AUTHOR'S NOTE - So, I have this tradition, I see, of writing myself some birthday smut. Well, no harm there. :)
Yes, this would be a birthday present from yours truly to yours truly. So be it.



There was something to be said about the way he would build her orgasm slowly and meticulously, not leaving a part of her body untouched, bringing her over the edge fast and hard after that.

He would start off by kissing her thoroughly, upon which he would nip at her neck and collar bone before running his lips over her nipples gently at first, then with more purpose. All the while, his hands would run all across her body, one usually entangling in her hair while the other tickled her abdomen, caressed her thighs and, finally, dipped into her. Only shortly, though, because in the next few seconds it would go back to gripping one of her butt cheeks or maybe pinching the nipple his mouth wasn't closed around. Her favourite thing, though, was when he would grab the backside of her thigh, squeezing it roughly – so at odds with the gentleness of his lips – and bringing it around his waist.

That usually meant he knew she was close enough – if her moans and the trashing of her head on the pillow weren't enough – and was ready to close the deal.

He would kiss her again, making her forget everything but the feel of his tongue on hers while he slipped into her. She would be so wet by then, only the slight widening of her legs would allow him to bottom out in one smooth move, bringing his whole body in full contact with her already electrified one.

She would attempt to bite her lip at that point to stifle the loud moan, but his hand would somehow always find its way to her face, resting a thumb over the lower lip and gazing into her eyes.

Finally, she would wrap her legs around him, squeezing slightly and he would know it was then or never.

And it would take maybe a dozen of his hard, purposeful thrusts before she would either scream or bite his shoulder, coming – as she would always perceive – harder than ever before.

Then it was only a question of tightening her muscles around him and breathing a whisper in his ear – be it his name or some other nonsensical word – and he would explode inside her, muffing his groan in the hollow of her neck.

It was the game they played and she was sure it would never get old.