Fics like Bed Chem

“Remmick,” you gasped, voice splintering around his name. “Please. Please, I need—” He held your face between his palms, thumbs brushing under your eyes as though trying to wipe away tears that hadn’t even fallen yet. His voice was so soft, so wrecked. “I—sugar, listen to me. I’ll get ya anythin’ else. More tea. Somethin’ cold. A bath. Somethin’ to take the edge off—” “No.” You shook your head harder, hips grinding down against his lap despite yourself. “No, no, Remmick, I don’t want tea, I don’t want a bath—I want you. I need you.” His fingers twitched where they framed your face. His eyes darted everywhere—your lips, your heaving chest, the thin stretch of silk over your thighs—and then he squeezed them shut like he couldn’t bear to look. “I don’t wanna take advantage of ya,” he murmured, voice rough. “You ain’t thinkin’ straight, sweetheart. I know y’ain’t.” But you pressed closer, nose brushing his, your breath quick and shaky. “Then make me think straight.” A tremor rolled through his arms. “Darlin’…” His voice broke, low and desperate. “I c-can smell how wet ya are. Jesus, it’s makin’ me—” “Then feel me,” you whispered. “Taste me. Fuck me. Remmick, please—I can’t—”

Fics like Bed Chem

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