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He’s excited.
He’s excited because she never lets him do this, and that makes him want to prove himself, show her that it’s worth it. But his enthusiasm is bleeding into his motions, and he can’t help it, too eager to keep a rhythm, too curious to know what she likes, what will make her feel good, and above all, in way over his head. Like with all things, he wishes she would guide him. He just needs a little guidance.
“Easy,” she coos, reaching down to where Emil’s head is settled between her legs, moving to brush a few strands of hair away from his eyes.
They’ve just started, and already, he’s being chastised. His heart starts to sink for just a moment before Ada taps his chin and coaxes his gaze up and the moment their faces meet, some of that hurt starts to melt away at the sight. Her eyes are half lidded, cheeks dusted with the faintest bit of pink, and he has to remind himself how special he is. That only he gets to see her like this.
“You’ve never done this before. That’s okay. I’m going to help you,” she promises.
He nods.
God, where would he be without her?
Ada shifts her hips a little, trying to settle more comfortably into the chair, both her legs hooked over Emil’s shoulders. Not that she needs to keep him in place like that. No, he wouldn’t move, even if it cost him his life.
“Try starting gently. I think I’d like that. You can do gentle for me, right?” Ada cups his cheek, rubbing her thumb along his cheekbone, and when he nods again, her smile blooms even brighter. Like she doesn’t know by now that he’ll always do what she asks. Like she wasn’t expecting his answer. Like she really means it. So she must.
Her free hand creeps lower, spreading herself open and showing him just where to give his attention to.
“Here. Use your tongue.”
Emil’s heart jumps in his throat again, reminded just how vulnerable Ada is willing to make herself for him. It’s crushingly intimate. In a whole new, unfamiliar way. Because when they’d made love before, Ada would take his hand, kiss him sweetly, murmur words of adoration as she took his cock into her hand, or stretched him patiently and then rocked into him. Even in instances with that firm grip on his leash, an unyielding collar, she had shown him love and pleasure and made him feel like the only person in the world and that was what he needed. But even then. She’d never allow him to touch in return. Dismissing any offers rather quickly, telling him that she was more than content to make him feel good and didn’t need any reciprocation.
It had only been when Emil had expressed his full thoughts on the matter that she’d been swayed to change her mind. That he had wanted to feel equal.
Emil inhales shakily, leaning forward to try again, focusing himself on her request for tenderness as he runs his tongue over her clit. Repeats the motion a few times, and is met with a pleased sigh above him, some of the tension running out of Ada’s body in turn.
“Just like that. Good.”
Good. Good.
The assent makes him shudder, and so he forces himself to fall into a steady rhythm, reigning in any eagerness that might disrupt the balance. He’s too afraid to stray from what he’s been told is correct, but eventually, he can sense Ada’s restlessness as she shifts once more, drawing in a short breath as she does.
“Now, try to vary your motions, dear. Up, down, go in circles- it’s okay to do something new. If I don’t like something, I’ll let you know. You won’t be in trouble.”
Ah, how he wants to believe her. And how he should be able to- he never gets in trouble. Not with her. She doesn’t believe in that. Doesn’t treat him like that. Knows that he’s just a little broken and misshapen and needs her help and her love and wouldn’t want to do anything wrong. But the wounds of the past are still prominent, even in the form of scars. They’ve been working on it though, they have. And so he chooses to trust her, follows her instructions to avoid making things too one-note.
And eventually, he’s rewarded with a-
“That’s it,” Ada sighs as she lets herself relax, just a little more, reclining against the back of the chair. “You’re doing wonderfully, Emil.”
He wants to thank her, but decides that it might be ill timed to speak right now. Instead, he brings his hands up to grip at the bare skin of her thighs and squeeze gently in acknowledgment, figuring he can save words of gratitude for later.
But she must know. Without him even having to say it. Because she knows him like the back of her hand, the one that’s laying on top of his own, the one that has a matching wire twisted haphazardly and entirely full of love around their fingers. She has to know how much she means to him. He has to show it.
Emil lets that motivation carry him as he works his tongue against her, trying to figure out what works just right, even though he’s terrified of failure, knows that Ada will be there to catch him if he trips or falls and so he shouldn’t be afraid at all.
Almost unwillingly, he realizes that his eyes have slid shut in his concentration, so he forces them open again, looking up to Ada- always, up to Ada. Her beautiful face is a rosy shade of pink, lips slightly parted as she inhales measured breaths, startling with a flash of surprise when he starts to suck-
“Yes,” she encourages with an airy quality in her words that makes Emil go weak in the knees. One of her hands comes down to pet lovingly through his hair. “Yes. Good boy, Emil. Good boy.”
A whimper escapes him, and he wants to dig his fingers into the soft flesh of her thighs as an anchor, because it feels like he’s spinning, floating away. But he couldn’t ruin her perfection like that. And so he staves off the lightheadedness, the flutter in his heart, in favor of doubling his efforts.
Senses so finely tuned, refusing to miss a single detail of the moment, he comes to realize that Ada’s legs are trembling around his head, ever so slightly, as are the fingers in his hair. He raises his gaze to find that the knuckles of her free hand have gone white, nails sinking tightly into the upholstery of the chair’s arm, and he follows the pang of longing. Frees his hold on one of her thighs to rest it atop the hand in his hair, twisting her digits into the strands and squeezing for emphasis.
“Pull,” he breaks away momentarily to gasp. “Please.”
And she doesn’t need to be told twice. Because she knows how he likes it. She tugs him forward with the solid grip on his hair, the stinging of his scalp bringing pinpricks of tears to his eyes and he groans, blinking them away as she starts to grind her hips upward, into his mouth.
And this, this is the guidance and praise that he’s looking for. As he works without stopping to make her feel good, a fraction of the pleasure that she’s brought into his life really, his chest burning and his heart soaring as his ears fill with the echo of his name falling from her lips. A chorus of affection up up up until she tenses, every muscle taut and heels digging into his back, until it all melts out of her with a quiet moan.
Emil isn’t exactly sure when to stop, so he doesn't mind when she finally tugs him away, bringing her legs off of his shoulders to settle shakily at his sides.
She looks nice like this. Relaxed, limbs like jelly, a content smile on her face and that adoring look in her eyes. Normally she’s so sharp, weighed down by carrying enough responsibilities for the both of them. She deserves to rest.
It almost makes Emil want to go again. To prolong her respite, if only for a little longer. She deserves an infinite respite that he’s not sure he can give her, but if it meant sitting with his head between her thighs forever, he’d do it in a heartbeat.
He licks his lips. His face feels aflame.
“You did a wonderful job, Emil,” Ada murmurs, releasing his hair and caressing his cheek again. “So sweet. My sweet Emil.” She gestures to her lap. “Come here.”
Eager to follow, Emil scrambles up, settling himself happily just where she wants him, nuzzling the line of her jaw with his nose and trying to contain his excitement, stuff down his trembling. She’s so amazing. It’s a privilege that she keeps him so close.
“Thank you.” He doesn’t want to forget to say it. Like he forgets so many things. She needs to know. “Thank you, Ada.”
“Thank you,” she offers in return, and he wants to open his mouth to tell her that she doesn’t need to thank him, that’s the last thing she needs to do. But she silences him with a kiss, and he’s always been a sucker for those, so Emil melts against her without another thought of protest, a whine and a gasp as he clutches the fabric of her shirt, as her clever hand finds his inner thigh.
“I’d like to touch you, too, if you’ll let me. How does that sound?”
To Emil, everything sounds wonderful, when it’s coming from Ada.