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screechesincoherently · 1 year

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Woof 🥵

It's Called Being Nice

Author's Note: Just a bit of light reading for the Sammy lane

Summary: Sam walks in on you during some much-needed 'you' time and lends a helping hand which leads to a bit more

Content Warnings: masturbation, fingering, penetrative sex (18+ minors do not interact), swearing

Word Count: 6k

It wasn't like you had asked to stay with Josh just so you could soak in his tub while he was gone. Your heat had gone out and in the dead of winter, you were in need of a swift rescue until a maintenance worker could make the trip. But with the steep snow that had blanketed the streets and everything in between, the likelihood of your heat being fixed in a timely manner was low, and if you had to wait several days for it to be fixed, it certainly wasn't a tragedy that you'd be spending it at Josh's house in his tub with the hot water at your back where the tension coiled tightly.

It was just one of the perks of being friends with him. And one of the perks of having your heat go out in the dead of winter, as it were.

Josh had already made the short yet treacherous trip to his younger brother’s house, preparing for a party amidst the cold and snow before jetting off for another leg of tour. And in his absence, you’d decided it was only right to unwind.

With scalding water filling the tub to the brim, an oil diffuser steaming the scent of lavender into the air, and music lightly drifting through the air from a speaker nestled between greenery on the bathroom sink, you dipped your toes into the tub and settled in for a relaxing bath before you had to head back out into the cold for the boy’s going away party.

It was just what you needed having come in from the cold not long before, the warmth soaking into your bones and coaxing the tension from your muscles.

You stayed that way for a while, letting the music and the warmth lull you into an almost sleep as your arms floated across the top of the water, drifting mindlessly along the bubbles bouncing lighter than air on the water’s surface, until your fingers, itching for purpose, scooped down through the water to graze along your thighs.

You let your eyes droop shut and your head fall back as your fingers traced a familiar pattern along the inside of your leg. And it was the quiet about the empty house that gave your fingers the courage to trail higher and higher before they dipped between your folds as you let a hum slip from your lips.

Only a light touch, barely a tease as you let the finger of your free hand ghost over your nipples peeking just above the water, hard in the cool air above the still steamy water where your fingers began to work into a rhythm they knew well.

The sound of a sigh blossomed in the air as your fingers worked and your mind wandered to a certain younger brother who you often thought of when your hand was between your legs, despite trying your very hardest not to let him form in your mind when in such a state.

But he was always there: the thought of Sam’s lips, plush and parted the way they did on stage when the music flowed through him, the thought of his hair pushed back by his palm, flowing around his shoulders in a messy tousle that was effortlessly beautiful, the thought of his hands plucking you the way they plucked the strings of his bass, the way they danced along piano keys like they were made to stretch and press and remember rhythms so well.

Those were the thoughts, running shamefully through your mind. Only one thought, really. Sam.

Sam. His voice. His beautiful voice. It was like you could practically hear it there in the room with you as you moaned again into the air.

And then your eyes snapped open with realization.

"What's going on in here?"

“Oh my god, Sam, what are you doing here?” you practically screamed as your body immediately sank beneath the bubbles and your arms instinctively crossed over your chest to try and hide him from seeing anything between suds. Well, trying to hide your shame, more like.

"Relax, I can't see anything,” he smiled to you from the doorway, a smug grin that told you he already had seen something. “I’m here to steal some of Josh’s liquor. What are you doing here? Other than getting to know yourself, of course."

You scoffed as you sank lower under the bubbles, an attempt to save some face although surely there was nothing left to save.

"Well, the heat is out at my place,” you explained as you gave him a disapproving look. “Josh said I could stay here."

"And you didn't even ask me?" he feigned hurt, a hand clutching at his heart.

You gave him a eyeroll, hugging your arms tighter to your chest as your response came out terse, mostly due to the fact that he was still standing there despite knowing what he had walked in on and, further, despite you being naked only three feet away from him.

"Well, see, Josh is easier to stay with on account of the fact that he knocks."

You finished with a pointed look that didn’t seem to touch him as he pushed off the wall a step.

"Oh you want me to knock?" he asked sarcastically with a gleam in his eyes as he knocked on the wall of the bathroom next to the light switch.

It earned another eyeroll.

"Charming," you mumbled, embarrassment still bright in your cheeks, though his smile was gleeful as ever.

"You should be nice to me. I could very easily help you out, ya know."

You squinted up at him, mischief and all, as you tried to hide the fact that if he was hinting at what you thought he was hinting at, you did in fact want him to help you out. Not that the admission would ever grace your lips or his ears.

