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"This is your fault, you know."
It's moaned softly. Teasingly almost. It’s you blaming him for the situation you find yourselves in like it wasn’t you who couldn’t control herself and dragged him here.
"What?" Pope almost laughs incredulously through a groan as you change your rhythm and start bouncing on his cock. "How? You're the one who grabbed my hand and sprinted to the car and then shoved me in the back seat and climbed on my fucking cock."
You're currently in the back of Pope's jeep with your shorts and underwear off, straddling him and now pushing yourself up off him just to drop back down on his cock, already embarrassingly close to falling apart around him. It's a benefit of him having a jeep with tinted windows again and parking somewhere more private, as in not directly by the skate park, for once. Pope has your shirt pushed up and your tits out of the cups of your bra, his large hands switching between kneading them and teasing your nipples.
You've been together over five years now. Being together for so long means that there's a comfortableness between the two of you that comes from the knowledge that there's complete and total acceptance of one another. That's particularly huge for Pope. You've known everything, everything, about Pope now for years and haven't gone anywhere. Nothing that's happened has been too much. You accept him as he is. Always.
Because of this, Pope is much more relaxed in general, but in particular with you. He's also much more comfortable and open about sex, is able, the vast majority of the time, to not get in his head about it constantly and just enjoy the moment with you. He's gotten to a point where he's not afraid to get a little rough with you when you want him to, has learned how much you love it. Nor is he afraid to want and ask for what he wants and take what he wants, once you've consented of course. He's not afraid to be a sexual being, doesn't feel like he doesn't deserve to feel good anymore. All because of you.
That said, he's still on the quiet side in the bedroom, both in volume and how much he says. But when he does talk it's frequently some of the hottest, filthiest shit you've ever heard. His reactions are still more controlled, quieter and half-swallowed down but they're far less controlled than when you first got together. He still lets you take the lead most of the time, still wants you to. But he has his moments where he wants to be in charge. That’s all just who Pope is, how he is, and you wouldn’t trade or change any of it for the world.
"Because!" you moan, words escaping you for a few seconds. "Because you just look so fucking hot like this," you pant as they come back to you. "Skating and happy and smiling and in those fucking jeans and this tight shirt. All sweaty everywhere, sweaty curls, sweaty neck, makes you smell so fucking good…" You move your hands from his shoulders to run up his sweaty neck and through sweat-slicked curls you love an unholy amount. "I had to. How am I supposed to see you like that and know you're mine and I'm yours and function and not drag you away to get you inside me?"
It's just the truth. He looked positively fucking edible out there skating, still does. You had no choice but to jump him or you would've exploded, you swear.
"You see me like that all the time," he points out lowly, a hint of teasing there only you would recognize. He's starting to pant a little, voice all gravel and rasp for you. Pope takes your nipples between his thumb and forefingers and rolls them, gives a little twist to get you to gasp for him.
You whine at him, but arch your back slightly to push your tits against his hands telling him you want more. When he gives you what you want, flicking and twisting your nipples even harder you let your head fall back and shiver hard as you keep fucking yourself on his cock. "I don't know, I don't know why today was different, I just needed you."
“I’m not complaining,” Pope grunts, leans forward to make the most of your exposed neck, kissing and brushing his lips over and teasingly sucking all the right spots he knows drive you insane and make you wetter for him. Because he has you memorized, your entire body, yes, but also a map of all the spots that do the most for you, all the moves he can make to bring you as much pleasure as possible.
Sex feels beyond fucking good for him with you and he's always aware of how fucking good he feels and you make him feel, and how nobody else has ever made him feel this way, and he's no longer afraid to ask for what he wants. But making you feel as good as possible and come as hard and long as possible is still and always will be his primary concern and one of the most important parts of sex to him. Even when you're letting him use you to relieve tension or feel close to you or when you're trying to make it all about him. He's always focused on you. With no other man is it truer that making his partner feel good makes him feel good. It's a necessary component of sex for him, one of the driving forces behind his ability to come.
His lips move down your neck, he sucks at your collarbones and moves down to the top of one of your breasts, sucking and nibbling his way down until he takes one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking and flicking his tongue over it teasingly while his fingers work your other one. "Pope!" you moan for him, fingers fisting his curls and tugging as you get lost in the feeling. "Angel, Angel, Angel," you breathe, cunt clamping around him even harder as you have to go back to rolling your hips to work him in and out of you, anything else too difficult with how pleasure drunk you are.
He hums in response and bites down gently on your nipple, pulling it taut as he pulls his head away until it slips from between his teeth. His mouth immediately finds your other nipple and gives it the same treatment as his hips start to rock against yours, his pleasure building just as fast and furious as yours.
This isn't going to last much longer. You're not going to last much longer. You need him too badly, need to come too badly, need to feel him fill you too badly.
You bring your head back up and flutter your eyes back open, let your nails drag down his scalp and neck until your hands can fist his shirt at the top of his shoulders. Pope groans at the feeling, his cock throbbing inside of you, hips rocking a little harder.
He kisses his way back up your neck to your lips and captures them with his. The kiss is sloppy, tongues moving in and out of the other's mouth almost haphazardly, and has a ferocity and neediness reminiscent of new lovers who can't get enough of each other fast enough. Together over five years and it's still like that, you still feel that way about each other.
