous energy I guess. Took the whole night. Never got out of bed the next day, either.”

He delights at how wide her eyes instantly go, and watches her wipe her hands on her skirt beneath the desk. She clears her throat thickly and drops her head into her folded arms on the desk with a groan of both annoyance and over-stimulation. How is she already halfway there? 

“Fuck, Ted.” She whispers.

Forget ruining him, he’s completely ruined her.

 

He lets the thought linger for a few days. He wants her to bring it up. Heading home with her in the evening, sleeping at her side, and drawing drowsy comfortable orgasms from her body in the pre-dawn light of her bedroom. It comes up over lunch about four days later, and he’s not surprised. She’s been eyeing him like some sort of confusing piece of modern art since the interlude in her office had ended with a fiery kiss against the door that had occupied his mind all through training. He thinks she might be trying to piece this new bit of information into her view of him, and getting stuck. What he doesn’t realize is that it’s because she gets incredibly distracted every time she considers it.

She picks at her salad and shifts in her chair across from him.

“So. About your- uh, twelve- to my almost-eight.”

His eyes spark. “Yeah?”

“Is that- I mean- situation specific? Or something we could do on purpose?”

“There’s definitely things we can do to make it happen- you interested in breaking your record, Becca?”

She ducks her head slightly, blushing; she’s not ashamed- he’s just using that voice again. The one that vibrates through her even from nearly a metre away. He uses that nickname as a come on, now, having noticed her slight flare of arousal every time he does.

“I’m interested,” she nearly whispers. “Very.”

His pupils dilate at all the images that rush through his mind at once. “Oh you have got a deal, Rebecca. I’ll come over at 6. We should have a nice dinner first, too. I’ll take care of that.”

 

He brings steak and vegetables and a red wine she’s never had before; though she took a picture of the label so she could be sure to again. He knows red wine is the thing that makes her the loosest, the most herself. She’s quiet during dinner, a little shifty- something like the energy on their first actual date- but her smiles and giggles are real enough, so Ted doesn’t overly worry. 

They retreat to her bedroom and she sits on the end of her bed after she changes into one of her sweet little silk short pajama sets, knees together, and watches as he turns off most of the proper lights and lights several of her candles. He’s changed into his grey sweatpants and one of his many wash-worn, incredibly soft tshirts. She’d given him a drawer in her closet and a key at the end of their first week together, wanting and needing him around. When he had told her he loved her later that night, far too early for any relationship but this one, she had found herself saying it back, and meaning it in a way she quite possibly never had before. There’s just something about them, together, that feels like home.

“Amber light’s important- or so they say. Like firelight- it’s centering.”

Ted can sense that her resolve is a little unsteady now, her posture telegraphs that across the room. Insecurity wasn’t the word that came to anyone’s mind when they met Rebecca, the lioness, bright and funny and forceful as the sun in the sky; but that was only her outside. She hid her soft underbelly so well, her compassion, the often crippling intensity of her lingering shame, and her deepest fear- of slipping so far into vulnerability with someone that she’d never be able to claw the wall back up around herself when they betrayed her. She’d never need that wall with him, and that’s part of what he’s ready to prove. He sits next to her and holds her gaze along with her hand, serious and gentle.

“No jitters now, though being a little keyed up can help you along a bit.” He tries to joke.

Her eyes don’t change. He curls his fingers up over the shell of her ear, tucking her hair into place and drawing her chin up level.

“Hey, Becca. It’s just me. We’re just here to get you relaxed, baby. That’s where you focus. You breathe into that word and stick with me, and you’re gonna tell me where the limit is. The records mean nothin’. We've got years to get there if we want. Okay?”

She nods her head shakily, the word years ringing through her mind like the deafening peal of church bells. He says things sometimes, seemingly offhand, but she knows that he means every word deeply.

“You trust me?”

She exhales, relief and almost-amusement. “Ted, if I trust anyone, it’s you.”

He lifts her hand, palm up, and tenderly kisses it’s center.

“Alright, how do you usually do this- when you’re alone? Just so I can take that into account.”

“Um.” She falters. “Uh- on my back? I suppose. Depends on how I feel.”