"I don't need any help," you lied, trying to ignore the heat growing between your legs again at the implication.

"None at all?" he asked as he took another step toward the tub and you in it.

"None at all. I'm about done, thank you," you lied yet again, adamant that your feelings for Sam would remain a fantasy and not tumble into the territory of things he could embarrass you with, certain as you were that his offer wasn’t really an offer. More just a sick little power play for the bassist who looked to be enjoying himself all too much.

"Oh, you didn't sound nearly close to done," he smirked even wider with an amused twinkle in his eye as he took another step toward you, a movement that caused your heart to beat even harder in your chest than it had when you’d realized you’d been caught.

His damn beautiful face.

"I swear to God, Sam, I will stop being your friend if you don't just pretend like nothing happened," you seethed, feeling more embarrassed the closer he drew, the more he made you want him.

Was it not humiliating enough that he had caught you touching yourself? Did he need to rub it in now too?

"Maybe I just want to know what you were thinking about," he said as he stepped close to the tub, close enough to let his fingertips graze the cool porcelain lip near your feet. And you almost felt like he was touching you as he did so.

You. I was thinking about you.

“I wasn’t thinking about anything," you lied as his fingers drew so close and yet so far from your skin.

It was like he was taunting you. Wholly unfair. And what was worse, he only smiled and drew nearer, running his fingers teasingly along the edge of the tub up along the side.

"So testy. So feisty. If only there was a way I could help you relax," his words teased just as his fingers seemed to.

"Sam, this isn't funny," you warned, even as you were unable to pull your eyes away from his fingers still dancing along toward you, growing closer and closer to where your shoulder rested against the inside of the tub.

"No, you're right,” he agreed with a nod and a more serious voice, “it absolutely isn't funny."

His fingertips met your shoulder as he stepped, grazing lightly along your bare skin and prompting goosebumps to prickle embarrassingly along your neck and arm. God, you wanted him. You wanted his touch, much more than he was giving you now.

"You're being mean," you said, your voice only a whisper despite the way you had forced the words to come out as Sam made his way around to the head of the tub where your neck and shoulders stuck out of the water, sitting on the stool directly behind the large porcelain bowl like he was making himself comfortable there.

"Well I'm about to be very nice, how about that?"

You were speechless as he situated himself behind you, letting his fingers dip into the water on either side of your body as they seemed to test the heat. And your silence seemed to be what he was searching for.

"That's what I thought. Is the water hot enough?" he asked and your brows furrowed in puzzlement.

"It's-it's fine," you hesitated, wondering where exactly he was going with all of this. It seemed far too elaborate at that point to be simply a tease. But nevertheless, your guard was up.

"The oil diffuser not the scent you wanted?" he implored further and you shrugged your shoulders.

"What are you doing?"

He gave you a light 'tsk' with his tongue as his fingers found your shoulders again and began to dance along your skin, down until they reached beneath the water and touched the tips of your elbows where they pried your own arms away from their tight hold across your chest.

"It's called being nice," he whispered low in your ear as he set your arms adrift along the water's top to continue his own movements along your body. "Now answer the question."

"Yes, it's fine," you gasped, hardly audible as you felt his fingers run along your skin up to your shoulders only to trail downward, tracing lines along your chest that mimicked that of a sweetheart neckline where there was only skin.

"So where's all this tension coming from?" he asked softly as his hands slipped down lower, following the swell of your breasts. And your voice faltered with a gasp and an arching of your back as his fingers found the hardened buds of your nipples, taking them each between a thumb and forefinger to pinch lightly.

Another tease. But this time, it was clearly not a taunt and much more like something he was willing to further.

Your hand slipped up out of the water to grab at the edge of the tub as your body threatened to sink lower beneath the water, the surprise of his hands touching you that way leaving you gasping for air quite unceremoniously as you struggled to speak. "I told you, my heat isn't-isn't working and-"

"And you're stressed about it?" he cut you off, one hand still rolling your nipple between his fingers ever so delicately while the other now traveled along your abdomen, over the swell of your stomach, and down between your legs.

You might have worked up the nerve to ask him what the fuck he was doing, something you probably should have asked him, but it felt so surreal having his hands on your body, his long, slender fingers alternating their task of tugging gently at each of your nipples while the fingers on his other hand nestled between your legs to pick up the work your own had been doing on your clit.

Your mind was screaming at you but your body was screaming louder, putty in his magical fucking hands as you gave him a half-assed hum in answer to his question that you’d already forgotten.

