Valentine's Marathon - Morning

Warm hands wrapped under my thighs, a rhythmic pounding between my legs. I hum contentedly as the desire cycling through my veins registers in my half-asleep brain.

"Shit."

The rhythm slows to a gentle pace, a hand peeling away from my thigh to brush a few stray hairs from my face.

"Shhh. It's okay sweetpea, go back to sleep."

Delicate strokes of my hair play in time with his thrusts. With the small amount of brain power I can dedicate to coherent thought, I weigh my options. Return to the tantalizing hold of sleep and miss all the fun, make my consciousness known and ruin it, or lie in wait and feel it all play out. An easy choice, really. I force my breathing to slow, falling into the established beat. After what must have been a convincing length of time, his hand abandoned its gentle petting, returning to its perch at my hip as he brought the pace back up. I bit my tongue to stifle a moan as he thrust into my G-spot. It took all my resolve not to cry out as he repeatedly drove his hard cock into the delicate flesh. He's baiting me, I know it. Through his words too, although the whispered taunts blur together in my blissed-out mind.

"Darling, I'm going to-" he groans, planting himself inside me as he finishes, coating my already slick walls with a load of sticky-hot cum. It's enough to break through my ruse, and I let myself go around him, the pulses of sheer pleasure more than making up for my patience. I finally allow my eyelids to flutter open.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, my love," he whispers, a soft smile gracing his lips between heavy breaths. He pulls out, a trail of our combined juices dripping across my stomach as he leans down for a kiss. "Happy Valentine's Day," he mutters against my skin, trailing kisses from my mouth down to my neck. A quiet gasp escapes my lips as he nibbles a particularly sensitive spot, sucking just enough to leave a light hickey.

"You okay, sweetpea?" he asked, rolling off of me and onto his side. I nuzzle into his chest as he loops an arm over me, humming my reply with a slight giggle. His fingers tangle lazily in my hair. I let the soft motion lull my eyes closed again.

"So how long have you been awake?"

"Hmmm? I wasn't awake..."

"Sure, sure. I hope you aren't lying though. I'd hate to have to punish a lying brat on Valentine's Day of all days..."

"I might have been awake..."

"See, that wasn't so hard to admit," he smirks, planting a kiss on my head. "Why don't you run off and take a shower then?"

"Alone?" I pout.

he sighs. "I suppose the sheets can wait a few minutes..."

"Yay!" I laugh, wrapping my limbs around his core.

"Oh you expect me to carry you there? Very well then." With a grunt of effort, he stands up from the bed, supporting my weight in his arms as I straddle his hips. "Try not to drip too much on the floor," he taunts. "Because you'll be the one cleaning it up," I pout as he sets me on the edge of the bathroom counter.

"Poor thing, legs so weak she can't even walk across the room," he teases, once again brushing my hair back from my face.

"I wasn't expecting you to wake me up like that," I say, hoping to derail the conversation from a stream of endless teasing. "Was the alarm clock not working?"

"Oh don't give me that, you wore the shirt to bed," he retaliates, tugging at the hem of the shirt in question. It was a stupid thing, an oversized white t-shirt that had the words "FUCK ME" printed in Impact. Some of the girls in sales had made them a while back. And while I imagine most of the print batch was relegated to the backs of people's closets, this one has become more than a joke between us.

He pulls the shirt up, peeling the sticky fabric from my skin. It'll have to go in the wash too.

"May I?" He asks, pausing at my waist. I nod, raising my arms as he lifts the shirt over my head. He drops it to the floor and plants another kiss on the top of my head.

"Now do you think you can handle standing in the shower on your own, or should I run a bath instead?"

I slide off the counter, managing to support myself on my own two legs. "I think I'll manage."

"Good, good."

He steps into the shower, turning the faucet on and letting it run until the water is hot. He switched the rainfall shower on and stepped back out.

"Ladies first."

I step into the shower myself, the cascade of warm water soothing against my flushed skin. He comes up behind me, pulling the shower curtain closed and confining us to the barely one-metre-squared space. I hear the handheld shower head turn on as he begins to wet my hair.

"You should wear your hair up to bed, it'll get less tangled that way."

"It's comfiest when it's down. I can't sleep with it all bunched up behind my head."

"There's plenty of styles that lie flat," he refutes, mounting the shower head back on the wall. "Like twintails," he grabs my hair in two even fistfuls. "Or a French Braid," he grabs it in one, tugging slightly.

"I'll think about it," I murmur, leaning into the relaxing sensation of his slender fingers massaging shampoo into my scalp. I gasp as he drags his nails along the sensitive skin.

"I'll gladly do it for you," he suggests, hands working their way further down my head. "It's hard to see back here." I feel him brush my hair aside, leaning down to kiss my neck. Lingering long enough to bruise dark, the possessive bastard.

