_backp0rchpoet

You are so worked up with the day’s full program that before the alarm goes off, you jolt awake of your own accord.

You fumble for the clock by your bed, heaving a deep sigh for the 15 minutes you are never going to get back.

Jonathan stirs behind you, his arms snaking over your torso under the covers, as he nuzzles his wiry beard into the crook of your shoulder, sighing heavily himself.

He adjusts to the new position, nestling his morning wood right along the valley of your buttocks, rubbing his semi against your plump cheeks — either on purpose or just subconsciously trying to get comfortable.

Whatever it is, that insignificant contact has gotten you all riled up now. You burrow your heated face deeper into the pillow, teeth worrying your bottom lip as you, ever so subtly, back yourself up to him, rutting your arse lazily against his hardening bulge.

You haven’t had sex in weeks, months even, if you care to count. Is it any wonder that you’re so easily turned on these days?

In front of you, your hand trails under your slip dress to your pussy, two fingers caressing along your folds to gather slick, before they twirl around your clit in slow, concentric circles to the rhythm of your canting hips.

Jonathan, who is very much as worked up as you are, responds to you accordingly, almost immediately. His arm tightens around your waist, drawing you flush against him — good morning, he seems to say wordlessly, as he nuzzles his nose into the back of your ear, nip-licking at that sensitive spot just below your earlobe.

Your mouth parts, hitching soft, kittenish gasps when his other hand wraps around your neck, squeezing gentle pressure at your angular jawline. Just enough to spur you on so your head falls back onto his shoulder, your fingers between your legs gathering pace.

His hips start rolling to your languid ministrations, his heavy-laden breaths growing dense, as he rubs his now rock-hard penis against your curved back. It’s delicious, feeling him like this — so visceral that you’re now jabbing your fingers into your cunt, mewling as your head swirls dizzy with the thought of his cock spreading you out and filling you up so full.

As if having read your mind, Jonathan grunts low, changing position once again — this time, flipping you over onto the bed and anchoring his heavier weight on you so agreeably you can’t do anything about it but surrender.

He looms over you, the sunlight filtering through the drawn curtains clinging to his salt-and-pepper curls all mussed. Beneath the deceptive halo, his darkened eyes dilate, watching you intently as you acquiesce to his every move. Writhing helplessly when he slides his cock along your very, very wet pussy. Sobbing impatiently as he teases your stimulated nub with his fat tip. Eyelids fluttering, mouth wide and groaning with pleasure when he shoves his entire length into your slippery hole in one smooth motion, bottoming out.

He drags his cock out of you, tediously slow — the tip settling right at the rim, before he thrusts back into you again. Once, twice, three times — knocking the breath from your lungs each time; just to get used to your heat enveloping him, just to allow you time to acclimate to the all too familiar stretch of his girth.

Then, he just — speeds up. Fucking into you in staccato brevity, rubbing abrasion along your walls. Yet not too deep — teasing stimulants in that interstitial space in your cunt, where it sets your nerve ends on fire. Touching you without even touching you there, where it aches for him so terribly.

Your fingers clench at his soft muscles, holding on for dear life; both of you huffing for each other’s next breath, as he chases after your highs like the devil is behind him — like there is no time to lose.

And, right on cue — right above your head, you hear the faucet turn on in the adjacent bathroom.

“Jesus,” you groan. “I told her not to leave the tap on when she’s bru— oooohhhh!”

You groan, when Jonathan’s thumb latches onto your clit, pressing quick, rough circles that match the shallow punches in and out of you.

Your body arches into him, whimpering — so loud that Ava can probably hear you over the running water.

Jonathan’s hand shoots up and clasps over your mouth.

“Shhhhhh…” his command jagged at his relentless pummels, and you have to bite down at his palm to muffle your cries.

That instead arouses him — his ridge catching on your fluttering folds so dreadfully it makes you gush even more, the lewd, squelching noise under the covers getting more pronounced with every pulverising hit.

He’s getting close. You can feel the urgency in his pounding as they get more resolute, and how he whimpers so pitifully — finally vocal as he noses the strap off your night dress, his moans sending shivers down your spine when he starts suckling at your breast, pebbling your nipple to a stiff peak under his wet strokes.

You are teetering on the edge yourself, teeth sinking into the slab of muscle across his shoulder, one leg curled around his thick waist, as you rut your cunt recklessly into him. The aggravating tension in your stomach twists tighter, your pussy quivering for an overdue release. It sucks his cock deeper, swallowing him whole as he pumps once, twice, three times — and cums inside of you.

You barely hear the faucet squeak off. You barely hear Ava’s tiny footsteps pad down the hallway to your room. Jonathan’s guttural groans fill your senses so completely, and his warm ejaculation fill your hole so abundantly — before they snap to an exclamatory halt when the door flings open; and he is throwing himself off you, his spunk spraying all over your stomach under the sheets as he huddles into a foetal position away from you.

You toss your arm over your eyes, heaving large gulpfuls of air where the penny hangs, too afraid to watch.

“Daddy — are you OK?” Ava’s voice edged with concern next to the bed.

You venture a peek from under your elbow to see her rearranging Jonathan’s tousled curls upon his bedhead, oblivious to her father’s hand still wrapped around his stimulated cock under the sheets — still cumming.

“Uhhhhh — not feeling too good, honey,” Jonathan croaks. “Think I got a uh — stomachache.”

You stifle your laugh at his rather ingenious effort to make it look like he is just rubbing his stomach, when he is still grinding his cock in his hand to finish up.

“But — who’s gonna drive me to school?” Ava asks, her bottom lip pouting dramatically.

You lower your arm with a sigh, smiling at the sweet child over Jonathan’s hunched form.

“Mummy will drive you to school, baby,” your voice coming out hoarser than you anticipated.

Heedless to say, your offer is enough to make her excited again. Your eyes widen when she jumps into bed, her foot missing Jonathan’s softening cock by a breath, as she leaps over him to your side of the bed.

You have to palm your hand over your crotch too to avert a potential disaster on your part.

“You sure?” Ava’s smile drops again when she’s had a closer look at you in the dimly lit bedroom.

She quirks a brow at your flushed complexion, laying the back of her small hand on your forehead; emulating the many times you did the same to her when she was feeling under the weather, or pretending to.

“You might have a fever, mummy,” she diagnoses with childlike confidence.

You shoot a sideway glance at Jonathan when you hear him smothering a chuckle into the sheets.

“Mummy’s fine,” you soothe, touching your forehead against Ava’s to prove that you are not feverish — also, because your hands are occupied for the time being.

“Can you make me blueberry pancakes too?” She mumbles quietly, fingers twirling timid spirals at a loose thread on the duvet.

“Of course, baby,” you brush your nose against hers until she giggles. “Why don’t you head on downstairs and bring out the ingredients — hmm? Mummy will be down in a sec.”

“OK!” Ava smacks a kiss on your cheek, and bounces back to Jonathan’s side for a quick peck on his face too. “Feel better, daddy!”

When her footsteps ebb down the stairway, Jonathan repositions himself next to you, cursing up at the ceiling.

“God, we’re terrible parents,” he mutters under his breath, a hand raking down his reddened face.

You snort, rolling over to kiss the round of his shoulder. Your hand slides up along his face, pulling him in for a deep, open-mouthed kiss.

You blink slowly, watching the flicker in his hooded eyes when you smear your slick-coated fingers across his beard, his hanging lips — the smell of your musky scent so pungent for the both of you to share.

“Your turn to do the laundry again, spunk boy,” you tease, already shimmying out of bed.

Before you can grasp for an escape, he flings his whole body over you, keeping you trapped under him once again.

“We’ll see about that,” he growls, his hand already slithering under the covers, thick, rough fingers bullying into your sensitive cunt without preamble.

“No, NO — Jonathan!” You rasp, your hand gripping at his working muscle with a flimsy attempt to stop him. “The door is open.”

“I’ll make it quick,” he reassures — his fingers wringing brutal, rapid squelches between your legs, his thumb on your clit strumming an amplified chord.

In a matter of seconds, a squirming heat climbs your body and breaks sweat through your pores, and you’re cursing breathlessly, brows pinched and nails scraping at the dishevelled curls at the nape of his neck.

“Mummy, come onnnnn!” Ava yells from downstairs, her voice travelling up the stairway into the bedroom.

“Just a sec, honey!” Jonathan answers on your behalf.

Then, in a lower, beastly tone that matches the mischievous glint shining in his dark eyes, a cocky grin curving his lips: “Mummy’s coming.”

He clamps his mouth over yours just as you tremble around his assaulting fingers, your drawn-out whine simmered to a stifled moan when the pressure crests in your stomach — and you’re finally squirting under the sheets, soaking through the mattress.

//

You smile, feeling comfortable even though the tension in the room is rising. Not in a bad way. Your heart races a little as you enjoy the way Jonathan looks at you, instead of pushing you away or totally ignoring what you just said.

Damn you, Jonathan thinks and scratches his chin again before covering his mouth with his hand momentarily. It's been months since he divorced Mira and he hasn't had anything serious since. Some girlfriends here and there during the separation. Nothing that felt real, nothing exciting. Then he met you. Jonathan really likes you and he's so scared of fucking things up.

Jonathan clears his throat and asks you something that's been on his mind, "How come you're still single?"

You twirl the wine in the glass and think about your answer. Interestingly, it seems as if Jonathan is fishing for knowledge about your dating life, trying to figure out if you're genuinely available or if something is going on that he's unaware of.

"Have you seen how men treat women nowadays? I don't have time for Tinder dudes or guys who think they can get in my pants after buying me a shitty cocktail," You vent a little. Jonathan is the type of guy you can have deep and honest conversations with. It feels like a safe place to vent about how much dating sucks, at least in your experience.

"Yeah, that's...not good," Jonathan agrees and for a moment he even seems concerned. "Are all of them that bad?"

You scoff and tilt your head, looking at Jonathan with a funny feeling in your chest. "The last guy I dated thought my clit was in my groin."

"What? You've gotta be kidding me." Jonathan's eyes widen in surprise as he hears that.