“Pajamas like these?”

“Mhmm.”

“Good, okay. Couple questions. You ever come just from a dream?”

She bites her lip and looks at him through her eyelashes. “Yes.”

He takes in the uncharacteristic bashfulness in her face; a moment of realization.

A little smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth. “Hmm, might this dream have been, say, relatively recently? Maybe a month or two ago? When you and I were carryin’ around raging teenage crushes on each other the size of the stadium scoreboard?”

Her cheeks pinked. “Possibly.”

A low chuckle. “I see. So dream-us have already done this, that bodes well. Question two- You ever done meditation before?”

“Keeley and I did a class once. It was nice.”

“Great, we’re gonna use that.”

Ted tells her how it’s meant to work, and she can see the logic of it- almost like a waking dream state. Her knees are propped up loosely, and she’s meant to breathe in seamless cycles, pushing her lower back into the bed with each slow exhale, and when she feels ready, to lightly tense her pelvic floor muscles as she pushes down her hips each time. He says they’ll start with ten to fifteen minutes, and if she wants to keep going after, they can. 

His eyes light up with enthusiasm as he describes the process and she finds herself charmed by his abilities as a coach in a new way; she’s never really been on the receiving end of his talents before. Ted is lying on his side next to her, resting his head on his fist, propped up on his elbow, all passionate eyes and that little wayward tendril of hair swaying over his forehead. Rebecca’s never been more in love with him than this very moment, though she knows she says that to herself at least once a day.

 

The rhythm of it isn’t difficult to fall into. Rebecca can sense her mind relaxing as her body becomes more aware; she hasn’t felt this inside her own skin for such a long time. Oddly enough, she doesn’t feel observed, like she might at a yoga class, or as she certainly had with other partners. His eyes don’t watch her, they simply take her in- without judgement.

And that voice. He’d asked her at dinner what her favorite sexual moment had been between them, the one she thought back on the most, and she’d told him. The night they never even made it upstairs. It was that encounter that he was relating back to her now. His low, accented words carry her, anchor her, and measure time for her; only the pauses between his sentences to remind her that time still exists. Rebecca reaches out with needy fingers at one point, near the climax of his story, in the direction of his voice, and she senses a shift as he enters her space. He lays down next to her, his hand just inches from hers. His energy brushes up against hers, supportive and soft blue, true and close, a blanket to warm the space around her. She’s so aware of the air now. It’s thick and heavy, the scent of the candle wax and the wicks burning, the way that it stills over her skin, in static tension, as if the very atmosphere in the room hesitates to touch her in case she simply dissolves. 

“Breathe, baby. Just breathe. Let it all go. Listen to you. Hear me.”

He continues talking, telling her of her own body from the outside and how he cherishes it.  Every day how he covers her in love with his eyes, and how, before, he longed for months to touch even her elbow or the hem of her dress. She breathes through it all, deep and even, as if asleep. Rebecca wishes she could focus, sure that the things he’s saying are sweeter words than she’s ever heard spoken aloud about her- but she’s floating away. She’s in a wilderness, lying in the grass, flowers all around. It’s like a memory, but it’s nowhere she can remember ever being. And then it's the sea, a beach of smooth rocks and crashing waves. She wanders in her own mind, her teenage bedroom, but his voice is with her, and she knows she is safe. She is not alone. Her fingers begin to tingle, her toes, and her spine, low and deep. Her hips respond more, her inner muscles contract without her consciously thinking of it, and then there’s a cliff before her and she flings herself from it, desperate for the rhythmic tension to break. Her back arches and her hands fly to cover her face as she comes. It’s not centered in her core, it’s like it’s happening in every molecule of her body all at once. It’s almost painful- like the ice cold, welcoming embrace of the sea after running headlong down the beach. It feels incredible.

Seconds later, she sits straight up and her entire body visibly shivers, green eyes wide with unbelief.

“W-What the fuck?”

Ted grins up at her, gleeful.

“You like that?”

She turns to him, absolutely flabbergasted.

“I repeat. What in the literal fuck, Ted?”

He chuckles. “That’s the first trick play.”

She’s floored. Would she ever actually learn not to underestimate this man?

