bakerstreet | Sunday Smutty Sunday

It was a thrill, to be quite honest, to watch him move as she commanded, to have him do whatever she said without him scoffing or giving her a defiant look beyond arching his eyebrow. There was no commentary, not that he was the most verbose person, but he did as she told him to.

Her skin tingled where his lips touched, her hands moving back to balance on the dresser behind her. And when he looked up at her for further direction, her hand moved to hitch her slip up a little more. "I am hardly convinced."

Mostly he was just curious to see where this was going, and that reply had his smile twitching into place again, rolling up onto his knees -mostly just to gauge the distance- before closing both hands around her waist and just picking her up to sit her on top of the dresser, hiking her slip up around her hips as he did so.

He made another quiet sound then, something almost smug and entirely self-satisfied, finding that she was, in fact, right at the perfect height. He shifted himself closer then, nudging one shoulder up under her knee so that he could turn to press a string of kisses to the inside of her thigh.

It was times like these that she was reminded of just how strong he was, how different their sizes were, how easily he could crush her like glass (not that he would). He lifted her as if she weighed little more than a feather, his hands fitting at her waist in a way that made her want to moan.

And yet, it was when he shouldered his way between her legs, one draping over his back, that she made a sound, one pulled from her the moment his mouth made contact with the skin of her inner thigh.

Gasping softly, her hands moved to brace on the dresser for balance, for now, watching him with dark eyes.

The next sound that escaped him was dangerously close to a purr, because that quiet gasp was everything he'd been hoping for, and the fact that she was already bracing herself was even better.

One hand slid up along the outside of her thigh and then paused at the edge of her panties, fingers slipping just under the edge of the elastic at her hip, clicking his tongue softly, almost disappointed before murmuring: "These are going to have to go."

His taunting only made her feel more impatient, more hungry. Her fingers curled against the fine wood beneath her, her eyes closing for a moment. "Tear them," she commanded quietly, knowing that they would tear easily. They may be more expensive than most of anything she owned before she started all of this but they were flimsy and French, delicate and lacy. "Now."

His brow arched again, just a little surprised by that, but he wasn't going to argue and he wasn't going to ask if she was sure, no he was just going to smile, something bordering on predatory, even feral.

His fingers slid from hip to waist, curling against the fabric, tugging sharply at the right angle so that her opposite hip and her waist -as opposed to any more tender parts- took the brunt of the momentary pressure. He was unsurprised at how easily the fabric gave way, not that it was ill-made, quite the opposite, it was just that there wasn't a lot to it, as it had been mainly designed as decoration and not much else.

There was that near-purr again once he let the scrap of fabric drop, leaning in so that he could press a kiss to the warm flat of her belly, below her navel and above the peak of her mound.

It probably shouldn't, but the way he looks at her, that wicked smile, it lights a fire inside of her. It makes her feel squirmy and even more impatient. For what? She isn't sure. She only knows she wants more, more of him and more of everything.

He did as she asked of him, his fingers easily tearing the lacy fabric away from her body. "Yes," she gasped out, unable to stop the word from spilling out in her excitement. Solo would be unhappy, undoubtedly but she was hardly thinking of him with Illya's head between her legs, his lips at her skin, too high but not unwelcome.

Her hand moved to his hair, fingers tangling into his hair to try and encourage his mouth lower, tugging a little, both playful and demanding. "No more games," she muttered in Russian, the language she was still learning (a tribute to her affection for him).

Stumbling though the demand was, it had Illya's smile going softer, more fond, though given as how he'd turned his head to bury his face against the inside of her thigh again, nipping there just once, she likely hadn't seen the expression.

He certainly didn't mind the hand in his hair, though he might have raised an objection if it were anyone else trying to steer him that way. Where normally he might have chided her for being impatient, right at the moment it was far more of a turn-on than he would have suspected, which was why he shifted himself closer once more, one hand splaying flat against the small of her back while the other braced himself against the front of the dresser, finally tasting her, one broad swipe of his tongue upwards along her folds, avoiding direct contact with her clit on the first swipe, and even the second, but dragging the tip of his tongue across it with the third.

Had Gaby seen that fond, affectionate smile of his, things may have progressed differently, she would have thrown out this farce of her commanding his every move and just made love to him. But his face had been buried and her eyes had been closed. And her impatience continued to reign supreme.

She'd expected him to chide her, she expected a cheeky remark or something smug to be said, but he surprised her by saying absolutely nothing by simply moving to press his face between her thighs and brace her at his mouth. A few fluttering sighs escaped her as his tongue swept over the warm, slick skin of her folds, however it was when his tongue slipped across that bundle of nerves that she moaned. Her fingers curled encouragingly against his scalp, her eyes falling shut once again as her head fell back.