"I wish," You sigh and giggle, trying not to bring down the mood. It's just frustrating to have so many poor experiences. You want a man to take you and make you feel good for real, to see that it's not just a myth that sex can be mind-blowing.

"Wow," Jonathan says and adjusts his glasses, "I can see how that can make dating seem unappealing. But I assure you, not all of us are that inexperienced or unskilled," Jonathan tries to reassure you. He's confident after ten years of marriage that he can make a woman feel good. It's not that hard.

As you sit there, knees touching, he finds himself thinking about if he could make you feel good. He swallows thickly and tries to push those thoughts away yet the damage is already done. His pants feel a little bit tighter than before which he tries hard to ignore.

"Sometimes I wonder if there's something wrong with me," You confess, taking a moment to be vulnerable with Jonathan.

"What? No," Jonathan says immediately, "I'm sure there's nothing wrong with you. Some guys are just selfish and they don't care about the pleasure of their partners. That doesn't say anything about you," He comforts you and caresses your knee.

Your eyes land on his hand on your knee. It's the smallest touch yet it ignites something within you. It feels nice.

"I'm sorry for venting," You apologize and put the wine glass down on the oak coffee table. Jonathan mirrors your movement, abandoning his glass as well.

"It´s okay. We're friends, you can talk to me about anything," Jonathan smiles softly. Acting as if calling you just a friend doesn't kill him a little bit on the inside.

"I just... I wanna know what it's like to have good sex at least once in my life, you know? Is that really too much to ask for?" You sigh and lean against the sofa, allowing Jonathan's fingers to trace patterns on your thigh. His hand is very slowly hiking up your leg. You're wearing a dress today, which means that there's only a very thin layer of stockings between Jonathan's fingers and your skin.

Jonathan can't believe the words he's hearing. Sure, you guys have talked about relationships and sex before but tonight it feels different. It almost feels like the more you keep talking, the more you're encouraging Jonathan to make a move - and he's more than eager to give you what you need.

"Not at all, sex should be enjoyable," Jonathan murmurs and feels himself getting turned on. It's crazy, this power that you have over him. Jonathan wants to taste you, to touch you, to make you fall apart underneath him and beg him to stop because he's made you come so many times. He wants to be good for you.

"Maybe I just haven't experienced it with the right person yet," You smile softly and somehow find the courage to say it while looking Jonathan in the eye.

Jonathan looks right back at you. He wants to be that person for you but... you're friends. He takes a deep, shaky breath and rests his head against his palm, his other hand still caressing your leg. It's getting harder and harder to deny his feelings and the ever-growing desire for you.

"Maybe not," Jonathan shrugs and glances at your lips. They look so alluring, especially when you smile like that.

You see what he's looking at. Then the room feels a little bit smaller all of a sudden. Everything seems to fade away except for Jonathan. Something invisible seems to be pulling you closer to him, which you only realize once his face is right in front of yours.

"Can I kiss you?" Jonathan asks and cups your cheek, his thumb caressing you gently. He's a little nervous since it's been so long since he last felt like this but it's overshadowed by his excitement and genuine care for you. The last thing he wants is to overstep any boundaries.

You can't believe he asked. That this is happening. After waiting for so long and tiptoeing around each other when it comes to touching and flirting. After so many countless nights of touching yourself to the thought of him, his touch, his scent, the idea of tasting his lips and having his cock spreading you wide open...

"Please," You nod, pleading with him to not waste another second. You've waited too long for this.

That's all he needed to hear. As soon as Jonathan has your consent, he pulls your face even closer to his. Then he presses his lips on yours, softly at first. He closes his eyes and you feel his long lashes tickling your cheeks.

"Mmm," You moan into the kiss and cup his head, pulling him even closer. Jonathan responds by deepening the kiss, touching the back of your head to lock you in, taking your breath away. His other hand squeezes your leg as if he has to hold onto you or else he might be scared you'll drift away. Touching you is a way to ground himself now that he feels like he's floating from pure bliss.

As you pull apart for air, Jonathan rests his forehead against yours. His thumb is still caressing your cheek tenderly, earning another smile from you.

"Hey," You whisper and laugh quietly, feeling overjoyed. You caress his face as well, feeling just how soft his beard feels underneath your fingers.

"Hey," Jonathan responds just as quietly. This moment is tender. You've never been this close and it feels like you can see each other through new lenses, knowing that these feelings are reciprocated. A whole new world has just opened. It's big, it's exciting, it's everything you've waited for.

Jonathan pecks at your lips again, kissing you like he needs it to breathe. You kiss him back, taking it easy at first. Little pecks, tasting his lips and carefully treading your fingers through his dark curls. Jonathan doesn't want to push you too fast. He knows that you're not as experienced as him, which he doesn't mind, but he also doesn't want to spook you by being too sudden.

"Mm-" You moan into the kiss once again, feeling shivers running down your spine. You want him so bad. Jonathan tastes good, like cherry wine and peppermint gum. It feels so natural when you move onto his lap and straddle his thighs. When you do, you feel his bulge through his trousers. As soon as it presses against your skirt, it makes your stomach twist with need and desire.

"Y/N-" Jonathan whispers your name, his hands running down your sides and eventually resting on your hips. It feels so good to have you sitting on his lap, putting pressure against his bulge. It's hard to think straight. Jonathan can't believe he has you sitting on him and kissing him like this.

You smile a little and tease him by moving your hips, wanting to see him squirm beneath you. Seeing him gasp and twitch is like a drug, making you want more.

"Yeah?"

"We don't have to do anything if you don't want to," Jonathan lets you know and he holds your hand in his.

"I want to," You insist and squeeze his hand, "if you want it."

"If I want-... I want you more than you can imagine," Jonathan tells you seriously. He lets go of your hand to hold your chin gently, making you face him, "I want you. Not as a one-night thing, I really care about you."

The way Jonathan says it while looking you right in the eye, while holding you so tenderly, it feels sincere. Your heart beats a little faster. Is this what it's like to get the butterflies everyone always talks about?

"I care about you too," You let him know and lean against his touch, "I've been thinking about what it would be like to be more than friends, to be yours... it makes me so happy, so wet."

Jonathan closes his eyes, resisting a moan as you talk dirty to him. He's getting so hard that it almost hurts. His fingers dig into your hips now.

"Do you really wanna do this?" Jonathan asks again, giving you every opportunity to back out. He doesn't wanna force you into anything.

You nod, feeling a little flustered. It's really happening. There's no way you'd say no now after dreaming of this moment for so long.

"Okay," Jonathan smiles and kisses your lips, unable to get enough of you. "Let's go upstairs. I wanna make you feel good properly, in my bed, not on this couch."

Once you make it upstairs, Jonathan leads you to his bed. His bedroom is neat, smelling of clean linen and a vanilla candle he keeps on the nightstand. It's such a turn-on that he knows how to take care of his home, instead of going home to a guy who barely maintains a tiny apartment.

Jonathan helps you out of your dress, throwing it onto the armchair in the corner. Once you're in bed, he climbs on top of you.

"Mmm...Jonathan," You moan and look at him with lust-darkened eyes. He's kissing your neck, searching for that spot that makes you squirm. Once he finds it, and you squeal as the skin feels so sensitive against his lips, he smirks. Jonathan pins your wrists down and begins to kiss that spot harder, licking and nibbling the skin. His thick beard adds to the sensitivity, brushing against your skin constantly.

"Ohh!" You gasp in shock over just how sensitive it can feel. With every touch, you feel your panties getting wetter and wetter, to the point you're certain that he can smell it. Your thighs begin to tremble from anticipation, your body being awakened nerve by nerve, limb by limb.

"You're so beautiful," Jonathan tells you, allowing his hands to explore your body. His palm cups your breast, feeling you through the bra. His leg separates your legs, trousers pressed against your soft thigh and stockings. Jonathan looks down at your body, taking in the sight he's dreamt of. Everything is so much better in reality compared to his fantasies.

His praise feels sincere. His touch is so intentional and the way he looks at you like you're a priceless painting to be admired, it all leaves you feeling flustered. No one has ever looked at you like this, spent so much time actually admiring you, kissing you, wanting to make you feel good. It's overwhelming in the very best way.

"No need to be shy," Jonathan smiles, "you're gorgeous. I'm so lucky to get a chance to be with you like this," He keeps going, showering you in praise while his hand brushes over the skin of your stomach. He's barely touching you, the tiniest touch giving you goosebumps and making you squirm.

"I need you so bad, Jonathan," You mutter and pout, feeling impatient. He just smiles and dives back down to kiss your neck, peppering kisses all over you until he finds your collarbone. He nibbles your skin carefully and his own hips grind against you ever so slightly.

"You'll have me," Jonathan promises and then traces your slit through your panties, "just let me make you feel good first... there's no rush, honey."

Honey. That term of affection just melts your heart. It's more than thrilling to be close to Jonathan, to feel his fingers teasing your most sensitive area, to have him call you something more than just a friend. You gasp as he feels the wet spot on your panties, feeling a little flustered. What if he thinks you're too wet? Or if he finds you gross?

All those insecurities are washed away when Jonathan looks down between your legs and pulls your panties down. His lips part in surprise and he looks like a man who is staring down at his favourite dessert. He uses two fingers to spread your folds apart and smear your wetness around.

"Oh baby, you're so wet," Jonathan smiles happily and moves further down, eventually nestling between your thighs. He removes his glasses, placing them on the nightstand before getting comfortable.

"I can't wait to taste you," Jonathan groans, holding himself back for just a little bit longer. He doesn't just want you to be wet and ready for him. Jonathan wants you to be so aroused that you're shaking, begging for him, more than ready. He doesn't want to rush anything, to be impatient and end up hurting you. He could never hurt you.

"Please," You plead, not even sure what you're asking for. More of him, his attention, his touch. You bite your lips and look at him, taking in the sight of Jonathan between your legs, transfixed on your wet pussy and teasing those folds with his long fingers.

"So pretty," Jonathan whispers and kisses your inner thigh. His fingers don't push in yet, no. They slide up and down your slit, over your clit and all the way down to your entrance. He circles the entrance, teasing you, but not pushing in. As his fingers slide up, he adds a little pressure on the clit, but never just enough.

