Ok I lied. Hereâs some more Simon fucking himself stupid because apparently he has a chokehold on me. (prev: part 1, part 2)
Youâd think a man that regularly fucks his own brains mushy would have a poor performance in the bedroom, right? For a normal man, perhaps, but this is Simon Riley weâre talking about; âvigorâ is his middle name.
So even after going for multiple rounds, cycling through multiple positions, and getting covered in multiple fluids, your boyfriend is as ready to go as ever⊠physically speaking, that is. Because as far as mentally goes, he dropped out a long time ago, somewhere between taking you on your back and then on your knees.
Now youâve reached the part of the night you like to call your âwind down phaseâ, where youâre just looking for one last, easy release before you throw in the towel. But where youâre tired, sensitive as hell, and already feeling tomorrowâs soreness starting to creep in, Simonâs still pinching and pawing at you like he canât get enough.
As you lazily ride him, fingers curled over his thick shoulders, Simonâs own hands are pressed hungrily into the meat of your hips. From where heâs sat against the headboard, his lower back propped up by a pillow or two, heâs in the perfect position to guide you back and forth in his lap.
Itâs as you feel the slow approach of your final climax that you begin to pick up the pace a little, only to slow right back down again as a sudden noise has you distracted. It takes you a second to place the sound, but once you recognize it, youâre immediately grinding your movements to a halt.
Simonâs phone only rings when itâs you or his work calling. And seeing the current situation you find yourselves in, you know itâs not the former.
The phone rings and rings, neither one of you bothering to move for it. The call gets sent to voicemail, and for a moment you think thatâs all itâs going to be, but as the phone promptly begins to trill again, you know something else is up.
Curiosity getting the better of you, you reach over to the nightstand to grab the device. âItâs John,â you tell your boyfriend, seeing his Captainâs contact flash across the screen. You turn the phone around to show Simon, but it seems he has little interest in it, his grip on your waist unwavering as his phone buzzes away in your hand.
âShould you answer? Could be important,â you say. The boss making back to back calls speaks of urgency, if not emergency. But Simonâs focus lies solely on where your two bodies are connected, a sex-fueled tunnel vision if you ever saw one.
Though one look at Simonâs face tells you heâs in no place to have a meaningful conversation right now, as the phone darkens again, only to then light up for a third time in a row, you know this is serious. So despite the haziness in his eyes and the limpness of his jaw, you decide to answer the phone, putting it on speaker.
Thereâs silence on the other end for a moment before you hear the deep baritone of Priceâs voice calling out. âSimon?â He waits a beat. âSimon, hello?â He tries again when he hears nothing in response.
While Price is kept in limbo, youâre busy trying to rouse your boyfriend back from brain death. âSimon, itâs John,â you whisper to him, hoping to not be heard by the other man on the phone. Unfortunately, Simon gives zero indication heâs heard you, his bleary gaze looking right past you.
âYou there, Simon?â Priceâs voice crackles over the speaker.
Bringing your hand up, you lightly tap Simon on the cheek. âBaby, itâs John. Your boss,â you whisper again, slightly louder this time.
Again, he offers you no response, just a slow blink, an even slower trickle of drool starting to form at the corner of his mouth.
As you hear another gruff, âSimon?â, being spoken over the phone, your taps become a little more insistent, a little more forceful.
âItâs Price, Si. Price. Captain Price,â you hiss, urgently patting him against the cheek.
Somehow, whether by miracle or sheer force, youâre able to knock Simonâs last two brain cells together and coax forth a vaguely human-sounding reaction from him.
âPriiizzzzze,â Simon rumbles out, a garbled approximation of his Captainâs surname.
The line goes quiet for a beat, and you can almost imagine the man on the other side blinking in confusion. Then, âYou alright, Simon?â he asks earnestly. âNowâs not a bad time, is it?â
Thankfully, Simon seems to have regained the smallest hint of his bearings again, and he manages to hum a solid, âMmmf.â
Price takes a moment to consider what he means by such an ambiguous response, and deciding it translates to âSpeak freelyâ, he does just that. âWell, Iâm callinâ because weâve just received word of some new developments cominâ out of Hong Kong. Laswellâll want to give a full briefing tomorrow morninâ, but essentiallyââ
And thatâs about as far as Simon gets before he checks out again.
As Price continues to lay down the basics for him, Simonâs focus shifts back to what he really desires: the person heâs currently buried to the hilt inside.
His Captainâs droning acts as little more than background noise as Simon reaches up and begins toying with one of your nipples. The action is unexpected (not to mention ill-timed given the circumstances), and you try batting his hand away, even as a pleasurable tweak has you choking back a moan.
However, unfazed, Simon drags his fingers down, down, downwards, slowly tracing the midline of your body until he reaches your throbbing sex. His fingers are warm and slightly rough as he begins to stroke you, applying just the barest of touches, but itâs enough to light your nerves on fire.
