Consent Education.

Consent Education.

the taste of your skin (E)

I got a request for Poppy x MC shower sex and I finally finished it. It got a bit... kinky there. I hope you like it! :)

just to list everything that happens because content warnings: begging, biting, hair pulling (all sexual), no explicit consent (it's implied), domme mc, hate sex in the shower turned tender

this is second person (like the book), because it came naturally when writing

Word count: ~1.8k

Obligatory don't read if you're under 18.

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You and Poppy stumble into her room, locking the door behind you; you don't want any interruptions for what you're going to do. Poppy's lips are already swollen, her normally neat hair a mess, and you're doubtful you look any more put together. You're just coming down from the adrenaline high of a yelling match on the lawn in front of what must have been half of Belvoire, and somehow, you ended up here.

You glance at the bed, the memory of what happened the last time you were here clear in your mind as if it were yesterday, but Poppy pulls you towards another door in her room instead, her fresh manicure digging into your wrist. "I don't like to be kept waiting, Farmsville."

It's the bathroom, and it's just as luxurious as the rest of her suite, with marble counters, fancy toiletries, and what seems to be the most important right now—a shower more than big enough for two people. Poppy slams the door closed and shoves you against it, winding her hands into your hair and pulling you down to forcefully kiss you.

"Aggressive, aren't we?" you say when she finally lets you go. Your confrontation must have riled her up, and you can't blame her—you're pretty riled up too. You're just better at putting on a relaxed front.

She doesn't respond to your jab, yanking your clothes off instead. You take to her clothes too, letting them carelessly drop to the bathroom floor, unbothered that they are probably individually worth more than your whole wardrobe put together. The details of how you ended up here are a little fuzzy, but you know Poppy started it, again.

You're sick of it.

You look down at her, and you've had enough. It's no secret that she hates you, but it's obvious how much she wants you, has wanted you even after your first time together that night. And she won't ever back down—that's how you know she'll submit to you.

When she leans in to kiss you, you tilt your head out of reach. "No," you say, "I'm in charge today."

You don't give her time to respond, continuing to undress her until she's left in just her underwear. You back her up against the sink and she gasps at the touch of cool marble against her skin. You caress her fleetingly, let your hand graze her shoulder, dip your finger under the lace of her bra, slide the strap down to drag your tongue along the newly revealed skin, until she's trembling. You're going to coax her to the brink, have her melt in your hands.

When she's had enough, Poppy turns on the shower and pushes you under the spray as she brings her mouth to yours, biting on your lower lip. The water hasn't heated up yet and your first instinct is to duck away from it, but you don't, kissing her back just as fiercely. When she ducks to mouth at your neck, you move away, tsking, "Uh-uh, Poppy."

A smirk grows across your face at her aggravated groan as you turn around; you're going to really enjoy teasing her. You pluck a bottle of body wash from the shower holder and flip it open, the mild, pleasant scent of jasmine emanating from it.

You dampen a loofah under the spray and squeeze the soap onto it, beckoning Poppy closer. "I wasn't planning to actually shower," she hisses as you run it along her upper body, across her chest and down her arms, "but I can understand that you might need to."

Ignoring her slight, you say, "Patience." You playfully circle her breasts with a finger and pinch her nipple, fleetingly. The unrestrained sound that falls out of her mouth fills you with a kind of perverse satisfaction.

You crouch down to run the loofah across her ass and legs. Your fingers dip between her legs, just shy of slipping inside her. The water washes off the soap, and you ghost kisses on the pale skin left behind, run your tongue along her hipbone, threaten to leave a mark there, until she's digging her nails into your shoulders in frustration.

But you aren't going to let her come just yet.

As you slowly get to your feet, you rinse off the loofah and meet her eyes, the command leaving your lips easily, "Get on your knees."

Something flashes in her eyes and for a second, you think she might call the whole thing off,  but then she sinks down onto her feet before you. You look down at her, holding her gaze. "You look good like that."

Poppy opens her mouth, to probably return with a sharp jab, but you speak before she can. "Did I say you could talk?" She glares up at you, and a dark jolt of satisfaction goes through your gut. It's exhilarating to see her like this, have her listen and obey, after everything she did to you, after everything she put you through. "Now put your mouth to better use."

Her scowl could melt ice, but you just look down at her expectantly. Her hands come to rest on your knees, and Poppy moves your legs apart, digging her nails into your skin so hard that you wouldn't be surprised to see marks, and starts to lay a trail of kisses up your thigh. They are slow, deliberate, with a bit of bite in them, and you need to grip the rod for support. Poppy tugs onto your leg until you sling it over her shoulder, and your head drops back onto the cool tiles as her mouth finally descends on you.

