Debt

"Fine, babe. Then when was the last time you could just... take a deep breath?" he asked, his hand rubbing across my belly and making me exhale harshly. And, well, he had a point there. I felt like I always had air held in my lungs, like my chest was constantly tight. "Take a breath, Prue," he suggested, his fingers tracing over my ribs. I exhaled hard and sucked in another deep breath. "For the first time in your shitstorm of a life, things are going good."

"Except I have no job and no income."

"But you got me. Maybe not for long. Hell, maybe just for the night. But it'll be worth it."

"You keep saying that," I said, smiling a little. "I have yet to see any proof."

"Is that so?" Byron asked, his tone a little teasing. He shifted beneath me slightly and I felt the hard outline of his cock press against the juncture of my thighs, promising all sorts of proof.

"It is," I insisted, focusing every bit of attention I had into stopping myself from squirming against him.

"So that night on the couch..."

"Hardly proof," I shrugged.

"Perhaps you need a little refresher?" he asked, his hand sliding toward the inside of my thigh and gliding up, gripping the very highest part of my inner thigh, his pinkie fingers almost brushing my panties, but not quite.

"That might be, ah," I tried, but lost my train of thought as his fingers sank in hard.

"Prudent?" he suggested, his chest rumbling a little with a chuckle.

"Byron..."

"Byron, what?" he asked, his fingers raking over the soft, sensitive skin, making my thighs press together to try to ease the ache, strong and insistent, there.

"Byron please," I said, head turning to the crook of his neck, breathing him in.

Then just like that, his finger pressed into my panties, stroking exquisitely over my clit. I slammed back against him, my back arching slightly, my mouth opening on a silent moan.

"I wanna hear you," he demanded, his finger stroking again. And even if I wanted to, there was no way to keep the whimper inside. "There it is. But I think we can do better," he said, his finger briefly leaving my clit so his hand could slide up and then under my panties, sliding up my slit and moving gently across my clit, just barely a whisper of a touch, but it was enough to make me groan softly. Beneath me, I could feel his cock getting harder against my ass. Then, without warning, his finger slid back downward and slid all the way inside me, making me cry out his name. "Fuck yeah," he groaned, starting to fuck me with his finger, the pace frantic, constant, driving me upward hard and fast. "Give it to me," he demanded, his thumb moving up to stroke over my clit as his pace quickened. Then, just like that, I gave it to him, clenching hard around his finger as I choked out his name. As soon as the waves stopped, I lost his fingers. "Turn, babe," he demanded.

"I..." I started, shaking my head, not quite ready for thought.

"Turn," he said, grabbing my hips and helping me do so. His hands went to my knees, using them to coax my legs around his sides, before they slid to my ass and used it to bind me against him, his cock rubbing against me. Despite still being sated from my orgasm, I could feel the need growing again, clawing, a tightness in my core, a heaviness in my breasts. "Don't need this anymore," he said, his hands sliding up my spine, snagging the band of my bra, and making short work of the clasps. He reached up and slid the straps off my shoulders and pushed me back to remove the material from my chest. His eyes slid slowly downward and settled on my breasts, his hands moving up to settle at the sides of them. "Fuck, perfect."

His hands slid inward, cupping my breasts and moving his thumbs over the slowly-hardening nipples. He took them between his thumbs and forefingers, rolling them with perfect pressure until they were in painful points. My hips sank lower against him, rocking back and forth to ease the throbbing need. My hands moved up, one settling on his shoulder, the other going to the back of his neck as I lowered my face toward his, too wrapped up to feel insecure about initiating. Beneath my lips, his were surprisingly passive, letting me set the pace and pressure, letting me lead. But I didn't need him to lead. The second my lips met his, I lost every drop of insecurity, of uncertainty. I angled my head and deepened the kiss. My tongue pushed into his mouth to claim his, small whimpers escaping me as my hips ground against him until my breasts lost his hands as I was crushed to his chest, his hands going up into my hair, pulling it from its tie and sinking in.