Work Text:
All Mel hears with her head on the armrest of the vintage chaise lounge in his bedroom is that Mrs. Langdon abhors it. He formed no serious opinion on it until tonight.
Langdon kisses her sweaty temple, savouring the salt. Come on, pumpkin, you always have more for Daddy. Mel knows another petulant I can’t will drive him faster, deeper. Begging for mercy is pointless until there’s another cross on her bucket list.
They’re alike in that regard. Raw ambition. Langdon cracks a smile when she likens him to her personal genie, making her wishes come true, whether her body is ready or not.
Don’t tell me you’re a quitter. I taught you better than that.
As she quickly learns, Langdon doesn’t stop until the task is done. No detours. When Mel comes again, she does so all over the shabby couch, with his hand pressing her lower belly. Like a geyser, she is wrung dry. Wetness smeared over her cunt soaks into the soft, blonde tuffs. Walls aching from pressure, lips parted enough to release his name in speedy succession. Now there we go, that’s more like it.
Dizzy and satisfied, c’mere, angel is all she hears when he dries her with a towel and tucks her into bed, prescribing long rest after exhausting herself. Doctor’s orders, alright? Which he follows with a kiss to her hairline.
Eyelids heavy and muscles relaxed, Mel apologizes for dampening the pretty chair. “Wouldn’t sweat it, Abby’s had it out for that thing for almost twenty years, so I caved and got a new one.”
Mel reminds him it’s the thought that counts, but Langdon knows it’s the memory that really matters.
squirt (at least once)