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There's something to be said about patience and about his sometimes frustrating lack of it, except for the occasions when he feels like having any. On account of those occasions usually coinciding with him tormenting you most of that something would probably be expletives, though. Like now, for instance.
"I fucking hate you." You've lost count of how many times he's almost brought you off only to snatch your release away at the last second, but it's definitely approaching the double digits because it hurts. Not just your cunt, either; half hovering and half straddling his lap like this you can't even close your legs without him forcing them open again with his own, overextended muscles starting to burn as well-worn denim rub against the insides of your thighs. With one hand in an iron grip your hip and the other buried between your legs there's no escape, no relief.
"I know, sweet thing…" The words are gentle and as soft as silk, dripping with false pity, breath ghosting over your lips in an almost-kiss. But as he cups your cunt in his palm, he doesn't look sorry at all. "So make me stop."
"…No." As if you could, even if you wanted to. Besides, if he actually stopped now you might cry. Or maybe punch him. Possibly both at the same time.
"Thought not." Circling your entrance with a fingertip, the corners of his eyes crinkle as he grins, wide and sharp and perfect. "Jus' one more time, then." Which is precisely what he's been saying for the last twenty minutes, though he doesn't give you the opportunity to point that out as he slips two fingers inside. After being wound up again and again there's barely any resistance, your body greedily swallowing every tiny bit that he'll let you have. A third digit slides in just as easily, stealing the breath from your lungs and making your head drop onto his shoulder with a pitiful little whine.
"Oh, you're so damn mean, you—" With a huff of laughter he adds a fourth finger, making your words cut off with an involuntary squeak as he hooks them up around your pubic bone, all but trapping you on the spot, completely unable to move.
"Funny, that." Breath tickling the shell of your ear, you can hear the grin in his voice. "'Cause I distinctly remember you singin' a different tune jus' a minute ago." There's no use trying to argue, not that he gives you the time to before pushing those gorgeous fingers into you with purpose, so methodical that it's almost cruel. After this long he knows exactly how to take you apart, and every practiced stroke has tension building at your core steadily and so infuriatingly easy. Stuffed so perfectly full there's barely room to breathe or to even think, and as release starts to coil at the bottom of you, sharp and urgent, all you can do is cling to him as every thrust knocks a hiccuping little gasp from you.
"Please, I'm gonna, please, let me, let me, please just let me, fuck…" As you mindlessly grab at any part of him you can reach, you don't even care that you must sound like a broken record. All that matters is his hand, the tips of his fingers nudging against the spot deep inside that always turns you dumb with pleasure and any second now it's going to happen, you can feel it, so close that it's nearly painful. "Please, yes, ye–" As it keeps building you can barely keep still, breath speeding up until your head spins and it feels like you could float away. And then his lips are on yours, swallowing every needy little sound as he as at first slows down and then simply stops, making you keen as your release is kept out of reach once again. He's smiling when he pulls away, completely smug as he greedily drinks in your desperation.
"You're damn cute when you're whinin' for it."
"Stop saying things like that." Slapping weakly at his chest you try to ignore the ache at your core, though the way he keeps wiggling his fingers in teasing little twitches is making it all but impossible.
"Shan't." He sounds incredibly pleased with himself, so smug that despite everything he's still got you wrapped around his fingers in more ways than one. "You gon' hold on for me, now." It's not a question and it clearly isn't meant to be, because he doesn't wait for a response this time either. While not starting completely over he still takes his time when he starts back up again, pushing his fingers deep and pressing the heel of his hand against your clit. It's an all but hopeless battle; with the deep, firm, delicious pressure right where you need it most it's only a matter of when, not if. It doesn't matter that he's hardly even moving, every glacial press-and-release has pleasure lapping at you in syrupy waves.
"Don't stop, you can't, please, I'm—" You're trying, you really are, but as your cunt starts to twitch and tighten all on its own you can't fight it anymore. This time he has to let you come, he has to.
"No, you fuckin' don't." The words are quick, raw, and you dimly realize that he's far from unaffected despite trying to pretend otherwise. "Look at me, lass." You can feel his thighs trembling underneath you, and as he grabs at the back of your neck to force your gaze up it's almost clumsy. "Don't you fuckin' dare." With him wringing the pleasure out of you like you're a wet rag it's an impossible ask. You're not sure how he can expect you to even be able to, not when he's dragging his fingers against the upper wall of your cunt until you can feel yourself starting to drip with it. "Not 'til I say." Push, drag. "Gods, jus' listen to that…" As if you have any choice; the slick noise of his fingers thrusting into you is obscene, too loud in the small room. "So damn wet an' needy, all for me." You're barely holding on as it is, and if he's going to keep talking there's no way you can keep it up. A quick change of his grip has him pushing the pad of his thumb to your clit, focused and merciless, and that's when it finally dawns on you; he's making it impossible on purpose. He was never expecting you to manage it at all.
Asshole. Beautiful fucking bastard.
"Don't you dare fuckin' come," he grits out, breathless and filthy and too good and just like that, you're pushed past the point of no return no matter how hard you try to hold back.
"I'm sorry, I can't, please—" For a second you're sure that he's going to ruin it somehow, that he's going to take it all away again, but he doesn't. Instead he groans, raw and perfect as he drives his fingers in deep, pushing against the front wall of your cunt. As you convulse around his fingers, words lose all meaning. There's only the release that tears through you in great choking waves, leaving you unable to do anything but try to hold on to him, muffling your pathetic cries in the crook of his shoulder as you gush all over his hand. There's a brief moment where you're hazily aware that you're drooling on his shirt but he doesn't seem to care and you can't either, not when he's dragging your release out, pushing back when your body pulls until your legs give out. After, as you sag bonelessly in his lap and struggle to catch your breath he chuckles, wrapping his arms around you in a steadying grip that's surprisingly gentle, all things considered.
"Y'made a mess all over me, sugar." Even though he's still tense and wound up underneath you, he looks almost fiercely proud, satisfied in a way that sends a brief stab of irritation through you. Feeling the sticky fabric cling to your skin as it cools has heat flooding your cheeks, and you quickly duck your head down under the pretense of kissing the side of his neck. Mostly pretense, anyway. While you're there it's too hard to resist nibbling at the heated skin, the salt of exertion stinging your lips. His usually slow pulse is thrumming under your tongue, a beat that you can't resist chasing with your mouth even though it muffles your words.
"You did that on purpose." It's nowhere near as reproachful as it's intended to be, but it probably wouldn't make much of a difference, anyway. If the unrepentant grin on his face is any indication, it definitely wouldn't.
"Couldn't resist." You can feel him through the soaked denim, thick and hard and lovely as he shifts underneath you, hips mindlessly chasing any hint of friction they can find. "An' apparently, neither could you."
"Do feel free to shut up."
"Or what?" The grin widens, turning positively indecent as he grinds up against you. "You're gon' get me back?"
"Something like that."
"Yeah?" Another roll of his hips, the drag of denim against your still oversensitive cunt making you twitch, breath catching as you can feel him pulse through the soaked fabric. Hands going to your hips again he holds you there, not letting you pull away as he leans in for another kiss, slowly rocking against you. "Do your worst, then."
Oh, you are going to enjoy making him regret saying that. As soon as your legs start working again, that is.