Mine, All Mine Ch. 04

"There's one last reason," he said, trying to hold himself together from the sound of it. "What is it?"

Her head spun. What was it? She had asked a bunch of questions. And then came all over his goddamn hand. What else had she—ah. Right.

"I forgot your name. Sir."

"But you won't forget it again, will you?"

CRACK!

"Aaghh! Five, Sir! No, I will not, Sir!"

By the time the last of it was out of her mouth, she felt him leaning over her, covering her back with his chest, his palm smoothing over the buzzing network of punishment he'd painted on her ass. His tongue came honeyed and beckoning, Mephistopheles at her ear.

"Now there's a good girl."

She almost came again on the spot. It was like he'd been there that night when she'd lost her shit to those same words, imagined while she worked her toy.

"Can you think of any reason," he went on, "that my cock shouldn't be in you?"

Oh god.

"No, Sir." Her voice was firm, certain. "No reason at all."

And of course, his belt was already off ...

The silence around them amplified the zip of his fly, the rustle of fabric. She could feel the powdery earth packing up under her nails, could smell her own lust on the air.

Once a person has felt the first kiss of a cockhead pressing against their body, they can mistake it for nothing else. Taylor knew Ian's cock. By her own bizarre machinations, she'd come to taste it not long ago. To trace out its hills and valleys with her tongue. To hear the noises it let her bring from the man she'd spent several years coveting. Now it was going to know her.

There was nothing he had to do. She was already obscenely slick. Ready.

"Thank you, Taylor."

She was full of cock. Full. And her gasp was the first of many.

The building tease of their play was probably the culprit. Ian made no efforts to be gentle. The relief of that first thrust must have been great, because he jerked his hips back to repeat it, slapping his thighs to her burning skin and hammering his shaft in to the hilt.

"Ian! Sir!"

He made some animal noise behind her just before she felt her hair tangled among fingers again. He brought her further upright by the rough handhold, only to switch gears and take up her wrists, one in each hand, and haul back like a set of reins.

Now, he pounded. The leverage let him bounce her ass off his pelvis, and he did, with a fury.

"Oh yes! God! Please!"

Taylor cried out as he packed her full. The blunt punctuation of plump cockhead battering away at her sanity combined with the warm slap of balls, of working thighs, was an uncontrollable rattle of sensation. A freight train barreling like a steel avalanche down an incline of louder and louder screams.

And then he started hitting that spot.

Ooooooh fuck ... Oooh there it is ... Oh no! Oh shit!

"Ian! Ian, please!"

"Oh, god yeah," he growled, increasing his assault. "Come. Come on my cock."

"Nnnnghhhaaa! Ian! Fuck! FUCK! Do it! Do it! DoitohJesusFUCK!"

Whatever else came out of her mouth was gibberish. She bucked and shuddered on the impaling girth, and he continued to feed it up into her without mercy until she'd wrung herself dry.

"Taylor." Now he was urgent. "Taylor, I'm gonna come. Where?"

She didn't need clarification, nor did she hesitate. "In my mouth."

She was vacant, fluttering, as he let go her wrists and circled around in front of her. There was his cock, red and slick in his pumping fist, a look on his face that would be seared into her brain forever, no matter where life dropped them after this.

"Beg." She already had her palms braced on his hips, but those eyes were fixed on hers. "Beg for it, Taylor. Beg for my cock."

He goddamn well was somebody's Dom, wasn't he?

"Please, Ian. Sir." There was no need to fake sincerity. She wanted it. "Please let me have your cock."

He worked it, engorged, eager, near her open mouth, withholding. Unsatisfied.

"Please! Please, I need it, Sir. I need your cock down my throat, I need to have your load in my mouth right now! Sir, Ian, please let me taste ymmph!"

It was no more than two or three determined thrusts of his hips before he exploded in a roar.

"Taylor! Fuck!"

The salt, like before, was on the back of her tongue in hot jets, and Taylor swallowed it down, hoping to claim every bit of his climax for herself.

Everything slowed with the last of his strokes, but she made sure to stay sealed in place to capture it all. By the time he moved back, her heartbeat was settling. Her lungs were trying to get back to more normal routines.

Ian was leaning against the rough wall of the mine shaft, fastening his fly and working to calm his own heaving chest.

"Wow."

All things considered, it was a pretty lame summary. He laughed anyway.

"Yeah. You could say that."

