Soft cushions

You’re lying on the bed, scrolling through your phone, trying to act normal. He suddenly flops beside you, one arm instantly sliding across your chest like he owns the spot. His palm cups you, squeezing lightly.

“Soft cushions” he murmurs, grinning at your shocked face.

You swat his hand. “Oye! Stop calling them that, shameless!”

He laughs, not moving his hand an inch. Instead, he squeezes again, firmer this time. “Shameless? No. Honest. They’re soft, warm, and perfect. My soft cushions. Only mine.”

You pout, cheeks hot. “Don’t—” but your voice fades when he leans closer, his lips brushing your jaw, his thumb flicking across your sensitive spot.

“C’mon,” he whispers, eyes dark with mischief, “don’t pretend you don’t love it. Look how your body reacts the second I touch you.” He nips at your earlobe, hand kneading slowly, deliberately.

You try to protest but end up letting out a breathy sigh. He smirks against your skin. “See? My cushions are enjoying me already.”

Sliding lower, his kisses trail down your neck, across your collarbone, until he hovers just above them. He looks up at you, teasing glint in his eyes. “Should I rest my head? Or… should I play more?”

Before you answer, his mouth closes over one, sucking lightly, while his other hand squeezes the other with a steady rhythm. You gasp, arching toward him.

He pulls back just enough to murmur, “Perfect pillows… for my head, my hands, my lips. And I’m never letting anyone else touch them. Ever.” His tongue flicks, slow and deliberate, drawing another helpless sound from you.

Your fingers clutch at his hair, torn between embarrassment and need. He chuckles against your skin. “Good girl. Let me enjoy my cushions properly.”

His mouth lingers on your skin, sucking harder now, tongue circling around your nipple until it stiffens under the wet attention. He pinches the other gently between his fingers, rolling it with deliberate slowness.

You can’t help the way your back arches, chest pressing deeper into his mouth. He smirks at your helpless reaction, pulling back just enough to murmur against your flushed skin:

“Hmm… my soft cushions turn hard when I play with them. You feel that? That’s all for me.”

He shifts his weight, sliding his knee between your thighs, spreading them open just enough. The rough press of his jeans grazes your heat through your clothes, making you gasp.

“You’re already warm here too…” he teases, grinding his knee up slightly. “Boobs love me… and so does your pussy.”

Your breath stutters, a whimper escaping before you can stop it. He chuckles darkly, lips finding the other breast now, sucking harder, leaving wet marks that bloom on your skin like his signature.

“Mine,” he growls between kisses. “Every inch of you.”

One hand slips lower, trailing over your stomach until he reaches the waistband of your bottoms. He pauses, looking at you with that dangerous grin. “Should I keep playing with my cushions… or find out how soaked you already are?”

His thumb presses just above your clit through the fabric, making you buck up involuntarily. He grins wider. “Ahh… I think I got my answer.”

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