The morning sunlight gave off a subtle luminescence in the bedroom, peaking through the beige curtains. The running water from the bathroom hummed as Paige found the emptiness of the bed next to her. Drenched in the taste of yesterday, she stretched away her stiffness and yawned away her sleep. Last night had been a rough romp in the sheets, and on the bathroom floor, and on the kitchen table. She was tired, and she was surprised Colin was able to walk, still. Like a child, she leaned over the edge of the bed, anchoring herself with her lower half, and searched for her undergarments, but to no avail.

Her brows furrowed. "Where could they have gotten off to?" She searched the sheets and underneath the pillow but by certain chance of looking up, she discovered them hanging off of the lamp shade ever so casually. She scoffed at the predictability, pulling up Colin's light blue button-down off of the hardwood floor, and pulling it over her shoulders, where it swallowed her whole. She padded across the familiar room, as if it were her own. She'd been here so many times before, and was so very used to it. There was a slight chill in the room, Paige noticed, as the hum of the water quit, and the screech of the shower doors sounded from the bathroom. With intentions of making her way toward the thermostat afterwards, she padded toward the dresser, her fingers running through her messy bed head, with aim for pants.

Opening the overstuffed, unorganized drawer of Colin's, she started rifling through his odd assortment of pants. He was taller than she was, so it was rare that any of his clothes ever fit her, but she had worn a skirt the night before, and a skirt to Colin is like no skirt at all. The corner of the mirror caught his godly figure immersing from the bathroom, gloriously dressed in nothing but a towel. He held a towel to his head, trying to wipe away all the drench. The first thing he did was search the bed for Paige, only to find her absence. Seeing that she was at the dresser, he immediately pursued for a good morning.

"Damn, you're wearing clothes," he complained, wrapping his arms around her waist.

She scoffed. "Says you. You're the one who'll look for any excuse to stay naked." He chuckled at her. "If I remember correctly, you showered last night, as well."

"You should know," he retorted, smirking, "you were there."

Aggravated with not being able to find any pants, she growled in frustration. "I need pants, dammit!" She grumbled.

Quickly, Colin corrected, "No you don't."

"Yeah, I do. It's freezing in this house, and I'm cold." He smirked again, chuckling, and began to speak, though Patience interrupted him, holding her hands up. She rolled her eyes. "Lemme guess. You can help?"

Snidely, "Ah, you know me so well." His hands on her waists travelled their ways a bit downward, onto her thighs, where he pressed her bum against his groin, another hand even sneaking underneath the shirt of his she wore.

"Don't you have an off-button?" she retorted toward his actions.


"Meh, didn't think so."

Her quick response stopped by the time his towel had been shed, the shirt had been pushed above her hips, where Colin promptly began to grind against her behind. Her heart began to race at the contact, heat rising against her neck and cheeks. She felt him thrust strongly once, pinning her to the dresser's edge, where Colin continued the contact, and Paige tried hold back her seemingly ridiculous girlish noises. The weight of his hand tingled on her skin as it slid up toward the top button of the button-down, which he had undone rather easily, followed by the next couple. With the slack, he pushed the cloth on her shoulder aside, beginning to trail her shoulder and neck with light butterfly kisses, only to replace them with domineering bites, acquiring a nice surprised yelp from Paige.

Colin honestly became aggravated with the idea of her being clothed. He never liked it when she had clothes on, unless they were in public, and that was simply because he didn't want anyone else thinking about her the way he did, and he thought some pretty dirty things even when she was clothed. He sort of forgot about the remaining couple of buttons, taking grasp of the cloth at the gab, near her breasts, and tore it open, without noticing its ripping. He looked up, seeing Paige's reflection in the dresser top's mirror, her facial expression how he basically just tore away the shirt and threw it to the ground. He simply touched her, heavily, but gazed into the mirror to witness her reactions, and waiting for their eyes to meet. He fondled her breasts, squeezed down her sides to her hips, and cupped her lady parts, waiting for her to classically pull her bottom lip into her teeth, where she would lean back her head onto his shoulder. And just as the contact was made, she did just that, tossing her head back onto his shoulder, eyes shut tight in ecstasy, her bottom lip pulled in between her teeth, and let out a desperate whimper. Her exhorted a pressure against her, rubbing her core through the fabric of her underwear, those…damn underwear, and grinding her behind into his groin.

This was amusing, hypnotizing, but wasn't nearly all that he wanted. He placed a kiss onto her forehead as she sort of nuzzled into his neck as he executed the small amount of torturous pressure onto her, and he slipped a finger into her panties instead, and gasped as she let out a breathy, high pitched moan when his finger met the warm slick flesh of her heated core. His eyes left her facial expression personally and they tore to the mirror to observe her. She'd partially lifted her leg, trying to push her thighs together, to revel in the sensation as he stroked her, quite merciless really. Her hands had fallen to their side where they gripped Colin's side, bracing him for balance. He felt himself harden (even more so) at the very visual of her, standing this way in the midst of passion. Huskily, and in a low voice, he whispered to her, pulling his hand away from the little bundle of nerves in between her folds – which she protested to with a desperate moan – he whispered, "I really need to get you out of these panties."

