[She could stop and bend over the table and let him give her what she came here for, but why do that when she's enjoying herself so much? She wants to push him to the edge, keep him hanging right there where he's so close that anything will have him losing it all. That much is arousing as feeling him inside her.
That doesn't mean she's satisfied with being ignored and with her shirt off, it's more than easy to fondle her own breasts as she continues sucking him, making her nipples stand stiff at attention.]
[There's no denying that she knows exactly what she's doing, and he likes that. It's almost better this way, that she's teasing him, pushing at him, not quite letting him be pushed over the edge -- because where would the fun be in that? -- but tormenting him all the same. When he looks down again to see her fondling her breasts like that, the way she touches her nipples, he can't help but want to do the same, but of course she's just out of reach, and the groan he lets out has a fair amount of frustration mixed in, too. The fun kind of frustration. The kind she's so very good at providing.]
[What she wouldn't do to feel his mouth in place of her hands and the temptation is strong to let him do it. That frustration she hears doesn't help abate her suddenly building need. She should have mercy on him, mercy on herself, but she won't. Not until she takes a deep breath and pulls him as deep as she can, moving a hand to hold his hips in place as she swallows, dark eyes watching every flicker of reactions on his face.]
[It's amazing that his enunciation of certain words actually gets better when he's flustered and frustrated and aroused, but it certainly seems to be the case. He wants to move his hips, but he knows better than to do so when her hand's holding them in place, so his grip on the table just tightens, his knuckles going white from the force he's gripping it with. He doesn't grab her hair as hard as he's grabbing the table, but still, there's an increased pressure nonetheless.
He could close his eyes from how good it feels, but he won't. No, he likes this whole eye contact thing far too much to look away now.]
[For being the one in control, Angela finds herself getting weak in the knees at how he holds their eye contact. Far too many people would look away or close their eyes, either from embarrassment of being seen so open and so raw or from sudden awkwardness. There's neither here and she likes that about him. So unfettered, not a bit of shame when it comes to sex. That alone is a turn on and as she lets go of him, she leans back on her legs, lips tinged red and slightly swollen, panting more from arousal than a lack of air.]
[The way he sees it, there're way too many things in life to be ashamed of, but this shouldn't be one of them. They're both enjoying themselves, and there's something so goddamned beautiful about her dark, intense eyes... but there he goes getting sappy again, and that's not what she wants, so he just reaches for her, wanting to pull her close to him -- and wanting to bend her over the table, or get her sitting on the table, or something that can give them what he knows they both desperately want.]
[Angela doesn't hesitate getting to her feet and letting him pull her close. She finds his mouth again, seeking her way back in, as she tugs on the waistband of her pants. The faster she gets the rest of her clothing off, the faster she'll be the one cursing and pleading.]
[He's willing to help with her pants, too, wanting to slide her out of them and have her standing in front of him naked and perfect. His hands might be moving quickly, but they're deft in their work, too. There's no clumsiness or awkwardness here, just desire and something very much like need. His lips part for her, deepening the kiss.]
[She's back at that place she arrived in, that awareness of how bad she needs this, that she wants nothing more than him right now. The pants can't come off fast enough and once they hit her ankles, she's kicking them away without a care. Where they fall, she'll figure out later. Just now it's him and her, bared to each other, and she's touching every part of skin she can find.]
[He grins into her mouth as she kicks her pants away, feeling her body pressed against his, relishing the touch of her warm, bare skin as he slides a hand down her back and then around her side, reaching between them to trail down her hips and then, finally, between her legs. He knows she probably doesn't want a whole lot of teasing right now, but she'd gotten him so worked up, it's reasonable to return the favor.
As soon as his fingers find just the right spot, of course, he wastes no time in beginning a teasing, almost lazy rubbing motion.]
[She should have seen that coming. Turnabout is always fair play, but that doesn't mean she has to like it. But she does, evident by the groan she pushes into his mouth as his fingers work against her maddeningly slow. She can't deny it feels good, rough hands against soft and slick flesh. She's so wet that she could never pretend it doesn't get her blood going. There's nothing here that says she won't let him hear about it, though.]
Jesus Christ... [A sharp nip to his lip makes her point stand out.] You're an asshole.
[How she manages to form full sentences at this level of frustration is a miracle. She's practically climbing him at this point, her grip on his arm turning tighter as she grinds against his hand for more. No matter what, it's dissatisfying, only serving to wind her up more, making that coil deep in her belly contract, but go nowhere.]