"Ohh," A whine escapes your lips, hips jerking up while trying to get more of him.

"Shh, good girl," Jonathan pushes you down by your hips with his free hand, keeping you from squirming too much.

"Please Jonathan," You mewls, needing him more than you thought possible.

"Please what?" Jonathan cocks his head up, his fingers still running up and down your slit, smearing your slickness around your clit. His touch makes your hips jerk from just how sensitive you're getting.

"I need you," You tell him quietly.

"How do you need me? Use your words," Jonathan encourages you. He hasn't touched you before, he needs to know what you like. He wants to know what you like so that he can please you in the best way he can. Besides, he enjoys bringing you out of your shell, getting to know you and teasing you even more.

You feel flustered, even though it's Jonathan and you trust him. Perhaps it's just because no one in the past has ever cared enough to know how you wish to be pleasured. This is new and so, so freeing.

"I... I need your mouth on me," You find the courage to admit, heart racing as you finish that sentence.

"Good," Jonathan praises you for telling him that, wanting you to feel comfortable enough to tell him what's on your mind, what turns you on and makes you feel good. "You're so good for me, you'll get what you want, baby."

Jonathan grabs your thighs, spreading your legs even more than they already are. Then he licks a stripe up your slit, getting a first taste of your sweet elixir.

"Ahh..." Your head falls back on the pillows, as his tongue feels like relief on your needy cunt. By now, your entire body is trembling from need.

"You taste so good," Jonathan grunts and closes his lips around your clit. With a tight grip around your thighs, Jonathan gets comfortable and buries his face into you. The bridge of his nose presses against you deliciously as he laps up your juices, tasting you and getting hooked on you just from the first drops. It's a taste he wants more and more of.

You gasp as he eats you out, not afraid to get his face and beard messy. Jonathan looks at you through his thick lashes, driven wild by the sight of you moaning and leaning against his pillows. Looking so damn gorgeous. Only in a bra and thigh-high stockings. It's a sight he'll never forget.

"mmm yes, feels so good," You moan and grab his curls for support. You tug at him softly, wanting him even closer. Jonathan understands the cue and he begins to lap at your sensitive clit a little harder, eliciting even sweeter moans from you.

Jonathan's hands snake up your torso, coming up to cup your chest. You arch your back, helping him to unhook your bra. Once it comes off, he wastes no time to pay attention to your tits. Jonathan moans with your clit in his mouth, so happy to grope your chest that he's been stealing glances at whenever you'd wear revealing blouses and dresses around him. He almost felt ashamed for how he had been looking at you like that but deep down he always had a feeling that you wore those tops around him on purpose. One time he noticed body glitter on your chest and it couldn't have gotten more obvious than that.

"Fuck" You moan and buck your hips up, grinding against his mouth. Jonathan squeezes your nipples and keeps licking your pussy, now pushing his tongue against your entrance. His beard is getting covered in your juices but he doesn't care right now, he's hooked on the taste of you and he wants to see you fall apart.

Jonathan is taking his sweet time just tasting you, licking your clit and sucking it while playing with your tits lazily. He wants to make sure you're soaking wet before he goes further. He circles his tongue on your clit and brings one hand down, pulling the hood of your clit up to reveal more of the sensitive bundle of nerves.

"Oh, Jonathan!" You moan, feeling a warm, electric feeling radiating from your exposed clit.

"You like that?" Jonathan asks, his voice now deepened by lust. As he pulls his face back slightly, you can see your own juices glistening on his beard and lips. It's such an erotic sight. He has never looked hotter.

"Yes baby, feels so good...please..." You whine again, wanting his warm mouth back on your needy pussy. It's hard to think or to form proper sentences when the man of your dreams is between your thighs. Jonathan is happy to oblige, closing his mouth on your clit again and shaking his head, burying it deep against your folds. Wetness is dripping out of you, running down your slit and soaking the bedspread.

Once Jonathan is certain that you're wet enough, he brings his finger to your entrance. He circles it at first, collecting your wetness on his digit. Then carefully, he presses one finger inside, not wanting to hurt you. It slides in easily with how turned on you are.

"Yes! Mmm... just like that," You smile, grinding against his finger. It's only halfway in, testing the waters. He begins to curl his finger inside you while licking and nibbling your now throbbing clit. Jonathan doesn't finger you roughly, nor does he try to push the finger deeper. He focuses on the curling motion, wanting to rub your g-spot.

You can feel how your clit and walls begin to throb, the warm feeling in the pit of your stomach growing stronger. There's this pressure building within you and every little touch brings you closer to a breaking point.

"Jonathan-" You try to warn him but the words don't come out. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you can only focus on the pleasure he's bringing you. It's perfect. He doesn't need to change the pace, doesn't need to add fingers. If he keeps going just like that, you'll be satisfied.

Jonathan recognizes the telltale signs of a woman being close to a climax. He can tell you're close when you hold your breath and your lower body tenses up. He feels pride in knowing that in minutes he's been able to bring you to this point, to make you soaking wet, when earlier you complained about not having experienced true pleasure with previous partners.

"Ohhh fuck! I'm..I'm-" The words get stuck in your throat as the orgasm overpowers you. It's like a warm blanket that falls over your body. Your pussy clenches around Jonathan's finger and thighs squeeze around his head, locking him in place which Jonathan is more than delighted by. The sight of you coming is so hot to Jonathan. His hands are trembling from being turned on, as he keeps fingering you even though you're coming and becoming extremely sensitive. He doesn't wanna stop until you push him away.

"Jonathan oh my god!" You cry out in shock, body feeling warm and tingly as pleasure fills each and every one of your cells. He keeps sucking your sensitive clit, moaning because he enjoys this so much. Jonathan pulls out his fingers and pushes his tongue into you, collecting your arousal, every last drop of it so that nothing goes to waste.

"Jonathan... ohh!" You wince, growing so sensitive that your body twitches involuntarily. Once you finally squirm too much and push his head away, Jonathan backs away with a proud grin on his face. He admires the sight of you trembling on his bed, panting and whimpering as your sweet pussy is throbbing from pure pleasure.

"Good girl," He tells you and taps your clit in a teasing manner, making you squeeze your thighs together and whine as you recover.

Jonathan sits up straight and begins to unbutton his shirt. He laughs dryly as he realizes your wetness has dribbled down his beard and neck all the way to his collar. Once his shirt comes off, he begins to unbuckle his belt.

You're still catching your breath, watching as he undresses. The sight of his undressing almost makes you come again. You see his bronze skin, all the freckles on his body that you've never seen before, and the trail of dark hair that goes from his belly button to his crotch.

"Mmm you look so hot," You purr, wanting to reach out to touch him but you're still recovering from that orgasm that left your mind feeling blank.

"You're doing so good," Jonathan tells you and pushes his pants down. Now left in only his boxers, you can see his bulge more clearly. You bite your kiss-swollen lips as you stare at it, feeling such a deep desire to pull his boxers down and suck his cock already.

Jonathan is so hard, he wants to fuck you but he also wants to take his time. He wants to make you feel amazing and then some more. To alleviate the aching boner he has, he rubs himself through his boxers a few times, moaning softly. He keeps touching himself as he looks at you sprawled over his bed like that. His lips still taste like your pussy.

Once you begin to recover from your orgasm, you feel the desire to make Jonathan feel as good as he made you feel. You try to get up on your knees, but Jonathan grabs your shoulder and keeps you down.

"Don't worry about me yet, I'm not done with you," Jonathan tells you with a smile. It's amazing how loving and kind he is while also being dominating, in a caring way. He's not at all rough or degrading, but he clearly has control in that moment. And you like it. Makes your pussy wet with desire all over again. Jonathan genuinely wants to touch you and make you feel good.

Jonathan pushes his boxers down and grabs his cock. You nearly gasp at the sight, the hunger from him ten-folding as you see pre-cum leaking from his darkened tip. He groans and jerks his cock a few times, letting it harden to a point where it's almost impossible to ignore - yet he does. It's almost like he enjoys the waiting, denying himself pleasure until he's rock hard.

Jonathan positions himself on top of you, spreading your legs with his thighs and letting his cock rest on your thigh. He bucks his hips a couple times, smearing pre-cum on your soft skin. He knows he'll have to put a condom on soon, but at least there's nothing to worry about when his dick only touches your leg.

"Oh baby, you have no idea how long I've wanted to do this," Jonathan tells you sensually while caressing your arm and shoulder. He kisses your neck gently, soothing you, helping you recover from your first orgasm. In return, you caress his back lovingly and melt in his embrace. Feeling his cock twitching against your thigh ignites yet another spark within you that you can't ignore. You wanna touch him so bad. Even though Jonathan just ate you out, you feel hesitant and even shy, unsure if you can touch him or not.

"I've wanted you for so long," The confession slips out of your mouth with ease. "Wanted to feel you inside me... to feel your lips on mine."

"Yeah?" He smiles lazily and kisses your breast, eventually biting your hardened nipple lightly, making you squirm.

"Yesss... I've been touching myself and thinking about you... just the thought of you has made me come harder than ever before," You keep confessing your dirty secrets to him.

"That's my girl," Jonathan is ecstatic to hear that. You're boosting his ego, which maybe is exactly what he needs after his previous lovers.

You moan and close your eyes, feeling pleasure from his words. Jonathan is such a good man, such a damn good man and you think he deserves the world. You want to give him the world if it means you'll get to be like this for the rest of your days. If it means he'll keep calling you his girl. What else could you want?

"Can I touch you? Please..." You ask shyly and look him in the eye.

Jonathan nearly groans at your bashful question. He likes that you're so easily flustered and so so sweet. It feels almost loving, despite it being both of your first time together and both of you feeling insanely aroused.

"Yeah, baby," Jonathan can't deny you when you look at him so sweetly. He looks down at his cock and grabs your wrist, pulling it toward him and encouraging you to touch.

You smile and bite your lip, feeling excited to touch him, at long last. Your wrap your fingers around his thick shaft and gasp softly, finally feeling how hard he is. You can't believe this is happening.

Jonathan clenches his jaw and takes a deep, shaky breath as you touch his dick. He's so sensitive because of how turned on he is right now. "Yeah, just like that..." He murmurs and caresses your hair.

