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"I can take it."
It's objectively hilarious, having this conversation when they're both stripped down to nothing with the sound of the sea coming through the open guest bedroom window in a house that BJ and Peg are still breaking in. He rather thought that breaking it in meant hosting parties, having company, testing the furniture flow of the rooms. Not pounding an old war friend into the mattress.
But Margaret's always been complicated for him, and her stubbornness still knows no bounds. And besides, there's no pounding happening right now either. There's BJ sprawled out on top of her, his weight held off of her form, and Margaret with all four limbs wrapped around him like an octopus, trying to drag him down for what she wants.
BJ's brows lift as he holds her gaze, staring into the sharp blue crystals gleaming at him. "Okay, first of all, this isn't a competition. This isn't a dare. This is—"
"It's you thinking I can't handle you," she counters in that drawling way she has, complete with a little head wiggle that rustles her blonde waves further.
"Are you—" BJ manages to pull away another half-inch, maybe, and gets his hand around his dick in demonstration, giving it a few quick tugs so he's at maximum hardness. "Margaret, have you seen my cock?"
She narrows her eyes. "I've taken a lot of cock before, Hunnicutt."
Even in the midst of his frustration, a little thrill races up his spine. "And as exciting as that might be for me to think about..." He finally breaks out of her hold so he can sit up on his knees. It gives him a better look at her frankly incredible body—soft breasts, shapely waist, pale skin, the thatch of dark hair between her thighs—and he loses track of his thoughts for a moment, only regaining them when he feels her try to reach for his hardness. "No, listen, literally this isn't even about if you can take my cock or not, it's me trying to go slow for this first time, and—"
"It's frankly insulting, the way you're belittling my ability."
"Why are you bringing Frank into this?" he counters.
It works. He sees her fighting tooth and nail not to laugh, not even to smile, but the gleam in her eyes gives her away. "First of all, if you wanted me out of your bed, you could've just said his name in the first place, because that's ruined the mood—"
"Uh-uh." As she makes to slip away, he pins her back down with a hand on her shoulder, a slow smile crossing his lips. "Don't you fucking dare, sweetheart."
"Second of all," she continues, as though she's not flushing from the endearment, "I'm ordering you to take me. Right. Now."
BJ leans down closer, his smile shifting to something more mischievous. "Mm, but you're not my commanding officer anymore, Margaret. And you never will be again."
"But I'm a woman." Her voice goes throaty and rich, all velvet on his bare skin, as she sinks both hands into his hair and gives a tug that has him tipping his head back with a groan. "Wet. Hungry. Begging for your cock. And that's about the same effect, isn't it?"
Regrettably, she has a point. Even just listening to her purr out those words has his heart pounding hard enough to break through his ribs. As she pulls him in by her grip on his locks, he releases a shaky sigh, mouth falling open from that faint searing bit of pain.
She presses her lips right to his ear. "I need you to fuck me, Hunnicutt. I need you to fill me up. Hard. Fast. I need you to make me scream."
The arm holding up his weight starts to shake as he cups the back of her head in turn, fisting in the strands. "If I hurt you—"
"—then I'll thank you for it."
Somehow that's the hottest thing she could've said to him. He's spent his whole life forcing himself to be gentle, aware of how quickly he shot up as an adolescent, how he's towered and outbroadened so many of the other men in his age group. He's fought to resist the natural rhythm of his masculinity, making his movements something seamless and watery and languid so he never makes someone feel threatened unless he wants his presence to land like a fucking bomb.
He's still not sure she's speaking the truth—that she's not just being stubborn—but suddenly he wants very much to find out.
All at once, he explodes, breaking out of her hold with ease as he sits back up and uses the hand in her hair to start flipping her over. His other fingers dig into her hip, tossing her onto her belly, and before she even has time to cry out in surprise, he grabs her by the waist and yanks her so her ass is against his cock, her cheek still on the sheets.
They were ready for this. He's already got his condom on, already slicked himself with lube just to be perfectly sure she'd be ready for him. "You asked for it," he murmurs as he guides himself forward, presses just the head of his dick against her heat, then takes a quick breath to steel himself before he thrusts inside of her.