[He'll take pity on her, though -- or maybe it's just taking pity on himself, because he can't keep doing this for much longer without getting way too frustrated. So he pulls his hand away finally, grinning at her.]
How d'you want it?
[Even as he speaks, he's reaching down around his ankles to pull his pants up for a second -- but just for the sake of grabbing the condom from his pocket. Hey, at least he'd been prepared for that, even if he hadn't greeted her at the door naked. Maybe next time]
[If that's not clear enough, she could make it even more straightforward, but she'd rather kiss his jawline, his throat, and across his chest than talk. Every patch of warm skin she finds, she puts her mouth on. A girl can entertain herself while he's busy.]
[Yep, that's pretty damn clear, and he doesn't even give a verbal response to it, because he's too busy getting the condom on and then turning her around to bend her over the table, hand on the small of her back, just a little bit rough, a little bit quick and desperate in his movements. And then he can't resist trailing his hand across her ass, because...]
[Her voice is tight with frustration and anticipation both. She can't help but glance back over her shoulder, hair falling across her face to shadow her eyes and she certainly can't help the wiggle of her ass and the push of it into his hips. Impatient? Definitely.]
[He'd have a more flippant and witty response if he weren't so busy staring at the way she's wiggling her ass. And a few seconds later, forget staring, because he's getting himself lined up just right to push into her, slowly at first, and then harder and a little more insistently once he realizes how damn good she feels. It's not like he forgets, exactly, how perfect she feels when he's inside of her like this, but thinking and reminiscing about it could never be even a tenth as good as actually experiencing it.]
[It hasn't been that long since they last slept together, but Jesus, does it feel like it's a brand new experience. A gasp winds its way out of her throat as she throws her head back and curls her toes against the hard wood floor, feeling him stretch little used muscles again. He feels bigger than he looks, but that's no complaint, not when she's tightening around him, pleading wordlessly for him to move.]
[Not really, and his tone of voice doesn't sound at all contrite. He's notoriously talkative in bed -- or on a table, as the case may be -- and he knows she knows it, but he can try to shut up for the time being. It'll probably last for all of ten seconds, but he can say he gave it an effort, because for whatever reason, he always feels compelled to listen to what she says. Better not to psychoanalyze the reasons behind that. Better to just start moving, wrapping one hand around her hip, the other hand going back to her hair, as he sets a quick pace. So much for trying to take it slow, but neither of them want that much anyway, he doesn't think.]
[Psychoanalyzing during sex is an absolute no and it's not something Angela wants to take up now or ever. All she wants is what he's giving her now, rough and frantic, rubbing up against sensitive spots just right. The table scoots along the floor with the force and her moans grow louder with each stroke and she just does not care if the neighbors hear. Can't give a shit beyond the way he's making her feel, the way she has to hold onto the edge of the table for dear life.]
[He's already breathing hard, and a lot of that could have to do with the fact that they're moving the table with every thrust. So what if the neighbors hear? Anyone who hasn't invested in earplugs after living near him for more than a couple weeks is obviously interested in listening in, anyway.
His grip on her hip is tight, like he's anchoring himself, just the way she's holding onto the table, and now his eyes are closed, because it's not like they can make eye contact like this anyway. And, true to form, he can't keep his mouth shut -- there's a steady stream of profanities making their way from his lips, and he's not trying to stop them.]
[There's nothing like being in this position where she, the one who likes being in control, is forced to give it up and depend on him to fuck her like she needs to be. She enjoys it, being able to just feel and nothing else. Nothing else but let her pleasure be heard through her voice, how she's curling her feet against the floor from the sensation, leaning her head against the cool surface of the table, hearing him curse and groan and talk to her all through it... it'll be damn hard not to end up calling him everyday for this.]
[He sure as hell wouldn't protest being called every day if this was how it turned out. He's aware of the fact that both of them need this in an odd way, need to be able to empty out their minds and just focus on the sensation, and so he tries to make it as good as he possibly can, tries to give her everything she could possibly want.
With that thought in mind, and nothing else, he wraps his hand around her, his intent obvious -- he isn't satisfied just to be thrusting into her, he wants to touch her, too, to rub her clit and see how fast and how hard he can get her to come.]
[She doesn't think she could find somebody else in the City right now that is able to just let loose and do things, no holds barred, like he can. No questions asked beyond the ones about availability, no judgements on what she likes and what he likes, just pure unadulterated sex on demand.
