It all started innocently. Cross her heart, it did.

They were in the living room, each in their respective, safe bubbles of silent comfort. She sat there, scribbling away at the pages of her sketchbook, Dennis by her side, buried in a book(an oddity in itself - he usually spends his time cleaning, or sorting, but had decided to spend his time close to her, this time), comforting the girl immensely with his presence alone. It was serene. She felt at peace.

Casey had turned on the radio as soon as she entered the room an hour prior, and it brought her into a place that let ideas and images flow on the paper in her hands. Every note is filling the room.

The shift, really, started with her fingers. Gently tapping to the rhythm of the song she particularly likes. Soon, she feels her shoulders swinging absentmindedly, feeling that same rhythm slowly entering her body, filling her with warmth.

Innocent. Until the moment she felt eyes on her, it was innocent; after that, in her mind, not so much. Filling with resolution, Casey doesn't look past or behind her, as she lets the sketchpad slowly slip from under her fingers, tentatively standing up, keeping the slow pace of the song. Slowly, she sways her hips, hands shooting to her shirt, fingers fiddling with the rim of it, not having the actual courage to take it off.

Her stomach fills with dread and excitement as she traces her curves to her neck, keeping up with the pace, her sway bolder, breathing harder, and she bites her lip, thinking of the man sitting behind her back.

She knows he is watching. She can feel Dennis' eyes boring into her, burning her. Blood creeps into the girl's cheeks as she wonders what he's thinking, whether it pleases him, or whether he wishes for her to stop. She tries to keep away from embarrassment, she does, but it is difficult, difficult not to think that she's making a fool out of herself, difficult not to think of Dennis disapproving, difficult-

Every single possible thought flies right out of her mind as she felt hands on her arms, grasping, tugging and making the world spin. And swing it did, blurring the sight in her eyes, and for a split second, she feels like she is flying - before being caught by a couch and strong arms, strong enough to lift her as if she was but a feather. It was then that she finds her answer, hungry lips burning into her, his hands holding hers hostage, knee between her legs holding her down.

"Dennis," she breathes, his lips lowering to her neck, licking, nipping, and biting, leaving marks on her delicate skin, and she can't stop a mewl coming deep from her throat. His hands shift from her wrists to her shirt, tugging at the material, making her wish he'd rip it off, touch her, make her his own. Every fiber of her wants to him to eat her up.

Her own hands bury themselves in his neck and shirt, tugging fiercely at the latter, beckoning to come closer, desperation and tension rising in her stomach.

"You do this on purpose, huh?" He nearly growls into her neck, rising to look into her eyes, his own hazed and dark and wild. "Dancing like that," he's closer now, and his knee is pushing against her, sending bolts of pleasure through her body and her moan says yes, and more, and now.

And he hears her, loud and clear, pushing her down with his body, his own arousal hard against her thigh; her shirt long gone. Dennis bears his hungry eyes at her then, fingers pushing past the soft material of her bra, clasping her wrists in his grasp once again, and she's left powerless, hips violently buckling against his. He kisses her, swallowing every moan, biting down on her lip, tongue pushing against hers in a dominant dance.

Casey feels him trace his hand down, just like she did when she was dancing for him, and she feels anticipation building in her. Her legs are trembling against him, and she's open under his gaze again, and she knows he likes what he sees - held under him, vulnerable, open to his every whim, and she loves it. A gasp escapes her lips when he pushes past the material of her pants and underwear, almost hovering above her heat. His eyes are as dark as a forest on a moonless night.

"Dennis," she whispers, pleading, "please."

The man gives in, brushing against her bundle of nerves, each stroke more precise than the last. The pleasure coursing through her body is making tears almost spill from her eyes, moans and embarrassing pleas escaping her, his name slowly forming into a reverent prayer. He pushes his digit inside her cunt and curls it, steadying her buckling hips with his own, circling her clit with his thumb.

"Another, please," Casey begs, out of breath, and when he complies, hasting the pace of the thrusts, she pushes her head back, shutting her eyes closed, unable to focus on anything but the feeling of him inside her, over her, completely and entirely at his mercy. She feels knots building in her, muscles tensing up.

"Come for me," Dennis tells her, commands her, panting and moaning with her, kissing her with maddening care, and she feels it, feels herself tip over the edge, convulsing against his fingers, breaking free from the tension.

She's still trembling when he pushes out and looks her down with a satisfied look. Shivering, when he dips down and kisses her long and gentle, tongue tentatively brushing over all the bites he'd given her.

"Remind me," he begins between the chaste kisses, "to ask you to dance more."

"Anything for you," and she kisses him back.

I hope you enjoyed it! A few notes I wanted to make:
a) I'm not a native speaker, and as such, there may be a few, er, interesting sentences, or tense structure mishaps. If there are any, I hope they are forgivable!
b) Alongside that, this may or may not have been my first time trying out smut. Guys, I tried.

Thank you for reading.