I don't usually write stories this short, and I don't usually write stories where a female character's consent is not crystal clear. And if you're reading this (you know who you are), I know you said no disclaimer but in the spirit of your story I'm disregarding your request. Enjoy.
*
"Hypothetically," Emma conceded, gesticulating with her wine glass, "if I were horny enough, and I had carte-fucking-blanche to do what I wanted to you-" She looked up at Jack. "And you made me breakfast every Sunday for a year. Then yes, I suppose I'd consider trying anal."
She sat up and drained the bottle into her glass before laying back across Jack's lap. She pulled the remote from his hand and changed the channels on the TV, looking up at him defiantly.
"Treaty of Versailles," she said, responding to the question on TV.
"So that's a yes, then?" Jack asked.
Emma stared daggers back up at him until she saw the corner of his mouth twitch.
"Asshole," she said, chuckling, and turned back to the TV.
*
Jack woke up and rolled over, taking a gulp of water and checking the time. The sun was warm on the white sheets. Emma was still asleep, mostly bundled up under the duvet, one leg bent and protruding, and a mess of dark hair draped inelegantly across a pillow.
He lifted the duvet and slipped his body into the warmth beneath it. She slept in her underwear and a t-shirt whatever time of year it was, and her grey top was pulled askew and up revealing her round cheeks peeking out like a pair of half moons beneath her pink briefs. His mind wandered back to their conversation the previous evening. He moved his body against hers, cupping one cheek and kissing the nape of her neck.
"You awake?" he asked quietly.
The muffled noise that emerged from her was a denial.
Jack moved his hand from her cheek to between her legs, feeling how hot the soft crotch of her briefs was. Another muffled noise came from her, a noise of half-hearted protest. He kissed her neck again, lifting his hand to pull her t-shirt aside and pressed his lips to her shoulder.
"Good morning," he said, grinning against her skin.
Beneath the duvet her felt her move, rolling slightly back in to the concave shape of his body, her butt pressing against his cock in his boxer shorts.
"You can do whatever you like, I'm going back to sleep," she said, her face dropping back to the pillow as if the effort of forming a whole sentence had been too much.
Jack held her hip, keeping her in place with his cock nestled between her cheeks as he grew harder and began to grind against her. He loved it, he knew she did too, the sleepy Sunday morning sex, where their bodies just sort of melted into each other. There was an aspect of deniability which made it somehow hotter.
Releasing her he pulled his shorts down, reluctantly lifting his pelvis from the bed to do so, then pushing them off his legs with a series of awkward kicks. Finally unencumbered, he pulled her back, the head of his cock pressing against her briefs and pushing down the cleft of her butt until it brushed against her bare thighs.
Emma sleepily parted her legs, just a little bit, enough for Jack's cock to slip between them, hot and hard, already smearing a drop of precum over her skin.
Jack grinned as she closed her legs again, trapping him between them. He flexed his cock up against her pussy and she arched her back, bending forward almost imperceptibly. He ran his hand from her hip up under her t-shirt, his fingers spread as he stroked up slowly, following the curve of her ribs up to her breast. He cupped and squeezed, bending his head down to nuzzle the back of her shoulder while his thumb brushed over and around her nipple. Feeling her harden he closed his fingers and pinched, kissing her as his grip tightened and he pulled. She tensed, arching, tipping her head back and exposing her throat. Jack raked his teeth up the side of her neck, his fingers unrelenting on her nipple as she whimpered softly. Then he released, leaving her taut and ignored from the waist up, his hand instead gently stroking the back of her thigh.
