#I pUT a readmore vbecause this si sum

[joannabethharvelle]

continued from [x]

@satanxclaus​

There’s an instance, a split second that Jo thinks she may have judged incorrectly- that she’s made a mistake. Surprise is not an expression that frequents the eldest Seed’s face and so she doesn’t immediately recognize it for what it is-- perhaps she’s misunderstood something, done something wrong? Her heart thuds once, and then twice in her throat and Jo almost loses her nerve, fingers twitching against worn leather as she debates backpedaling.

When he moves, he moves quickly and she’s barely able to respond before he’s enveloping her, scooping her up against him and taking her offering with an intensity that spikes her blood pressure in the very best way.  

Full lips pull up in the corner, pleased with herself and the reaction she’s earned with her licentiousness. She doesn’t hide the swell of pride her accomplishment causes, the rarity of being able to do something that he doesn’t expect working very much like bellows do on a roaring flame. 

Her hips angle roughly forward, seeking more. She’s grinding against him unfettered, one boot slamming back against the door that supports them in an attempt for better balance when he grips at her. There is a jarring rat-a-tat as the glass rattles in the old wood, the loud, clattering shudder suppressed by the pressure of their body weight only moments after. Jo reaches up to hook a finger under the elastic band that holds her hair in a constricting bundle, uncomfortable when the back of her head presses against the divider with increasing pressure. Frantic digits tug unruly strands of blonde free and when she’s finally able to press her head fully back against the dirty panes Jo uses it as a point of leverage, lower back arching sharply forward and hips following the firm guidance of his hand to seek out more immediate gratification. 

There is an overwhelming sense of urgency to her actions when his mouth finds her jaw, the sweetness of her name causing goosebumps to blossom out from under the leather strap and travel down her arms. Jo lifts up again onto her tip-toes and moves against him with a fervency that suggests she might simply start climbing up him, nails scraping against camo as she tries to seek out purchase. Hips try to find a rhythm with his as she seeks out stimulation, the well timed pressure of his movements between her legs coupled with the harshness of sharp teeth threatening to drive her mad. 

Swollen lips remain parted, jaw slack while he works at her neck. She feels drunk, brain foggy with desire and anticipation, the self control she’s so carefully perfected over the years quickly slipping from her grasp. In an attempt to cling to the last tendrils of her own restraint she focuses on the blue-grey wall across the room, fighting against a desire that’s begun to make her squirm. Bold white letters stand out against it from their place above the door frame and she tries to follow each one, spelling out a version of the many mantras that decorate the buildings around the property. 

The words mean nothing, for once, blurring into obscurity when Jacob hits a particularly sensitive spot on her neck and sends her rocketing back into the moment. A desperate litany of sounds vibrates the leather against her throat and all at once she’s gripping at ginger strands, nails scraping against his scalp as his teeth sink in again.

Jo wraps herself around him, head lolling against the support of the strap as she takes a moment to indulge, shivering against the raspy sound of his voice and the tickle of his beard along her collarbone. Her body realizes the weight of his words before her brain does, reacting viscerally in response. She can’t remember the last time she’s been so uncontrollably aroused and entirely vulnerable and for the very first time, she really doesn’t care. Hips jerk forward and a hoarse sound catches deep in her throat, silenced almost immediately by creaking leather.

She’s been fairly quiet up until now considering their situation, muffling moans against fabric and flesh and into his mouth, soft sounds of effort and desire lost among the clattering of doors and the scuffle of boots. Now though, she’s utterly silent, wide eyes glazed with ardor, excitement and -- 

Jo feels her whole body flush with heat, flooding her cheeks with color and radiating hot against his forehead when he clambers up against her. Electricity crackles through her veins before her uncontrollable, frantic energy is redirected, manifesting as the incessant trembling of her hands; her heat hammering in her ears and almost painfully against the pressure on her throat.

Flat palms traverse his chest, one sliding up around his neck to palm the back of his skull, enabling her fingers to tangle into the longer strands of hair near the crown of his head. Her elbow hooks over his shoulder and she draws herself forward into him, unwilling to let him pull back just yet.

A few droplets of sweat already dampened her forehead, mingling with the sheen on his brow as she relishes in the sweet, fleeting moment. Eyes close, grounding her for a beat. Her free hand skirts along the forearm he’s wrapped around her, fingers dragging against the tendons on the back of his hand until they’re out of reach and being used for a very different reason.

Cold air pulls in sharply through the vacuum created by the door, whooshing in almost audibly and prickling her damp skin with tingling goosebumps. A shiver rolls down her spine, deep and shuddering and she’s unsure if it’s the abrupt change in temperature or the implication of what he’s just done that’s got her in such a shaky state.

