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Jason raises his eyes, allows them to follow the pattern of the wallpaper on the wall across from him.
He smiles to himself as he realizes what a lucky guy he is. A bead of sweat forms above his temple and rolls down his face, drops down after crossing the bump of his jaw. He watches it fall and land on the arched, pale back below him.
He tightens the grip on her hips and she hisses. He digs a few fingernails in, makes sure to leave a mark. It always pays off to do that. She's wilder the next time he slips under her sheets late in the night. She loves to press down on the bruises with a roaming hand when she indulges in their recent memories.
The daydreaming cost him a bit of roughness and rhythm, he realizes. But she surely wasn't aware, face in the pillow, hands clawed into the sheets. She's always so noisy. Screams his name, how good it is, how close she is. Begs him to be harder, faster, deeper.
He follows, but it's more duty than passion sometimes. He enjoys it, but now that the dirt has rubbed off, there isn't much excitement to his porcelain doll any longer.
He stares at the edge where wall and ceiling meet as he rests a hand on her lower back, his palm where the drop had landed. His other hand snakes away from her hip and between her legs.
He circles her clit and smirks a bit as she gets even louder. He pounds harder and watches her hair move over the white sheets. It dances, he thinks, like fire. Licks the creased, stained sheets.
He pushes in a little deeper now. The fire burns wilder. Her body moves over the mattress, back and forth.
Where could he go in this life, he wonders, when he had a taste of the most forbidden fruit before he even matured? Jason Blossom, eighteen, and a bit bored of sex with his twinsister.
He imagines the face she would make, would he look her in the eyes and say "I am bored of fucking you. That Cooper chick is a bit more fun, actually. She's not as predictable as you, you know?". How her heartbreak would be visible through her eyes. Huge tears spilling out of her as, unbelieving eyes. Her mouth twisted in a pain so horrifying that she abandons her control. She's a snotty crier. Sometimes it's only the thought of her running nose, cracky voice and spilled make-up that keeps him from telling her.
But with a reminder of Polly on his mind, he looks at the clock on the wall. Five pm. He's supposed to be at her place by six. Looking down at Cheryl, it's clear that she's about to break apart.
So he presses down on her clit a bit more and makes the circles bigger while burying his cock into her.
She comes almost immediately- hard and messy. Screams his name and desclares her love, presses her ass against him, shaking. He presses back and her shaky, tight walls are familiar and pleasant enough for him to come into her.
The only thing that he probably won't grow tired of so soon is watching their hair separate as he pulls out of her. It always feels like an underappreciated symbolism. Same colour, same texture. Mashed together, united, glued together by their sweat and juices.
He draws back slowly, feels her walls cling to him desperately. If it was on her, he would stay in there for the rest of their lifes.
He loves the little pop sound it sometimes makes when he pulls out the head, but he loves it even more when his cum drools out of her and mixes with her hair.
He moves out of the cage of her legs an lets her turn around. She smiles at him, tired and fucked out but still like she's the moth and he's the flame. He smiles back and watches the love flood into her eyes. Oh, those expressive eyes. He thinks back to the days when she was so full of shameful desire for him. What relief he felt when she was finally free to live that desire.
Such an eager little pleaser, that girl. Gets on shaky knees, wraps a weak and shaky hand around the base of his cock and sucks him clean. He thanks her by calling her a good girl, and she beams.
He holds her until she stops shaking and twitching, plays with her hair and kisses the top of her head. She falls asleep quickly.