"Hey!"

"What?" he asks, feigning innocence as finishes shampooing my hair. The handheld shower head comes back to rinse the soap out, him humming quietly to himself as he works.

"What song is that?" I ask, attempting to place the unfamiliar melody.

"Just something I heard recently," he dismisses, picking up the conditioner bottle. I ponder another avenue of conversation as he conditions the ends of my hair. Not because I feel especially talkative this morning, I simply crave the sound of his voice.

"So what are our plans for the day?" We've both taken the day off of work, and he has been taunting me with his elaborate plans for at least the last two weeks.

"How many times have I told you, it's a surprise."

"It's the day of, can you at least give me a hint?" I let my voice trail off into a whine.

"What would be the point of keeping it from you this whole time if I'm just going to tell you now?"

"I'll find out later today anyways," I counter, turning to face him. He studies my face, as though considering my argument.

"I suppose I can give you one hint," he muses, leaning into me so his breath tickled my ear. "I plan to fuck you against every feasible surface we come across today."

I flush at that statement, instinctually pressing my thighs together. His eyes flick down to my obvious discomfort and back up to my face.

"I see you like that idea as much as I do, doll."

"It's uh... quite the surprise," I stutter, refraining from eye contact by fixating on the patterned shower tiles over his shoulder.

"I'm glad you like it," he replies, planting a hand next to my head on the tiled wall. "Because we've already gotten the obvious out of the way, and this wall here seems a worthy contender." He tilts my chin up and kisses me, trailing his hand down to my waist once my lips are locked in his. He pulls himself into me, pressing my back into the slick tiles. Pressing himself into my front.

"You really want to?"

"Of course." His hand glides down from my waist to my thigh. "Keep one foot on the ground, I don't want to drop you."

"You've never dropped me before," I complain.

"Would you like to spend the rest of Valentine's Day in the ER?"

"It could be interesting..."

"What could be? Fucking in a hospital bed? Surrounded by security cameras and interrupted by nurses every five minutes? Not to mention the shattered tailbone that likely landed you there in the first place?"

"Fine..." I begrudgingly let him lift only one of my legs, throwing my arms over his shoulders to balance myself. He grinds against me, tantalizingly slow. Sending every nerve nested between my legs into high alert. He went on for what felt like hours but might have been mere minutes. Teasing endless drops of wetness out of me until my walls are as slick as the shower's.

"That's it, good girl," he murmurs, filling me with his cock at long last. My hands grip his shoulders tighter as he fucks into me. Slow and sensual, no less teasing than before. I lean my head forward, into his chest, whining. The sound is muffled by his warm body.

"What is it darling?" he asks, his free hand sliding off the wall to cradle my head against him. I moan again, still burying my face in his chest. "Use your words," he taunts, his fingers tracing lazy circles across my scalp as he continues thrusting into me at that slow pace. I grind myself into him, hoping to convey my desire through actions instead. The hand supporting my thigh clenches tight into the soft flesh, his grip not letting up until I finally bring my hips to a standstill. "Words," he prompts. I sigh and give in.

"Please fuck me faster?" I ask, my voice still muffled by his skin.

"Sorry love, I didn't catch that," he apologizes, tilting my head up from between his pecs to expose my mouth. He drills me with eye contact, bringing his thrusts to a halt when I don't respond. I cry out in anguish, prompting a cynical laugh from him. "Oh darling, you only need to tell me what you want," he taunts.

"Please fuck me faster," I plead, hitting him with my best puppy-dog eyes.

"'Fuck me faster,' who?"

"Please fuck me faster, sir."

"Well if you insist..." he whispers, a certain evil glint behind his eyes. "Here, give me your hands." I unlatch my grip from his shoulders and he takes both my wrists in his hand, pinning them to the wall above my head. My back arches off the wall as he pounds his cock into me, the rapid pace sparking tears in my eyes. "Oh, is this too much for your poor little body to handle, darling?" He asks, pounding into my dripping cunt even harder when I can't form the words to reply. "Such a pathetic little thing, aren't you?" he scoffs. I can barely blink a response, my mind blanking as the tension in my core snaps. I feel my legs give out, his hands on my wrists and hip my only support as he pumps another load of cum into me. We stay frozen for a minute, the cascading water from the shower the only indication of the passage of time.

Eventually, he steps back, pulling out to admire his work. A mixed trail of his cum and my juices dripping down my thigh. He traces it up with two fingers, scooping up the mess. Then he brings his fingers to his lips and sucks them clean, maintaining eye contact as he swallows.

"Now, the whole point of this shower was to clean you up, and yet it seems I've only succeeded in creating more of a mess," he teases. "Ah well, I suppose it's not too late to remedy that," he says, unhooking the handheld shower from the wall.

