Wilson holds her hips while she rides Wesley's face. She'd hoped to give him a little distance, perhaps let him sit in the chair where she started getting aroused earlier, where perhaps the upholstery holds a little of the smell of her, but he seems to want to be close, and Vanessa likes it, having him there to hold her so steady while Wesley eats her out with consummate skill.
She can feel him coming back to himself in how he grows more precise as time goes on. At the beginning, he was sloppy, mouthing at her, wet and uncoordinated and glorious. Now it's different, sharper, just as wonderful and all Wesley.
“You'll have to fuck me in the morning,” she tells Wilson over her shoulder. “I think he deserves a chance to watch, don't you?”
Her thighs are blocking his ears, so perhaps he doesn't hear, but she hopes he does, especially how warm and rich Wilson's voice gets when he says “Yes, I do.”
Vanessa comes with a gasp, and when she lets Wilson ease her away, Wesley is watching them both, as sharp and alert as Wesley ever is, only more settled in his skin.
He isn't the sort to want to be told he's a good boy, or how well he did. He already knows, after all.
And Wilson, of course, who knows Wesley inside out, knows precisely what to say, as he goes to untie Wesley's wrists. “Wesley,” he says, of course, giving him his name, in case he needs it to bring him back. “Thank you.”
*
Later, she watches from the bed as Wesley gets dressed, and he does it in the bedroom instead of somewhere private perhaps because he knows she likes to see the change in people as they put on the trappings of their daily selves. Wesley is just as elegant and sharp naked as he is in a suit, but she enjoys watching the bruises and scratches covered in cloth, the cuffs of his shirt buttoned over rope marks like his whole body is a secret.
Wilson is making breakfast, which Wesley will no doubt refuse. Vanessa estimates it will take at least three more of these nights before she can insist and have him not take it as an order. She looks forward to it.
In the meantime, she stands up in time to smooth his jacket over his shoulders. “Don't let it get so bad again. I won't have it, nor will he. You'll come to us, or to him. Do we have an understanding?”
And oh, it's beautiful, when Wesley meets her eyes and lets her have a look into the way his mind ticks away, decoding all the possible meanings of her words and plucking the right one out with no trouble. There's a soft noise of a clanging pan from the kitchen, and Wesley looks quickly at it and then back to her. “We do.”
Vanessa lets him go, but only because she knows he'll come back.
[FILL] An Understanding (3/3)
She can feel him coming back to himself in how he grows more precise as time goes on. At the beginning, he was sloppy, mouthing at her, wet and uncoordinated and glorious. Now it's different, sharper, just as wonderful and all Wesley.
“You'll have to fuck me in the morning,” she tells Wilson over her shoulder. “I think he deserves a chance to watch, don't you?”
Her thighs are blocking his ears, so perhaps he doesn't hear, but she hopes he does, especially how warm and rich Wilson's voice gets when he says “Yes, I do.”
Vanessa comes with a gasp, and when she lets Wilson ease her away, Wesley is watching them both, as sharp and alert as Wesley ever is, only more settled in his skin.
He isn't the sort to want to be told he's a good boy, or how well he did. He already knows, after all.
And Wilson, of course, who knows Wesley inside out, knows precisely what to say, as he goes to untie Wesley's wrists. “Wesley,” he says, of course, giving him his name, in case he needs it to bring him back. “Thank you.”
Later, she watches from the bed as Wesley gets dressed, and he does it in the bedroom instead of somewhere private perhaps because he knows she likes to see the change in people as they put on the trappings of their daily selves. Wesley is just as elegant and sharp naked as he is in a suit, but she enjoys watching the bruises and scratches covered in cloth, the cuffs of his shirt buttoned over rope marks like his whole body is a secret.
Wilson is making breakfast, which Wesley will no doubt refuse. Vanessa estimates it will take at least three more of these nights before she can insist and have him not take it as an order. She looks forward to it.
In the meantime, she stands up in time to smooth his jacket over his shoulders. “Don't let it get so bad again. I won't have it, nor will he. You'll come to us, or to him. Do we have an understanding?”
And oh, it's beautiful, when Wesley meets her eyes and lets her have a look into the way his mind ticks away, decoding all the possible meanings of her words and plucking the right one out with no trouble. There's a soft noise of a clanging pan from the kitchen, and Wesley looks quickly at it and then back to her. “We do.”
Vanessa lets him go, but only because she knows he'll come back.