Cottage Getaway Pt. 3

The first thing you felt was warmth.

The kind that was heavy and encompassing, the kind that wrapped itself around you and refused to let go.

The second thing you felt was pressure.

Thick. Firm. Insistent.

Nestled snugly between your asscheeks.

Your eyes flickered open, lashes brushing against the pillow as you took in your surroundings. The golden light of early morning spilled through the windows, casting soft, hazy shadows over the room. The air was still, quiet save for the sound of steady breathing behind you.

Richard.

His arm was draped over your waist, his hand resting just below your ribs, fingers relaxed but secure, holding you flush against him. His body was molded to yours, chest rising and falling in rhythm with your own, his warmth sinking into your skin through the fabric of your long-sleeve crop top.

But then—then there was that.

The hard, unmistakable length of him, pressing against you through his boxers, nestled between the curve of your ass.

Well.

That was new. And it felt strange.

Not the closeness. Not the way he curled around you, as if you belonged there, as if keeping you wrapped up in his arms was second nature.

But this? The feeling of him, thick and rigid against you, his body unconsciously reacting to yours in the stillness of morning?

This was new.

And, judging by the way he was still asleep, very much accidental.

You should have slipped out of bed. You should have carefully, quietly removed yourself from this predicament before he woke up.

But Richard, rather unfortunately, chose that exact moment to stir.

A groggy, sleepy hum vibrated against your shoulder, followed by the subtle flex of his fingers over your waist. His breathing hitched slightly, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he shifted—pressing even closer, hips instinctively rolling forward in that lazy, thoughtless way men did when they weren’t quite awake yet.

Oh, fuck.

He was awake.

And now there was no getting out of this.

“Mm,” Richard groaned, voice thick with sleep. “Well, _good morning _to me.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, feigning innocence. “Morning.”

He nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. “You know,” he murmured, his voice lower now, slower, “if you really wanted to wake me up like this, you could’ve just asked.”

You smirked. “You were the one grinding on me in your sleep.”

Richard chuckled, his grip on your waist tightening just slightly. “Can you blame me?” He gave another slow, deliberate roll of his hips, letting you feel him—really feel him. “You’re wearing this tiny little crop top… this lace…” His hand trailed down, fingers grazing the exposed skin of your hip. “And fuck, baby, I can feel you. Nothing but this little thong between us?”

You bit your lip, letting out a soft, teasing hum. “Poor thing,” you mused, shifting slightly, pressing back against him just enough to drive him a little crazy. “Waking up all… needy like this.”

Richard let out a quiet groan, his nose brushing against your shoulder. “Mm, you have no idea.”

His fingers skimmed lower, his grip lazy but intentional, tracing slow circles just above your thigh. His lips grazed your neck, pressing light, sleepy kisses against your skin.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice growing more playful, more suggestive, “we’ve got some time before the others wake up.” His hand slid a little lower, teasing, hovering. “We could make very good use of it.”

You let out a soft hum, pretending to consider it, tilting your head just slightly to give him better access to your neck. “Mm… tempting.”

Richard smirked against your skin. “I’d hope so.”

Then, just to make his point clear, he rolled his hips again—slower this time, a quiet, deliberate press that made his meaning very obvious.

You exhaled softly, your lashes fluttering against the pillow. It would be so easy to let him take this further. To let him pull you onto your back, to let those teasing fingers slip past lace, to let him take what he clearly wanted.

But that wasn’t going to happen. No, you had something else in mind.

You turned slightly, just enough to meet his gaze over your shoulder, your smile slow, teasing. “Or,” you mused, dragging your nails lightly over his arm, “we could have our usual fun instead.”

Richard blinked, his brows drawing together slightly, not quite following.

You twisted further, just enough so your lips nearly brushed his, your voice dropping to something lower, silkier.

“You love when I take care of you with my mouth,” you murmured, letting your fingers trace slow, teasing patterns over his arm. “When I get nice and messy for you...and I can do that again, before we even start the day.”

Richard’s breathing stilled for a second.

Hooked.

You leaned in, brushing your lips lightly against his jaw. “You know I’d make it _really _good for you,” you purred. “And I’ll even let you kiss me after I'm done.” You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your eyes shining with mischief. “Before we brush our teeth.”

Richard exhaled sharply. His grip on your waist tightened.

And just like that, his priorities shifted.

His smirk returned, lazy and amused. “You are such a little slut,” he murmured, brushing his nose against yours.

You grinned. “But your favorite one.”

He chuckled, his hand giving your waist a firm squeeze. “You’re fucking right you are.”

