Classic Rock Imagines

Tommy Shaw // Damn Yankees

Tommy Shaw: Down on the Ground
Warnings: Sex
Note: Smut

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The screams and moans for Tommy escaped your lips over and over as he shoved his face even farther into your pussy than before, sending you over the edge. You jolt, hands flying into his hair, back arched from the overstimulation.

"Holy fuck" You're covered in sweat and trying to catch your breath, but you don't have much time for that.

"I'm done with you yet."

"I could say the same thing to you."

He looks at you with a questioning look on his face. Before he realized what you meant, you pushed him back onto the bed, smashing your lips together, tongue going in and out with every sloppy, wet kiss.

You run your hands down his bare chest, pressing your weight into him, forcing a moan to eacape from his mouth. You attack the bottom of his jawline, making his back arch at the sensation.

You trailed kisses along his chest, gripping his waist before pulling yourself back up to his lips. His hair was matted to his forehead, and his hands rested on your lower back. You nustle your head into the crook of his neck.

"Ready."

He barely speaks above a whisper, "Always."

You sink down onto his size, gasping at the sensations and pleasures. Tommy lets out a sultry moan, bucking his hips into you, forcing you to scream.

You graze the inside of his neck with your teeth as you begin rocking on top of him. It didn't take long before both of you were letting out moans constantly, covered in sweat. You had managed to keep Tommy pinned down as you rode him, but he couldn't contain himself anymore. He was bucking his hips like crazy, pushing you over the edge.

You were both left in a heaping pile of sweat, lust, and love, your face resting on his shoulder. You feel the rising and falling of his chest slow down as he gains his breath back.

"I need a shower."

"So do I."