"No, please don't I don't think I can take anymore please sir I can't take anymore-" I cry, my pleas dissolving into a whimper as he aims the pulsing jets of water at my flushed, sensitive pussy.

"Hush now, you'll be all cleaned up soon," he whispers, bringing the shower head closer to my heat. I moan as he dials up the water pressure, centring the jet on my clit. Spreading my legs further to steady myself as he gently lowers my hands from the wall. His own hand now free, he opts to plunge two fingers into my pussy, massaging its sensitive walls in all the right ways. Enough to push me over the edge again, clenching around his fingers as the relentless stream of water washes my juices away. I collapse against him, his reaction time just short enough to catch me. He soothingly rubs down my spine as I blink back to reality.

"Too much?" he asks, a slight hint of worry in his voice.

"Never enough," I smile, throwing my arms around him. My stomach rumbles between us.

"Breakfast?" he asks, laughing.

"Oh, yes!" I reply, sinking to my knees in the shower stall.

"What are you-" he starts, eyes narrowing. "By God, you are a slut," he exclaims, slapping my face away before I could wrap my lips around his length. "A real breakfast. With food," he chastises, holding a hand out to pull me up from the floor. "But maybe that can be your dessert," he slyly suggests. "Now get to washing up for real, we're going to use up all the hot water in the building at this rate."

I unhook my bath puff from the wall and drizzle it in soap, letting the floral scent envelop my senses. I scrub away at my skin, a thin film of bubbles forming before the water washes them away. All clean, I wait for him to turn off the shower and hand me my towel. Instead, he holds it out in front of him, expectantly.

"Turn around and come here," he instructs. I carefully step backwards into his reach, and he pulls me into a hug, wrapping the towel around my body in the process. "You've done so well this morning, my love," he praises, his voice barely a whisper against my ear. I smile and lean back into him as he kisses my cheek.

In the bedroom I trade out my towel for a comfortable pair of yoga pants and one of his sweaters that I'm ninety percent sure he only bought after we started dating -- I think I caught him cutting the store tags off one once. I zip the hoodie up and follow him down to the kitchen for breakfast.

"What do you want for breakfast, doll? Eggs? Sausages? Pancakes? We did miss Shrove Tuesday yesterday," he says, surveying the contents of our refrigerator.

"I thought the whole point of Shrove Tuesday was to use all your tempting ingredients before Lent?" I ask.

"It doesn't seem like either of us is giving up any kind of temptation this Lenten season, damned be our souls," he jokes, pulling the milk and eggs out of the fridge.

A few minutes later he has a couple heart-shaped pancakes cooking away as he slices strawberries.

"Up," he commands, patting his hand on the counter.

"I'm not a dog," I pout, boosting myself up to sit on the counter.

"Just as obedient as one though, aren't you, puppy?" he teases, pressing a strawberry to my lips. I suck it into my mouth, biting off at the stem. He tosses the leaves in the open green bin and goes back to slicing. "I've washed all of them, if you want another," he mentions, pointing to the pile of uncut strawberries next to him with the tip of his knife. He turns his attention back to the pancakes, the unfamiliar melody from before slipping through his lips again. I listen in silence for a minute or two, popping another strawberry into my mouth.

"You really like that song, don't you?"

"Hmm?" he flinches, caught off guard by my sudden interjection. "Uh, I suppose so."

"Could you play it for me?" I ask, pulling up the music player on my phone.

"M-maybe later, I don't remember the name of it right now," he stammers, unusually flustered. "Here, hold out your hand," he says, distracting me by dropping a tiny, still-warm pancake onto my palm. I take the bait and bite into the miniature treat.

"Mmm, they're perfect!" I exclaim, quickly devouring the rest.

"And you should expect nothing less from me," he smirks, leaning in to kiss me. "Mmm, you picked a good batch of strawberries... so sweet," he mutters against my lips, lingering for a few more kisses. Eventually, he pulls away to pour another batch of pancakes into the pan.

Three batches of pancakes later, he scrapes the last of the batter into the pan, dropping the now empty bowl in the sink. I reach my hands out, making grabbing motions toward the batter-covered spatula in his hand.

"Is this your next attempt at ER sex? Salmonella?" he asks, holding the spatula even further out of my reach. "Or have I simply trained my little slut to enjoy licking things clean?"

"Please?"

"How about a trade?"

"For?"

"You get to lick this batter," he starts, circling the spatula hypnotically. "And I get to eat your pretty little pussy."

"Deal!" I agree, sliding off the counter to roll down my pants.

"Not right now, the pancakes will go cold," he reminds me, passing over the spatula before plating up two stacks of pancakes and strawberries. He sets them on the kitchen table alongside a pillar candle and some artfully folded napkins.

"Bon appétit, ma chère."