Either the moan or the tightening of her fingers in his hair would have been enough of an indication that he was on the right track, but both had another lowthroated sound simmering out of him, that same not-quite purr, not-quite growl that it had been before.

He tilted his head forward a little, finding that he didn't mind the way it caused her grasp of his hair to turn into a pull, tension prickling along his scalp. He was more focused on what he was doing, just sealing his mouth over the peak of her mound, tongue settling into a steady back and forth sweep over her clit, apparently intent on just driving her mad as slowly as possible.

The sound he made, the primal, guttural sound seemed to vibrate right through her, making her moan once again. Gaby was nothing if not responsive, easily coaxed into many things whether it be frustration or in this instance, pleasure.

It took a little time before she was panting, but soon enough, as he teased her with a slow but delicious pace of his tongue and lips, it happened. And finally, his name fell from her lips, her accent thickened by desire, by want.

Sitting on the dresser made it impossible for her to rock into his mouth, perhaps luckily for his concentration and nose, but it was maddening, being forced to let him set the pace, a soft whimper escaping her despite an attempt to clench her teeth and keep that sound in.

He hummed again at that whimper, sounding almost inquisitive even as he slid his hand down the outside of her thigh, trailing the edges of blunted nails along her flank.

He did release the hold his mouth had on her, if only to more fully catch his breath, but he set to work again almost immediately, licking along her opening with those same broad strokes for a moment before he turned his head to grin against the inside of her thigh, nipping just once before straightening a little.

He glanced up at her, head tilted just slightly as he finally slipped two fingers into her, humming contentedly at the slick heat of her and just pumping them into her briefly before his head dipped to settle into lapping at her clit again, firmer, quicker strokes with just the tip of his tongue.

She was on sensory overload and it was only about to get more worse, more intense. The moment he drew away, she made a sound of protest, about to pull his mouth right back to where it was, only to realize that the man just needed to get a gulp of air.

However, the sound returned when he did pull away from her center and his teeth nipped at her inner thigh, taking the heat (and some friction) away from where she needed it most. Again, her protest is all for naught because a moment later his fingers pressed inside of her, his tongue moved to press against the most sensitive part of her and she moaned loudly, without restraint.

Her fingers tightened in his hair now but only because she was gasping, her body arching forward, over top of his as she gasped out his name and a few curses in mixed German/Russian.

The fact that he'd reduced her to swearing, not just in her own mother-tongue but in his own as well, was something that made him more than just a little smug. He didn't, however, let that distract him from what he was doing.

Honestly he wasn't going to let up again until she pushed him off. He made another lowthroated, hungry little sound as he continued working his fingers into her, curling now and then on every third or fourth stroke, finally sealing his mouth over the peak of her mound once more, tongue still flicking against and over her clit in a relentless, steady rhythm.

He was ruthless and efficient in his efforts to make her come undone; he touched her in every way that could make her squirm atop the dresser. And she could do little more than hang on and enjoy the ride. He found a rhythm that drove her mad, that pushed her to the edge of pleasure, keeping her there so long that the ache was almost painful in its intensity.

She gasped and moaned, panted out soft German curses, demanded he never stop in Russian. Just a little more seemed to be the words that echoed through her until finally, finally, she didn't need anymore. Her body tensed against his, fighting her legs instinct to press together and keep his head trapped between her thighs. No, she gasped out his name as her fingers curled against his scalp, her hips bucked once into his mouth and her head fell back with a long, drawn out (and yet still dainty) sound of ecstasy as she came.

He wouldn't have minded the thigh-hold on his head, really, though it would have made it a little difficult to continue what he was doing.

The hand that wasn't otherwise occupied -still thrusting those two fingers into her, albeit more slowly once she'd crested- resumed stroking along her flank, slowly down and back. Even the movement of his tongue gentled once she'd reached her peak, going back to the slow, broader strokes against and over her clit, intent on prolonging that pleasure as long as possible, it seemed.

Her toes curled against his back as he coaxed her orgasm to last longer, doing all he could to extend her pleasure. Her body trembles with the aftershocks, her fingers moving to curl in his hair as she made a few soft sounds, ones that might sound like protest, a sort of whine as he wrung out every ounce of pleasure he could.

Yes, this was exactly what she wanted from him, even if she didn't want it to be over, she wasn't done. "I want you," she murmured in her broken Russian, breathless and wild. She didn't care how sensitive her body felt, she wanted to chase this feeling, to feel him inside of her as she came again.

