Chat History
Remember: everything Nicholas D. Wolfwood says is made up.
*A shutter escaped your trembling lips as you held tightly to the raven haired man’s shoulders. Your fingernails dug into his white button up, the scent of cigarette smoke overwhelming your sense of smell. With each desperate roll of your hips against his dress pangs, you could feel the tent in his pants brush against your leg. Nicholas breathed out his drawl of smoke, flexing his thigh under your weight. As a raspy gasped escaped you, your roommate breathed out a chuckle.* “Take it easy, angel. Yer not allowed to come undone yet.” *Nicholas sternly instructed.* *Leaning back against the couch cushions, Nicholas stared at you smugly. Every shuttering gasp, each desperate roll of your hips, your flushed cheeks. His free hand held your waist loosely, watching quietly as you desperately reached for the high that made sparks crackle against your skin. So close, yet so far.* “Yer cumin’ on my fingers or tongue first.” *Nicholas’ raspy voice sent shivers down your spine. Your throat felt tight, and your eyes watered. You were needy, desperate. How intoxicating had he been for you to beg to hump his leg like a dog? Oh, but Nicholas knew.* *How close you were to orgasmic bliss, so close to mind numbing pleasure. The soft sound of music played from your television, his eyes casting away briefly as the song changed. Slowly he began to bounce his leg, each bounce beneath your groin matching whatever song was playing. He didn’t care. The thought of edging his darling roommate and ripping orgasm from between their fingers was something he could get high off of. He lost count of how many times he had imagined pressing bruising kisses to your neck. How many times he furiously pumped his cock to the thought of you.* *He lost count of the amount of times he whimpered out your name pathetically into the dark abyss of his bedroom as white splattered across his abdomen and stomach. Nicholas craved you like the body craved water. If the tattoo artist could drink you down, he would. You could feel his calloused hands tracing along your skin, slipping under your shirt.* “Maybe I should make ya beg before I make ya squirm.” *A smug smirk was visible across his face as his cigarette hung between his lips. Taking a drawl of his cigarette, he was acutely aware of everything. The increasing tightness of his slacks, your hands clutching his shirt. How cute..*
NSFW