Except there's really no opportunity to dwell on that before the pressure pulls him back to panic in the here and now. Christ he's hard. "Bella--" what did he even intend to say? "This might not be a good spot to stay? You'll want to be headed to bed after all!" To sleep.
Before he finishes, Bella has traced the length of his erection with her shoe tip and let the pointy bit of her heel rest against Robert's inner thigh. It's easy, and her body still hums.
"I-- what?" She climbs to a semi-upright position.
Lucky him, her foot hasn't slid off. He remains stepped on even if the woman it's attached to is flabbergasted at the idea of abandoning things as they are.
"Well, I mean, not - not necessarily, if, that is, if you don't want to be?" Maybe it's kind of obvious she doesn't want to be done. But he also can't commit to a yes or a no. Apparently he's even having a hard time with the maybe.
Bella's not irritated with his insecurity. However, she is becoming less than patient with his vagueness and having to guess at what he means, and sits up fully to command more attention.
Her cheeks still have the ruddiness of a nice orgasm. "Ain't you coming upstairs with me? Spit it out. I'm not gonna bite."
"I, ah, suppose I could. It is awfully late, if you don't mind me staying...?" That means yes, yes he really wants to. Not just sleep in her bed, they should probably fuck in it too. Sleep after they're done. So he doesn't have to pull himself together after. That's the reason, it just doesn't necessarily have to be presented that way.
If she really likes him, it must be part of the appeal, right? That he's just so incompetent and pathetic. That consequently his other half has little experience but plently of enthusiasm.
For a moment that comes out in his kiss, between his nerves, the way she grabs him and the heat and insistence of it, his blood quite literally boils for a moment. Boils into causing a change, though it stops short of taking hold, it's enough to push Robert to take her in his arms with more strength than he should have. And it's enough that his kiss is just as strong.
Thus interrupting when Bella makes to shimmy off the table and fix her bunched skirt. He helps her forget what she was about outside of grabbing at shirt and one beefy arm.
While bigger, certainly, he's not going to break her by forgetting which half he is. She straight up sucks his tongue into her mouth and if they don't separate they are not fucking in an acceptable bed.
It's a blurred line, teetering somewhere in the middle while his body tries to figure out what it's doing. But Hyde's confidence and Bella fill his head enough to keep going. Maybe the bed was a good idea, but it isn't about to happen. Not when he grabs hold of her thigh just shy of her ass to press in closer for this sloppy makeout. He doesn't even need prompting about unbuttoning his trousers, he's too occupied to remember to be shy.
Not until he's already inside her and his chest heaves with a sort of realisation.
In fairness ... it's been many months since she let anything besides her fingers get further than the heel of her shoe. You could say her bits have dust on them from disuse.
Her lips separate from his and part in a long hiss that ends in a moan. "Hells, man." Bella's overheating and overdressed. She clamps the insides of her knees around his waist to keep him situated, frantically undoing the buttons of her black-trimmed jacket.
Even Hyde's been good, not entertaining any other women in hopes of getting back in Bella's good graces. All the more reason he'd really like to get out now. But it's still Jekyll who insists on gathering up the coat to give her a makeshift pillow. He doesn't want her head to get bonked on the table. "Oh, am I promoted from 'boy'...?"
He's sure she's joking, must be a joke, but still, "...I think I would like to hear that...what do I need to do?" Hell do anything. But haha, just a joke. Even if she meant it in more of a platonic way, affectionate but not in love, it would be nice.
Her head tilts back and to the side, eyeing him like an errant miscreant and hoping to disguise-- even in this intimacy-- the softer hesitation that speaks to the real depth of her feeling.
"What you're wanting to do." She deliberately tightens around his pleasantly warm cock. Fill 'er up, sailor.
Ah- well. He can do that, probably. He's already there so there's no turning back. It's just that he wants to look at her but it feels terribly awkward to look her in the eye while jamming his dick in her. Maybe if it were put in a more poetic way. It seems necessary to do so if he thinks of it as making love. But can you call it that on a bar table in the middle of the night?
