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He’s already writhing underneath her when she’s pushing her hand into his boxers.
It’s a lazy day—weekend, and way too hot outside, so Nancy’s looking at him with half-lidded eyes, hands roaming all over his chest under his shirt to wake him up. Jonathan’s been sleeping well, there’s almost a complaint on his tongue, but it all dies in his throat when she tugs at the strings of his sweatpants and pushes her hand inside.
So yeah. That’s where they are now—in his bed, at whatever time it currently is, his girlfriend on top of him, her hand around his cock. Jonathan thinks he must have morning wood because while he’s very whipped for her, he doesn’t usually get this hard this quickly.
Nancy’s grin quirks. She noticed, too. She always does.
“Good—shit—good morning,” he mutters, squeezing his eyes shut and rolling his head back when she squeezes him in her hand, humming in satisfaction at his reaction. “Christ, Nancy.”
She laughs—bubbly, cute, in that way he’s grown so fond of. And it’s almost strange to be so used to the sound, when Jonathan thinks back to how they started, back to when everything was always doom and gloom and trauma, and now they’re together in his bed and things are good.
For now. He doesn’t want to think about all the things that could go wrong in the future, not like this.
“I can stop,” Nancy says, almost sheepishly now, but she squeezes his cock again, and that tells him pretty clearly she knows she got him. And damn, she always has.
Instead of telling her that, he leans up and presses his mouth over hers. Brushes his hand through the curls of her perm at the back of her neck, tilts his head to pull her closer. She hums under her breath as she leans in, indulges his kissing.
It turns heated quickly. Which, truly, shouldn’t be a surprise because Nancy’s hand is already curled around his cock, but he almost forgot about that with his sleep-hazy brain until she starts jerking him. Slowly, teasingly, almost.
Jonathan gasps, and Nancy presses her tongue against his, swallows his sound up. He thinks if he opened his eyes, she’d still be looking at him—with those clear blue eyes that have gotten so much stronger over the years, so much more like steel and determination, the same eyes that have always pinned him to place.
And by God, he’s definitely not complaining. He’s still gently brushing his hand through her hair, kissing her with small gasps, when Nancy brushes her other hand under his shirt again, dragging her nails over his stomach gently, before tugging his sweatpants down. Down, fiddling with her other hand to tug his boxers down, too, and Jonathan hisses a little when the air hits his bare cock.
It’s not exactly cold, but it’s—it’s a lot. He all but reels back, his head hitting the pillow roughly as he chokes out a noise that’s almost a moan.
“Jesus Christ,” he hisses, goes cross-eyed for a moment when she readjusts her grip, squeezes him again, before going back to jerking him. His vision is blurry, his hands flailing through the air uselessly for a few moments. “Nancy—”
Nancy shushes him with a click of her tongue, before leaning in and pressing her mouth to the side of his neck. He’s sure there’s lipstick stains all over his face and neck already, because that’s how it always ends with them, but that train of thought gets derailed quickly at the feeling of the edge of her teeth against his pulse, her fingers still squeezing his cock.
Jesus Christ. He’s barely even woken up, they’ve barely even started, and yet he’s close already. Jonathan moans, lifts his chin, lets her bite and suck at his neck as she pleases. It’s okay—it’s okay, right? If she—if she leaves bruises, he can probably ice them away until he has to go to work again.
“Nancy,” Jonathan repeats, more insistent, this time. His head is still spinning pleasantly from sleep, but she’s got a real way to shake him out of it, that’s for sure. “Nancy, if you don’t stop, I’ll—”
She pulls away with a smile that can really only be described as a grin—and her eyelids are a little smudged with the remainder of her mascara from yesterday, her curls a little unruly, but her eyes are sparkling all the same. Her sleeping shirt has slipped off one of her shoulders and shows just a hint of her cleavage with the way she’s leaning over him.
Jesus Christ.
“That’s okay,” she whispers, almost airy, tilting her head with that same grin on her face, the same dangerous sparkle in her eyes. It’s… so hot. “I’ll get you there again. Yeah? How’s that?”