Then, with one last roll of his hips—just to remind you what you were giving up—he let out a satisfied sigh and pulled back slightly, shifting onto his back.

“Alright, baby,” he drawled, lacing his fingers behind his head, his smirk filthy. “Go ahead and wake me up properly.”

And just like that, you had won.

You let a slow, knowing smirk spread across your lips as you rolled over, shifting onto your stomach, your body settling between Richard’s legs like you belonged there. The lazy, pleased look in his hazel eyes certainly said so.

Richard propped himself up slightly against the pillows, watching as you dragged your nails lightly down his abdomen, your touch featherlight over the fine dusting of hair leading down beneath his waistband. His breathing deepened as you hooked your fingers into the elastic of his boxers, your nails grazing his skin as you began to tug them down.

He lifted his hips slightly to help you, his cock springing free—thick, hard, and already leaking at the tip.

You inhaled slowly, eyes flickering over him as you tossed his boxers aside.

This wasn’t exactly new to you.

But what was new—what stood out, in the dim glow of morning light filtering through the window—was the way you felt about it.

The Forget-Me-Mint lay in your clutch on the table. There was nothing dulling the edges of your thoughts, nothing artificially smoothing over the lingering discomfort of what you had to do.

And yet…You didn’t feel disgusted.

You didn’t feel trapped, or ****, or even detached. Instead, there was a strange, subtle ease in doing this now.

It was… easy. Effortless.

And, as you glanced up through your lashes, watching Richard’s breath hitch in anticipation, it was kind of fun.

You dragged your nails lightly over the inside of his thighs, watching the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch.

“Good morning,” you murmured, brushing your lips teasingly against the base of his cock.

Richard exhaled sharply, his fingers twitching slightly against the sheets. “It is now,” he muttered.

You smirked.

Then, without another word, you ran your tongue along the underside of his length, slow and teasing, tracing the vein from base to tip.

Richard let out a low groan, his hips giving a small, involuntary jerk.

You hummed in amusement, wrapping a hand around his base, giving a slow, lazy pump before flicking your tongue over the tip. His fingers flexed against the sheets, his breath coming a little heavier now.

“Fuck,” he muttered, half a chuckle, half a groan. “You *really* know how to start a morning right.”

You grinned, lips brushing against him as you murmured, “Only for you.”

Then you took him into your mouth.

You started slow, working him in inch by inch, your tongue gliding along his length as you hollowed your cheeks. Your free hand smoothed up his thigh, resting lightly against his hip as you set a slow, deliberate rhythm.

Richard groaned, his head tipping back against the pillows. “Fuck, baby.” His voice was still thick with sleep, rasping at the edges. “Just like that.”

You hummed around him, taking him a little deeper, letting your throat relax as you pressed forward.

His hand found the back of your head, not pushing, just resting—his fingers curling loosely in your hair, his breathing growing heavier as you worked him over with practiced ease.

There was something about this moment—something almost dangerously easy.

The way he reacted to you, the way he melted beneath your touch, the way you could feel his muscles tightening, his thighs tensing as pleasure built.

You could make him fall apart in your hands.

And that power? That control? It was addicting.

You pulled back just enough to swirl your tongue around the tip, your hand working the base in slow, twisting strokes.

Richard’s grip in your hair tightened slightly, his chest rising and falling more rapidly now. “Jesus, Luna,” he groaned, his voice rough. “You’re so fucking good at this.”

You smirked, flicking your gaze up to meet his—watching the way his jaw clenched, his brows drawing together, his whole body strung tight with pleasure.

He was close.

So, you took him back into your mouth, deep and slow, relaxing your throat as you swallowed around him.

Richard cursed sharply, his hips jerking up instinctively, his grip tightening. “Shit—”

And then, with a final groan, he came.

His whole body tensed beneath you, his abs flexing, his hand gripping your hair as he spilled into your mouth, his breath ragged and uneven.

You swallowed with a flirty smile, your tongue flicking out to catch the last drop as you pulled back, giving him one last, slow lick before releasing him with a soft pop.

Richard exhaled heavily, his chest still rising and falling as he stared down at you, his expression somewhere between sated and wrecked.

You smirked, licking your lips as you crawled back up toward him.

Then, with slow, deliberate intent, you pressed your lips against his—soft at first, teasing, before deepening the kiss, letting him taste himself on your tongue.

Richard groaned softly into the kiss, his fingers threading through your hair. “Fuck,” he muttered against your lips. “I fucking love you.”

You chuckled, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, your smirk still firmly in place.

“I know,” you murmured.

Then you slipped out of bed, stretching languidly, leaving him lying there—sated, stunned, and completely under your spell.