And it's not too bad that he works hard to please, to get that electric jolt through her body when his fingers brush up against her clit, to make her scream at the top of her lungs and let everybody know Jimmy Darmody is a good lay.]
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That doesn't mean she's satisfied with being ignored and with her shirt off, it's more than easy to fondle her own breasts as she continues sucking him, making her nipples stand stiff at attention.]
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[It's amazing that his enunciation of certain words actually gets better when he's flustered and frustrated and aroused, but it certainly seems to be the case. He wants to move his hips, but he knows better than to do so when her hand's holding them in place, so his grip on the table just tightens, his knuckles going white from the force he's gripping it with. He doesn't grab her hair as hard as he's grabbing the table, but still, there's an increased pressure nonetheless.
He could close his eyes from how good it feels, but he won't. No, he likes this whole eye contact thing far too much to look away now.]
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C'mere.
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As soon as his fingers find just the right spot, of course, he wastes no time in beginning a teasing, almost lazy rubbing motion.]
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Jesus Christ... [A sharp nip to his lip makes her point stand out.] You're an asshole.
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[Another lazy motion of his fingers, and then a pause, just to relish how aroused she is, to feel the slickness on his fingertips.]
... guess you must be okay with me bein' an asshole, since you're the one who wanted me to fuck you so bad.
[He breaks the kiss and leans close to say it, mouth by her ear, then nibbling at her earlobe.]
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[How she manages to form full sentences at this level of frustration is a miracle. She's practically climbing him at this point, her grip on his arm turning tighter as she grinds against his hand for more. No matter what, it's dissatisfying, only serving to wind her up more, making that coil deep in her belly contract, but go nowhere.]
Am I going to have to fuck myself?
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[He'll take pity on her, though -- or maybe it's just taking pity on himself, because he can't keep doing this for much longer without getting way too frustrated. So he pulls his hand away finally, grinning at her.]
How d'you want it?
[Even as he speaks, he's reaching down around his ankles to pull his pants up for a second -- but just for the sake of grabbing the condom from his pocket. Hey, at least he'd been prepared for that, even if he hadn't greeted her at the door naked. Maybe next time]
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[If that's not clear enough, she could make it even more straightforward, but she'd rather kiss his jawline, his throat, and across his chest than talk. Every patch of warm skin she finds, she puts her mouth on. A girl can entertain herself while he's busy.]
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Damn, that's a nice view.
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[Her voice is tight with frustration and anticipation both. She can't help but glance back over her shoulder, hair falling across her face to shadow her eyes and she certainly can't help the wiggle of her ass and the push of it into his hips. Impatient? Definitely.]
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[He'd have a more flippant and witty response if he weren't so busy staring at the way she's wiggling her ass. And a few seconds later, forget staring, because he's getting himself lined up just right to push into her, slowly at first, and then harder and a little more insistently once he realizes how damn good she feels. It's not like he forgets, exactly, how perfect she feels when he's inside of her like this, but thinking and reminiscing about it could never be even a tenth as good as actually experiencing it.]
God, Ange...
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You're talking too much.
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[Not really, and his tone of voice doesn't sound at all contrite. He's notoriously talkative in bed -- or on a table, as the case may be -- and he knows she knows it, but he can try to shut up for the time being. It'll probably last for all of ten seconds, but he can say he gave it an effort, because for whatever reason, he always feels compelled to listen to what she says. Better not to psychoanalyze the reasons behind that. Better to just start moving, wrapping one hand around her hip, the other hand going back to her hair, as he sets a quick pace. So much for trying to take it slow, but neither of them want that much anyway, he doesn't think.]
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His grip on her hip is tight, like he's anchoring himself, just the way she's holding onto the table, and now his eyes are closed, because it's not like they can make eye contact like this anyway. And, true to form, he can't keep his mouth shut -- there's a steady stream of profanities making their way from his lips, and he's not trying to stop them.]
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With that thought in mind, and nothing else, he wraps his hand around her, his intent obvious -- he isn't satisfied just to be thrusting into her, he wants to touch her, too, to rub her clit and see how fast and how hard he can get her to come.]
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And it's not too bad that he works hard to please, to get that electric jolt through her body when his fingers brush up against her clit, to make her scream at the top of her lungs and let everybody know Jimmy Darmody is a good lay.]
Oh, god, fuck, Jimmy, shit.
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