A/N: unabashed smut/pwp/x-rated material : call it what you will, that's all it is.

"If I'm working this hard in the morning, I'd prefer it be
because my man has woken me up with an eight-inch nudge."
Erin McCarthy; Hard and Fast

She lay on her stomach, her head tilted so it rested in the place where his shoulder met the pillows. She used his arm as a pillow and slid her fingers against his, squeezing his hand tightly. She silently enjoyed his closeness and the way he stretched out on his side next to her, his face buried in the back of her neck, free hand running over her lower back.

She turned her face into the pillow, pushing her forehead against the cool material, and arched her back, taking a deep breath.

"Mmm," she murmured, shifting slightly. "God, I love it in the morning," she drawled huskily.

"What?" he asked against her skin, his voice lazily and low.

She turned her head towards him.

"Sex," she clarified silkily, her lips brushing his chest.

He laughed and pressed his lips to her shoulder. She moved onto her side, sliding her leg in between his, and rested her head on her palm, using the pillow for support. He ran his hand over her hip and pulled her closer against him, eyeing her appreciatively. She ran her knuckles over his lips lightly and touched her forehead to his, her nose pressing into his cheek.

"It's always so good," she confided. Her lips brushed his. "You're still sleepy, your head's clear, not thinking of a bad day at work or tomorrow, just the basic, morning instinct to," she paused, her tongue touching his lips, and she gave him a chance to kiss her slowly before she went on: "fuck whoever you wake up next to."

His hand slid to the back of her thighs, the other, he tangled in her hair, keeping her lips close. He wasn't accustomed to women who liked it in the morning, but he wasn't complaining. He liked nothing more than starting off his day with Jenny on her stomach underneath him, her hands gripping the sheets, her pale throat exposed for his lips and teeth.

She smirked at him and lowered her head to the pillow, shifting onto her back. His hand slipped over her stomach and rested beneath her navel. Hers wandered down his chest to his abdomen, tracing patterns, slipping lower.

"It's my thing," she admitted in a sultry mutter. "Morning sex," she murmured. "It's such a turn on."

She moved her legs under the sheets, tilting her head back, and she sighed. He moved his hands up to her breasts and leaned over her, lowering his mouth to hers. He gave her a long kiss, his knee pressing up pleasantly between her legs, and she arched towards him.

"You want it again?" he asked in a low voice.

She moaned softly, the sound throaty and deep, and she arched an eyebrow.

"No," she said. "I want to know your thing," she retorted.

He grunted, scoffing.

"My thing?"

She grasped his neck in her hands, then slid her fingers into his cropped hair and tugged a little roughly.

"Your thing," she breathed lightly. "Your turn on," she whispered, leaning up so her body molded into his and her lips could linger near his ear. "What makes you want to come just thinking about it?"

He growled at her hoarsely, and she smiled, pinching his ear between her teeth. He started to push her onto her back, but she fought him off, forcing him onto his and straddling his groin. She lowered her body to his, lips on his jaw.

"You're hard again," she mumbled, as if he wasn't painfully aware of that. She laughed. "Means you thought of something," she teased him.

He held her hips tightly, his eyes darkening to a lustful glare, and Jenny rose up on her knees and ran her hands down his chest to his thighs, her eyes on his intently. She pushed her hair back and slid her hands between her legs, shifting and taking him inside her for the second time this morning. His head fell back and he groaned, taken aback. She was damn near insatiable, hard to keep up with sometimes—but then, she was younger than the women he usually took up with; she was younger than his past two wives. There was a stamina and a hunger in her sexual repertoire that wiped him out and energized him at the same time.

Mind-blowing, is what it was.

She splayed her hands on her thighs and shoved her fingertips into her skin, tilting her head at him thoughtfully as she began to move her hips. His eyes were closed, his teeth clenched, and the way his nails were digging into her back was beautiful. She tortured him slowly, refusing to let him buck his hips, and then she took his hands and slipped her fingers into them, laying down on his chest, pressing her lips to his throat, his jaw, his lips again.

"Tell me, Jethro," she demanded.

She nipped his lower lip, her mouth insistent, passionate, hot; she was going to force him to talk, to reciprocate, because she was feeling ravenous and persuadable and she'd do it for him this morning, whatever he wanted.

He slipped his fingers from hers and tangled them in her hair, pulling, his grip insistent.

"Hips, Jen," he rasped in her ear. "Move 'em faster."

"No," she answered stubbornly. "Not until you tell me your thing," she growled, feigning a yawn. "My hips are tired," she simpered. "You shouldn't have fucked me so hard earlier."

He made a strangled noise in the back of his throat and she smiled against his jaw, smug and proud of what she was capable of doing to him. He tugged on her hair again and tilted her head up; he pressed his lips to her neck, kissing roughly, his teeth brushing skin and taut muscle.

"Like it when you swallow," he growled gruffly.

Her lashes fluttered and she tightened her hold on his shoulders, lips parting slightly. She laughed and sat backwards, slowing her hips to a stop. His hands dropped from the tangles in her hair to her shoulders and then to her thighs, spread over his hips, and she laughed again.

"I knew you weren't a gentleman," she remarked, amusement flickering in her wicked green eyes.

The next thing he knew, she was off of him, and he was frustrated for all of a second before her mouth was on his chest, drawing promising kisses down to his abdomen, his navel—she slid her mouth over him and he thrust his head back, gritting his teeth again.

"Jen," he groaned appreciatively, reaching for her hair again.

He knew she didn't mind his pulling her hair, and it was a damn good thing; she was so good at giving head he was forced to pull her hair just to keep from forcing her head down harder. He liked the way she pressed her palm into his thigh and pricked his skin with her nails while she moved her head slow and moved her tongue—just—right—

He swore and loosened his grip in her hair, his abdomen clenching almost painfully, and she reached for his hand, taking it and lacing her fingers into his—against her throat; he could feel the muscles flex as she swallowed. He unclenched his jaw and looked down at her, thinking she couldn't possibly be sexier, until she met his eyes and licked her lips.

He managed to get his breathing from non-existent to ragged and heavy and pulled her on top of him, pinning her close with on arm and sliding his other between them, and between her legs. He teased her until she was wet enough for him and thrust two fingers inside her, confident in his ability to make her come again.

Her breath hitched in her throat and she closed her eyes, biting her lip hard. He watched her face, watched her lashes flutter; her throat move as she swallowed again and then parted her lips to breathe heavily. She shifted, shoving her knees into the bed on either side of his hips, and pushed his palm against her, lowering her lips to his neck and crying out hoarsely.

Breathing hard, her head spinning, she pushed his hand away with a wince, sensitive. He rested his hand on the back of her head and held her close on his chest, content to take a moment to catch his breath while she caught hers.

"Mornings," she moaned breathlessly, her lips buried against his neck.

"Yeah," he agreed huskily, damn near ready to fall back to sleep.

(i know, i know; you're all wondering where i get my quotes)

hope you enjoyed, you hedonists.
-Alexandra
story #135