going to fuck around, I certainly wouldn't take photos of it! And I stabbed a girl ONE TIME and you act like it's a habit! I'm growing as an individual, Eric. I even had a smoothie this morning." Rosie pointed out as though that somehow mattered to the current conversation.
Rosie was the first to admit that she had a bad habit of skipping breakfast, but the statement was the type of squirrelly non-sequitur that regularly popped out of her mouth: she was making a point, but even she wasn't always certain what the point was. The non-sequitur made Eric lose the thread of the conversation again and had him trying to remember what had pissed him off in the first place.
"I don't think you would stab
every
bitch," he said evenly. "Just like maybe you
might
, you know?"
Eric's hands were soft again, petting Rosie's hair gently when he suddenly had the urge to push her down to her knees and feel her lips wrapped around him. Something in his mind told him that he shouldn't, but he had trouble pinning down what that something was, so gave her a firm push downward with obvious intent, uncertain whether the timing was quite right, but a little too fuzzy-minded to care.
The soothing voice, the tender petting, and the authoritative pressure of his hand had done their usual trick and Rosie's mood had oscillated wildly from angry to amenable. She felt the weight of Eric's hand guiding her downwards while he looked sternly into her eyes. Rosie dropped to her knees obediently, knowing exactly what came next. Looking up with her pretty blue eyes, she bit her bottom lip coquettishly.
"Can Rosie say sorry this way, Daddy?" Rosie purred, rubbing her cheek against the bulge in his pants. Rosie arched her back and pushed her ass out, smirking and pouting her juicy lips as she let Eric take stock of his kneeling girlfriend. While she was certain that she hadn't misbehaved at the rave and didn't feel anything but friendship for Felix, she also knew that she'd never hear the end of it from Eric unless she atoned for it properly. The idea that she was fucking Felix would stick with him and eat away at his mind, unless she made him forget all about it.
In Rosie's mind, she could clearly see that, whether Eric liked to admit it or not, he actually cared about her. He wasn't like the parade of Asshole Boyfriends Past who hadn't given a shit about her. Who turned her out on the streets or couldn't give a shit about who she fucked, only using her for pussy or for drugs. Unlike so many others, Eric actually fucking cared. The
Fucker.
That meant that she had to try to repair the damage she'd done even if the damage was based on a misunderstanding. People had so rarely stuck around for long enough for her to learn how to repair things properly that Rosie was breaking new emotional ground every time the dysfunctional pair managed not to break up during a fight.
Rosie's half-lidded eyes looked up at Eric adoringly as her hands snaked up his thighs, moving to help release Eric's cock from his clothes. Her demeanour had become reverent and apologetic as she slipped into the tender state of mind that anticipation of sucking Eric's cock always put her in.
"I knew you would say sorry," Eric growled in a satisfied reply, pushing his cock against her lips as he pulled her closer by her pink hair. Rosie mewled in protest, still wanting to argue that she didn't have anything to apologize for. She had wanted to take her time teasing him with her mouth but yielded instinctively when she found Eric's cock firmly pressing against her soft, glossy lips. She looked up at Eric, hips squirming happily while her mouth opened, automatically accepting his cocktip into her mouth.
By that point in their relationship, her reaction had been second nature: if Rosie had something emotional to express, she had a tendency to express it intimately. Expressing her feelings scared and overwhelmed her unless she delivered them using physical intimacy. Then, she could at least blame the way she felt on the postcoital afterglow, typically forgiving Eric while held her, his cum leaking from her freshly fucked cunt.
Between Eric and Rosie, the anger of the fight was fading away along with the frenetic energy of the chemicals pumping through their systems. They wanted to get lost in each other's arms, feeling the passion and the hurt in equal measure, to stop the whispers of doubt in their minds that were returning after having been drowned out by a brief euphoric haze. Escapism was often the way with Rosie and Eric. Denial and distraction with drugs or booze, exhibitionism, or hedonism. They were destined to live fast and only time would tell if they were to die young.
Eric pushed his cock deeper into Rosie's mouth, ignoring the same complex emotions that she was also actively pushing away. He wanted her to feel how intensely he felt, while avoiding consciously thinking about the source of those feelings. His desire to avoid the conflicting emotions soon became manifest in his hard cock pressing into the back of her throat, making her take it deeper and gag so they had something tangible to focus on instead of their turbulent thoughts.