"Stay with me, pretty girl." You could hear the smile in his voice without even seeing his face.

Thankfully he could no longer see the blush on your cheeks and the gape of your mouth as he slipped a finger past your lips and pumped it in a delicious rhythm while you fought to remember the question and form an answer.

"Yes, I'm stressed about-oh fuck, Sam!" you moaned out, much louder than you had intended.

"Yeah? Tell me about it." You could have heard the smile in his voice from a million miles away.

"The-the stress or your fingers?" you stammered out as your head drooped back against the edge of the tub and against his chest.

"My fingers, please," he answered in a near whisper, another smile-laden response that would have been your undoing had you seen it on his lips.

The delicious push and pull of his long, slender fingers, pressing so expertly the buttons you didn't know he'd find so easily but always fantasized he would, it was hard to describe really. Even harder to form words above the dim coil beginning to tighten within you as his fingers worked. You felt like you were gasping for breath when you answered, fingers slipping against the ivory edge if the tub desperate for the type of friction he had on you, any hold to keep you from sinking under the water's edge as you arched further into him, grabbing his shirt with no care for the water running down your arm.

"God, they feel so good, Sam. You're so f-fucking good with them."

"Keep going, beautiful. I love it when you compliment me." He said it like a tease but you had an inkling it was more of a stipulation for him to continue the nice-ness he'd decided upon.

Although you would have sung his praises a million times over without him ever even asking, the way his free hand flitted over your body like he'd been burning with desire to touch you long before the opportunity had ever presented itself heightening the work of his other hand, working diligently to ease the tension from your body through a mind shattering orgasm that his fingers seemed to promise.

"Your fucking fingers, Sammy. So fucking talented, jesus," you choked out in a desperate whine, having taken to outstretching one leg to push your foot into the opposite end of the tub to hold you closer to his fingers as they pumped.

“You know, I could hear you all the way from the hallway when I walked in," he said as his free hand suddenly took hold of your throat to hold your head steady where it leaned back against him, his lips pressing against the shell of your ear where the strain in his voice seemed to yell his exertion, although it might have been exertion at his self-restraint more than anything else. "Sounded so fucking beautiful with your breathy little moans. I think I like this even better though, hearing you use your words, hearing how much you want me.”

Fuck, you did want him, somehow desperately despite the way his fingers still curled inside of you, giving you almost everything you wanted as he angled them knowingly.

“I do want you, Sam, fuck I want you so badly.”

Jesus, you even sounded desperate, giving in so easily to his touch, so readily. You couldn't deny that you wanted him, not even your body could. His fingers wound you up exactly the way you had imagined a hundred times over when you were alone.

He hummed in response, a sound that mixed satisfaction with want so beautifully, it shot your pleasure forward even further and you did your best to stifle the needy moan you felt bubbling at your lips.

“God, I bet you’d sound even fucking prettier with my cock between your legs instead of my hand," he groaned again. "I bet that would really relax you, what do you think?”

The words on his tongue had you clenching tightly around his fingers, a silent confirmation that your body did indeed want that, that you did indeed want that, even before the 'yeses' dripped from your own mouth. And you couldn't see the satisfaction written across his face as your eyes rolled back and you gripped his shirt harder, suddenly close to the edge with the thought of his cock instead of his fingers inside of you, filling you to the brim, stretching you out so deliciously, long strokes that had him moaning just as loudly as you were as you watched his composure falter alongside yours.

He had you in the palm of his hand, quite literally, and you felt not even an ounce of shame as you whispered his name just as the peak of your orgasm began to crest.

"I know you would, sweet thing, I know you would," he mumbled through what sounded like clenched teeth, just before he did the unthinkable and pulled his fingers from inside of you, effectively ruining your orgasm and removing himself from your grasp altogether in one swift movement. "It's too bad you asked my brother for help instead of me. I really would have loved getting you off."

You were speechless as he gave you a grin that annoyed you almost to tears, his mischievous giggle carrying him to the door where he ducked clumsily to just barely miss the rolled towel your hands had somehow found in your mind's seething silence and chucked at him.

In his absence, you let out a frustrated groan, sinking further into the suds until your chin was tucked neatly beneath the water like a pouting child.

You'd get him back for it.

—

The party wasn't really your scene, still somewhat reeling from the interaction you'd had with Sam so unexpectedly earlier in the day.

And although you longed to go home and curl up in your own bed to redo the ruined orgasm that Sam had left you with, with the movements of his fingers still on your mind, you were determined to get payback on him for leaving you so helpless in the bathroom.