His cock twitches against your palm and you hold it a little tighter. A grin spreads on your face as you collect his pre-cum against your palm and then begin to jerk him off. Slowly at first, afraid you'll hurt him.

Jonathan moans and looks down, wanting to watch your hand working on him. Then he bucks his hips against your palm, slowly but surely succumbing to his needs.

Suddenly, he licks his own fingers, getting them wet. Jonathan reaches down to your sensitive pussy and begins to rub your clit. He matches the pace you use to jerk him off, wanting you to feel good as well.

"Oh mmm..." You moan and spread your legs a little, giving him better access. Jonathan's other hand grabs your hair and he leans in to kiss you sloppily. His breathing is heavy now, panting against your lips as you touch each other, learning what you both enjoy, what makes you squirm and moan.

After teasing your clit long enough to get you ready again, Jonathan pushes his digit back into your wanton hole. This time he pushes it a little deeper, as he can feel that you're wet enough for that.

"Ohh fuck!" The moans keep pouring out as you let him touch you. When Jonathan makes you feel good, it makes you move your hand on him a little faster, squeezing slightly around his sensitive tip and around the base, feeling how his cock twitches and throbs under your touch.

"Oh baby, yeah," Jonathan moans and then pushes another finger inside you. He looks at your face when he does that, needing to see your expression, to know that you're feeling pleasure instead of pain. He caresses your face tenderly as he fingers you deep, making sure you'll be warmed up enough for his cock later.

By now, you're seeing stars. His fingers are deep in your cunt and with every move he makes, you can hear how wet you are. If you weren't so turned on, you might've been ashamed of those noises. Not now. You can only focus on your pleasure and the feeling of his fat cock in your hand. You keep bucking your hips and squeezing his erection for his cum.

Jonathan groans and seems to reach a whole new level of arousal. His eyes darken and he bites your shoulder, fucking into your caring hand desperately. More of his pre-cum oozes out, getting your hand dirty but neither of you care. He feels good and he's not hiding the fact.

Meanwhile, his thumb finds your clit and he rubs it while his index and middle finger curl against your spongy g-spot. It's almost overwhelming, how good he's making you feel. So good that when your hips squirm involuntarily, Jonathan uses his leg to pin your leg down and keep you in place.

"Oh fuck Jonathan! I..I think I'll..I'm coming again..." You cry out and bite your lip. This time the pressure in your stomach feels different, like you might squirt. You feel alarmed at the realization and try to sit up to stop him, but Jonathan keeps going.

Almost like he could read your mind, he looks you in the eye and tells you, "don't worry sweetheart. Let me make you feel good, yeah? Come for me, honey... there's nothing to be ashamed of."

That's it.

His words of encouragement is all it takes for your second orgasm to hit you like a tidal wave. Your body clenches up and for a moment, all you can see is white.

Jonathan keeps rubbing your clit hard as you come, your arousal splashing out of you as he fingers your wet hole.

"Yeah," He smiles, feeling a bit cocky as you squirt all over his fingers and bed. He doesn't care, as he can always change the sheets later. Jonathan fingers you gently and watches your pretty face as you come and twitch from the aftershocks of your orgasm.

You're so distracted by pleasure that your hand moves sloppily on his dick for a moment. Jonathan doesn't mind, as he's more than satisfied by watching you in the post-orgasmic haze. He could get used to the sight of you like this, to the sweet whining when he touches your clit even though he knows you're overstimulated and sensitive.

"How are you feeling, pretty girl?" Jonathan asks you and brushes your face, wanting you to open your eyes and look at him.

As you do, you immediately smile. The sight of Jonathan looking at you with so much care melts your heart.

"So good..." You purr and regain your composure, being able to focus on touching him again. By now, you trace the thick veins on his cock, enjoying how even a gentle touch can make him squirm.

"Yeah? You came so well, looking so gorgeous," Jonathan praises you again, which he seems to enjoy doing. He loves it when he can make you squirm with his words alone.

"It felt amazing," You whisper, still finding it hard to believe what happened but the proof is in the way you're pussy is throbbing and recovering from your second orgasm of the night.

"See? There's absolutely nothing wrong with you," Jonathan tells you more seriously, remembering your words from earlier. "You're perfect the way you are and you deserve to be satisfied properly," Jonathan continues and kisses you. His lips taste like your pussy and the realization leaves you breathless. It's dirty but somehow it turns you on even more.

"Jonathan-"

"Mmhmm?" He looks up at you and tries so hard not to lose control as you caress his dick like that. His hips buck up lazily to meet your hand.

"You're too good for me..."

"No," Jonathan shakes his head and brushes his fingers over your clit lazily, just to make you squirm. "You deserve pleasure, baby. It's the bare minimum a guy could give you."

"Mmm.." You look away, feeling a little bit shy as he keeps on sweet talking.

"Sweetheart," Jonathan continues and feels like he can't hold back for much longer, not when you're touching him like that.

"Yeah?"

"You think you're ready for me?" Jonathan asks gently, patiently. As patiently as a man can when the woman of his dreams is naked in front of him and touching his stone hard dick.

The question causes you to grin with excitement and you nod, "Yeah...I want you in me so bad."

Now it's Jonathan's turn to groan as your words bring out a much more feral side of him, something he's kept hidden for so long.

"Okay," He whispers and kisses you one more time, "let me get a condom."

It's physically difficult to pull himself away from you as he reaches for the nightstand drawer, where he keeps condoms, just in case. Even though it's been a while since he's had company, he's prepared. Jonathan grabs a condom and tears the packaging apart, his hands trembling because he's just that aroused. Then he rolls it onto his dick and gives himself a few strokes.

You can't help but admire the view, watching as he touches himself. Never before has a dick looked better to you. All you can think about now is having him buried deep inside you.

"Come here," You smile and gesture at him to come and get you.

Jonathan doesn't have to be told twice. He climbs on top of you and grabs your thighs, pushing them up slightly. Then he rubs his cock against your wet folds, teasing you a little.

"You ready for me?" He asks softly while rubbing the tip against your swollen clit.

"Please Jonathan" You pout, so needy that it almost drives you crazy. You need his dick inside you almost more than you need air at this point.

"Okay, you've got me," He coos and pushes your legs even further apart. He guides his cock to your entrance and then looks you in the eye as he pushes it in. You're so damn wet that it slides in with ease. Jonathan didn't realize he was holding his breath until he sinks into your warm, wet cunt and he gasps in pure pleasure.

"Fuck, you're so fucking wet," Jonathan grunts and slowly slides in and out of you. His strong thighs tremble with need as he holds himself back, not wanting to pound you just yet. He wants to savour the moment, the feeling of entering you for the first time, the look on your face as you finally have his dick in your sweet pussy.

His thick cock stretches you open so damn nicely, making your walls throb as he forces them further apart. It doesn't hurt, in fact you need even more of him. It's so different from your past experiences. With Jonathan, you're so wet that his thick cock just feels amazing deep inside you and you want more. Wanna feel him against your cervix.

It's hard to hold back. You wrap your legs around his body and begin to buck your hips, fucking yourself on his cock. That's all it takes for Jonathan's restraint to slip. He's not afraid of hurting you when you're fucking yourself onto his cock deeper and harder, so desperate for him. He knows that he can be a bit rougher without hurting you. The sight of you so eager for his cock is one to behold.

"Give it to me! Give your cock to me!" You cry out loudly, lost in pleasure and desire.

Jonathan can't believe his ears. He looks at you in awe as he gives into your demand. With a tight grip on your thighs, he quickens his pace. Jonathan grunts as he feels himself sinking even deeper inside you. He gets a little rough, digging his fingers into your flesh as he thrusts his length inside.

"You like that? Hm? You like having my dick in your sweet cunt huh?" Jonathan asks with a raspy voice, his curls getting messy as he thrusts into you. His tan skin is glistening with a thin layer of sweat, his lips apart as he watches his dick disappear inside you with each thrust. It's better than the damn porn films he's found himself watching lately, which he wasn't proud of.

"Yes! Yes... Yes... I need it, Jonathan!" You mewl pathetically underneath him. He's making you feel so good that you feel angry that you've missed out on this for so long. Now that you know what it feels like to be fucked good, you don't think you can ever get enough of it.

"Oh!" You yelp out as he slips out of your cunt. Jonathan smiles and smacks his cock against your clit, wanting to make you squirm and squeal. He runs it up and down your swollen folds a few times.

"You've been thinking of this haven't you?" He growls and pushes his dick back in hard, only to pull it out again, leaving you empty and throbbing around nothing.

"Mmm yes..." You nod, just wanting him back inside.

Jonathan repeats the action, sinking deep inside and pulling out, making your cunt ache as it has nothing to throb against. When he's fucking you and you're in this aroused state, his action makes your cunt stay open and he repeats it so that your hole doesn't have enough time to relax. It's torturous, but so so good.

After repeating it a few more times, you're squirming and fluttering from being so needy for him to fuck you. Jonathan slaps your clit gently, watching your reaction and then doing it again as he sees a smile on your face.

"Come on, show me how bad you've wanted this," Jonathan tells you. Now that you're this turned on and no longer as shy as earlier, he just wants to encourage you to take pleasure from him.

His words light something inside of you that you didn't know existed. With pleasure, you get up and make Jonathan lie down instead. Once he's comfortable, you climb over him and grab his cock, guiding it to your wet hole. Without hesitation, you sit down on it, letting him spear you open.

"Fuuuck!" You moan deeply and sink down on it as low as you can.

"Oh sweet-" Jonathan gasps and his deep brown eyes roll to the back of his head. He has to take a few breaths to collect himself as you begin to ride him. As your thighs straddle him and you bounce on his thick cock, you can see his abs tensing up. A smile spreads on your face as you keep going, enjoying that you're able to make Jonathan squirm like that.

Jonathan grabs your hips, guiding your movements. His head is spinning from the pleasure he feels, knowing that this is finally happening. He looks down, admiring how your pussy swallows him up so well. It's truly the sweetest sight.