"Do it," was her breathless, mindless reply. Without delay he tucked his fingers under the elastic and wasted no time and stripping them from her, and not very delicately either, mind you. Returning up to her, to resume his former position behind her, he left lazy kisses upon her back, up her spin, in between her shoulder blades, all the while pulling her back away from the dresser's edge, situating her at his groin. It wasn't like she needed to know what was about to happen. She spread her hands upon the dark oak surface of the dresser, slightly bending, providing him with better access. Her eyes closed, and she drew her lip between her teeth again, but bit down with a little more pressure a she waiting for the stunning impact. His hands found her hips as he held her at his will, positioning himself at her warm, slick opening. He sort of just stayed there for a moment, reveling in the last remaining seconds of foreplay, watching her gorgeous reflection in the mirror, his tip pressed to her, rubbing against her bundle of nerves to where he really wanted to be. Or more like where he wanted to be inside of.

The pressure, the angst, and suspense all proved to be too much for her, where she released a loud moan, laced with desperation. With a confident chuckle at her reaction, his grip on her hips tightened, and he plunged into her, without warning, without delay, and without delicacy. She broke like the wake in a wave, bouncing in physical response to his thrust, moaning loudly. "Goddamn," he groaned into her shoulder. After getting used to the simply amazing sensation of her sensitive, warm, slick skin around him, he gave another thrust, reaching into the depths within her, to the limits. Once more he withdrew slowly, eyes on her as her chest heaved up and down from her heavy breathing, the hairs on his neck rising every time she whimpered, and he filled here again, to the positive hilt.

"Jesus. Fuck," she cursed shamelessly and quite to his amusement actually. This was when he quit the specific intentional movements. No more reveling in the tiny moments, he decided, but now the mad pleasure where they simply indulged themselves. He plunged into her this time, but harder, and quicker, only to withdraw and plunge back in again. They became quick, hard, ruthless thrusts, and each time she emitted those girly sounds that drove him mad, her face expressions contorting into what expressed her fragility and sensitivity as she tried to just bear the mass waves of pleasure. He enjoyed the visual of her, simply. The form of her lips when she audibly moaned, the biting of her lips when she held in her whimpers, and how she would turn her face away from the mirror, trying to do something with herself, because her nails scraping against the surface of the oak dresser wasn't enough.

And what drove him even madder, her head fell down once again, like so earlier, onto his shoulder, where she faced him. Her eyes were still closed, the insane sex completely bludgeoning her capability of conscious thought, moving with him as he thrusted into her with great energy, her left hand weakly rose to his shoulder, where she braced him innocently, whimpering. Her back was plastered to his chest and with each girlish noise she made, he could feel the vibrations in her chest against his. Her right hand trailed from the oak to his hand that gripped her hips firmly. He eventually understood her intentions as she peeled his fingers away, and cooperated as she led his hand from her hips down to her side, whimpering and moaning the entire way, placing his fingers at her clitoris. Paige had seemed so professional to others, and so sweet, but he loved it when he saw this side of her, when she silently begged for him to touch her in certain ways, and simply the silence was because she didn't possess the ability to speak anymore.

The feel of his thick member combined with that of his confident stroking, her whimpers turned to moans, ripping her head away from his shoulder, throwing her hands back into the surface of the dresser, again bending for his better access. He could tell she didn't care about discretion anymore, with her moans and her yelps of pleasure. He could relate. She was driving him mad. It was ridiculous, the arrangement of curse phrases he was yelling inside of his head, right now, just straight up taking the Lord's name in vain.

He enjoyed this part the most, where she would just begin to reach the peak, where he would begin to feel the pressure build inside of himself, and her walls would slightly begin to twitch against him. Always in response to the pressure exhorted onto him, he would thrust harder, pound harder into her. He could hear her nails against the wood, see the freedom of her voluptuous breasts, and the fog against the mirror from her husky breaths. She was just dripping in sex. She began to clench and tighten around the thickness of his member, even causing the sensitivity of the skin of her arms and legs to heighten. Her whimpers became louder, and her moans became desperate, and the girlish sounds seemed more shameless and shameless.

She clenched around him finally, so strongly it was almost violently, bucking in response, trying to muffle her yells and contain her well being, her eyes tightly closed, bracing the edge of the dresser with one hand, and the edge of the mirror with the other. And the tightness was so tantalizing, the warmness and slickness already inviting as it was, combined with this destroyed his mind. "Fuck," she went, loudly. It was an amazing release, as he let go, his head falling into the crook of her shoulder when her head fell back, as he began to thrust upward then to remain deep inside of her. At this point, his brain being shit, his ability to process thought gone, he thrusted even harder into her now, probably a little too hard, and the point where it even took her by surprise. And slowly, like the shifting of a heavy weight, there was just ecstasy, as he now tried to muffle his own moans, those silent arrangements of curse words now becoming very audible. Paige would be scorning him for it later. The energy of the thrusts died down, until really what was only left was the smell of sex, their heavy breathing, and sweat.

Through demanding breaths, Paige spoke, "No, we definitely won't be getting you an off button."

He laughed.