Jesus… yeah, okay, you get it. A noise slips out of him, unbidden, something between a groan and a whimper, and from the corner of his eye Jonathan catches how Nancy shifts where she’s sitting. Like she usually does when she’s turned on, but it’s not like he can actually think about that for too long, because she’s speeding up now.
It’s over quickly, and Nancy rips his shirt up his chest as he gasps out her name, and that’s the last thing he really consciously notices. Her hand squeezes him, and that’s it, his orgasm hits him quick and hard, tingling through his body until he’s left shuddering and gasping, his cum pooling on his stomach where it landed.
“God,” he groans, squeezing his eyes shut, but she nuzzles into the side of his face to shush him, humming softly as she’s grabbing around. Gets an old shirt of his from the ground to clean him up, pressing kisses all over his face.
Jesus, she really knows how to make a guy feel special, huh? Once Jonathan has managed to catch his breath again, he turns his head, captures her lips in a kiss, before leaning over and brushing his hand over the soft skin of her cheek, cradling her in return to her softness.
It’s almost instinctive, by now—being soft to her. He loves her, after all.
Jonathan pulls away, lashes fluttering, and he thinks there’s a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, and Nancy’s smile softens, a small giggle slipping out of her as she nuzzles her nose to his.
“Lie back down, big boy,” she replies, gaze dropping to his lips before flicking back up to his eyes, and something about that is so hot that he shivers, his softening cock twitching with everything it still has left.
Which is not a lot, to be fair. Hey, it’s giving its best effort anyway.
He complies immediately—another thing that’s instinct. She’s always been the boss of the two of them. So he watches how she shifts, how she shimmies out of her sleeping shorts, then her panties, and God, he wishes she’d take off the sleeping shirt, too, but she’s kind of driving him crazy either way.
“Nancy,” Jonathan gasps, reaching out for her—but he’s still lying down, still staying in position. “Please.”
Her smile tilts, slips back into something more heated, and she moves to straddle him, somewhere around his stomach. Her thighs are small and pale, and his gaze flickers from them to the pubic hair between them to the slip of her hips and stomach he can see under her shirt. Slowly, she climbs up higher on her knees, until she slowly maneuvers over his shoulders with a low hum, settling her hips hovering at his chin.
“Face up,” she commands, breathy, and he complies, looks up to Nancy and the satisfied look on her face. “That’s good. Good boy.”
Before he can do much at that—moan, maybe, ask her to stop teasing—she moves again, slowly lowering her hips on his face, her hands settling on the headboard. And that’s Jonathan’s cue, so he reaches out to hold her hips, loosely, opens his mouth and closes his eyes.
That first moment is always something else entirely. It doesn’t matter how many times they’ve done this, how used he is to her weight on his jaw, the first touch of slick skin on his tongue always leaves him spinning. He groans—presses his tongue against the hot skin of her cunt, against the heady, earthy taste of her.
Nancy’s breath hitches, he can hear that even over his racing heart. She gasps, moans softly, rocks her hips against his mouth, and that’s it. Quickly, he flattens his tongue, squeezes her hips to give her the go ahead.
“God…” she gasps, rocking her hips against him again, and with a few more jerks, she seems to have found her rhythm. Jonathan tries his best not to get in her way—to keep his mouth open, press his tongue against her, let her ride his face otherwise. “That’s it…”
One of Nancy’s hand drops from the wooden, worn headboard of his bed, claws into his hair, and the small pinpricks of pain rush through his whole body until they tingle in his fingertips. It feels great—the weight of her, the tug on his scalp, the way he can only breathe her when he does. Way too less oxygen, and he’s swimming, pressing against her, working his tongue against her slick pussy.
Ever helpful, she tilts her hips just so, and Jonathan sucks her clit into his mouth, which makes her shriek.
“Jesus!” she chastises, but there’s way too little heat in her voice, and the way she’s still rolling her hips against his face—getting faster by the minute—he knows very well she doesn’t really mean it. “Be careful, we can’t be loud, oh—”
Nancy tugs at his hair again, so he relaxes, pushes his tongue against her again, groans at the taste, at the urgency in her voice. It’s a reprimand, probably, the hair pulling, but God, they both know he loves it. Loves every second of it.