Pope's hands find your hips and squeeze them tightly, help move you back and forth along his cock and you have to break the kiss to breathe.
"God, fuck, Pope! You make me so wet! Do you feel that? Hear that?" You take his face in your hands and hold his gaze, keep as quiet as you can so that the obscenely slick squelch of your cunt is almost embarrassingly loud. Pope groans at the sound, fingers digging into your hips a little harder, hard enough to leave bruises tomorrow. "That’s all you, Love," you moan as his hands move you along him faster, your hands falling back to his shirt, "fuck, that’s all you!"
Pride blooms in his chest and he's pretty sure his cock grows harder at the thought, pretty sure you can tell based on the little whimper you let out as you clench and flutter around him. "Look at you." Pope's eyes flash down to where you're connected and he watches you take his cock. "Fuck!" he groans, dragging his eyes up your tummy and chest to your face, finding you already looking at him, face furrowed in desperation and pleasure as you get closer to your orgasm. "You look so fucking hot this desperate for me," he growls.
"Fuck, Pope," your eyes roll back a little at his words, "touch my clit," you pant desperately at him. "Please! Touch my clit, I'm close!" Your voice is high-pitched and needy and your eyes drop down to watch you fuck yourself on his cock. "You, you started this, this is your fault. Now finish it. Please, please finish it!"
He breathes a moan-strangled laugh. "No. You started this. You brought us to the car and, and pushed me in the backseat. So you finish it. Take it for yourself." He moves one of his hands from your hips and positions it between you so that you can grind down against it as you ride him. "Use my hand. Use my cock." His other hand finds the back of your neck and wraps around it, manhandles you just a little so that you're looking at him again. "Use me, Angel." It's an order, uncommon from Pope during sex, but something you absolutely love and that is so hot to you it almost rockets you over the edge itself.
"Oh fuck, Pope!" One of your hands finds the curls at the nape of his neck, tangling in them and tugging on them hard enough to pull a grunt from Pope. The pain shoots through him deliciously, brings him closer to the edge with you and has him planting his feet and fucking up into, changing the angle slightly so he's hitting that spot inside of you even better and your clit rubs more insistently against his calloused palm. "Yes!" you cry out for him. "Fuck, yes, yes, please don't stop!" You pant heavily. "Just like that, don't stop, oh don't stop!"
"Love hearing you like this," he rasps, keeping his movements exactly the same as requested, living for how good he knows it's making you feel. "Cock drunk and whining for me." His voice is strained as he staves off his own orgasm. He needs you to come first, needs you to be what makes it so he can't hold back.
"I'm gonna come, Angel, gonna come," you start to babble, eyes fluttering closed as the ecstasy crests, your entire body tensing and trembling slightly. "I'mgonnacome, I'mgonnacome, I'm…" High-pitched breaths are all you can get out for a moment as your orgasm breaks over you and you shatter around him. "Pope!" you moan. "Oh, I love you-"
Pope swallows the rest of your words, kissing you hard and licking into your mouth as you come and drinking down every moan and whine and whimper you make for him. He follows just after you, refusing to stop kissing you and groaning your name into your mouth as pleasure only you can give him sears through his body.
"Yeah Angel," he groans once he has to pull his lips from yours so you can both get some air. He continues to work you both through it, pressing his hand against your clit as he continues to fuck up into you like his entire being depends on it. "Yeah, so good, you're so so good, I love you." His words are a little slurred, Pope just as pussy drunk as you are cock drunk.
He stills his hips and moves his hand from you before you need to ask, knowing how to read your body and tell when the overstimulation is going to hit too much. "Oh, Pope," you pant, collapsing into him with a giggle and burying your face in his neck. "Love you so much." You mumble it straight into the side of his neck and anyone other than him would have no idea what you just said.
Pope laughs softly, holds you close with one arm and runs his other hand up and down your back soothingly, for both of you. "I love you so much too."
The two of you stay like that for a while, Pope holding you close and starting to soften inside of you as you both recover. You don't need to speak any further words to each other right now, the way Pope rubs your back and occasional squeeze and the way you nuzzle into his neck and sigh softly every now and then say everything that needs to be said.
Eventually you pull yourself from his neck and smile at him, still catching your breath a bit. "Back to skating?" Your hands start to run through his hair to clean it back up and look less 'just fucked' and then move to smooth out his shirt where you clung to it so tightly it wrinkled.
"Mm," he hums, a lilt to it that gives it a hint of a laugh. "No." His arms wrap around you tighter and he has you laying across the back seats in seconds. Pope tucks himself away and then shifts you both again so he's in a position letting him bring his head down to hover in front of your cunt.
You run a hand through his hair and tug, get him to look up at you. "Love, I want this, believe me, I fucking do, but that is going to be such an uncomfortable position for you."
He tilts his head at you slowly, his eyes narrowing as he looks at you with that intense Pope gaze. "Do you think I give a fuck?"
You make a little noise of discontent at him not caring. "Okay well I do! I don't want you to hurt or be sore!"
He smirks at you with his eyes, the smallest quirk upward at the corners of his lips, and he speaks with that typical Pope seriousness that is so fucking hot to you, especially in these situations. "I'll just have to eat that concern out of you."