Rosie's muffled protest after gagging was brief, and she huffed, but accepted his hard cock deep into her throat and set to work, sucking his hot, stiff shaft as though her life depended on it. If nothing else, her sanity depended on it anyway, as she reached up to caress his cock and balls while sucking him with enthusiasm. She carelessly impaled her throat on his cock more than once, gagging and sputtering, tears welling in her eyes. She immediately blinked them away prettily, her cheeks and chin shiny with her saliva.
Rosie moaned happily, as though she wanted to be doing nothing else than precisely what she was. Her blue eyes were unfocused and serene, as though whatever had been concerning her was now the last thing on her mind. The only noises she was making was the sloppy, wet smacking of her lips against his cock and occasional soft gagging when her enthusiasm got the best of her.
They both lost themselves in the building intensity of Rosie's ardent sucking. Eric watched raptly as she became increasingly messy, needing to see how she took the little hurts that came with the increasingly rough fucking he was intent on giving her face. For his part, he wanted just as much to feel the sting of her teeth as the tender skin of his cock rubbed against their sharp edges. Even though she tried to shield him using her soft lips, when Eric fucked her mouth this forcefully, Rosie could never fully protect him. She usually ended up with bruises in her mouth and had learned to give Eric exactly what he wanted: her open mouth and throat.
Rosie loved surrendering to him fully, gagging and whimpering happily while he used her face. There was something peaceful to her about being in that moment with him, where nothing mattered except from the connection they found in the loving brutality. They both wanted to hurt, but not hurt each other: they wanted the little bit of pain for themselves.
Given the chance, they would carry on with rough oral sex until Eric filled her throat with his hot cum, but somehow, they both knew that they needed more than the rough blowjob would give them. With a grunt, Eric pulled Rosie off of his cock by her hair, looking down at her sternly, remembering to be angry, but forgetting exactly why.
"Give it back, Daddy!" Rosie cried out in protest, her back arched thanks to the fistful of her bubblegum-pink hair that Eric had in his grasp. She mewled, wiggling her hips while she gazed up at him, giving him her best Kitty eyes to try and convince him to return her favourite thing to suck. He ran a hand over her wet lips and chin, smearing her face with the mess from her mouth, before running the tip of his prick against her lips and adding his slick precum to the mix, giving her exactly what she had asked for.
His hand still wrapped in her bubblegum pink hair, he pulled her from her knees and drew her in for a long, desperate kiss. Neither of them wanted to let the other yield from the kiss nor from the hurt of their mouths pressing hard against one another. Rosie never backed away from Eric, nor tried to slip out of his grasp: the onslaught was an inescapable result of the passion they shared and Rosie was equal parts enthusiastic recipient and participant.
While they kissed, their hands began to tear at each other's clothes, pulling fabric away frantically, needing to remove absolutely everything that stood between them. They needed to fit together in a way that demanded nakedness. Rosie's worshipful, bouncy and remarkably resilient nature made her a natural choice for a lover as much as her fine little dancer's frame that Eric was revealing as he stripped her of her clothing. Rosie's eager mouth was already kissing along the black ink of muscle under Eric's tattoos as she allowed her limbs to be manipulated in a doll-like manner.
"You like when I'm a little jealous," Rosie smirked, somehow remembering the fight and stubbornly trying to make her point. Rosie was assuming that Eric enjoyed the fawning attention she invariably gave him when she thought that he was starting to lose interest in her.
She was petrified of being abandoned and tended to try to reconnect with someone physically in place of establishing a deeper emotional connection, to make the best of what she'd learned to think of as her charms, the messy and naughty things she could do to her partner when she ended up in a relationship. Eric, however, was different: he liked the sex, of course, but he had always been sure to stick around and take care of her after he'd cum.
"I don't know if I like the jealousy, but I know that I feel it too, baby," he replied, knowing he was still angry with her but unable to put a finger on why. Pulling her shirt away over her head, further words were unnecessary as he grabbed her and found one perfect little dusty rose nipple with his mouth. Rosie's next reply was a sharp gasp as she wrapped her arms back around Eric's neck, pushing her perky little tit against his mouth wantonly.
