[She rocks forward again, chasing after the touch until she catches herself. Her flush goes even darker at that, running down her neck past her collar]
...You play dirty, you know that? What happened to clean-cut heroics?
[Another long, slow trip back up between her thighs. The finger stays longer this time, scratching almost idly at the fabric, tracing the shape of what lies beneath]
Thought I was going for distracting and making a mess.
Or were you hoping for someone to rush in and save the day?
[At "rush in," the slow motion of his finger ticks a notch faster]
[Her breath catches with a soft sound; she squirms for just a little more of that contact; parts her legs a bit more in what she hopes is a subtle movement]
You--you're pretty sassy about this for somebody who was awful red a couple minutes ago.
[As he asks, his hand makes it the rest of the way up, finally - slips between her legs, so that he's applying firm pressure with his palm, and begins to make slow circles]
[Definitely a groan this time as her hips hitch forward, her thighs shifting to fit him more comfortably in place. She just rocks gently in him for a long, thoughtless moment]
[His hand finds its way back up again - traces the center line where her legs come together, with a single finger, searching through the fabric for that nub that always gets such a good reaction]
Pretty sure it's illegal to give someone payback for what's already payback.
[He finds said nub with that, and her train of thought is suddenly derailed by the sensation of even that indirect pressure. With a surprised little sound she twitches closer, fingers knotting in his shirt to strongarm him, or steady herself, either way]
[He leans in to press a soft kiss to her cheek, surprisingly chaste considering that his finger hasn't let up. It's a steady sort of rhythm - not terribly fast, but he presses down a little more firmly to make sure she can feel it through the cloth]
[Her cheek is blazing hot under his lips, and her eager press into his hand is just about as subtle. When she goes to respond to his quip no words come out, and from the way her eyelids flutter low for slow, steady beats, he's lived up to his ideal of being a distraction]
[Which is to say, he keeps up the distraction - that same steady back and forth of a single finger, too muted by the fabric of her pants and almost certainly too slow]
[And while she's distracted, he shifts a little - adjusts his own position, to free up more of the arm pressed to the ground - reaches, almost casually, to thumb at her nipple through the fabric of her shirt]
[She startles out a cry at the unexpected brush over her chest; bucks up encouragingly against that too-slow finger before she can stop herself. She makes as if to grip at his wrist for lack of idea of what else to do]
[The finger between her legs is joined by a second finger, and it presses a little firmer - begins to rub a little faster, picking up the pace for a long few seconds]
Well... I don't wanna be unfair.
[Then it leaves off entirely, beginning the long, slow path away again, tracing soft touches over the skin of her inner thigh and down to her knee. When it reaches the bottom of its descent, the thumb of the hand she's still holding onto brushes over her chest again - comes together with his index finger and pinches, light]
[She lets out a whine as he pulls away--can't keep from squeezing her legs together as if to keep him from going, skin roiling against the chill of his fingers]
That's super not fair--rr--ah--
[Her voice catches at the pinch, going high pitched and breathless and much less even than she'd originally intended. Her grip on his wrist tightens reflexively as she shivers closer into his touch]
[He draws in a soft breath, when her voice catches - glances downward, to take in the way she's squirming, and then back up, to watch her face. When he speaks, he sounds a little breathless - maybe a bit awed]
...what ain't fair?
[His hand starts its slow path back upward, taking its sweet time. The other hand pinches again, firm, and rolls her nipple gently between thumb and finger]
[This time the whine goes low, at the back of her throat, and she bites deep into her lower lip to keep the sound from growing. Her legs chafe around his questing hand, inviting it to continue north, if only to dip above the hem of her shorts.]
You're--such an asshole.
[Her face is flushed, expression straining with the effort of attempting to look properly irritated, or at least not as obviously aroused. Of course, the more he works over her chest the shakier she gets, hips restless and nipples clearly pebbled through her thin t-shirt, so she's already aiming for a mixed success at best]
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[Even with how light his touch is--possibly because of how light his touch is--she rocks forward, easy]
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If...?