Well that was definitely not something he was going to deny her, not given the fact that he was fully hard and had been for a while. He smiled against her again, giving one last, firm lick before he rolled to his feet, withdrawing his fingers from her so that he could catch hold of her hips again, tugging her that much closer to the edge of the dresser.

He didn't bother to ask if she was ready, he knew she wouldn't have made the demand if she wasn't. That was one of the things he'd learned about her early on: when she demanded something she meant right then, and so, once he knew she was stable, mostly by way of his hand at her hip and the other one braced against the wall behind her, he rolled forward, filling her almost completely with just that first push.

Complete and utter and smug contentment she got from him obeying her orders, immediately, could not be measured in anything other than a loud moan in that moment. His body moved with an easy grace, one that she matched, scrambling forward on the dresser, gripping the edges of the desk for a moment as he thrust into her, their hips rolling into each other as he filled her almost to the hilt.

A German curse fell from her lips then as she didn't give any care to keeping her language clean when he felt so unbelievably good inside of her. Her body felt overly sensitive, still pulsating from her climax that it almost hurt but oh, the pain was a good one. One that had her panting and desperate for more. For now, she was content to let him be in control but as he knew, her moods could change like the wind. For now, she wanted to feel just how much he wanted her, wanted--"No holding back. Show me."

The fact that she swore probably more than he did was one of the things he liked about her, and he couldn't help the smile at that rough-edged curse, and the demand just sent the smile spreading further, all teeth and nearly-feral, just making another one of those low sounds in his throat, the kind that rumbled deep in his chest.

His fingers tightened against her hip, pinning her in place as he withdrew, just a little before rocking forward again, burying a groan in her hair as he sunk fully into her, giving his hips a little jolting movement once he'd done so, both to rub against her already tender clit but also to prove that he had no further he could go.

Perhaps that smile may terrify a lesser person but it only served to make Gaby hungrier, more eager for him, for that that smile could mean and the promise of what was to come. He pressed forward, his grip feeling bruising in the best way, making her gasp, the sound thrilled and loud.

Her hands moved from the edges of the dress to grip at his arms. "Da," she panted out, sounding like a woman possessed, one hand moving to grip his chin to draw his mouth to hers for a kiss, as rough and feral as his smile. "More."

Edited 2016-05-30 23:54 (UTC)

He replied to that kiss in kind, even as his hips settled into shallow little jolting movements, already fully-seated in her, just rocking against her to feel her clench against him each time.

He caught her lower lip lightly between his teeth as he finally withdrew again, slowly, smoothly, hesitating just briefly when it was just the head of his shaft held by her lips before he rode forward again with a movement solid enough to rock the dresser under her, nearly growling again only to repeat the movement a moment later, the slow withdrawal and the sudden, firm press forward.

For one cruel moment, she thought he might withdrawal from her completely but before she could even think to muster a whimper of protest, he pounded back into her, sending her body and the dresser beneath it trembling, her pert breasts bouncing with the force of it.

A moan escaped her lips, half formed because he did it again, forcing a gasp of delight from her, the sound utterly obscene in it's pitch and volume. If the room weren't a suite, she'd feel for their neighbors, what with the way the dresser slammed against the wall with each movement, the painting on wall above it quivering in protest.

As good as it felt, as thrilling as the sound of his thighs slapping violently against her own, her hands combed through his hair restlessly, her lips curved against his, "Again."

He had both hands braced against the wall behind her at that point, withdrawing just as far as the loop of her legs would allow before slamming forward again, and again, rattling dresser and picture frame each time.

He shifted his stance just a little, stabilizing himself so that he could keep up that same pace, chances were good he'd be able to keep it up almost indefinitely, he was, on occasion, a machine and this was definitely one of those times. The more stable stance also made it so that he could drop one of the hands he'd been bracing himself with, settling it between them, taking just a moment until he could position the knuckles of his first two fingers to either side of her clit, rocking against it with each thrust, apparently intent on wringing another orgasm out of her.

Oh, when he touched her like that, she let out an embarrassingly feminine whimper, her eyes fluttering and her mouth tearing from his as her head fell backward. For a moment, she was too caught up in the friction, the thrusting, the bounce of their bodies, his fingers. For moment, she couldn't formulate a coherent thought beyond yes, Illya, yes as he did as she commanded, over and over and over.

She felt herself climbing towards that peak and every sound that fell from her mouth made that clear. But she didn't want it to end that soon, not that she questioned his stamina, of course. But she wanted to continue to command control, now that she had a taste of power.

So with a quick movement, she arched upward, moving to clutch at his neck, her body colliding with his and pressing flush just as he thrust into her. Arching again, she looked at him with a fire. "On your back." On the bed, on the floor, she didn't care. She wanted on top and she wanted to make him come with her.

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