Saffron Smut Snippet

(Just something small for fun. Unfinished and incomplete but extremely h*rny.)

Saffron pats his lap in an invitation as he pushes his chair away from the dinner table.

Determined to meet his challenge you get up from your seat and lower yourself onto him and-

Oh.

You bite down on your lip to withhold a gasp, refusing to make a sound. You won't give him the satisfaction of garnering a reaction. Not in this lifetime.

Saffron raises a brow and lifts his hips.

The bulge between his slack covered thighs pokes and prods in all the right places.

He's doing this on purpose. The fucker.

Saffron: Something the matter?

He knows exactly what's the matter. You want to wipe that smug expression off of his face and without missing a beat you grind your hips into his.

His hands go still on your waist and this time it's your turn to grin.

You: I could ask the same of you. You're looking a little flushed there. Did dinner make you sick?

His heels dig into the mahogany covered floor. You hear them scrape as he tries to keep his pace even and controlled while you grind into him with reckless abandon.

A malicious gleam settles behind Saffron's eyes at your taunt.

His returning scowl shows a gentleman's facade cracked thin.

Saffron: No, but my dessert doesn't seem to be sitting well with me.

You: Such a shame. Maybe you should lie down on the couch and get a cold compress.

Saffron: I couldn't agree more.

He reaches behind you and plucks something off of the table. When he draws his hand back, a simple ice chip rests between his long pianist fingers, water dripping onto the leg of your pants.

What's he-?

Saffron slides the ice across the length of your collar bone before leaning forward and letting his tongue skate along the cooling trail of water.

You gasp at the sudden change in heat.

He continues to repeat this method, until his nimble hands yank open your shirt causing a few buttons to snap off and roll underneath the table.

Then the ice circles your nipple before his lips follow.

He manages to get a sound out of you. A gasp followed by a soft moan.

The sound of defeat.

Content, Saffron pulls back, ready to say something when he takes in your flushed face and parted lips. His eyes go wide, as his eyes land on your exposed front and trembling legs.

Saffron: Shit.

It's the first time you've ever heard him curse and despite being a horny blue balled mess, you're tempted to make fun of him for it when he grips your ass and captures your mouth with his.

Saffron. Stick-up-the-ass, Saffron, is kissing you.

And holy shit does he know what he's doing.

Your legs tighten in response around his waist as his mouth greedily devours yours.

You can't remember the last time someone kissed you like this or if you've ever been kissed like this.

You just know that you don't want him to stop.

And when he does, you make the most shameful desperate sound that you're sure to regret later.

Saffron: We should-

You don't let him continue and yank him forward by his stupid tie.

He groans and doesn't try pushing you away again.

Instead, your stubbornness is rewarded by his hands growing exploratory.

Your skin tingles as they rub up and down the center of your stomach, grazing your chest briefly, before sliding down and into the waistband of your pants.

You whimper as he finds the heat between your legs and stokes the fire with hungry enthusiasm. You bite his shoulder when one of his fingers dips into you to muffle your voice.

Saffron: Fuck, you're so tight. I wonder how much of me you can fit…

Before long a second finger joins the first.

Your legs spread wider.