 

The second one is an experience, for certain. He starts with her feet. He spends at least ten minutes massaging each one, actually she knows he did, at one point she glanced down to see him keeping time. Moving up to her calves, she feels herself sighing at every sweep of his fingers.

“I’m going to touch you, Becca. You can touch me, but not yourself, for now. Okay? And you let me know if it gets too much.”

“Mhmm. Trust you-“ Her response is a little buzzy, blurry with the pure relief that he was finally touching her. It was like being released, his fingers on her skin were intensifying the tingles in her feet and hands again. He shuffles around the bed, caressing and massaging every part of her in turn, working his way between erogenous zones, telling her in that voice- the one she could never get enough of, the one that makes her tremble all the way through- about his favorite of their sexual experiences together. Their first night. He’s such a romantic. Ted wasn’t wrong about that night though, and she was so drawn into his version of the story that she hardly noticed him start to unbutton her pajama top. Starting from her collarbones, he kisses and mouths at every inch of her chest and stomach until she is breathless and straining. He’s avoiding the centers and the sensitive undersides of her breasts until he feels her breath and heartbeat plateau beneath his lips. She reaches out for him and this time he takes her hand and interlaces their fingers. Her other hand finds its way into his hair.

He notices her thighs shifting and her hips begin that meditative searching movement again.

“Where are you, Becca? You good?”

“I’m here- somewhere-“ she murmurs, dreamlike. “Just- please, don’t stop. I need to-“

With that assurance he lowers his lips to her nipples, just barely skimming their straining peaks. She cries out, unintelligible encouragement, and he watches her fist the duvet with one hand and feels her clench her fingers around his. He opens his lips and lets his tongue circle the tight pebble of one nipple and she sucks a loud breath over her teeth and arches her back into his mouth.

“Holy shit.” She breathes into his ear, like it’s a prayer.

He chuckles reassuringly.

“We’re just getting started.”

He focuses on her breasts, lips and fingers teasing- he establishes a rhythm and then when she’s onto him, he’ll change it and she moans, heedless of the noise. Her thighs rub together and her hips press down as her back arches into his touch. When he starts gently using his teeth, scraping and rolling the bud of her nipple between them, she feels her entire body catch fire with a high pitched cry. He rubs her stomach and sides as he suckles at her, then pinches her other nipple between his fingers and twists, and she’s pretty sure she just simply blacks out. 

“Two?” He asks softly as she returns to her body. He’s petting her, rubbing his hands on her skin, grounding her. 

“Two.” She agrees, almost whispering. “Didn’t know I could do that.” 

He leans over her and pecks her lips, tender and quick, but the new sensation has her lifting her head to chase his. And then she’s momentarily stunned, again. He’d just drawn two orgasms from her without a single kiss. Her shorts were still on. Untouched. This man was never leaving her house again. Ever.

 

“Now.” Ted says positively. “If you’re amenable, we’re going to second base.”

She’s never sounded more English to him than the loud “What?” she lets out in response, it’s like every letter but the ‘W’ got mangled somewhere over the Atlantic. He just smirks.

“The clothes we’ve still got on, they’re staying on, ‘cause I just wanna kiss you for a while.”

 

Rebecca probably hasn’t kissed anyone for this long since she was eighteen. He’s sitting up against the headboard and a pillow or two; her fingers in his hair, and his drawing circles on her lower back as she straddles his lap. Their tongues slide together temptingly and then don’t, their lips fit together in every conceivable way, and then Ted’s mouth will migrate to her neck or her ear and begin all over again. Her lips and cheeks are reddened by the rubbing of his moustache, and she sighs over and over at the feel of their bare chests against one another. She’s certain to have marks all over her neck and chest after this, and she’s glad; they’ll be little reminders of this night, this feeling, as they fade.