"Fuck!" Margaret slaps her hand on the mattress, then yanks up a fistful of it with a sharp groan. "I know that's not all you've got, Hunnicutt, come on—"
She's absolutely out of her mind. He sinks as deep as he can go, balls pressing against her slick lips, and can't help but let out a quick, rough chuckle. "You tell me if I need to stop—"
"Go!" she demands with a glare over her shoulder.
Not for the first time, he is absolutely certain he's falling in love with her. The thought makes him smirk as he grabs her by the hair and gives it a tight pull to silence her just before he begins fucking her in earnest.
And, Jesus Christ, she's responsive as hell. He always had a notion that a woman as mouthy as her would carry it right over into the bedroom, but the way she moans unabashedly stokes a roaring fire in his gut. Maybe she's just like him, still addicted to the thrill that there's no thin canvas that she has to hide her pleasure from. Hell, maybe it's just the realization that this is finally happening, that they get to have each other.
There's something devastatingly hot about how Peg is just on the other side of the beach house too, no doubt buried in a book, trying not to smile at the sounds coming down the hall. If he knows his wife at all, she's absolutely going to set it aside and let her fingers slip under her nightgown, rub herself off to the sounds of them ruining each other.
It unlocks something further inside of him, thinking that there might even be a night where, if this happens again, she might wander down the hall to watch. To taste. To take.
A man shouldn't get to have this much in life.
He sinks his short nails into Margaret's hip, eating up her answering cry, drinking in the sight of the marks he's leaving there. "Fuck, I've needed you," he growls, barely able to get the words out. "D'you know how good you feel?"
"God, BJ..." His name gets swallowed up in a sharp moan as he pulls her hard by the hair, and he watches as her hand flies out of sight, under her body, between her legs.
He hadn't planned for what hearing his name—not his surname, his fucking name—out of her lips would do to him. He fights the urge to pull her in for a tender kiss, keeps himself focused on the path of ruining her little by little. "Say it again. Say it while you're coming on my fucking cock, Margaret."
"Oh, fuck, fuck." She sounds almost frenzied, like a maenad who's lost complete control of herself, like she's nothing but a vessel for sensation and ecstasy. "I'm gonna come, BJ—"
"That's it, that's it, give it to me, right fucking now."
He barely gets the last word out before she's almost screaming for him—"Fuck, BJ!"—and as she thrashes under him, he holds her down with his body, sinks his teeth into her shoulder, and moans sharply in response. He fucks her through it, not letting up, chasing his own release as she tightens around him.
It's when she reaches for his hair in turn and twists her neck so she can kiss him bruisingly that he comes, overwhelmed by the taste and the feel of her.
It takes him a long moment to realize that he's trembling, overadrenalized, and BJ gives in and rolls them over so he can turn her so they're chest to chest. He holds her so tightly to him, he's almost stunned they're both still able to breathe.
"Fuck," Margaret whispers, petting through his hair in a way that settles him fast, bringing him right back down to earth. "My word." She laughs. "I hoped you had that in you."
"Yeah? I didn't...hurt you, did I?"
"Hunnicutt, please, I feel like a new woman."
"No, no," he whispers. He cups her face gently in his hands and lifts her head so he can stare into her eyes. "Please. My name?"
Her expression goes through a wild array of interesting shifts, settling on something open and tender. He can't help but wonder how many other people have had the privilege of seeing how she softens all at once, lines and muscles loosening until she's barely more than a young girl, still filled with dreams and hopes, untouched by war.
She thumbs over his cheek in a familiar way—one he's used so often on Peg—and her voice is as gentle as a sprinkling rain when she speaks. "BJ."
He melts. There's just something about how her voice shapes those two letters that tells him everything he needs to know about how she feels. That there's no rush. There's no demands or expectations. There's just them, gently washed over by the sound of the sea, warmed by each other, happy to take her week-long visit as it comes and see what happens.
"Margaret," he whispers right back with a slow smile. And when she melts in turn, he guides her back in for a languid, unhurried kiss, utterly content.