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...You play dirty, you know that? What happened to clean-cut heroics?
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Thought I was going for distracting and making a mess.
Or were you hoping for someone to rush in and save the day?
[At "rush in," the slow motion of his finger ticks a notch faster]
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[Her breath catches with a soft sound; she squirms for just a little more of that contact; parts her legs a bit more in what she hopes is a subtle movement]
You--you're pretty sassy about this for somebody who was awful red a couple minutes ago.
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[One final rub, firmer than the others, before his hand departs again, tracing back down the inside of her thigh to her knee]
Well... pretty sure there's some saying about turnabout, y'know?
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That it--that it's overrated?
[Or perhaps not, from how readily (perhaps unconsciously) she leans closer to him]
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[He starts back up again, just as slow as before - stops, before he reaches the top, and draws idle patterns on her inner thigh]
Probly depends who's doing the rating.
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Wh-what about my rating?
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What about it?
[As he asks, his hand makes it the rest of the way up, finally - slips between her legs, so that he's applying firm pressure with his palm, and begins to make slow circles]
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...What about what?
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[He keeps up the pressure - keeps up the pace, as well, slow and deliberate]
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Nnn... Not bad, so far...
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Oh yeah? Even with the payback?
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[She chafes her legs against each other, restless, and tugs a little closer at his shirt]
You're gonna be the one getting payback...
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[His hand finds its way back up again - traces the center line where her legs come together, with a single finger, searching through the fabric for that nub that always gets such a good reaction]
Pretty sure it's illegal to give someone payback for what's already payback.
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[He finds said nub with that, and her train of thought is suddenly derailed by the sensation of even that indirect pressure. With a surprised little sound she twitches closer, fingers knotting in his shirt to strongarm him, or steady herself, either way]
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What was that? Missed that last part.
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[Her cheek is blazing hot under his lips, and her eager press into his hand is just about as subtle. When she goes to respond to his quip no words come out, and from the way her eyelids flutter low for slow, steady beats, he's lived up to his ideal of being a distraction]
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[Which is to say, he keeps up the distraction - that same steady back and forth of a single finger, too muted by the fabric of her pants and almost certainly too slow]
[And while she's distracted, he shifts a little - adjusts his own position, to free up more of the arm pressed to the ground - reaches, almost casually, to thumb at her nipple through the fabric of her shirt]
Love and wargs? Love and watermelon?
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[She startles out a cry at the unexpected brush over her chest; bucks up encouragingly against that too-slow finger before she can stop herself. She makes as if to grip at his wrist for lack of idea of what else to do]
F-fuck that ain't fair.
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[The finger between her legs is joined by a second finger, and it presses a little firmer - begins to rub a little faster, picking up the pace for a long few seconds]
Well... I don't wanna be unfair.
[Then it leaves off entirely, beginning the long, slow path away again, tracing soft touches over the skin of her inner thigh and down to her knee. When it reaches the bottom of its descent, the thumb of the hand she's still holding onto brushes over her chest again - comes together with his index finger and pinches, light]
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That's super not fair--rr--ah--
[Her voice catches at the pinch, going high pitched and breathless and much less even than she'd originally intended. Her grip on his wrist tightens reflexively as she shivers closer into his touch]
Jacob...
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...what ain't fair?
[His hand starts its slow path back upward, taking its sweet time. The other hand pinches again, firm, and rolls her nipple gently between thumb and finger]
Gonna have to be more specific than that.
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You're--such an asshole.
[Her face is flushed, expression straining with the effort of attempting to look properly irritated, or at least not as obviously aroused. Of course, the more he works over her chest the shakier she gets, hips restless and nipples clearly pebbled through her thin t-shirt, so she's already aiming for a mixed success at best]
How...how long're you planning on playing around?
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