As your thighs begin to burn from bounding up and down on his length, you have to collect yourself. You sit on his dick fully and grind on it, back and forth. Your clit rubs against his body as you do this, causing you moan uncontrollably. It's so damn sensitive that even the lightest touch makes you twitch and squirm.

"Good girl," Jonathan purrs and watches you, "good. Show me how much you like having me inside your pretty little pussy."

"Mmm you're so big, I can feel you so deep inside me," You moan and reach down to touch your clit. As your legs recover, you begin to ride him harder again while touching yourself. It feels so good that you don't care about the ache in your thighs, you just keep going.

Jonathan can't hold back anymore. It feels too good but the desire to dominate you is too strong. He grabs you tightly and turns you over while still inside of you.

"Oh!" You gasp and hold onto him for support. Jonathan makes sure you're in a good position, on your back, as he starts to fuck into you hard. His face is buried in the crook of your neck as he thrusts into you with desperation.

"You're so beautiful..." Jonathan grunts out sweetly while his cock is pounding into your hole, stretching you wide open.

"Ohh..." You cry out, overwhelmed by pleasure, by finally being fucked the way you've dreamt of for so long, while simultaneously being showered with compliments and praise by the sweetest man ever. Your nails dig into Jonathan's back as you hold onto him for support as he rocks your world.

Jonathan groans as his orgasm creeps closer and closer, causing his thrusts to get sloppier. He grabs your tit and starts kneading it, grunting as he feels your soft body responding so well to his touch.

"Oh Jonathan!" You moan, your senses overwhelmed as he toys with your tits roughly yet carefully. He smiles as your nipples harden under his hard touch, admiring how pretty it looks, how the added stimulation makes you moan even louder.

Jonathan then reaches down to your poor clit that has been through so much already. He laughs as you immediately squirm once his fingers make contact with the swollen bundle of nerves.

"Good girl, wanna make you feel good..." Jonathan murmurs in your eat and begins to circle his fingers over your clit sloppily. It's so sensitive and his touch, combined with his cock stretching your walls, is almost too much.

"Don't stop!" You whine and begin to tense up, knowing you'll come again if he keeps going.

And he does.

Jonathan's gaze darkens as he watches you, his goal being to make you fall apart on his cock. His thrusts become a little harder but he keeps the same pace, keeps rubbing your clit in the same direction and with the same intensity without tiring.

"Come for me, honey...I wanna see you come for me when I'm inside you," Jonathan confesses his desires and he kisses the side of your face, not caring about the fact that you're both sweaty at this point. He just wants you. Only you. Jonathan barely even notices it as a stack of books from his nightstand fall over onto the floor because the bed is shaking so much.

Your body feels all coiled up and ready to spring open. You hold your breath again, toes curling as you taste the orgasm that's just out of reach.

"Yeah, baby... come for me," Jonathan whispers in your ear.

"Oh fuck!" You cry out in response. The coil snaps. A million feelings explode inside of you, nearly knocking you out. Each and every muscle tenses up as the strongest orgasm so far ripples out of you. Jonathan smiles and keeps bucking his hips into yours, fucking you through your orgasm.

"Jonathan!" His name echoes through the bedroom as he keeps going. Your body relaxes but it's left so sensitive that now as Jonathan chases his own orgasm, he has to hug you tightly so that you won't squirm away from him. It feels dangerously good, addictive.

Jonathan grunts as his own orgasm comes closer and closer. His strong arms wrap around you, not caring about how hot it is inside or how sweaty you are. Jonathan just wants to be physically as close as possible to you as he comes.

"Oh honey..." Jonathan gasps as his eyes roll to the back of his head. He slams his hips into yours a few more times before burying himself deep inside. His body topples over yours like a weighted blanket as he comes, his cock twitching deep inside you. The condom being the only barrier keeping his load away from you.

Knowing that he has come too makes you happy. You smile tiredly and trace your fingers on his toned back, drawing patterns.

Jonathan is catching his breath, allowing himself to soften inside you for a moment. He's spent, but he couldn't be happier.

As you cuddle and silence falls over the house, everything feels perfect. Like this is how things are meant to be. Jonathan inside of you, listening to your heartbeat as both of you recover from mind-blowing orgasms.

Jonathan opens his eyes so that he can admire how pretty you look right now, fucked properly and satisfied. He caresses your chest and neck lovingly, unable to keep his hands to himself.

"How are you feeling?" He whispers, even when there's no reason to whisper. It just feels right.

You open your tired eyes and face him. A surge of affection for him fills your heart, making you feel floaty and happy.

"I feel wonderful," You reply just as softly, "what about you?"

Jonathan looks so happy and endearing. It's almost hard to believe that moments ago he fucked you into another dimension.

"I... I'm great," Jonathan confesses and runs his thumb across your lips. "I hope that was good for you."

"Good?" You almost gasp, "Jonathan, that was...that was incredible. I've genuinely never felt better."

"Good," Jonathan feels full of pride. He gives you one more kiss before pulling out, causing you to moan. He sees just how swollen and wet your pussy is, since he fucked you thoroughly. It's a hot sight, knowing that he did that.

"Come on, I'll draw us a bath," Jonathan grabs your hand gently, wanting to take care of you. The last thing he wants is for you to get sore. He bends down to kiss your knuckles. "We can cuddle as much as you want after, okay?"

"Sounds perfect."

The bathroom smells of floral bath oils and Jonathan's signature cologne. A couple candles have been lit on the counter. The water is warm as the tub fits two people, you resting on Jonathan's side, your legs entangled comfortably. Jonathan joined you in the bath after changing the sheets and opening a window, letting in fresh air, so the sounds of the washing machine going in the laundry room adds a calming background noise. It's serene.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" Jonathan asks gently while kissing the top of your head that rests on his shoulder.

"No," You promise and hug him. The water has rinsed away all the stickiness and sweat, and now your muscles can relax. It feels good.

"I really meant it," Jonathan starts a more serious conversation, "I don't want to ruin our friendship for a one night thing. I care about you. I have for a while."

Just when you thought this man couldn't get any sweeter...

"I care about you too," You confess and lift your head so you can look him in the eye. He looks so soft right now with wet curls and tired eyes. The little freckles on his nose and cheeks stand out in the bathroom lighting.

"I... I wanted to tell you for so long but I didn't know how." You continue.

Jonathan smiles tiredly and caresses your cheek. "Well the cat's out of the bag now," He chuckles, making you smile as well.

"I probably should've taken you out to dinner before this," Jonathan thinks out loud.

You just shake your head, "well we've been friends for a while. I think our hangouts and going out for coffee should count."

Jonathan listens to you and nods, relaxing a little.

"Perhaps I can take you out for dinner as my girlfriend?" Jonathan asks boldly, not wanting to waste time. Sure, it's sudden but you're both adults and... he is sure about you.

"Sounds like a deal," You answer and then squeal out of pure excitement, leaning in to kiss him. Jonathan holds onto the back of your head and kisses you back, overjoyed at the moment. His other hand rests on your hip underwater.

His girlfriend.

You can't believe your luck. Jonathan is yours and you're his. At long last.

"I'm so happy," You whisper and nearly get emotional. For a long time, it felt like men like him didn't even exist. Yet here he is. Holding you so tenderly.

"I know, me too..." Jonathan shares your contentment. There's no place he'd rather be. It feels like life is giving him a second chance.

Once you finish the bath, Jonathan gives you one of his shirts to wear for the night since you didn't pack any pajamas, as staying the night wasn't part of the original plan for the night. He has a spare toothbrush for you, so you can get ready for bed properly with him.

It feels incredible to get in bed. It's already 3AM, as time just flew by when you were in-between the sheets. Right now, the bed smells clean and feels so soft against your tired bodies. Jonathan snuggles up against you and takes a deep breath.

"I hope you remember what page you were on in your book," You tell him as you see the books you knocked over.

Jonathan just laughs and holds you tighter, "I'm sure I'll find the page again. It was worth knocking over."

As you begin to fall asleep against him, Jonathan keeps touching you, rubbing your back and ensuring you won't be sore tomorrow morning. He falls asleep thinking about what breakfast he should make for you, preferably as a surprise in bed.

--

It was so. He was to be married.

Of all the many of suitable blood, it was not one he had met.

He did not want to marry you. He could not pretend that he did. It almost angered him, that he could not have been informed sooner. It seemed everyone knew but him.

He continued to walk, down the halls, he would loop back. He would return and he would accept the information properly. No practiced nod and excusing himself. He would accept it graciously.

He angled to check his reflection in the widow. He looked fine. It was mostly inside.

He could— would marry you, and you would have his children.

As he turned around the bend, a door to the hall opened, and you stepped out. He recognized the dress, your house’s colors, before he recognized your face.

Your eyes met.

You didn’t recognize him at all.

“I believe we’re to be married.” Leto said, his voice echoing in the hall.

That was the duke?

You blinked, stepped back and bowed to one knee.

He was shorter in person. 

“Your Grace.” You addressed in reverence.

You were not well behaved. You knew it was why your father had hastened to marry you off. If the duke was displeased with you, if he informed his court, and they changed their mind after him seeing you like this, your father would be far worse than unhappy.

“Please.” He replied, holding up his hand.

You stood.

“What are you doing here?”

“My accommodations were left unattended, and I was tired of waiting for water. I did not intend to wander.” It had been the better part of an hour.

“I will let them know immediately.” Leto said. “That is not acceptable in my house.”

He looked down the hall first one way, then the other. He called out, to no response.

It was a hot day. The house appeared empty.

“Would you come with me, please.” He offered you his arm and you took it, matching gait with him down the halls till you came to a scullery.

He took a large clear pitcher and poured you a glass, holding it up.

Light shone through the window above the sink. He was not handing it to you. He was holding it for you to drink.

You have had drinks held for you, but not since you were a child on the lap of your wet nurse.

Leaning forward, you took a long sip, and then another.

It became difficult to drink at a respectable pace when you were so parched you were nearly lightheaded, but you were in front of the duke, and you acted as such.

It was in that moment you saw his nerves. His hands. The tremor was completely imperceptible from any further away. He blended it into his movement. The slight dip, half as often as a heartbeat at rest.