He’s incredibly hard under her. She can feel the heat of his blood through all three layers of fabric, and yet he seems perfectly at ease, well mostly at ease, maybe. He bucks against her, fingers solid at her hip, pulling her in. There’s something primal in the way his hands fit over her hip bones, the way her flesh looks gripped between his strong fingers, his thumb digging into the sensitive spot at the front, it drives her absolutely crazy. Eventually, the grinding reaches a fevered pitch and he draws a line up the center of her stomach with his fingertips and she curls around it, into him, shaking out her third orgasm against the fabric stretched between them. It’s dirty and quick but she sees actual stars behind her eyelids, golden fireworks shower her nerve endings and burn tiny imaginary holes into the flesh of her waist and back at every point of his sweat slickened fingers.

 

He takes a bathroom break after that, and offers her half of his glass of water. She drinks it and takes her own turn in the bathroom, momentarily admiring the brightness of her eyes in the mirror and the faint, developing red marks on her neck.

She leaves her pink shorts in the laundry basket, they’re essentially useless now.

He’s reclined in his navy boxer briefs when she returns. He notes her nakedness with an enigmatic smile. 

“Hey there, beautiful.”

“Hi, Ted.”

She lies down close beside him and he pulls her in, moving her thigh over his hip. Her fingers find his chest as she tries to press as much of his skin against hers as possible.

“You’re feeling pretty pent up by now right?”

She huffs and considers her body. She’s incredibly loose and relaxed, but she wants .

“Yes. Completely.”

“How about you take the edge off-“ He glances down significantly, “you know you better than I do. You tell me what you need everywhere else.”

“Just kiss me, Ted. And hold my hip that way you do. It really won’t take long.”

He rolls her onto her back, and true to her word it’s less than two minutes later that she convulses with a sharp gasp against his lips. Four.

 

The fifth one is neat as a pin, his fingers finally sliding inside her, the thing she’s been desperate for this whole time, for what feels like hours, his lips pulling on her right nipple. She crashes into a wave in mere minutes with a deep full bodied moan. What the fuck was happening to her. It was like ascending.

 

He leaves her sprawled on her pillow and kisses his way down between her breasts, around her navel, mouthing in the hollow of her hip. God, he’s just- still going. This man is going to work her body until it’s wrung out- completely limp. That thought is cut short as he rubs his moustache against her inner thighs and she tries hard not to squeeze his head in between them. He tickles the backs of her thighs and she giggles- and then moans as he flattens his tongue against her center and licks into her sensitive swollen flesh. His mouth is heaven, it always has been- the first time he did this she’d shouted so loudly and unexpectedly that Mrs. Shipley heard, which would have been absolutely mortifying if she could have come up with any emotion other than ecstasy at that particular moment. She didn’t feel like screaming now- but she groans at him, urging him on as he curls his fingers inside her again.

Soon she can feel that he’s rubbing himself against the mattress to take his own edge down, and it’s that thought and his tongue at her clit, three fingers stretching her and her own fingers plucking and twisting at her nipples that sends her skyward for number six. Maybe she screamed again, she’s not totally sure. 

He kisses her thigh, sucking a little mark there for later, and then feels her body shake. She’s crying, head turned to the side, her face buried in the soft pillow. He wipes his face on a corner of the duvet and clambers to the top of the bed, pulling her into his arms.

“Aw, hey, sweetheart. Come here.”

He covers her in gentle kisses as she sobs. 

She tries to tell him she’s perfectly fine, wonderful even, between hitching breaths and spilling tears. “I swear to god- this is the happiest- I’ve ever been.”

He just chuckles and kisses her tears away as he rubs her back. “I believe you. That was a pretty hard one. I could feel it. S’ happened to me too. Let it out, baby.”

She does, and as her breathing evens out he feels her fingers creep down his chest and belly reaching for his waistband. He grins and lets her rid him of the last piece of clothing between them.

 

Soon he’s sucking new bruises into her neck, and her collarbone is going to be completely purple tomorrow, but she pulls him closer and closer. Having the weight of him above her is simply divine. She’s floated through so much pleasure already tonight and now she wants to be held down, anchored to the earth, to him. Her fingers reach down to press hard against her clit as he slides inside her, and orgasm number seven happens without either of them meaning to, her walls clenching hard around him as she wails into the palm of her left hand and he stills, breathing roughly as he tries not to lose it at the sight and the shock. The last candle sputters and leaves them in near-full darkness as she blinks, recovering, eyes glittering up at him like cut jade.