The water pelts down onto your body, the temperature almost scalding, but it's nothing compared to the heat of Poppy's mouth, the warmth pooling in your stomach, a delicious ache, building. It's too much all at once and your legs start to shake. Just as the knot in your gut starts to tighten, Poppy pulls away.

The loss of feeling and her disobedience striking, you go to snap at her, but before you can, she stands, kissing you fiercely, her hand replacing her mouth. Your head presses into the tiles and you inhale sharply, the pain a shock but only adding to your pleasure. She moves down to your neck, and you feel teeth, then lower, and you can't hold back your moan. She ducks to graze your collarbone, and further down, closing her mouth around the peak of your breast.

You gasp, arching off the wall as she bites down on the sensitive flesh, simultaneously sliding a finger inside. And when she finds that one spot inside of you, everything goes white and you're arching your back, a litany of moans dropping from your lips as you ride out your release.

When you come back down, she's watching you, an unreadable expression on her face. It's strangely intimate somehow, and it doesn't make sense. You hate each other, you know that well enough. Sex is just to get the emotions out before they boil over.

You can't forget—you're both at war, and you're fighting to win.

Your hand slides down her side and comes to a rest on her upper thigh, then pauses. You want to see how far you can push her, how much she will bend for you.

You look down to meet her gaze. "Beg for it," you say.

Her eyes widen slightly before she sets her mouth in a fine line, tilting her head up in a show of defiance. "No."

Unsurprised, you trail a finger down the soft skin and swipe between her legs, just past where she needs it most. Poppy gasps, her fingers digging into your biceps. "Beg," you repeat.

Hate flits across her expression and you press down, more insistently, and she can't hold back her moan. "Please, Bea... I—I need it."

"Again. Louder."

Poppy inhales sharply, but she's too far gone in lust to consider what she's asking and from whom. "Please. I need you."

Finally appeased, you begin to work your fingers. Poppy is silent—unwilling to give you the satisfaction of being the cause of her reactions—but you can see the pleasure on her face, in her half-closed eyes and slightly open mouth. You don't think you've seen a better sight.

You turn around and press her against the wall, her back to your chest. Keeping a firm grip on one shoulder, you snake your hand around her waist and dip between her legs. "Say my name."

Poppy hisses through clenched teeth, as if biting back a verbal declaration of hate. No need—you know exactly her feelings for you. It mirrors yours, after all.

You wind your fingers around a lock of her hair and tug harshly enough for her head to fall back, and she lets out a cry, but it's not what you want. You draw your hand back, feigning a sigh of disappointment. You can practically hear her gritting her teeth before she bites out what you want to hear—"Bea. Bea, please."

Steam swirls in the air, making patterns as you move your hand back to where she wants you, the other going to pinch her nipple as you smirk into her blonde curls. She bites back a noise and you speak, "Don't hold back, I want to hear you."

And then the dam breaks, moans and gasps falling from her mouth. It's music to your ears, and you revel in it, to be the only one able to unravel her. It's intoxicating.

You flatten your palm and let her grind down onto your hand, to take what she wants from you. And with fervour, she does. She begins to whimper, and you can tell that she's close from the way she tenses.

You drag your tongue across the back of her shoulder, tasting water, feel her shudder under your heat. "Come for me, Poppy." You give no warning before you sink your teeth into the soft skin at the juncture of her neck. She gasps, scrabbling helplessly at the slick tiles of the wall. She begins to tremble as her orgasm hits her, and you hold her up through it.

You'd only ended up here because of a public confrontation that got your blood boiling (again), but now... it's surprisingly tender. You don't know what to make of it.

But as you watch her blink her eyes open, slightly dazed, the whole reason you're even fighting slips your mind: the crown, the award, revenge—all forgotten. Distantly, you know you'll go back to fighting after, but for now...

Maybe you can have a little respite.

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Thanks for reading! Comments are appreciated :)

(source)

Everyone knows that on Uber/Lyft you should always give the driver five stars unless they, like, drive the car into the ocean or something, right?  You can’t say “the ride was fine, nothing special, so I gave them three stars,” because the company will punish them for being anything less than perfect.

Well, you should know that the same rule goes for any kind of customer service survey.  Unless the service you received was unacceptable, give them 5/5 or 10/10 or whatever.  It’s annoying, because it ruins the sensitivity of the survey, but it’s how it’s gotta be.  9/10 gets treated like a problem and 6/10 gets treated like a disaster.   Understand this and do the workers a favor by grading easy.

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