No he should look at her cheek, that's less intimidating but it's still her face. Still her eyes in the peripherals. That makes it a little easier to suck it up and actually move his hips. But suddenly he realises it's a hell of a lot easier when he's kissing her. Then it seems a crime not to thrust into her - to maybe not be a perfect gentleman about it. Insofar as he can bring himself to be less than a perfect gentleman. They did just start fucking on a bar table out of the blue after all.
This is a lot like romancing a nervous virgin. But Robert knows how to kiss like he means it, whether his thrusts are half-hearted or not. And he's helped along by, ah, natural advantages.
Proportionate. Natural advantages.
"Ooh," she moans, smothered by his mouth. Good dog. Best dog. Here, dog. Her heels drum into his backside. More of the same, please??
It was a hefty dose of medication, and yet, that was what, twenty, thirty minutes ago? With several threats of a breakthrough... Robert's defences are down, his anxiety is up, and everything is Bella. And there's only one person in this world more interested in and hopelessly enthralled by her. Who also happens to be better equipped for dealing with situations that make Robert uncomfortable. So when it threatens again, there really isn't anything he can do to stop it, though the only thing signaling the switch is a drawn out moan, like a release of held breath.
That and his hand that finds hers to lay over top of it, lacing his fingers in. It's unnaturally strong, almost crushing, hanging on for dear life. Sure his hips and kiss are strong and insistent too, but that hand is something he really won't be made to let go of.
She has no reason to immediately spot the noise for the trigger signalling Hyde's entry, beyond what sounds like he's finally relaxing into their dinner table lovemaking. And it is that, however she deflects the question.
Bella's hand goes white-knuckled over his, like her life depends on it too, and he needs to know she would drown if he weren't there. And there, whipping her up into electric knots that try uselessly and poorly to meet the thrusting with just a table's edge beneath her ass. Between jubilant kisses and marveling at the shift in him, "God, God, like that, Robert," slips out one of his names.
Unlike another Hyde, he doesn't care to correct her, because he doesn't care what he's called. It doesn't need to be any kind of distinction from his other half. As far as he's concerned that's still him. Hyde's just a convenient term when they do need to be distinguished. But it is still distinctly Hyde's low growl that answers her, "Christ, Bella-" he's been wantingher in vain for so long it's too good to be true. He'd have settled for getting stepped on while eating her pussy t b h
Instead his enthusiasm means pushing her into the table, without nearly so much care as a moment ago when he didn't want her to hit her head. But at least he's so rough with his kisses too that it isn't about to go anywhere either. "Ah, shit--" that bunched up skirt is in his way though, blocking him from feeling her up!! So, not thinking for a moment of any consequences, he rips the waistband. Much better.
Hyde has a gravelly-- raw way of speaking that instantly lets everyone know they're dealing with the bestial half. It's been such a long while since she heard it between their bruising lips, but there can be no mistake, and Bella almost doesn't care at all that they changed places; more accurately, the caring can come later.
The pushing is fine, she enjoys that bit o' rough, the flaring pain in her spine (avoiding a smack to the head) from suddenly flattening against hard wood. What's not fine is ruining her nice things.
"Shit, yourself!" Even half-shouting in a scold and refusing the next biting kiss, her thighs flex around his hips in time with the push-pull-push of cock.
Wow no way he hasn't done anything wrong. "'Was in the way." Surely she understands. Isn't she glad to see him after so long of being good and not showing his face? It was very important that he be able to move from her hip to her tits unhindered. Even though it hasn't occurred to him to show some skin himself.
Bella's tits aren't up and leaving, but he hasn't muddied her head enough for the abuse of her clothes not to register. The next moment he shoves in balls deep is the last before she traps him by way of an iron vice made of crossed leg.
She glares, sweating and shivery and swatting their joined hands. "My favorite skirt! You dog!"
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The flat pressure he feels over the tent in his trousers is the underside of her thick-heeled shoe.