This is completely uncharted territory. Sex isn’t something that Jo actively seeks out or makes time for- not for a very long time, if ever. It isn’t a driving force behind her motivations and doesn’t factor into her decision making. It’s enjoyable, yes, but in a way that she never wanted to broadcast. Desires that did nothing but distract from her goals and cloud her judgement.  Hidden, guilt-riddled, filthy, and sinful.  A dark, amusing urgency tickles at the back of her brain, naughty and encouraging.

You are a Sinner, aren’t you?

Do what you do best.

Jo feels the corner of her mouth twitch and slowly she casts a glance to the side, out the open door and over the balcony to the block of cages just below. Just the mere entertainment of the idea, a brief consideration, is enough to have her shifting nervously, nipples peaking under wrinkled, mussed fabrics. Leg muscles tremble violently and she clenches her inner thighs, mouth dropping open as she tries to pull in a deep breath.

Large fingers, greedy but tinged with gentleness, fumble with the button on her jeans and Jo realizes that she’s hesitated, an action she doesn’t want mistaken for her unwillingness to continue. She still wants him; on her, around her, and inside her--

Despite her all but nonexistent self esteem she pushes forward, fingers and lips numb, buzzing with uncertainty. 

I want everyone to know you’re mine.

Shame slides up her spine, oily and prying, making a home in the hollow of her chest and Jo has to look away, using the task of unbuttoning her pants as a worthy excuse. Fingers tremble as metal slides through denim-- the ambivalence of her lustful desire and crippling self doubt threatening to drive her mad.  She wants to tell him that she isn’t a prize. Not one worth winning, anyway. Not one worth what he was going to be putting on the line by doing what he was vying for.

Jo doesn’t stop undressing, fumbling with the zipper and starting to tug them down, cursing when she realizes the tight cut of her jeans have no hope of making it over her boots. 

“Shit...” Its hissed between her teeth and Jo stoops, careful to keep her back straight and head up to avoid cinching the belt too tightly around her windpipe as she blindly goes for the laces of one boot. An action, she quickly realizes as she finds herself eye level with where he is freeing himself, that might prove to be distracting. 

The laces are loosened and she shifts her weight, one hand reaching out to grip his thigh for balance as she works it off. She feels a fucking mess, teetering on one foot, jeans pulled down over her ass, desperately trying to tug a boot off all the while only inches away from him; a thought that makes the back of her jaw tingle like she’s just been brought dessert.

Brown hues flick up to his face briefly so she can study him through her lashes, curling her fingers so that she’s digging her nails into his skin underneath the denim. The boot is finally pulled free and tossed haphazardly to the side, heavy rubber soles thumping as it bounces over-end across the doorway. 

Jo decidedly moves both hands, batting his out of the way with a purpose, her socked foot sliding across the wood floor and curling under for support as she takes a knee to find her balance. Both hands move to undo the button on his jeans and tug down the zipper, fingers slipping under his waistband and traveling the length of it before she gives a little tug, pulling them down just enough to allow her ample access.

She’s no longer looking up at his face now, instead entirely focused on the straining fabric of his boxers in front of her. The pressure of her pulse against leather makes her temples throb and she straightens a little before darting forward, unable or unwilling to wrestle with her self control any longer.

Her palm cups him just shy of roughly, mouth working hungrily along his inner thigh as the hand that still remains on his jeans begins to work them down more, aiming to reveal more skin for her teeth to drag against. Slowly, painstakingly she kisses her way across his thighs until her mouth finds its home against the soft cotton of his underwear. Lips purse and she presses a kiss to the swell of him, chancing another glance up as her mouth drops open. She presses the flat of her tongue firmly there and smiles wide up at him, lips pulling across confining fabric.

It’s something that she’s enjoyed fantasizing about doing-- filling her mouth with him, despite feeling like she inherently should not. She’s too far to let any of that bother her right now, though, already working her mouth hungrily along the underside of his cock. Lips and teeth travel the length of it, nails scraping up under his balls to follow the damp path of her tongue. 

Jo leans back, tongue ineffectively wetting her lips as she watches his face intently from her stooped position. Fingers curl around his waistband and slowly she moves back and forth along the elastic, working his boxers down until he springs free. Whatever control or doubts or self depreciation she may have had are entirely nonexistent and a needy moan slips past lightly compressed vocal chords as she moves to take him in her mouth.

She opens wide, jaw slackening as she swallows him, cheeks puffing before hollowing out when she pulls back and off of him with a soft pop! A hand lifts to wrap firmly around him and Jo lets her tongue hang from her open mouth, gently swaying her head back and forth and pressing the flat of it to the head of his dick; a constant, rolling pressure. Despite the hunger that’s threatening to make her mouth water she pauses, waiting--  measuring if she should continue and looking for a sign of what to do next.