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Samira Mohan has learned three things about Jack Abbot tonight. One, he's chatty.
“Fuck, Mohan, fuck,” he’s gasping against her mouth, grasping desperately for her hair, her back, her hips. Her hands are somewhere around his hair and his face, holding his jaw as he expertly slides his tongue through her mouth. “Need to touch you,” he breathes, fumbling around at her top. She tugs it up, over her tits, and he groans, greedily reaching to fondle her and squeeze. “Perfect,” he mumbles, biting his lip as he leans back to look. “Jesus Christ. Fuck me.”
His mouth was on hers, but now it’s on her neck, biting, sucking, while his hands push her jeans down. “Can I taste you?” he breathes. “Shit.” He stops moving down her body to suck at her nipples, just a bit, but he’s a man on a mission now. “Please, Mohan,” he practically whines against her stomach, reduced down to his knees as she gazes at him with wide eyes. “Please let me… let me go down on you. Just for a bit. God, it’ll be good. I’ll make it quick. Please.” His eyes are shining up at her with pure want and she feels a little dizzy just listening to him. She gives him a wordless nod and he groans in relief, nipping at her panties before tugging them down with her jeans.
He groans again when he sees her cunt, hair curling where it meets her core. His arm moves up to cradle her in one huge hand and she gasps. “Fuck,” he whispers, breathless. His fingers shift, finding her lips, and he exhales. “Baby, I know you’re gonna taste so good,” he mumbles. “Gonna taste so perfect. I know you will. God, I need to taste…” he murmurs. He can’t stop making noise, apparently, even when he ducks his tongue down to dip between her folds.
So two. Jack Abbot loves using his mouth.
His hands are holding her legs apart, hiking one up onto his shoulder, but his mouth, dear God, his mouth is tracing circles around her clit. She’s gasping for air, one hand desperately clenching into his curls, but he doesn’t give a shit. He groans against her labia and she can honest-to-God feel it ripple up into her spine. She shivers at the sensation.
If he notices, he doesn’t show it, too focused on licking up every last bit of her cunt. His face is a total mess, she can tell even from where she’s sitting in Heaven, but he doesn’t even care. His eyes are closed and he’s breathing in deep, labored lungfuls of her, moaning at the scent. “Taste so good,” he says drunkenly when he pulls back, tracing a finger along her. She twitches, her body shaking a little. He huffs out a laugh.
“Sweetheart,” he mumbles, swirling a finger around her clit. “You want my fingers?” She nods and he nods in response, slowly inching his right middle finger into her, watching her expressions closely. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Yeah, baby. Shit, you take it so fucking well,” he praises quietly, his gaze falling to watch. He twists his fingers a little, drinks in her body language as he curls a knuckle, and then he’s babbling again. “Fuck. Yeah, so good,” he encourages. “So pretty. So smart. Know exactly what you want. Know exactly what you need. Don’t you, baby? Yeah.” He crooks the finger and then starts moving it, slowly.
Samira starts rocking back and forth but he presses his face against her cunt again, licking a stripe up. “Sit still,” he pants. “Try not to move anything for me except for these pretty little muscles.” He taps around where she’s clenching on his finger. “That’s right. You’re so good for me.” Then he drops his mouth back down and gets back to work.
Her pussy is clenching, almost rhythmically, as he pumps his finger in and out. At some point she squeezes tight and he moans louder against her than she’s ever heard before, and when she recreates it, he sucks on her clit, making her scream. After a while, she starts squirming, and he sighs, leaning back. Jesus, he is wrecked. His face is covered in her slick, but he looks perfectly at home.
“You want another finger,” he rumbles, like he knows, and she nods frantically. He sighs quietly, pulling his middle finger out and licking it completely clean. She watches his eyes close as he savors the taste, bringing his lips all the way down until he’s gotten everything. He looks up at her darkly before doing the same with his pointer, wrapping his mouth around it obscenely.
“Abbot,” she hears herself say, and she’s so fucking pleased with how authoritative she sounds, considering how totally wrecked she feels. He hums, bringing both fingers out of his, frankly, sinful mouth, and pressing them against her entrance. She inhales sharply, relaxing as he presses them deep inside her.
He starts another slow and steady rhythm, leaning back in this time to kiss around her folds, teasing. Fuck, that's not what she wants. She wants it a little rougher, a little meaner, a little more...
“Jack,” she says then, and oh, that gets a response. His eyes flare and his expression hardens, and now he’s going a little deeper, a little harder. He leans back to watch before muttering, “Gonna find your G-spot." He says it like he's informing her during a case. Like he's sending a patient up for imaging.
He crooks his fingers and she hisses quietly. “Wait,” she breathes, grabbing his wrist. “I don’t— you can’t. I’ve never been able to.” She’s flushing as she says it, embarrassed.
“Never been able to?” he says, unimpressed, looking up at her. His fingers shift a little. “How?”
“I’ve tried it,” she says. “I’ve seen the diagrams, I know where it should be. I just can’t…” She trails off, looking away. “Just don’t. You can’t.”
He sits there, silently, for a moment. Just mulling it over. He then shifts his fingers, just a little to the left, and tugs up. Samira spasms. He looks up at her, a smirk on his face.
“Baby. You just can’t hit it right.” He kisses her thigh, that cocky little smile still on his face. “Don’t worry, though.” His voice drops. “Seems like I can just fine.”
And then he’s setting up a debilitating pace, pulling out and curling in, single-handedly rewriting everything Samira thought she knew about fingering herself. When she did it, it was good, but never holy shit she’s about to cum.
“Jack!” she moans and he only groans.
“What, baby? What?” he murmurs. He crooks his fingers again, harder, and she practically sobs.
“Need you— need you to— to touch me, touch my clit, please,” she whines, and he doesn’t stop his pace at all. He does move, though.
Three. Jack Abbot is ambidextrous.
Samira whites out when he lifts his left hand, drawing perfect circles around her clit. Her body shakes and she feels a bit like a supernova, her body imploding from the inside out. His right hand is slowing down inside her, his mouth is pressing kisses to her thighs, and his left hand is rubbing reassuring circles above her clit. She shivers, pushing his hand away as she comes down, panting. Her mouth is open and she’s staring down at him, wide-eyed.
He’s a mess. His eyes are wide, pupils blown, and his hair is fucking debauched from how she was white-knuckling it earlier. That, plus his face, red and covered in residue from her, is enough to make him look totally wrecked. “That was perfect, Samira,” he growls, dropping her leg from his shoulder and surging up to kiss her. She moans against his mouth, unbothered by the taste of her on his tongue.
Her hands are on his hips now, tugging him a little closer as he sighs. She reaches for him, fumbling at his belt, and he shakes his head. She pulls back to give him a questioning look.
“Don’t need it,” he says firmly.
“What do you mean?” she asks confusedly, looking down. Oh. Oh.
“Don’t need it,” he repeats, kissing her again as he pushes her hand away from his ruined pants. She moans softly against his mouth and whines when he pulls away. He leans down to tug her panties and jeans back up, buttoning them carefully. Then he tugs her shirt down, getting her back to something at least a little presentable. He kisses her again. “Come home with me,” he mumbles against her mouth.
“Okay,” she mumbles against his mouth, and he nods.
“Okay,” he agrees.