Something so simple, so tiny, but it salved your worries and embarrassment deeply. He was as anxious as you, in the same way.

He was just a man. A fine-looking, considerate man. You could not look at him any longer.

You wiped your mouth with a kerchief and thanked him.

“I will ensure your every need.” He said, setting the glass back on the counter.

Though you did not yet find him attractive, his words made you burn.

It would not kill you to be married to him.

A servant entered and he called them over, instructing them to attend to you.

“Excuse me, Lady, I am required elsewhere.” Was the last thing he said to you before the betrothal banquet. 

He drug his hand down your stomach.

He watched your throat, your breathing as his fingers slowly brushed you apart, then rubbed into you.

You shut your eyes to imagine he was a man you had fallen in love with and were caught in a sweet tryst with.

It didn’t work. You’d be kissing if this were a tryst, tangled in each other’s arms. You would be excited, and you would be much, much hotter.

Your slick began to gather and Leto thought of penetrating you, and it just was. Not an ardent joining, just placement. He would place himself inside of you and move until it was done.

It was not that you were unattractive, he simply knew nothing about you. Nothing that was not known by everyone. 

At the wedding he was supposed to meet your eyes, so he did. The veil helped him not think of who you were, just what you were, what you were both about to be.

With that you were his wife. With that he spilled inside of you, a stranger on your wedding night consummating in your marital bed.

He could live with you. You would have an heir to the Atreides house together. That was what mattered.

“You have failed to produce a suitable heir in over a year.”

“Sir, we are trying—” Leto was silenced at the raise of a hand. Embarrassment flickered in his jaw as it closed and nowhere else.

“You will have one born before the new year, or you will take a concubine.”

“Yes sir.” He said, leaving the room.

Produce an heir, provide a child for his bloodline, that seemed to be all he heard these days.

He did not want a concubine, even less than he had wanted you for a wife long ago now.

You were not barren, Leto was sure. You had been taking herbs and elixirs for fertility. It was something he was doing, his diet or timing, his seed had been tested before the betrothal and it was good. He would find out what it was and he would ensure a pregnancy.

You were his. He finally felt in his heart of hearts that were true. If he was needed to take another, he could, but less that he would not enjoy it, he would feel cruel and entitled; broken, guilty. Sex was no longer just obligation with you, should the mood be right, it was loving and impassioned.

You could look and talk to each other during and after. He so liked hearing you speak, embracing you. It was not every time, but since he had brought you closer you had been getting close.

Talking and residing with one another as lovers. Even if it were still awkward, on occasion, and you still felt more friends, than a married couple, it was growing. Planted and strengthening with each day, nurtured by both of you.

Your mistress called you from down the hall and you ignored her, rushing up to Leto and taking his hand.

He looked you down, clearly surprised, unsure what to say about your wet hair, slippers and untidy clothing. It was not court presentable, yet here you were, mere feet from them. Something in him enjoyed it. You were so eager to see him for something you didn’t care.

“My husband,” you nodded to him, and he nodded back with a matched expression.

“Yes?” He was just containing a laugh. 

“I am with child!” You said. You wanted to be the one to tell him first, so you had ran ahead, against better judgement and advisory.

“A child!” Leto exclaimed, relief crashing on the shores of his temper. He had not even felt the breadth of the anxiety rising in his chest until it lessened.

“Yes! Male. Seven weeks.”

At the periodic ritual bath, you mentioned you had failed to bleed for a second month, and the midwife had inspected your midsection carefully before calling for a scan. You recounted this to him and he hummed inattentively.

He was thinking of what relief it was to not have to sleep with someone new, even if it was his pick, he severely doubted he could become fond of someone now that fondness was reserved for you.

You told him in the very same hall you met face to face for the first time, that say you had been wandering.

“A boy. A son.” His thumbs found your forearms, kneading gentle circles in your flesh as he couldn’t help but gaze at your stomach, a smile filling his face.

“My son,” he breathed. “This is great news!”

Your excitement faded.

You didn’t know what you had expected.

He was happy. You had wanted him to be. But he hadn’t looked happy at you. He had been, for a moment, to see you, but then you had brashly delivered the announcement, two words, with child, and his demeanor had changed. The whole of the warmth had shifted, down to where your womb lay.

“Thank you. I will let everyone know. They will be thrilled.”

And his eyes were to yours again, but not in them. He was no longer seeing you as he had.

He squeezed your arms gently and praised you in some way again, and then he was gone, hurrying the way he came, his stride brisk, echoing.

“My wife is with child!” You heard him shout, the door down the hall left open in his haste.

Your eyes stung.

He no longer bed you, and you missed the warmth of him, the stutters of his ragged breaths as he came inside. Most nights without fail. If he touched you, he would be inside you.

More than a hundred nights.

It was a mechanism. Functionality. Duty fulfilled, a child in your belly, of course there was no need of it any longer.

You were with his child, and by accounts there were celebrations across the whole of Caladan for it.

Sickness in the evenings and mornings began, your celebrations ended with telling Leto, even with the lavish gifts and parties you couldn’t sit through due to incontinence. You did not care for any of it.

Your belly and breast swelled, your hips widened. You felt your baby, the first flutters, and even as excitement filled you, you felt hollow above the middle, as if it stopped before your heart.

“Can you tell me what is wrong?” Leto asked one night as he found and joined you in his bed. He needed no advisor to tell him you were not doing well. He had asked once before, but you had been in a state you had wanted no one’s hands on you, and as he touched your shoulder you tore into him as if he had struck you.

That was what it had felt like.

You had hated how this pregnancy had changed you emotionally. All the lessons and practice seemed to dissipate, turning you to a glass animal and every manner of thing in the house into hammers. Hammers turned on you.

You didn’t want to be pet, cajoled, complimented, if you could have your way you would spend all your day out of these walls, down the beach. That was where you wanted to be, safety be damned.

It was not just delicacy, you felt heated. Your sex was sensitive and throbbing most hours of the day the last few weeks.

Among that you thought of your child, live and active inside you, and your feelings about him changed. You thought of him as Leto had described himself, confided in you as his spouse, about his childhood.

That was a commonality between you, how you felt about the lives you were born into, how parts of you resented the rules, the duties, the responsibilities and politics. You were the Duchess Atreides. Your word was, within reason, and you had reason.

“I don’t want nurses to take him as soon as he is born.” You said, and he studied your face as you did.

“You will be allowed him, right away.” He said. You were clutching him as if they would whisk him off tomorrow.

“No, I want to decide how he is taken care of. I want to feed him myself, take care of him myself.”

He sat up fully, finding your bump under your nightgown, then your waist, pulling you closer and thumbing your cheek.

“Whatever you wish will be so. He is yours.”

You had trained and studied, he trusted you completely. Whatever you wanted.

“Is that all? You don’t look reassured.”

Your chest rose, and the feelings with it nearly shattered you. You thought you resented him and it hurt so terribly it was hard to speak. How could you resent him when he cared for you so? Because it was all for the child, the heir, his family, it was not selfless or unconditional.

You had a purpose, and now it was done, he was done with you.

“Have I been mean to you?” You asked. “Is that why you no longer want me?”

You hated it, so, so much, the way you sounded, acted, and now he did too, didn’t he?

His face darkened, as he became aware in a rush he had been neglecting you. He had been very wary of the advice given him that you would deny him and still want intercourse, contradicting your own words and actions. That sounded archaic and not of moral integrity, and was not something he wanted anywhere near your life married to him.

But he had not asked you. He had been scared to. You had never once yelled at him, and in the fear you would again he had clearly hurt you.

“I want you,” he said, honestly. “My wife, I very much want you.”

He had not meant to. He had thought he was releasing you from the expectation, the preconception. That seemed to be what you wanted, not soft words or kisses, you closed yourself off from him posturally and physically, sleeping turned from him or taking to your own quarters every night.

“Forgive me,” he laid himself to your navel, called you by your maiden name, and you shivered. You were Atreides to all.

“I was trying to make certain I did not put myself upon you, you looked detached when I laid with you the last few times.”

One of the times he must’ve gotten you pregnant. You were, you think. It is hard to remember.

“I did not want to make my pleasure your duty. Not when you had sickness and changes in you, such discomfort.” His nose brushed deep against your skin through the sheer fabric.

Your breathing became ragged. You shifted up onto your knees, pulling and pressing Leto back and feeling him through the seam of his trousers, soft. He leaned to allow you. 

You freed him and he groaned, pressing his chin to his chest. You had never touched him like this but for a brief moment, and all at once you were stroking him and he couldn’t breathe but for soft grunts.

“And my pleasure?” You said, and it made him look very drunk.

“I did not know you desired this.” His throat caught a whine unbefitting of a duke.

“I desire you.” You said.

You had not realized, truly, until it had been taken away. You desired your husband.

That was new.

You would have no trouble taking to your own chambers and pleasuring yourself until you writhed, but you wanted him.

When he told you, many months ago now, when you walked out on the balcony, of how he dreamed to be a pilot, a free, working man coming and going as he pleased, the sky embracing and whipping past him, his direction as well as his very life truly and completely in his hands, you had felt a deeper sort of endearment than you ever had for anyone.

That was a private, intimate thing. Something no one but his long dead parents knew, a few of his caregivers many years back. He gave it to you.

“Then you shall have me.” He said, taking your hands before you took everything from him at once.

Your lips connected in a kiss, one that smoldered.

He devoured you. He would not deny you another second. This was your bed as well and he could not get your clothes off quick enough in it.

He took his time to enter you, used his mouth, his beard scratching, prodding you so deeply only climax quenched the flames.

He wiped his parted lips with the back of his hand.

The baby between you was no difficulty for him, and you took him so easily he would not have been certain he were in you if not for your soaking grip on him.

“I will make myself available to you whenever I am able.” He said as he began to thrust.

“Any need I will see satisfied. Only ask.”

The bed, heavy as it was, shook and thudded against the wall. He hilted and didn’t stop, focused completely on you, a flush to his bronzed skin, glistening.

“Ask and all I am is yours.”

“Leto,” you breathed.

“Yes,” he pitched. “What is it?”

“Harder.”

The pregnancy progressed healthily.

