Sheehan is a very good listener. He adjusts himself slightly on his knees, making himself comfortable, and joins fingers to tongue, listening for all of those lovely, encouraging sounds.
Oh he's good. She'll never tell him, but generally she hasn't got the highest expectations for American men of his vintage. He's exceeding them very well.
Her legs go around his shoulders and then her back arches; she cries out sharply and lets out a long, satisfied groan.
Yes. That'll do nicely. She laughs, low in her throat.
When she's caught her breath, she sits up and leans in to kiss him. "Pleased with yourself, are you?" She slides her hand down his chest, then lower, brushing the front of his trousers to discover what's there and tease him a little as well.
He sits up, brushing a thumb across her lips and humming a bit. "I don't know," he says, eyes flicking down to her hand where he knows he's already aching. "Figured I earned it."
Una now has the highly pleasant dilemma of deciding what she wants to do with him next. She forestalls the decision for a moment by climbing onto his lap and kissing him thoroughly while she gets him out of his shirt—and if he wants to finish the work of getting her out of her dress, she won't stop him.
Then—all right. She kisses her way down his chest and slides off his lap, and now she's the one on her knees, unfastening his trousers.
The indecision would be terrible - would be, if not for the fact that he keeps his hands properly occupied with the task of getting her out of that dress and finally seeing what he had been imagining for only some of the night.
He did start out with innocent intentions, after all.
"I really haven't done enough to deserve this," he mutters, sitting up just a touch, toying with the ends of her hair.
"One rarely gets what one deserves," she says—a sentence that would be rather bleak in any other context. But in this moment, now that she has him teasingly in hand, it's another, much more pleasant sort of promise. She only torments him a little while longer before she takes him into her mouth.
He lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding so tightly, her tormenting the most delicious thing in the moment. He ghosts fingers along her hair, murmuring encouraging noises that he will later not remember.
She takes her time, as this is not her endgame at all, and she's careful not to get him too far along too quickly. When she thinks she's done enough mischief, she lets him go and stands, smiling, before she straddles him on the couch, only just touching him.
She wants to enjoy this for as long as possible, and so she rides him slowly, almost gently. Watching his face, relishing the feel of his body and of his hands on her. Then, after a little while of this, she pauses for breath and gives him a sly, challenging smile. She could keep going like this, or—
He keeps his hands on her, flicking a thumb across her nipple, brushing short nails along her back, grabbing her ass as she lifts and groaning when she returns.
He digs his feet into the ground and laughs. "Else? Good god, Una. You're going to kill me."
She tsks softly, amused, but also exceptionally wound up herself by now and ready to see what he looks like when he unravels. "Poor man. I'll have mercy then, shall I?"
And she begins to move again, more urgently, whispering obscene encouragements as she does so.
It doesn't take long, as much as he'd like to last the night with her. Those words, that voice, only serve to spur him on, and he bites back a moan as he crashes into her.
Yes. God, he's delightful. She stays with him until he catches his breath again, and then bends to kiss him, trailing her fingertips along his shoulders.
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Oh he's good. She'll never tell him, but generally she hasn't got the highest expectations for American men of his vintage. He's exceeding them very well.
Her legs go around his shoulders and then her back arches; she cries out sharply and lets out a long, satisfied groan.
Yes. That'll do nicely. She laughs, low in her throat.
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He uses his free hand to stroke the outside of her leg with gentle fingers, pulling away after that laugh. He grins, peering up at her with a smirk.
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When she's caught her breath, she sits up and leans in to kiss him. "Pleased with yourself, are you?" She slides her hand down his chest, then lower, brushing the front of his trousers to discover what's there and tease him a little as well.
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"Earned it and then some," she says, her touch now a little firmer and more insistent. "Why don't you sit back and let me take care of you, hm?"
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"Mind if I get up off my knees?"
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"Make yourself comfortable, darling." She lets him go and leans back, so that he can sit where he pleases.
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Una now has the highly pleasant dilemma of deciding what she wants to do with him next. She forestalls the decision for a moment by climbing onto his lap and kissing him thoroughly while she gets him out of his shirt—and if he wants to finish the work of getting her out of her dress, she won't stop him.
Then—all right. She kisses her way down his chest and slides off his lap, and now she's the one on her knees, unfastening his trousers.
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He did start out with innocent intentions, after all.
"I really haven't done enough to deserve this," he mutters, sitting up just a touch, toying with the ends of her hair.
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"One rarely gets what one deserves," she says—a sentence that would be rather bleak in any other context. But in this moment, now that she has him teasingly in hand, it's another, much more pleasant sort of promise. She only torments him a little while longer before she takes him into her mouth.
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She takes her time, as this is not her endgame at all, and she's careful not to get him too far along too quickly. When she thinks she's done enough mischief, she lets him go and stands, smiling, before she straddles him on the couch, only just touching him.
"All right?" she whispers.
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"I'm alright," he manages to gasp out, a bit breathless. She straddles his waist and his hands go to her hips, just barely keeping himself still.
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"Good."
She leans down to kiss him, and as she does so, sinks down onto him with a small gasp.
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His hands slide up her sides, cupping her breasts, letting her set the pace for now.
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She wants to enjoy this for as long as possible, and so she rides him slowly, almost gently. Watching his face, relishing the feel of his body and of his hands on her. Then, after a little while of this, she pauses for breath and gives him a sly, challenging smile. She could keep going like this, or—
"Anything else you want?"
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He digs his feet into the ground and laughs. "Else? Good god, Una. You're going to kill me."
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She tsks softly, amused, but also exceptionally wound up herself by now and ready to see what he looks like when he unravels. "Poor man. I'll have mercy then, shall I?"
And she begins to move again, more urgently, whispering obscene encouragements as she does so.
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Yes. God, he's delightful. She stays with him until he catches his breath again, and then bends to kiss him, trailing her fingertips along his shoulders.
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"Goddamn, Una," is all he can really say, his penchant for words flying straight out of his mind.
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She laughs softly and eases herself off him, but only so that she can curl up half next to him, half in his lap.
"Must admit, this is a surprise. But a very nice one."
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