This time, itâs harder to stop your moans from spilling forth, and youâre forced to mash your lips together lest you reveal your presence to the Captain still chirping on and on. Your free hand darts down to grab Simonâs wrist, meaning to tug it away, but instead, you find yourself pausing, holding onto him as a shudder wracks up your spine.
You know you should push him away â or, at the very least, tell him to ease up a little â but it just feels so fucking good that you canât bring yourself to do either.
Besides, even if you were to speak up, would Simon be cognizant enough to heed your words? A quick peek at his expression tells you all you need to know. The lights may be on upstairs, but there is no one home right now to answer the phone.
You can feel the hand between your legs grow wetter and wetter as you start to leak droplets of your arousal. The slippery fluid makes Simonâs fingers glide that much smoother, that much slicker as he rubs you.
Even the way heâs touching you now â the way heâs expertly taking you apart â isnât the result of conscious decision making by Simon. His movements, however deft, arenât directed by any true rhyme or reason; theyâre pure muscle memory at this point.
Simonâs other hand on your hip starts to rock you against him, and you find itâs getting harder to keep yourself under control. Try as you might to tamp your voice down, your ecstasy soon gets the better of you, and before you can stop it, youâre muttering a less than subtle, âFuck.â
Immediately, you realize what youâve done, and you slap a hand over your mouth at your mistake. As Priceâs side of the call goes similarly quiet, you squeeze your eyes shut, wanting to kick yourself for your carelessness.
Just as you think the jig is up, however, you catch a lucky break, as not a second later, Price resumes, ââboots on the ground to confirm what these sat images have been pickinâ up.â
The feeling of relief that floods you is almost akin to euphoria, and you exhale deeply (but not loud enough to be picked up over the receiver) as you bring your hand back down.
That was close; way too close for comfort, honestly. And yet, despite how close you just came to exposing yourself, Simon is totally, completely oblivious to it all.
This time when you reach for the wrist between your legs, you successfully tug it away. You feel like youâve tempted fate enough for one night.
Though Simon puts up zero fight as you remove his hand from your sex, thatâs only because he then reaches up and quickly stuffs his slickened fingers into his mouth. His eyes fall shut as he savors the salty taste of your arousal, a sort of blissful wave washing over him as he sucks his fingers clean.
Somehow, though youâre not sure how itâs possible, you swear you can feel him grow even harder where heâs buried inside you. The sensation makes you squirm, wanting to bear down on the fullness within you, but you force yourself to resist the urge to tilt your hips back and forth.
This is almost torture at this point, like youâre caught in some kind of kinky Saw trap. Honestly, youâre not sure how much more of this you can take. But thankfully, it appears you wonât have to endure it for much longer.
âAll thatâs to say, it looks like our timetableâs been moved up. Weâll be shippinâ out earlier than expected,â Price starts to wind the one-sided conversation down.
Though Simon has been relatively mute this entire time, for some reason, at this moment, he takes the opportunity to let out a long, âMmmmmm.â
While you know the noise isnât much more than an appreciative moan at your taste, Price is unaware of that fact, and so he asks, âThatâs not a problem, is it, Lieutenant?â
You both wait a few beats for Simon to respond, but with less than a handful of working neurons left in his brain, you figure thatâs unlikely to happen. Knowing Price is still expecting an answer and your boyfriend is unable to offer him one, you realize you have to take matters into your own hands once more.
So puffing out your chest and straightening up your spine, you muster up your best Simon impression as you expel a deep, gravelly, âHmm.â The several seconds that follow find you holding your breath in anticipation, praying to whatever god will listen that Price buys your impersonation.
Itâs after he eventually says, âAlright, well, Iâll expect you at 0800 for tomorrowâs brief,â that you breathe again, feeling nearly on the verge of passing out.
Frankly, this whole ordeal has left you exhausted. From having to hide from Price to having to pull one over on him, you feel like your heart is liable to give out any moment now.
If only Simon had been more of a conscious participant in this conversation maybe it wouldnât have been so bad. You and him could have quietly laughed and swore together in your shared misery. Instead, heâs too preoccupied with squeezing your nipple again between his wet fingers to notice anythingâs the matter.
You donât even bother pushing his hand away this time as you can sense the call is mercifully coming to a close.
âHave a good rest of your night, Simon,â Price says through the speaker.
If you werenât so wrecked right now, you could almost leap with joy from how utterly relieved you feel. From the moment you answered this call, you thought youâd undoubtedly be found out. Truth be told, youâre not sure how you managed to make it through the past several minutes unheard and undiscovered. All you know is that you did and youâre beyond grateful for that.
But before you can hang up the phone to celebrate, Price has one last thing to say. Just as youâre about to press the end call button, just as youâre about to fling the phone to the far side of the room, just as youâre about to collapse into a boneless heap because youâre finally, finally, finally in the clear, Price gives one last farewell that makes your stomach fall out of your ass.
âAnd you too, (Y/N).â
The call dies, and you wish you died with it.
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