Sade might be one of your favorite artists to set a mood too; doesn't matter to what. Cleaning the house, cooking a hot meal no one will appreciate, or lastly, this. You don't know what song is playing, the vocals are muffled through your closed bedroom door (the only way to keep King out) so all you can hear is the instrumental. Hell, it may not even be Sade anymore because you're too caught up in the man in front of you that it's hard to say how much time has passed.
There's something wrong with you, you think, because the way he has one hand holding your neck in a way that supports your chin and allows him to move your head in all directions has you ready to have as many babies as he wants. You're completely out of your damn mind, but that's the effect he's having on you at the moment. Not once have you ever kissed someone this long and with this much tongue without having to disgustingly dry your face off and it's driving you crazy.
Your lips are numb, your face is numb, and your jaw is tired and yet you slide your acrylic nails up his chest in appreciation anyways. The way he shivers is hard to ignore and the action causes you to laugh hard enough for him to pull away from you.
"Fuck is so funny," he says to you, eyes so clouded with lust he looks drunk. His face is so intense as he gazes at you he almost looks angry, challenging, like he's about to pounce and devour you.
"Nothing," you say, and you try and get your hands to the waistband of his sweats. All of this heat radiating off of his shirtless form has you sweating yourself, especially because he's been poking you in the butt for the past few minutes. It's been so chilly out that you don't think you've seen N'Jadaka in anything but sweats lately and you wish you owned that many pairs. Actually, you just want to wear his clothes because the bigger something is the cozier you are.
He huffs, giving you a final rough peck on the lips before pushing you backwards into all your pillows. It's another thing he hates about your apartment, but you don't care one bit because no matter how much shit he talks who's carrying his big-headed baby? Who's body drives him crazy?
Yours.
That much is obvious by the way he just keeps staring at you, eyes traveling up and down your body in ways that's making you blush but he wouldn't know it. You just feel it, all the hot tv static buzzing in your cheeks as he bites his full lips at the sight of you.
He says something under his breath, one word and it isn't in english but he won't tell you what it is when you ask. He just acts like you haven't even spoken, lazily stroking himself with one hand while the other nudges your legs apart. This is always the hardest part, pun intended, but being with N'Jadaka has made you long for prep more than anything.
You'd rather him be mouth harassing you again, so you beckon him closer with one finger and putting a hand over his stomach to stop him from entering you just yet.
"Wait," you say timidly. "Can you..."
He just sucks his teeth, squinting down at you as he says, "You already wet as shit."
"So? You so damn rough-"
All you need is two fingers so you flash him a peace sign so he knows what's good. You were finally beginning to get used to him to the point where that initial thrust didn't hurt as much but now it's as if everything reset. For the past few weeks you've been extra sensitive, and while it's made for amazing orgasms, it's had you aching much easier too. You got a wax the other day and almost swung on the poor woman at the spa.
N'Jadaka calls you a 'spoiled princess' as he slowly inserts (one) finger and when you correct him that you should be a 'queen' he gives you the other one. You sigh happily for once, not wincing and running like you always do. This is more than satisfying for you, but not really for him, because you're just trying to kiss on him and he's trying to kill you.