Your middle rounded out to a heavy globe, your burden inside turning and moving, restless.

The appointment that morning went by swiftly. He was heavy. Strong. It was week thirty-four, the end of the second to last month.

You joined your husband for lunch, a rarity, and he greeted you warmly.

“May I speak to him?” Leto requested. Of you.

No one has been doing that any longer. The baby was felt and spoken to as if you were not there the moment movement could be felt from the outside.

“Yes of course.”

“My son.” His fingers brushed tenderly down the swell of him, his amniotic sac pushing your uterus up and out, barely room to hold him.

“I want you to know, as you approach your birth, that many people will say many things about you, to you. Ignore them. The only person I need you to listen to is your mother. She knows what is best for you, and until you are of speaking age you will listen to no one but her, and myself, if she so permits it.”

He smiled to you and you smiled back.

You have had more control. Your schedule, what nutrition and regimen you followed.

As the midwives become fussier you are more assured you want to raise your baby as your mother had you at the lesser house. Prioritizing and preserving his needs before any of the house’s as long as possible. No machines, instruments, no witnesses not absolutely required for authentication of legitimacy.

You would give him a quiet birth and infancy.

That night, you were awake in the throes of your first false contraction.

As instructed, you informed the head midwife immediately.

Over the course of the next month your bedchambers were converted, filled with new curtains and furniture and rugs, the walls covered in taut cloth hangings that kept sound and warmth in.

More sporadic contractions came.

You were urged to stay, the last of your duties tapering off, and brought everything you would need the moment you needed it.

It was unbearably comfortable, but it did not ease you as the date approached. You wanted to be held and touched by your husband as you laid tossing and tender. The all female midwives and servants were suffocating.

Several were recruited at the announcement of your pregnancy from your own home, but it did not much help. They were still, even months on, strangers to you. You had six whole weeks to get through before your husband could be let in to see you.

You overheard one of the younger midwives one morning telling another you looked miserable. It made you immediately self conscious. You had been taken out of sight of nearly all the court, haven’t gone anywhere in days and days, but surely you didn’t look miserable. You had handled this pregnancy well, vigilantly.

It got back to you by end of day, the head asking you what they can do to make you more comfortable.

“Leto,” you said, unthinkingly, wistful. He was all you could think about. Everything you had asked for, food, bedding, bathing, assistance, had been granted in full. But you hadn’t been allowed him.

“I want to see my husband for the night.”

“Men are not permitted.” She said. 

Of course, not men, but he was your husband.

In marriage were you not one person?

“Please. He can be an exception.”

“I’m sorry, Your Grace.”

It put you beside yourself, the pain and hormones amplifying everything inside. You felt as if you were being punished as you held back weeping.

Leto is the first Atreides male, save the ones being birthed, ever allowed in a lying-in chamber.

His eyes roved the walls, the dimly lit space soft under his freshly washed feet, and all around him as well. There was nothing that could be touched that wasn’t taffeta, cotton, or smooth, solid dark wood.

“It’s nice in here.” He said as he let his weight into the bed. “Like a womb.”

“Leto?” You pulled yourself up, and regretted it as it strained everything.

“Your Grace.” He bowed his head.

You practically tackled him.

He took it effortlessly, supporting your heavy stomach with an arm as he gently wrestled you into the bed, giggling and pressing kissing to your face.

“My wife,” he said, holding you dearly, stroking places and ways only his hands could.

“They have given me so many potions I feel as if I’m about to burst.” You said.

“You look as if you will burst at any moment.” Leto chuckled, pinning your upper half, looking at your stomach, he let you up, hand firmly around your side. His thumb stroked from under your ribcage down to your midriff.

“You look sad. You asked for me.”

You dampened with his observation and statement, he was going to come to some conclusion that wouldn’t be wholly correct.

“Are they not treating you well?” He asked, softly. “I can have them replaced for you.”

“No, it’s nothing like that.”

A contraction came and you stifled, leaning back as pain radiated down through your whole lower half. Leto took your hand.

The midwife left with you stood and you hold up a finger for them to wait, please, you were fine.

It passed.

“I’m frightened to give birth.” You huffed. “Frightened and lonely. I miss you.”

His hand around yours moved higher, up your chest to your face.

“You need not be frightened. You’re plenty strong. I’ve missed you too.”

He pressed his lips to yours, then your throat, and then your breast, hot breath against your skin, he kissed you like you would evaporate if he did not.

Your body relaxed. It felt wonderful.

For all the gentle and firm hands, none of them touched you like they were ravenous for you. No one but your husband has ever touched you like this, and as it felt an irrefutable tragedy before so it then felt joyous.

He was yours, and you were so glad he was.

For a moment you thought you wet yourself, but when you spread your thighs father and lifted your dress you saw blood in it, watered down.

Leto broke from your jaw and looked very confused at the sheets under you.

“Is that the waters?” He asked, concern creasing his forehead.

You both knew he was not ever supposed to touch your waters or menses, or you, then, until you had been bathed again, but he put his hand to it, you let him, and he held it up, fingers together, inspecting it. He picked up a towel, putting it between your thighs.

“Are they supposed to arrive yet—”

“Your Grace you must leave.” The midwife observing you was then by your side, interrupting him.

Leto looked up at her and nodded, taking his hand from your neck and shoulder. It was his last place to argue.

Before he could stand you wrapped both arms tightly around his back.

He said your name, hand over yours, attempting to pull away without forcing you but you held fast, so tight to him his breathing became shallower. He said your name again, more softly, and as the midwives continued indistinctly in the background, tears began to fill your eyes.

You had wanted to see him so badly and he was being taken away from you again, possibly for days more.

You did not want to be having this baby yet, it was too soon, things changed the moment you told him you were pregnant, and they would again the moment he was born.

“I will be back, to see the baby.” He said from behind your ear, his hand finding him between you, shifting as the last of the fluid left. “You are in the best hands. You will be taken care of.”

He whispered the last piece. “I will be back to see you. To have and hold, I will love you however you wish. However I can safely. It will not be long, I promise.”

That made the tears fall. He would be back for you, to see you.

You gradually loosened, prying your fingers from his tunic, finally letting him go, a nod assuring you of what he’d just said, and he was swept out by no less than four midwives.

“Bad luck,” the head midwife said, looking after where he had sat, to the puddle soaking the sheets, the smear on your clothes, and finally after the door Leto left from as you were lifted and the bed was stripped. “Bad, bad luck.”

It was nineteen hours.

You learned firsthand why it was called labor. By the second stage you were glad Leto wasn’t there to see you like that. Exposed, in pain. You didn’t think he would want any more children.

The room became far too stuffy, the herbal scent which had no longer been pleasant for over a week then became nauseating. And it was your favorite.

The baby lodged fully in your birth canal, visible from the outside, and you couldn’t think of much of anything but getting him out of you. It felt as if you were being split open, each contraction pushing him further down your spread wide cervix until he started to crown.

It burned, the weight of his head, and your grunts got louder. You gripped the hands in yours even tighter and bore down with the contraction, the pressure like the start of a fissure that wouldn’t erupt.

Even more sweat was wiped from your brow, the fan was helping, but you wanted a breeze, fresh air, it was so, so hot.

The head midwife was speaking but your were imagining the rocky beach, outside, the water crashing over smooth stones and mossy knolls, the cliffside, the cool waves.

Leto beside you, caressing your skin, shrugging your clothes off your shoulders and hiking your skirts up your waist, his head between your thighs on the blanket by the tidepools.

You screamed brokenly as another contraction ripped through you, with it the respite leaving, and with all your strength, breathing like the midwife told you, your baby crowned, and then surged down, head bursting out, followed quickly by shoulders, chest, an arm, another arm, and as he’s pulled by two pairs of hands, legs and feet.

You shuddered hard, the tremendous pressure gone all at once.

A baby cried, and you wondered whose it is before your head caught up with the loss of feeling. The first breaths in his lungs became high, wavering wails, like a gull, or the groan of the metal hull of a ship.

It was disorienting. You felt their hands checking your temperature and heart rate, the weight of your son for nine months, the false and true contractions for weeks and weeks, and now you felt nothing but sore. Empty. Very empty except for the placenta which delivered all at once with much, much less fanfare.

He was bathed and weighed, extra precautions taken as he is not technically premature, but most definitely early.

They showed him to you, laying back in the covers of your bed, cleaned and dried and nodding off, exhausted from the ordeal, and you told them you indeed wanted to hold him, managing with all your might to sit up.

They arranged more pillows around your body, supporting you before you even needed ask.

He had a large port wine stain, a firemark from the bottom of his left eyelid to the corner of his lip.

It was striking. It looked as if he’d been burned.

For a split second you thought that’s what it was, that the first time Leto ignited your loins with his tongue they burnt the baby’s face, you you go red hot from the neck up with shame at the prospect. You shook the thought away. 

He was just blemished. He fit in your arms and to your bare breast easily. You wanted to keep him there. He was your son. He looked like it, his features.

You would breastfeed him, and begin tracking after you healed. You did not want another one quickly. You had borne the Atreides an heir and you would rear him to studying age, until he was to be tutored.

You wanted as little stress as possible to befall those hooded eyes.

Leto looked to you first. He climbed into the bed beside you and took your face in his hand. He looked at nothing but you even as your son’s legs began to kick in both of your peripherals.

“They told me he was marked,” he said. “Like hot wine was spilled over him. Should I be concerned?” He looked between your eyes as he awaited your answer.

Your nervous breathing evened. This was a man you knew, who promised he would love your children. He had kept his word to you in all else.

It was mostly cosmetic. It may cause him trouble, later, but it was nothing the house could not make easy care of. The superstitions and gossip were just that. It was why you were alone, now, you didn’t want him to hear it.

“No,” you shook your head. “He’s your son.”

He nodded, smiling as you gave him permission, and looked down at the baby. His eyes widened.

“Oh, they did not tell me it was beautiful…!” He laughed breathily, a smile crinkling his eyes. It brought one to yours as he brought a hand to him, gently brushing back his swaddle to look over the bare skin of his chest and arm. His cord has been tied and cut. He checked it carefully, seeing for himself that he was otherwise in perfect health. The boy’s bony fingers curled over Leto’s ring as he did.