Two could play that game.

That was how you had ended up drinking three drinks in the span of an hour and a half while chatting up some photographer friend of his who was not nearly as frustratingly charming as the bassist who had been sneaking glances over at you throughout the night, only approaching you once you'd unlatched yourself from John or Jeremy or whatever his name was to refill your drink in Sam's empty kitchen.

"This party not good enough for you?" he asked with only a glint in his eyes that said he was thinking about what had happened earlier and nothing more.

"Dreadfully boring," you sighed, doing your best to pay him little attention as you mixed a fourth drink for yourself.

A smile teased up one corner of his mouth as he sipped something red and fruity from a cocktail glass, his eyes lingering on your face as something a bit more mischievous flashed across his face.

"You didn't seem to be bored when you were flirting with practically every guy in the room."

Oh shit. Maybe the boring photographer had been two guys. That would explain why he looked like he had changed shirts halfway through your second drink.

You shrugged it off.

"Well, every guy but you, I guess," you answered nonchalantly as you sipped your drink to test the ratio of liquor to mixer, ignoring the way his jaw clenched as he stood there almost stunned, trying to gather himself and brush it off. At least in front of you.

He took a step toward you, lifting the bottle of liquor you'd been pouring from the counter and adding a splash to your drink before taking a swig himself straight from the bottle and setting it down with a hard clink like it was some sort of display of power.

"I see what's happening here," he gave you another smile. "Princess is trying to make me jealous because she didn't get what she wanted earlier."

He was spot on although you tried not to show it on your face.

"Or maybe I'm just trying to find someone else who will give me what I want. Had a couple offers already. Maybe I'll take them both home."

"Where, back to your frigid house?" he smirked.

You gave him a sarcastic smile back.

"No, smartass, but it looks like Josh is planning on staying a while. Should only be an hour anyway." You gave the photographer that you recognized a glance out of the corner of your eye, trying to make it as suggestive as possible before turning your gaze back to Sam. "Or maybe two."

He took your drink from your hand with a shake of his head, stepping toward you to let his chest meet yours while he simultaneously backed you up against the sink directly behind you, staring over your head in disbelief.

"You know, you could just be nice. Then maybe I'd be nice back." He turned his gaze back down to your face as he finished, searching for that familiar pink color in your cheeks that had been there when he'd so carelessly flung the bathroom door open.

You prayed he didn't find it although you certainly felt it with his proximity. So close to touching, skin to skin, a different shirt now thanks to the soap and water you'd splashed him with earlier as you'd clung to him. This one looked like it'd be perfect resting against the floor.

"How nice are we talking?" was all you asked, your voice much more steady than it threatened to be.

"Admit that you're trying to make me jealous," he began in a whisper too low for the other party-goers to hear as he brushed hair off your face with just the delicate pads of his fingertips, "and I'll give you my fingers again, maybe even my tongue."

Your mouth could have watered at the sound of it, the thought of it, his fingers mimicking the motions that had unfolded you for him mixed with the feeling of his tongue lapping over your clit, sending you over the edge writhing against his face. And he must have been able to tell you were thinking about it too, picturing it, wanting it. He must have seen the heat rush into your cheeks and your pupils blow wide with lust as the image filled your mind and you wished desperately that you could feel him again.

There was a smirk there on his face as he lifted his hand gently to hold loosely around your neck, keeping you where you were, in the path of his lips inching toward you as he spoke.

"Doesn't that sound good? My long fingers pushing deep inside of you while my tongue works over that needy little clit? I won't even tease, I'll fuck you all the way through it, until you come hard on my fingers and my tongue."

Your thighs were clenching without you even realizing it, your fingers itching to touch him, your lips yearning to taste him, and your body wanting him to follow through with it. He looked like he was only one single nod of your head away from doing it, too.

"Well, there's only one problem with that," you responded, hiding the desperation growing between your legs shockingly well.

"Oh? What's that?" he asks with a quirk of his eyebrow.

You gave him a stunningly sweet smile mixed with all of the playful taunting you could manage as you leaned forward to whisper into his ear.

"Your little photographer friend over there will do all of that for free."

You didn’t wait for his stunned silence, only tilted up onto your tiptoes to press a chaste kiss to his cheek before adding, “Thanks for the offer though," before you left him to his jealousy, hopefully brooding and planning to do something about it.

—

You spent the next few hours leaning too far into the photographer - or was it the other boy? - letting him work his hand lower and lower down your back as if he were being sly about it while he bored you with talk of his day job, until he got brave enough to make a grab for your ass in the quiet corner of the party you had tucked yourself away in.