She leaned down to start unlacing her boot, but he knelt and shooed her away, handling the operation himself. When the boot was off, she pulled back her leg and untangled herself from the beam, moving to half-sit, half-lean on it for support. There was time to contemplate reality while she got her jeans on properly—no thanks to her stinging ass—and the boot back in place.

Ian was winding the bungee up and collecting the clothespins together to tuck them away in his pack. He was so goddamn organized. So efficient. All business. There was always a plan with Ian. And Taylor had known two weeks ago that she had never been a part of it.

She couldn't help but laugh. Mostly because heartbreak lived somewhere close to hysteria.

"Well," she said out loud, all filters gone, "I have to say ... that was some of the best by-proxy revenge fucking I've ever had."

His head whipped around at this and he swiveled up to a stand. The serious brows were back, along with the grim mouth.

"What?" She was near giggling. "You don't want me pointing out the obvious?"

"Taylor," he said, standing in front of her again so that she had to bend her neck to look up at him, "I don't know what you think just happened, but ... this wasn't a revenge fuck."

"Oh no?"

Now he had her face in his hands, and he was nudging upward, urging her to stand. She stood, and the hands moved to lace behind her neck.

"Honey, I don't know how much more obvious I have to be." A dangerous note of hope trilled beneath her ribs. "The things we did today? Those are things I've wanted to do with you."

She blinked at him, emotions hovering.

"I've had it pent up for years, Taylor." Why were her eyes stinging? "I just ... never thought you were interested. Well, OK, there was New Year's Eve, but then you never brought it up again and I just assumed we were chalking it up to alcohol. And there was always Amy, so ... I just let it go, I guess."

Her brain was still working to catch up. "But ... when I came to your apartment." Her eyes searched his, still disbelieving. "You said you were worried I was going to try to make the blowjob into a thing. That you thought I was going to get all clingy and weird. Why would you—"

"Because it seemed like what you wanted to hear!" Now his hands were on her shoulders, as if he could shake sense into her. "And that's what you said, too!"

"Because that's what you wanted to—oh for fuck's sakes, Ian!" She was shoving at his chest, but he was gathering her in his arms, squeezing. "I was fucking pining for you, you motherfucker! You don't even know! Why do you think I almost shit a brick when Amy sent you that text? In my stupid little head, you were mine already, and how dare she fucking hurt you?"

"Taylor, forget Amy." His knuckles were under her chin, persuading her to meet his eyes again. This time they were softer, but full of something huge and scary. Something she'd been looking for and not finding for years.

"Forget fucking everybody," he said. "Wouldn't it be nice to just date your best friend?"

If she'd been wearing panties, that smile of his would have melted them off,

"So I still get to be your best friend?" She was grinning back now, and he shook his head.

"Shut the fuck up, Sharpie."

Kissing, she decided as he tilted her head back, might just be the best part.

* * * *

Six Months Later

"I can't believe how long it took you two idiots to decide you wanted to be together."

Taylor wadded up a napkin and threw it at Nick, who batted it away with the slice of pizza in his hand. "I don't think the guy who got drunk and called 911 because he thought his hoodie on a coat rack was a ghost should be calling anyone an idiot. Punk ass."

She leaned back, snuggling into the crook of Ian's arm again, and he gave her hip a squeeze.

"Whatever," Nick said, rescuing a pepperoni before it fell on his lap. "I'm just saying everyone else saw it but you."

"We totally did," called Chelsea from the kitchen.

"Yeah?" said Ian. "Well then why didn't either of you matchmakers say anything?"

"Because you would listen to us," said Nick. "Yeah, OK." He stood up, taking his paper plate and empty cup to join Chelsea for the beginnings of post-Movie Night cleanup.

When Nick rounded the corner, Taylor poked Ian in the ribs. He poked her back. They engaged in a furious faux slap-fight that ended in laughter and a bit of what might not be considered "work appropriate" touching.

"Hey," he said, mouth close to her ear as he circled his arms around her, "are you wearing it?"

Her face got hot and she glanced toward the kitchen. The other two were still bustling around in there. She shifted on the couch and felt the plug answer back, nudging at her and making her constantly aware of her body.

"Yes, I am." She couldn't help the tone of satisfaction that he hadn't been able to catch her unprepared.

"Yes, what, Taylor?" His fingers laced into her hair and goosebumps pebbled her arms. How had she gotten so lucky? She leaned close and said the words her best friend wanted to hear.

"Yes, Sir."

* * * *

There it is! Was it good for you? Did you groan at the horrible puns the story and chapter titles are? Say 'Hi' in the comments; I'd love to hear from you!

~Eris/D&T