Arc 1.6: Fun, finally

"It is not fun when you are like that!" He stared at her vacant expression, a sudden, petty anger rising in him. How do I turn her back on? Maybe I need to say the magic words?

"Sex is over?" he tried, the words more a question to himself than a command.

Suddenly, the switch flipped back.

Life flooded into Claire's eyes, the glassy sheen replaced by sharp, immediate awareness. Her posture slumped from its rigid perfection into a natural, human curve. She let out a sharp, pained hiss.

"Shhhhit," she whispered, wincing as she reached back to gingerly touch her sore backside. "Oh, god, that… stings." She looked around the hotel room, her gaze finally landing on him, a flicker of confusion and then a realization in her expression. The toy was a person again.

Kyle couldn't help but smirk, the anger evaporating. "Welcome back to the land of the living. You were starting to make me feel like I was defiling a very expensive, very specialized Roomba."

"Ha. Ha," she deadpanned, carefully shifting her weight. "You try having your brain switched off while your body gets spanked like a government mule. I think you left actual handprints." She peered over her shoulder, trying to see the damage. "Is it bad?"

"I think your backside looks even better," Kyle said, leaning back on his elbows with a grin. "So, what's the deal? You just… check out?"

Claire flopped onto her stomach with a groan, burying her face in a pillow. Her voice was muffled. "It's like a screensaver. My brain just goes to a nice, blue screen until the… activity… is over. Was it creepy?"

"Yea, like bog time! The way you just impaled your ass on my cock with no flinch." He carefully put his hand on her calf and slowly started to massage it. "So, what do you think about when you're… away?"

"Honestly? I don't really think about anything," she murmured into the pillow, her voice soft. "It's just... blank. The only thing that's there is this... feeling. Like you have a claim on me. On this." She lifted her hand up to gestured vaguely at her own body.

Kyle's hand, which had been massaging her calf, slid slowly up to her thigh, his fingers pressing into the tight muscle. "A claim, huh?" he said, his voice low. "I like the sound of that."

She let out a soft sigh, part relaxation, part something else. "I don't even know what it means, precisely." His fingers crept higher, brushing the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, and a small, involuntary moan escaped her lips. She shifted, pressing her hips into the mattress. "Where's Mark?" she asked, the question breathy.

"Left," Kyle said simply, his hand still moving, his thumb now stroking circles dangerously close to her core. "Said he was gonna go back home. Was quite pissed about the wasted night, I think."

Claire's breath hitched. "He’s gonna be alright."

Kyle paused his ministrations for a second. "What's up with that? Really?"

"Well, I care," she said, turning her head to the side to look at him, her eyes hazy with building pleasure. "He's my boyfriend. I love him." The statement was stark and simple, a bizarre anchor in the sea of the hotel's crisp sheets and Kyle's fingers currently touching her pussy lips. "Even if I'm in a hotel room with you, and I'm clearly in the mood... and you're clearly in the mood..."

Her sentence trailed off as she suddenly pushed herself up onto her knees, presenting her backside to him. She glanced over her shoulder, her expression a mix of challenge and desire. "But if you touch my poor, sore ass," she warned, "I am going to kill you."

Kyle nodded, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face. "Noted." He reached for the nightstand, grabbed another condom, and tore the packet open with his teeth. "Sore ass is officially off-limits."

He pushed into her with a single, smooth stroke, burying himself to the hilt. Claire cried out, a sharp, gasping moan as her head dropped forward. "Fuck, Kyle!" Her hands fisted in the white duvet.

He set a punishing rhythm from the start, each thrust a deliberate, deep piston. The sound of their bodies meeting filled the room—a wet, rhythmic slap. "You take me so well," he grunted, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips. "Every fucking inch. Tell me you feel it."

"Yesss," she hissed, pushing back against him, meeting his **** with her own. "Right there! Don't you dare stop." Her moans were continuous now, a low, **** keening that broke into sharper cries with each deep drive.

After a few minutes of this, he slowed, his body slick with sweat. "Turn over," he commanded, his voice husky.

She complied, rolling onto her side to face him. He slid in behind her, curling his body around hers, one arm wrapping around her waist to pull her flush against him. He entered her again from this new angle, while his lips found her neck.

"Oh, God, that's… different," she gasped, her hand reaching back to clutch at his thigh. His own hand slid up from her waist to cup her breast, his thumb circling her nipple. He whispered filthy, encouraging things in her ear—how good she felt, how tight she was, how he loved the sounds she was making.

But soon, he pulled out again. "On your back," he said, his breathing ragged. "I want to see you."

Claire groaned in mock frustration as she rolled onto her back. "You're such a boring fuck, missionary, seriously?"

He loomed over her, bracing himself on his arms, and pushed her legs apart. "Boring?" he smirked. Her eyes fluttered shut, her lips parting in a silent gasp. "Look at me." Her eyes opened, dark with pleasure.

He didn't enter her right away. Instead, he knelt between her legs, his cock resting against her wet folds, a maddening, static pressure. He shifted his hips just enough for the head to catch at her entrance, a fleeting promise before pulling back.

"Kyle," Claire gasped, her hips arching off the bed, trying to chase the contact.

He held himself still, a smirk playing on his lips. "What's the matter? I thought missionary was boring."

"It's not boring, it's—oh, god—just please," she begged, her hands fisting in the sheets.

He gave her another shallow, teasing push, just the tip, making her cry out. "Please, what?"

"Please, just fuck me! I need it. I need you."

"This," he said, finally driving into her with a single, deep stroke that made her whole body jolt. "This is fun." He began to move, a slow, deliberate rhythm designed to ****. He watched her expression shatter with every movement. "I - love -your - face - like - that."

"Kyle," she breathed, her hands coming up to claw at his back, then his shoulders. Her legs wrapped around his waist, locking him to her, pulling him deeper. "Harder. Please."

He obliged, his rhythm becoming frantic, ****. Their skin slapped together, the bedframe creaking a steady, percussive beat beneath them. Her cries grew louder, less coherent—just his name, raw pleas, and wordless moans that seemed to be torn from her very core. He could feel her tightening around him, her body bowing off the bed as she teetered on the edge.

"Come for me, Claire," he demanded, his own climax coiling tight and hot in his gut. He drove into her, again and again, his voice a ragged whisper against her ear. "Let me see it. Now."

Her eyes, dark and wild, locked with his. A broken, ecstatic scream was her answer as she shattered, her inner muscles clenching around him in violent, rhythmic pulses that pulled a guttural roar from his chest. The sight of her climax, the sheer feel of it milking his own release, was his undoing. He drove into her one last, deep time, his body shuddering against hers as his own orgasm crashed through him.

For a long moment, the only sound was their ragged, shared breathing, the air thick and heavy. He pulled out if her and collapsed beside her, spent.

Claire lay boneless, a sheen of sweat covering her body. A slow, utterly sated smile finally touched her swollen lips. She turned her head on the pillow, her eyes hazy but clear.

"You," she panted, the word barely a breath. "You are the best. Fuck."