You were absolutely not into it but Sam was watching intently, eyes glowering from across the party. So you used it to your advantage, leaning in to whisper something seemingly seductive to the other boy unaware of the game afoot, what looked to be a promise to go home with him after you’d freshened up but was really just an excuse to head toward the secluded upstairs bathroom where Sam would undoubtedly show you what you were missing. If you had played the night correctly, that was.

You climbed the stairs swiftly, closing the door to the bathroom but not locking it as you stood there at the sink, pretending to fix your makeup as you heard the familiar sound of Sam bounding up the steps not long after you.

You only let the smile linger a moment as you watched the door open and shut quickly behind you, Sam’s flustered face and parted lips a beautiful sight that dripped straight between your legs.

He was somehow even more beautiful when he looked so desperate it read as a rare moment of seriousness on his face, not a single hint of the mischief that had been there earlier that day in the bathroom in his features.

He met you where you stood now leaned up against the bathroom sink, wasting no time turning you around and pulling your hips into his with his hands that moved with a frantic need that you yourself felt as his mouth hovered near yours.

"God, I should make you regret that," he breathed in a whisper just audible above the party still raging downstairs.

It would have worried you more like a threat if it weren't obvious he didn't have the resolve to deny you again.

"But?" you whispered back just as breathlessly, waiting in anticipation for him to finally give in.

"But I want to hear you moan for me so badly I think instead I'll just make you feel so fucking good that you can't stop thinking about me until the next time I'm between those beautiful thighs."

He let his lips hover over yours, parted, breathing hot into your mouth as his lips grazed yours, but his hand winding up into your hair stopped you from pushing forward and sealing the kiss.

He was savoring it.

God, you wanted him to savor you. But not in that moment.

"Don't make me wait any longer, Sammy," you urged in an impossibly quiet voice.

But he heard. And he pressed into you finally, but not to kiss you, to lean near your ear and whisper a command: "Turn around and do your best to stay quiet."

Doing as you were told and turning to face the mirror, you could see the look of dire concentration on his face as he quickly worked his belt off and undid his fastened jeans, his hands moving next to your dress, pulling the hem up just far enough that he could grab the lace of your panties and yank them down around your knees. Silent as he was save for the sound of his breath coming heavy, his movements were hurried, almost frantic, and the desperation you saw there ignited an even hotter fire inside of you as you watched, waiting, letting him do the work of undressing you to his desire just before he spit into his palm and gave himself a few strokes.

Your knuckles already strained a white color with the grip of your fingers against the cool marble countertop of Sam's bathroom as you waited in anticipation to feel his hands warm the backs of your thighs, urging your legs apart into a position they fell into with no hesitation.

It was even harder to be quiet than it had been when he'd fucked you with his fingers. Now, even the anticipation of his cock sliding through your folds was enough to have you stifling noises a bit more pathetic than you'd have liked. And now, there was a party downstairs to be conscious of too, raging on, ignorant of the tension building in the bathroom one floor above between you and Sam, frantic and needy as hands roamed and set trails of fire burning across bare skin.

Sam's hand fell flat against your back, pushing you forward where your chest hovered closer over the sink as he used his other hand to line himself up with your entrance.

With one last silent look into your eyes through the mirror, he pushed just his head into you, the stretch already gasp-worthy.

"Holy shit," he breathed as his jaw fell slack, his eyes fixed intently to where the two of you now joined.

Your own breathing faltered as he split you but your heavy breaths of pleasure quickly turned to frustration as he halted his movements and let you have only the tip of what you wanted, his hands moving to your hips to hold you there as he basked in the feeling.

"You'd better not tease me, Sammy, or I fucking swear to god-" you started in a low, needy whisper that he quickly silenced with his own as his hands moved to pull your hair into a makeshift ponytail that he could use for leverage.

"I won't, I won't. I'm gonna be so fucking good to you, I swear. So fucking good to you," he promised as he pushed his hips into yours all the way with a grunt.

"Oh fuck," you gasped as he bottomed out, your body threatening to fall into the counter if it weren't for the grip he had on your hair and the sudden support of your hand flying up against the mirror, the only physical evidence of the encounter you'd leave behind.

"Shhhh baby, I know, I know," he whispered again as he pulled you flush with his chest, letting his hands fall from your hair to your chin that he held firmly as he pressed his nose into your temple and his parted lips into your cheek, his other hand pressing against your stomach to keep you planted there.

