Say it.

reylotrashcompactor:

Anon requested a smutty drabble, anon gets a smutty drabble. A quick continuation of this little thing, though decidedly more…dirty.

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Say it.

Reylo, drabble, 800 words.

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“Say it.”

He bites down hard, too hard, on her
inner thigh and she cries out. An inelegant, unintelligible warble of sound. He
swipes his tongue through her sex, through the hot and the wet, following that
sharp pain with pleasure so close in nature that she makes the same sound
again. No words, though a plea all the same. Her fingers trip over each other
as she brutally clutches at his hair, nearly pulling the knuckles out of joint.

“N-no,” she pants, and he punishes her for it,
latching hard onto that part of her that is so sensitive, so acutely tuned to
nothing but reaction that she tries to twist away from the hard pressure
of his mouth. He grips her with those hands so large that his thumbs can hook
into the dip of her hipbones while his fingers nearly lace on her spine and
holds her in place. He sucks on her again, hard and obscenely loud, and she can
hear the lewd wet of his swallowing her arousal.

He releases her, finally, finally, and speaks
against the oversensitive folds of flesh, his low voice vibrating against her,
giving her little respite from feeling.

“Say it!”

 She twists beneath him again, fighting against
those strong, damnable hands, and he roughly jerks her back into place beneath
him.

“Say it or I’ll never let you come.”

She whines, a mewling keen that is so embarrassing
that she is sure that she hates this man above her, so slick with how she wants
him that she can see the sheen of it on his full lips.

“B-bastard.”

He chuckles and, stars, the dark sound
somehow makes her wetter, makes her want even more. “You have no idea, Rey.”

He yanks her down beneath him, so rough and
quick that the hard scratch of his prison issued sheets burn her bare back.
He’s inside her in seconds, a full and deep stretch and her voice breaks on the
next moan he wrenches from her.

And he’s still.

She’s strong, stronger than she has any right to
be, but she can’t make a move against his durasteel grip. She can’t so much as
rock her hips to gain the slightest ounce of friction, and she’s so close.

“Say it. Say my name.” His voice is as hard as
his body, as strong as his hands. And his eyes, they are darker than any of the
atrocities with which he’s burdened the galaxy. “Tell me who I am. Who is
fucking you, Rey?”

There’s tears in her eyes and she blinks them
away. Hating him in this moment, yet needing him so dearly. “Right now?” She
swallows. Her voice is nearly gone. He wants his name on her lips, but he
wasted her voice on all the other pains he inflicted. Now she has little more
than a croak left. “Kylo Ren.”

His eyes slide shut, reeling back into his head
as he languidly rolls his neck. Basking, the ass, in the sound of her surrender
to his demands. When he opens them again, when he looks down at her, his
pleasure in this victory is a tactile thing between them. Such perverse pride
in the dark naming of him. He releases a hand from her hip and digs the heel of
it into the soft flesh just above her pubic bone.

When he rocks into her, the pressure of his hand
combined with the weight of his desire has her climbing the summit to release
more quickly than she thought she was capable.

He’s surrendering to her, as well, giving her
every ounce of the pleasure he held just beyond her reach. His eyes roam over
her, taking in her movements, and he matches this. Rocking into her slower,
more deeply. What she needs, what she wants.

“And now?” he whispers, sending a spark up her
spine that has her arching into him.

“Oh, Ben.”

He sighs, almost smiling, almost crying and
continues to move within her just right, just exactly right. “Again.”

“Ben,” she says. She can’t say it enough, now
that she has. It’s softer than her earlier cries of anguish, warmer. It hums in
her throat and soothes the pain there. “Stars, Ben.”

She shatters then, her tongue still pressing up into
the end of his name and she hums the sound along the languid waves of her
release. She is only vaguely aware of his own climax, a sharp staccato in the
fuzzy haze rolling over her. “Ben,” she whispers again, and it seems to make
him come all over again.

He collapses on her, his grip on her making him
seem all the more heavy. He’s crying she realizes, and she thinks that tonight,
just tonight, she might risk sleeping here with him.

Just to see if she’ll wake up to Ben in the
morning.

Fin.