“Live wire, Becca. Told you.”

 

He moves against her again, over her and inside her and she groans with relief as much as pleasure. He’s finally inside her. She’s absolutely high on him right now. Anything could happen, the world could end around them and she’d never notice. He fucks her, that's the only way to describe it- clearly desperate for her after all of that building tension- his ferocity for her is what pushes the next orgasm over her, calling out to him as she clutches at his arms.

She finds herself amazed as he collapses against her with a sharp low groan, pulsing inside her for the first time tonight. Eight to one was some type of super-human concentration from the guy who freely admitted she got him nearly to the edge, fully clothed, just from kissing on his sofa the first night they fell together. His competitive edge had leaped out tonight, and she’s not complaining.

She’s tired, exhilarated, and somehow not over-sensitized. He’s measured all of this out like a marathon- taking his time with the things that needed time, patient and focused like an athlete.

He pulls what feels like a final, gentle orgasm from her in the shower, with wet warm fingers, cool tiles at her back. It’s like a chaser, warm and smooth, with a bite as it hits the back of her throat. They don’t even speak afterwards, just fall together in bed after towelling off, warm damp skin on top of her sheets, he pulls the duvet over them as he pulls her in close, and they’re both asleep in seconds.

 

The depth of the darkness she wakes to suggests that it’s somewhere in the middle of the night. Her stomach grumbling; her bed empty. She sits up and drains the full glass of water left at her bedside.

Pulling on Ted’s navy jumper and a pair of cotton underwear, she heads downstairs- stopping in the bathroom on the way.

He’s scrambling eggs in her kitchen; she can smell that before she pads around the corner.

Her kitchen, she thinks, only in the sense that it’s part of her house, because in every other sense, it’s been Ted’s kitchen for over a month now. The faint smell of shortbread is a constant lovely reminder that they are what they are, even when he’s not here.

She leans in to kiss him on the cheek and then wraps her arms around his bare waist, he’s put back on his grey Richmond sweats- slung low on his hips- clearly nothing underneath. She traces the waistband with her fingernail and watches his cheek lift from the side as he smiles indulgently.

“Get the toast for me, hmm, Legs?”

She swats lightly at his behind as she does, and he piles each piece of buttered toast high with eggs, scraping out the pan and setting it in the sink. He gets both of them orange juice too, and jokes about electrolytes with a twinkly eye when she smirks at him.

They can hold hands as they eat. His right to her left. It’s one of those ways that they fit each other; she finds herself always placing herself to his right now, because they can touch even when something else needs doing. She finishes eating before he does, ravenous after all the energy she’d expended earlier. It felt now like she’d done a yoga class and a spin class back to back, but in a really nice way. She might be a bit sore tomorrow, but it was so incredibly worth it.

He scoots his chair back from the table and tugs on her hand, urging her into his lap.

When she settles and clasps her arms around his neck he leans his head against her shoulder and her fingers run through his riot of messy bedhead hair. They’re quiet, Rebecca can hear faint noises from outside, the breeze blowing the wind chime in her neighbours garden, the occasional faint hum of a car passing in the street out front. Ted’s hand rests across her lap, fingers rubbing under the elastic hem of her knickers on the outside of her hip. It’s meant to be comforting, she can tell he’s just fidgeting, but she’s so aware of him tonight that just a simple touch like this sends little frissons of excitement up her spine. She leans into him, enjoying the sensation.

“Broke your record.” He murmurs against her neck, punctuating the thought with a little kiss.

The glint of her eyes is like the midnight sea as she pulls back, full of dark and moonbeams, “but not yours, though, Ted.”

She kisses him full on the mouth, and his fingers tighten over her hip as she feels him harden against her almost immediately. She’s incredibly pleased that she can clearly affect him as profoundly as he affects her.

Ten is his fingers slipping over and inside her as she straddles him on the chair, underwear pushed just to the side in their hurry. She comes looking at the half moon setting outside the window, his mouth at her neck, his other hand on her back, rucking up the jumper and tracing each of her vertebrae, counting along them like he has each of her climaxes.