With the first thrust of his hips, you bit your cheek hard, trying to keep yourself quiet as he worked himself into a rhythm fast enough to make the mirror rattle on its screws beneath your fingertips.

"I've been thinking about you all fucking day. Thinking about how warm you were, how wet you were, how tight you were," he gasped into the side of your face as his hips moved, pounding yours into the countertop that was sure to leave bruises later as you whispered out an almost silent string of curses.

His cock reached further than his fingers had, pressing into you and reaching places that made your attempted silence all the more dire as unholy sounds threatened to bubble over with each pointed thrust of his hips.

And his words, his filthy words, like music to your ears as he pushed deep inside of you, molding your body to his with his hands as his breath fanned hot across the side of your face.

"I've dreamt about what you feel like, about what you taste like. Too many fucking times to count," he all but whined in a volume a bit louder than a whisper, loud enough for you to hear how fucked out he sounded.

It suited him.

Your mind flashed to the image of the boy holding onto you like you were his lifeline as he fucked you senseless, the image of that same boy waking with his cock painfully hard and dripping for you, a remnant of the dreams he’d been having of you. You imagined him stroking himself, long, languid motions over his needy cock, a stark contrast to his current movements inside of you.

"And then there you were in that tub touching yourself, moaning so beautifully. I almost came right there just watching you."

“Oh fuck, Sam,” you sobbed as your chest heaved with a noise you’d been holding in far too long.

His hips began to stutter, his rhythm beginning to falter, and you felt it too, your own resolve collapsing in on you as your head fell back onto his shoulder and your eyes drooped closed, unable to stay open as the head of his cock ravaged your g-spot.

With one hand still pressed to the mirror to hold you up, you used your other to slide Sam’s hand from your abdomen down to the hem of your dress where he let his fingers lift the material to uncover your clit for him, his fingers beginning a hurried circular motion.

"God yes," you breathed as the pleasure began to overtake your senses.

"I couldn't keep my hands off of you,” he continued with his lips pressed to your ear. “Nothing could have kept my hands off of you."

Words whispered into your ear alongside the sound of his panting mixed somewhere in between, your muscles flexed and tensed with that familiar feeling of a band being pulled dangerously taught within you.

"Shit, shit, shit," you mumbled almost in a chant as his fingers and his cock worked to push you both over the edge.

"Were you thinking about me when you were touching yourself?" he asked, still holding your chin like he was grounding you, not letting any inch of your body escape him.

And you gave him a frantic yet feeble nod.

"Yes, Sam, always. I can't not think of you when I'm touching myself," you admitted in a pathetic cry, the tension so close to snapping you could practically feel tears rolling down your cheeks as you focused on it.

"God fucking dammit-" he stuttered at your admission, quickly clenching his teeth to regain whatever composure he could. "I think about you too, when I'm alone with my hand wrapped around my cock. Sometimes I even moan your name but this is so much fucking better."

You couldn’t help the filthy moan that fell much too loudly from your lips at his words.

"God that fucking sound," he growled, gripping your neck with two hands and forcing his cock harder into you, deeper. And it pushed you over the edge.

"Sam, I'm-" you could barely get the words out before he was straining and flexing and pushing you through it.

"Yeah you are. You're gonna come on my cock. You're gonna be a good fucking girl and come as quietly as you can and I'm going to fuck you through it. Let go for me, beautiful, I wanna feel it. I need to feel it."

You could practically feel his resolve falter as you clenched and spasmed around him, your orgasm hitting you hard, much harder than it ever did when you were alone. And from behind you, you heard your own name and a sharp curse fall from his tongue as he himself fell over the edge and came deep inside of you.

"Fuck,” he whispered as he slowed his hips to a halt and leaned forward to hold you both up with a hand on the mirror. Another handprint to match yours against the reflective glass.

His other squeezed at your hip as the aftershocks of ecstasy wore down. But even as you both came back down to earth, he kept his face pressed into the side of yours, giving your cheek a gentle kiss before he finally pulled out of you and pulled away.

"You should be nice more often,” you huffed in an exhausted voice as he helped you pull your panties back on with a chuckle.

“Aren’t you glad you didn’t go for the photographer?” he asked with a smirk back.

“Well, it’s not too late for me to change my mind. I believe I was promised your mouth, after all.”

A wide smile spread across Sam’s face as he stood there for only a moment before dropping to his knees and pulling your panties back down, a bit more lazily that time, his eyes never faltering from yours.

“See? All you had to do this whole time was just ask nicely.”

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