Episode 32: Theranos Boot (SMUT)

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*I AM GOING FOR DOUBLE SMUT! This just came to me, so here it is for you all to enjoy. I have a lot of filth planned, so that's something for everyone to look forward to - as is clingy, needy, and utterly in love, Ray. As always, avoid it if you don't like it, I am aware that my ideas are farfetched and unrealistic, but this is my book, my rules. There's stuff here for everyone.

If Ray wants the booty (he does), then he can have it.

HERE WE GO!

"Look so pretty like this..." A voice came from behind (y/n) as she bent over, spread across the mattress with her ass fully on show and presented.

"So damn hot, sweet girl..."

She could sense her lover across the room, a sigh escaping her lips as she stretched further. There was a slight pain in her muscles as her hands trailed towards the headboard, fingers clenching soft cotton. Wriggling was useless, not when her knees were precariously spread, widening her thighs and leaving her vulnerable.

Vulnerable was one word, alluring another, and she whined when she heard movement near the door, cursing the wretched cloth tormenting her, stopping her from moving on.

Ray saw everything and watched with hungry eyes as she twisted on the bed, groaning and muttering under her breath when she tried to get free, resulting in her ungraciously humping the air.

Her hips were at the perfect height for him to grasp, and he could slot between her thighs with no problem since she was stuck with her back arched and skimpy, comfy-casual athletic leggings leaving none of her contours to the imagination. He could see every perfect bump, dip and crevice of her body in them and loved how they shaped her ass when they worked out together, and here she was, practically calling him to...touch the butt.

Waltzing closer to her side, he smirked when he saw her face smushed against the mattress, thinking she looked so cute and helpless--so adorable as she whined for mercy. This was torture, yet he refused to give her what she sorely needed, too distracted by the knowledge that his favourite place was on display to remove the offending cotton and provide any relief.

He could stick his face between her legs and die happy, peel those second-skin leggings over her flesh, and expose the slick, pulsating, white-hot core for him to devour. He could do that, but he loved to tease a little first.

(y/n) huffed at his presence, growing tired of the ruthless position she found herself in and how he stood there, doing and giving nothing. The sheets went on forever, and no matter how hard she grasped them, nothing quenched the burning frustration in her stomach.

And when Ray's large, warm hands grasped her waist, sliding down her back, underneath her sweater, and back up to the globes of her ass, kneading them unashamedly, she groaned and whined like a sullen child.

"Raymond. I'm trying to change the damn sheets. How can I look pretty like this?" She asked exasperatedly, glancing over her shoulder to see the Man Cave's resident orchestrator of chaos standing behind her with a smug grin.

In the history of people wanting to sleep in clean, fragrant-smelling beds, (y/n) assumed that no one ever looked sane, normal or proper when clambering over their mattresses, turning themselves one way and another to get everything in the correct order. Prettiness didn't befall those poor souls with their hair sticking up and bodies contorted like putty.

That's how she ended up like this; ass up, knees digging into the springs, arms stretched to both corners to the point where she thought they would fall off. She needed the fitted sheet over all four corners before fluffing the pillows, dressing the comforter and donning the scattered accessories.

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