 

Eleven is wrapped up somewhere in round two, back on her bed, his mouth biting almost too hard at her nipple and his cock at the angle he knows drives her to delirious heights; twelve is how it finishes as he comes inside her for the second time, his fingers drifting from her clit to clutch at her thigh as he feels her fall over the edge with him.

 

Rebecca retreats to the bathroom once more, and collapses onto the bed when she returns, her head towards the bottom, exhausted and satisfied down into the marrow of her bones; she rolls over towards him, still somehow needing to connect with his skin. She feels one with Ted after all of this; if she wasn’t addicted to him already, this night has made her so. His hand finds her calf immediately and he strokes it with his thumb.

She notices after a long moment that her lower back is pressed against his hip, her ass fitting into the softness of his side. She feels a tiny ripple of shame.

“God, that’s probably not the most attractive angle. Sorry.”

He scoffs in disagreement. “I beg to differ, this is, yeah, a fantastic angle.”

He traces the heart shape of her ass and the backs of her thighs with one finger. She smiles to herself and relaxes, deciding not to care. Her feet are somewhere near his shoulder and she feels him lean over to kiss her toes. There’s a comfortable silence, and as tired as she is, she’s not really sleepy. She feels boneless, like she could sink right through the bed into the floor.

“Tell me about that dream?” Ted says curiously and softly, fingers still tracing her lower half.

“Which?”

“The one where you came.”

“I mean which time?”

“Jesus, Rebecca.” He intones, and his hand grips her upper thigh momentarily, fingers pressing into the flesh.

She pushes herself back against him, just a little.

As the dream is described- she picks the first one; the one that made her incredibly awkward around him the next day- she feels his caresses center in on her labia. She’s aroused again just remembering that dream, and lifts her leg, allowing him further access.

He toys with her so gently, knowing that she might be touched-out by now, and she opens her legs fully in encouragement. The only thing touching her is his hand and she can’t see him, so as she talks and relaxes, she feels the dream overtake her.

It had been in her office- as so many of those dreams started. He’d brought her the biscuits, and instead of staying on his side of the desk, he’d come around, and leaned next to her chair, the fly of his khakis just below eye level. She could see that he was already hard, and when he offered her the biscuits, she’d taken one and eaten it slowly, staring, blushing. Dream Ted had leaned down and used his sexy voice, asking her which way she liked to be fucked. She’d known it was a dream then, as it was something he’d never really say, and so she told him what she’d really like is for him to go lock the door. Even dream her was a moderately responsible boss, apparently. And fuck her he did, in that dream- over her desk, and on the couch in her office- she’d woken up to find her entire body flushed red, wracked with bliss, clenching around air, a sweaty mess in the tangle of sheets.

Real, actual Ted is completely silent except for the occasional quiet groan at particularly salacious details of her dreamscape. His fingers slip against her, over and over and her thighs shake uncontrollably. He’s not quite able to catch the right angle as she eventually begins to peak and she takes over, brushing his hand away, pressing and rubbing her own clit, breaking his record for herself as he palms her thigh and ass, taking himself in hand and rubbing his half-hard cock, just watching her come.

Afterwards, she giggles uncontrollably, delirious over the last orgasm, the late hour and the last six? Eight? She has no idea what time it is.

He leans up on his elbow to look at her over her hip as she falls back against his leg, hands crossed over her breasts, laughing hysterically at everything and nothing at all.

He slaps her hip lightly and chuckles at her mirth.

“Get on up here, you gorgeous lunatic.”

She flips into his arms, still laughing as he gathers her close to his chest.

“Something funny?”

“No, No!” She squeaks, tears in her eyes. “I’m- fuck. I can’t believe we’ve just- thirteen?!” and then she’s gone again.

Ted grins and kisses her hair as she shakes against him, with laughter now instead of pleasure, but it makes him almost as smug, the way he’s brought her out of herself so completely tonight. 

“Got a number to beat now don’t we?”

She snorts into his chest hair.

“Hardly. You’re not allowed to touch me for at least the next two days.”

“Oh yeah?” He lowers his voice again, and it rasps with overuse. “We’ll see who begs first, Becca.”

A strangled gasp and a whimper reach his ears.

“Fuck me.”