And she’s always been good at working herself over. Jonathan brushes his hand back to knead at her ass, which just makes the buck of her hips more insistent, the sound of her gasps more high-pitched. The way she’s pulling at his hair is almost vicious by now—tugging him in this direction or the other to change the angle slightly, until she can grind against him in a way that (presumably) has her seeing stars. He can barely breathe.
Her full weight is seated on top of him now, her body almost limp against him, on top of him, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. His tongue and jaw are getting sore, but they’re almost there anyway, he can tell from the way her thighs twitch.
“Jonathan,” she says, breathy, rolling her hips against his face, her body leaning back, and he watches the pale stretch of her throat, the rise and fall of her chest. “Stay like that, don’t move, stay like that, don’t stop, Jonathan—”
It’s not like he can really stop to begin with, what with her being on top of him and all that, but he’s smarter than to try and tell her that, especially when she’s this close. So he dutifully presses his tongue against Nancy’s pussy, lets her grind against him, and tries not to lose his mind over here. She’s so soft—her ass in his palms, her thighs against his face, the way she tastes, her clit pressing against his tongue.
On the topic of thighs, those start clamping down around Jonathan’s head as she comes, squeezing him like a vice, and his vision is blurring as he watches her mouth fall open, her hips twitching against his tongue, her thigh muscles pressed against his cheeks, her fingernails digging into his scalp. A bit of fluid gushes into his mouth, and he laps it up eagerly, groaning at it, causing her body to tremble a little with how sensitive she must be by now.
She goes slack on top of him, slumping against the headboard, and her big shirt falls down around his face like a curtain so he can look up at her perky little tits. It does a lot for him, actually—the sight of her pink nipples pebbled with arousal, the heavy taste of her still on his tongue, the way her chest heaves with small, puffy gasps.
Swiftly, she gets off him, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead, her thighs now bracketing his abdomen. Her cunt is hot against his stomach—hot and pulsing and slick, and yeah, he’s definitely hard again by now. He’s busy catching his breath for now, however.
Nancy presses kisses over Jonathan’s face again, whispering soft praise, and it makes him feel like he’s floating, making the hazy feeling in his brain slowly melt into something softer as he gasps for air.
“Good boy,” she purrs, tugging at his earlobe with her teeth, before pressing a swift kiss to his mouth. He’s still drenched in her—absolutely and completely, from his nose downwards, and the feeling of it cooling on his skin is rather pleasant, actually. “Such a good boy. My good boy, yeah? That was so good.”
Jonathan hums, and his voice is a little hoarse, a little rough with what they’ve just done. He moves his jaw around, shrugging at the light sting, looking up to Nancy and her pretty sparkling eyes, the smile on her face. Gently, he brushes a hand up her back, under her shirt, watches her shiver on top of him.
“Nancy,” he pleads, and she understands him immediately, because she gets off him, leans over to grab a condom out of the bedside table drawer.
“I’ll take care of you,” she mutters, then she winks at him when she turns back around, causing him to snort. “Told you I’d getcha there again.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, but he’s smiling at her, moving up to help her with the condom—but she just raises a brow at him, pushing at his chest softly. Oh, well, whatever, she’s always been the more active part, anyway, so Jonathan settles down again, watches as she hums, rips the condom wrapper open and grabs his cock with her other hand.
A hiss slips out of him, and with the way she grins, she knows exactly what she’s doing. Weakly, his hips twitch against her grip, causing her to shake her head in mock-reprehension, before she manages to roll the condom over his cock and swing one of her milky thighs over his hips.
“Jeez,” Nancy mutters, gaze flicking up his body slowly, and she ignores his groan as she presses down on his cock, instead brushing up his shirt again. “Impatient, are we?”
“Nancy—” he repeats, more urgently, and she smiles at him sweetly, rocks against his cock. The heat of her cunt—even through the condom like this—is unbearable. Makes him want to melt. “Please.”
And that’s what she wants, in the end, isn’t it? So he says it again.
