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Ever since Africa, it’s become ritual. She knows when something’s wrong and he isn’t in the door five minutes before he’s being attacked. There’s already a hand down his pants before he’s stripped down, kissed and thrown on the bed like they’re heading into a war zone. He’s already in a shitty mood, but this is Jill – no matter how pissed off he gets, he’d never do anything to hurt her, and in this state, he knows better than to argue. She pulls off the oversized t-shirt she sleeps in and climbs up his body.
It’s always like something comes over her that Chris can’t begin to explain, but she lines herself up and slides down over his already hard cock agonizingly slow, moaning with every inch as he stretches her. She’s already soaking wet and she wants him to know it - she plays with herself as she buries him to the hilt, pinching and twisting her nipples first before slender fingers slide down over her taut belly and to her clit. She rubs herself in tight little circles, giving tiny little slaps to the sensitive flesh and Chris knows she’s just getting herself ready.
It takes her a few moments to adjust, but he doesn’t dare move – this is her show and her orders are silent. Only too happy to follow them, Chris growls and brushes his hands up her bare sides, thumbs coming to play with the hard little peaks on her chest. He can make her come from that alone and has done it before, but Jill grabs his hands and holds them away which makes a part of him want to put his fist through the drywall.
Fingers twining with his and squeezing his hands, she opens her eyes and grins at him – he knows that smile and it’s always full of mischief. She rocks against him, tortuously slow, grinding herself against his pubic bone. It shouldn’t make sense – he’s so much bigger than her, he could overpower her with no trouble at all, but he meets her thrust for thrust, swallowing hard as he knows what’s coming next. “Aren’t you glad you came home?” she asks, panting hard. “I would’ve…started without you.”
He has to smile, giving a chuckle that forces its way out as he tries to keep a cool head. How long’s it been? Six months? He can’t think straight and he knows she’s been away for most of that time herself – her bags are still in the hall outside. “You started without me anyway,” he grunts.
Jill hums low in her throat, savoring a long slow shiver that runs down her back. “Couldn’t stop thinking about your cock,” she moans. “Heavy…thick…stretching me so wide, I feel like I’m about to be split in half.”
Her voice is high and breathy as her rocking becomes more desperate. Her breasts sway with each undulation and if she’d just lean down, he could catch a nipple in his mouth. Make her beg for mercy, but she won’t. She leans down, but she’s too far away and instead, her mouth traces up over his chest and neck, teeth scraping the skin lightly until she finds the right spot just above his pulse and sucks. Chris holds his breath, not wanting to give her the satisfaction just yet, but the way she’s pressed against him angles her hips for deeper penetration. “You’re…you’re gonna have to do better than that,” he retorts.
“I was three fingers in when you called to tell me your plane landed,” she murmurs against his ear. “Got myself so worked up earlier, I was soaking wet before I even got in the door. So I dropped my bag… slipped out of my clothes … spread out on the couch and found my favorite toy…you know the big red one that curves…I sucked him off so good, pretending he was you, Chris.”
The image of Jill, hand between her legs as she sucked off one of her dildos in the living room with the broken blinds half-open enters his head and he doesn't know whether to be aroused or pissed off. Maybe a little of both if the neighbors were watching, but the more primitive part of his brain tells him it’s a sign of them only being able to look and not touch. “Jill, you’re killing me…” he groans.
Instead of having any mercy, she sits up, body flushed covered in a fine sheen of sweat with that same look that promises only more torture up ahead. She’s close – he can feel it in the way her rocking has sped up and the way she clenches around him, hard and needy. “I wanted you to fuck me,” she continues. “Just come home, bend me over against the couch or the window, and make me scream. ..I came all over myself…wet…sloppy…four times in a row. You think you can do better?”
He knows he’s been asked a question, but he’s still stuck on the image she planted. “Uh-huh,” he grunts.
There’s a playful tone to her voice, but it’s strained. Like Jill’s fighting just as hard for control and she’s doing a horrible job of hiding it. “Come on, Chris, fuck me like you mean it…”
It’s an order, but instead of letting go of his hands, she rests all of her weight on them and starts to bounce, riding him as hard as she can as he pistons up into her, flesh slapping against flesh as Jill’s breathy panting turns to loud, obscene moaning. He’s always astounded to hear her, never able to believe that Jill Valentine is a screamer, but he knows he’s the only one who can bring it out of her. “Harder!” she screams.
He knows she’ll be feeling it tomorrow as he sits up and rolls her over onto her back, pushing her legs up and apart before plunging back in and snapping his hips so hard against hers they’re both bound to be bruised later. The pace he sets is brutal, with Jill gripping the sheets in one hand while the other braces against the wall above the bed. He knows he found her sweet spot when she arches her back and keens, muscles fluttering around him as her body tries to come and doesn’t. She’s holding back on purpose and it only sends him into more of a blind rage.
Chris curses loudly and Jill bites her lower lip, seemingly lost as she gives herself over to the harsh treatment and cries out with every wet slap of his skin against hers. Instead of reaching for him, the hand that was tangled in the sheets makes its way over her belly and down, fingers stroking both her clit and the base of his cock each time he pulls back. “Jill…” he warns.
“Come on, Chris…” she pants, rubbing herself furiously. “Come on, baby, that’s it…!”
He’s so intent on hitting that spot, he doesn’t notice the slow, dirty smile that creeps over her face and barely registers the fact that Jill’s other hand is sliding up his body and tugging him down to rest atop her. He follows her automatically, grunting against her ear as she speaks against his. “Come for me,” she whispers.
And he can never fight it. His whole body seizes and muscles draw taught as he empties himself, vision white as Jill’s body clenches and wrings his orgasm from him. No gun or B.O.W. can bring down the mighty Chris Redfield and yet Jill can do it with just words, leaving him limp and exhausted in her arms. He’s never been weak a day in his life, but he just feels heavy. The grief and anger are still there, but for the moment, he’s safe again. Maybe not really, but if there was anything he missed over the last six and a half months, it was her. Jill Valentine is one person he could never forget.
She hasn’t come yet and he knows it – he resolves to make it up to her, but as she nuzzles against his temple, he knows it’s what she had in mind. He always knows and yet he always falls for it.
“Rough mission, soldier?” she asks softly, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
Sighing, Chris rolls off to the side and pulls the sheet over them, boneless except for the hand that comes to rest on Jill’s hip. “Isn’t it always?”
Jill takes his hand up to her lips and kisses the inside of his wrist - she's herself again, at least for the time being and she only has to use three words to let him know what she really wants. "Talk to me."
And like any other order, it's one he can't deny.