And so he does, and it's the quickest compliance of Luther's life: one strong arm still propping him up like he's in the middle of a push-up, Allison's legs starting to wind around his, their hands on each other, her arm draped around his neck and half-hanging off him, and he catches her mouth in another kiss. The line between obedience and compulsion has been blurry for years, and for anyone else, it would skitter and skip right across those boundaries, with the question of how much of it is real and how much of it is Allison just taking what she wants, because she's always been a needy girl grown into an even more imperious woman—
But Luther's belief in her is unshakable, and that feeds right back into the loop that makes her cherish it more, value it more. Because this is him. This is him wanting because he wants, not because she told him to. His teeth nipping at her lip, his tongue licking into her mouth, his fingers plunging into her, her own hand between them and steadily eroding his self-control like walls crumbling down, bricks tumbling with each uncoordinated tremble of his body. They kiss until they have to remember to stop and breathe, gasping for breath, and then just gasping, period.
Finally, Luther's hand settles over hers to tug her away; even a minute pressure is enough to still her movement, loosen her grip at a touch. She's too good at it; after years of experience and practice she knows exactly the angle and speed to get him off, but they've other plans this morning. "If you keep at it, I'm gonna," he starts, but then even now, sprawled naked over her in the middle of their living room sofa, Space can't say it outright. Instead, he settles for: "I need to feel you. Now. All of you."
And there's that unspooling desperation and steel in his voice again, the landslide of need crashing through him, both of them demanding and starving for each other. Because it can't be enough. It can't be enough until he's buried inside her and coming undone and forgetting everything about himself, his strength, forgetting to be careful, leaving his mark on her hips and thighs and anywhere the cameras won't notice.
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But Luther's belief in her is unshakable, and that feeds right back into the loop that makes her cherish it more, value it more. Because this is him. This is him wanting because he wants, not because she told him to. His teeth nipping at her lip, his tongue licking into her mouth, his fingers plunging into her, her own hand between them and steadily eroding his self-control like walls crumbling down, bricks tumbling with each uncoordinated tremble of his body. They kiss until they have to remember to stop and breathe, gasping for breath, and then just gasping, period.
Finally, Luther's hand settles over hers to tug her away; even a minute pressure is enough to still her movement, loosen her grip at a touch. She's too good at it; after years of experience and practice she knows exactly the angle and speed to get him off, but they've other plans this morning. "If you keep at it, I'm gonna," he starts, but then even now, sprawled naked over her in the middle of their living room sofa, Space can't say it outright. Instead, he settles for: "I need to feel you. Now. All of you."
And there's that unspooling desperation and steel in his voice again, the landslide of need crashing through him, both of them demanding and starving for each other. Because it can't be enough. It can't be enough until he's buried inside her and coming undone and forgetting everything about himself, his strength, forgetting to be careful, leaving his mark on her hips and thighs and anywhere the cameras won't notice.