Summary: After a truly delightful phone call, there’s a knock on your door and a question that still needs to be answered. Are you ready for Round Two?
Read: (Part One)
Word Count: 1,572
Author: The-Dangerous-Ginger
A/N: This is part 2 to “Phone Call” but can be read as a stand alone. There will be a part 3 (maybe more, who knows at this point). Like before, feel free to drop me an ask with a prompt!
Tags: Misha x Reader, Dom!Misha, Sub!Reader, dirty talk, mirrors, eye contact, fingering, nsfw
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Words… they were a too far concept for you right now. You knew you needed to say something but they just wouldn’t form.
Who could blame you though?
Misha was standing in front of you, on your doorstep, in the middle of the night.
You hadn’t seen him in over two months, so when he asked you, eyes sparkling with amusement and darkened with arousal, “Ready for round two?”, in a voice so filthy and sinister and wickedly hot, you had to act instead of speak.
You hauled him, by a fistful of shirt, across the threshold, and kicked the door shut behind him. Tightening your grip on it, you slammed your mouth to his, and let the past two months of loneliness wash away at the taste of his lips on yours.
He chuckled darkly against your lips and tangled a hand into your hair, seizing the strands with just enough aggression to make you hand the reins over to him.
From then on, you fell.
You fell into his taste, smell, touch, and overall presence.
It was liberating.
Even when he pressed you against the wall, a hand still in your hair tilting your head up, while the other cupped your jaw, you didn’t feel trapped or smothered or uncomfortable.
You felt at peace, at home, and oh so incredibly turned on.
A wanton moan slipped from you when he pressed a muscular thigh to your panty clad core, grinding you against it. The friction between the rough denim and the simple cotton of your panties was exquisite and had you throwing your head back against the wall.
He sampled every bit of you he could reach as he ground against you. With long sweeps of tongue and sharp nips of teeth, he left no skin, from your lips to the edges of your collarbone peeking out from your nightshirt, untouched.
You gasped, trembled, and mewled into his shoulder and chest when his lips latched onto a soft spot on your neck, and you could feel the heavy hammering of his heartbeat against your cheek.
“Mi…Mish… bed…” You managed to gasp.
Your stuttered words needed no preamble, no explanation, he knew what you wanted and he was going to deliver it.