“Please. Please, Nancy, please ride me, please—”
The smile spreads back on her face, the smile that’s been tugging on her lips even with all the fake sternness, and she grabs his cock, lifts her hips to align herself.
“There we go,” she breathes out, and Jonathan grabs at her hips to help keep her steady as she sinks down on his cock. “That’s a good boy. Not so hard, is it?”
She bottoms out. Stills. Jonathan whines, but he doesn’t dare buck his hips up. It takes a few moments until he realizes what she wants.
(God, he wants to give her everything she wants, all of the time.)
“No,” he gasps in response, breathless, his head spinning again. His hands twitch where he’s holding on to Nancy’s hips. “N-no, it’s not hard, please—”
A satisfied hum slips out of her pink lips, and that’s when she starts moving. Slow, at first, a rise and fall of her hips, but then she gets faster, bouncing on his cock, and Jonathan thinks he could die every single time. It’s just—so good. She’s warm inside, soft around him, and the way she moves—
“Shirt,” he manages to choke out, and Nancy opens her eyes that she’s had squeezed shut in pleasure. Her lips are parted. “Take your shirt off, please, please, wanna see your tits, please.”
She mumbles something—something like not much to see, he thinks, and he’ll have to talk to her about that later, assure her that she’s everything (and that he loves her boobs), but right now, he’s far too gone—shifts on top of him, lifting the hem of her shirt and taking it off over her head.
And Nancy is gorgeous, but he’s always known that. Always, always, always, from the moment he first saw her when he was like fucking six or whatever.
She’s gorgeous like this, on top of him, skin pale and littered with birthmarks here and there, her chest and face flushed. The strain of her thighs around him—the flex of her stomach, the dark pubic hair between her legs, the way her mouth falls open.
And then—then she starts bouncing on his cock again, and this time, Jonathan can see the rise and fall of her chest with her quick breaths, can see her small breasts bounce in the dim light. He reaches up with one hand to palm at one of them, to tug at her nipple, and he’s rewarded by a sweet gasp out of Nancy’s mouth, by the pace of her hips quickening.
“Jonathan,” she moans again, and something about the way she says his name in these contexts always has him melt.
“Nancy,” he gasps back, vision blurring again, and he squeezes her hips, bucks his hips against hers, starts meeting her thrusts with his own.
Another gasp rolls out of her, then she moans, and they find a rhythm soon enough, one that works for both of them, one that sends sparks of pleasure through his whole body until he doesn’t know where he ends and where she begins. Maybe it’s something about the early morning that’s making him so insufferably sappy—but maybe he’s just always like that, with her.
“Nancy,” he repeats, quieter now, a hushed whisper with an urgency that makes her hips move even faster. How does she even do that?
Well, he’s not complaining, because it feels amazing.
“Nancy, Nancy, Nancy, ‘m gonna—”
Jonathan thinks he can see her nodding, her curls flying around, and she grinds against him, leaving him to thrust up into her as she takes care of herself. His mind blurs together—hazy, still with how tired he is, but mostly just with her. It’s almost unreal to think about, how well their bodies have adjusted to each other, how good they have gotten at… well, this. Making each other feel good.
Nancy comes first—lunging forwards, rocking her hips against his in short little twitches, her hands digging into the sheets next to his shoulders, and she’s gasping, little uh uh uh sounds that push him over the edge, as well. That and the way her cunt flutters around his cock. Jonathan’s head rolls back with a small groan, pleasure clouding his head and making him feel fizzy and tingly all over as he finishes into the condom.
For a long while, they’re just panting. Gasping for air, until Nancy’s arms buckle and she slumps down against his chest, his arms immediately coming up to wrap around her.
“Jesus Christ,” Jonathan gasps, his bangs stuck to his forehead with sweat, and she giggles breathlessly in his arms as he kisses into her hair, his cock softening inside of her. “What a way to wake up.”
She nuzzles into the fabric of his shirt, presses a kiss to his sternum, and he thinks that if she was looking at him, her eyes would be twinkling again.
“Right?”
He falls asleep again not too much later—falls asleep to Nancy pressing soft kisses to his neck once she’s scooted up a little bit, to the weight of her on top of him, to the feeling of adoration in his chest.