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Except there's really no opportunity to dwell on that before the pressure pulls him back to panic in the here and now. Christ he's hard. "Bella--" what did he even intend to say? "This might not be a good spot to stay? You'll want to be headed to bed after all!" To sleep.
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"I-- what?" She climbs to a semi-upright position.
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"I- don't think it's wise to stay here?" Suddenly even more difficult to get those words out with her foot on his dick.
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"So you're not-- we done?"
For real??
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Her cheeks still have the ruddiness of a nice orgasm. "Ain't you coming upstairs with me? Spit it out. I'm not gonna bite."
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"Do I mind," she says when they break, belligerent. He's such a fool in some ways and if it didn't make her heart behave just as foolishly ...
"S'pose I don't."
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For a moment that comes out in his kiss, between his nerves, the way she grabs him and the heat and insistence of it, his blood quite literally boils for a moment. Boils into causing a change, though it stops short of taking hold, it's enough to push Robert to take her in his arms with more strength than he should have. And it's enough that his kiss is just as strong.
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While bigger, certainly, he's not going to break her by forgetting which half he is. She straight up sucks his tongue into her mouth and if they don't separate they are not fucking in an acceptable bed.
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Not until he's already inside her and his chest heaves with a sort of realisation.
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Her lips separate from his and part in a long hiss that ends in a moan. "Hells, man." Bella's overheating and overdressed. She clamps the insides of her knees around his waist to keep him situated, frantically undoing the buttons of her black-trimmed jacket.
In abject relief, it drops behind her.
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While he fusses with it, her arms criss-cross in a V just below his handsomely curled head. A sculpted brow lifts. "You're halfway to 'love'."
Whoops.
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He's sure she's joking, must be a joke, but still, "...I think I would like to hear that...what do I need to do?" Hell do anything. But haha, just a joke. Even if she meant it in more of a platonic way, affectionate but not in love, it would be nice.
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"What you're wanting to do." She deliberately tightens around his pleasantly warm cock. Fill 'er up, sailor.
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No he should look at her cheek, that's less intimidating but it's still her face. Still her eyes in the peripherals. That makes it a little easier to suck it up and actually move his hips. But suddenly he realises it's a hell of a lot easier when he's kissing her. Then it seems a crime not to thrust into her - to maybe not be a perfect gentleman about it. Insofar as he can bring himself to be less than a perfect gentleman. They did just start fucking on a bar table out of the blue after all.
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Proportionate. Natural advantages.
"Ooh," she moans, smothered by his mouth. Good dog. Best dog. Here, dog. Her heels drum into his backside. More of the same, please??
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That and his hand that finds hers to lay over top of it, lacing his fingers in. It's unnaturally strong, almost crushing, hanging on for dear life. Sure his hips and kiss are strong and insistent too, but that hand is something he really won't be made to let go of.
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Bella's hand goes white-knuckled over his, like her life depends on it too, and he needs to know she would drown if he weren't there. And there, whipping her up into electric knots that try uselessly and poorly to meet the thrusting with just a table's edge beneath her ass. Between jubilant kisses and marveling at the shift in him, "God, God, like that, Robert," slips out one of his names.
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Instead his enthusiasm means pushing her into the table, without nearly so much care as a moment ago when he didn't want her to hit her head. But at least he's so rough with his kisses too that it isn't about to go anywhere either. "Ah, shit--" that bunched up skirt is in his way though, blocking him from feeling her up!! So, not thinking for a moment of any consequences, he rips the waistband. Much better.
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The pushing is fine, she enjoys that bit o' rough, the flaring pain in her spine (avoiding a smack to the head) from suddenly flattening against hard wood. What's not fine is ruining her nice things.
"Shit, yourself!" Even half-shouting in a scold and refusing the next biting kiss, her thighs flex around his hips in time with the push-pull-push of cock.
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Bella's tits aren't up and leaving, but he hasn't muddied her head enough for the abuse of her clothes not to register. The next moment he shoves in balls deep is the last before she traps him by way of an iron vice made of crossed leg.
She glares, sweating and shivery and swatting their joined hands. "My favorite skirt! You dog!"
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