He came back up and brushed the birthmark, down his cheek and back to his ear, very gently tilting his head to the side to get a better look at the intricate patterned color of it, mirroring the one in his hair.

“He’s beautiful.” Leto said. “He is more beautiful than I could have imagined.”

He didn’t know how to say he thought he was the most beautiful baby he had ever seen.

“You did so well.” He was speaking from the heart, overfull, hardly hearing himself, so enamored.

He had thought he was prepared to meet his child. Tears were brimming his eyes, and not for the reason he thought they would.

The boy looked like you, and it delighted him to think he would be as kind, as stubborn, as graceful, as unruly and unashamed. He had thought of them as being his children, of him being their father.

But that was your child, you mothered him, and it showed in everything about him.

His eyes were pinched tightly shut to the huge open window, sunlight encapsulating how brightly Leto saw him, haloed in your arms. It was how he saw you, since that day on the balcony.

He kissed over his mottled eye, then you, feeling your smile against his lips.

“I love you.” He said softly, feeling it all through him.

He loved both of you.

Knock. Knock.

Your hand dropped to your side as you impatiently waited for a manly voice to answer from the other side of the door.

A loud exhale left your chest.

The cool air brushed your skin, flowing underneath the almost translucent slip dress that barely covered your privates. Perfectly displaying your body, emphasising all of you to the eyes of the beholder. Silky hold-ups tightly wrapped your thighs, and heels forced you to stand taller than before. You were dressed as if getting ready for bed, though with a promiscuous intent, because there was a special someone you had to seduce.

That was the crucial part of the plan—you had a responsibility to fulfill, to be strong and stand up for every woman that now relied on you. You especially had to find the strength for yourself.

Babydoll’s escape plan was nearly complete as you and the remaining girls gained a map, a lighter, and a knife. All you needed was the master key of the brothel, and, to your misfortune, now a gun.

Essentially, you imagined that Babydoll would be the one to retrieve the final objects, as she was Blue’s favourite. Instead, all of the girls decided that it was you who needed to retrieve them in one go.

Your heart was beating in your ears; you had a hard time standing on your feet. Your body shook, making you question whether this reaction was the consequence of the coldness or stress.

Naturally, you overthought this plan because you had never stood out among the other girls. You weren’t a top dancer, but neither a back-up dancer. You weren’t talented, but neither were you unskilled. You weren’t sexual, but neither were you ugly. You just weren’t special, and it kept you safe from the eyes of perverts that frequently visited the club. Surprisingly, you didn’t even have a stage name. However, it meant that you never caught Blue’s attention. You knew that he fawned over Babydoll, the star of the show. It didn’t bother you whatsoever, in fact, you were glad to be out of his view. Though now that fact proved your disadvantage.

Therefore, you couldn’t understand why you were sent to complete the task. Sure, every girl fulfilled her role in this mission, Babydoll especially, but you were nearly certain that it’d fail because of you. Blue Jones was a sensible man; the fact that he was onto you all made you nauseous. He’ll smell your anxiety and shoot you in the head.

However, the girls insisted that it was you he adored the most. You tried rationalising that fact for the love of God, as Blue had nothing to do with you. Not even once he had come to the studio to watch you dance, nor had he ordered you to bring him something, to please his clients. You didn’t even know if he truly remembered your name. Not that it was a bad thing, at least before, yet now you prayed that he’d recognise you.

You knocked on the door again, eagerly this time.

You. Had. To. Make. It. Work—

“Come in!”

Speak of the Devil.

With a painful gulp, you welcomed yourself into Blue’s office, turning down your natural glare.

Every time you had a chance to look at him, hatred coiled inside your chest. Directed at him only.

He didn’t even look up at you when you closed the door behind yourself, or at least it seemed like it, as his slim glasses covered his pupils. His attention was entirely dedicated to the papers on his desk; maybe he was calculating the finances, planning arrangements.

Nonetheless, you stood as if impaled on a pole. You knew well enough not to overstep his boundaries—you didn’t need to be punished in a crucial moment.

“Well? What do you want?” Blue rushed you while rubbing his moustache; it sounded like you disturbed him.

“Sir, I have a favour to ask,” you started, somehow managing the tremble of your voice and stepping closer.

Even the clicks of your heels didn’t bring his attention to you.

At this point, you had no doubts that your plan wouldn’t work, but you had to push through it. You prayed to every god existing in the universe to guide you through this terrible idea. Eros, especially Eros, hoping that the god of love and lust will sort this situation out for you.

“Go on,” Blue responded briefly. The frown of his brows deepened with every sound you made.

Only when your shadow fell on top of him did he raise his gaze. You found a pinch of surprise in his expression—good sign. Surely, it must have been the seductive appearance that drew him in, making him place his pen beside the scribbled papers. His eyes gave their utmost attention to the perk of your breasts, the clear outline of your practically naked body, the marvelous skin.

He licked his upper lip in thought. “Well?”

“I have this problem…” you said. Humiliating yourself, but with a purpose of luring him. You lifted your dress only slightly, revealing lace panties. “I need this problem taken care of… My fingers aren’t enough to make me cum and I just don’t know what to do with myself—”

“Come here,” Blue commanded, pulling back his chair. His breath quickened, chest rising and falling visibly while his hand patted his knee impatiently. “Sit.”

You almost managed to suppress a smile, disbelieving that he’d give in so easily. You expected a rejection, to be yelled at, or be told to please a client instead.

Without needing to hear the order coming out of his mouth for the second time, you swiftly came around his desk and seated yourself on his lap.

Immediately, Blue’s calloused hands slithered around your body, unable to contain themselves from the present that was placed right in front of him. His fingers straightened the folds of your dress, circling around every inch of your torso. Maybe he tried to suppress the shivering of his fingers as you felt light vibrations underneath his touch. It was rough, pressing down your flesh almost uncomfortably, painfully. You couldn’t possibly fathom the reaction you had so easily managed to induce.

He licked his lips, as if battling with something. “Tell me what you want me to do. I can’t hear your thoughts…”

You brushed your palms over his shoulders and down his arms, then up again, finally landing on his chest. You had to do everything in your power to make him unaware of his surroundings, so you slowly rolled your hips to create some friction against his erection, which, to your delight, already seemed to ache for an intimate touch.

Your success was astonishing so far.

You pressed yourself against his body, gliding your hands down his torso, and leaning closer.

“Sir, I want you to touch me. I want to be filled up so badly, I can’t take it anymore,” you practically moaned into his ear, hoping that he’d take the bait. “I tried stuffing my fingers inside but they’re too tiny… I need something bigger, warmer, something real. I want you, Sir, no one else. You know, I was dreaming about you the other night and I…”

“Tell me more about this dream,” he groaned, trying to contain stability in his voice.

His body shivered so badly at your touch, you could feel it, no matter how much he tried to control it and show you his disinterest. He probably wanted to grind himself into you as well, but how could a powerful man like him melt in your embrace so easily?

“I had a dream last night where you fucked me. It felt so good, I was so sad to wake up!—”

“And what did I do to you? In your dream?” he interrupted, squeezing your asscheeks roughly.

“Well I…” That simple action caught you off-guard, yet, you needed to continue the show and think of something quickly. Your hands did their best to detect where the needed objects hid. “You fucked me so roughly here, on this desk. You folded me in half. I thought I’ll pass out—”

“Did I? Really?” he breathed out against your neck, resisting to place kisses on it. You felt something damp land against the skin of your neck—it was his sweaty forehead. “And what did you do when you woke up?”

“I masturbated because I really wanted to feel you inside…” you whimpered, pulling yourself even closer, if possible, to his hot body. His cock was rubbing against your sex; surprisingly, it felt pleasant.

“Really? Oh— You poor thing,” he cooed into your ear.

“I was so scared to disturb you… I know that you’re so busy, I hope I’m not taking much of your time—”

“No.” Finally, he kissed your bare shoulder, gently pushing the straps out of his field. “Not at all, I’m more than happy to help you. I know how hard it can be; I know how all of that suppressed… Energy can hurt you. You poor thing, let me take care of you…”

You threw your head back, giving him access to kiss all over you.

Your chances rose up—something hard caught on your fingertips, right under his jacket. Your fingers gently drew around its outlines. A gun; he was hiding a gun inside an inner pocket.

Blue lavished over your neck, running his fingers over your body, and rutting against you like it hurt him. But you didn’t care.

You breathed in as your hand sneaked inside his jacket.

The kisses he had planted over your skin were desperate and wet, even passionate somehow. It made you wonder whether you truly managed to seduce him, but you didn’t overthink it as you’ve successfully managed to pull his gun out.

You carefully snuck your arms around his neck, pulling him closer into your embrace.

To him, it was a signal that he could continue, play with your body however he wished; to you, it was a way to hide the heavy pistol behind his back.

You were ready to endure his scorching touches; fortunately, your overwhelming joy numbed your senses. You didn’t feel his soft lips landing on your skin, or his rigid hands massaging your flesh, creeping past your dress. You couldn’t comprehend how his fingers caressed your breasts, giving special attention to your sensitive nipples, and how they then ran down to your hips. Sure, it felt nice, but it didn’t make you breathe louder, though your panties felt damp probably by reacting to the physical sensations.

Perhaps you were used to being touched by men you didn’t care about. You were used to men violating your flesh for pleasure; it didn’t feel any different. 

Your wrist ached from the weight forcing it down.

That’s why your mind was preoccupied by more important thoughts, for example, how you could obtain the last object: the master key—

You gasped and squeezed your eyes shut, pushing your face into Blue’s neck as something suddenly plunged inside of you.

Something drew itself in and out slowly, teasing your pussy in a slow but steady rhythm.

It nearly made you drop the gun that you held onto desperately.

You only then realised that Blue snuck two of his fingers inside, stretching you. How and when—you didn’t remember. The sly smirk plastered on his face was sadistic, but his eyes behind those slim glasses seemed interested in observing your shifting reactions.

To your disadvantage, your arms loosened their grip and fell to his shoulders.

The gun was exposed to his sight.

His fingers stopped their rhythm, though they were drawn deeply inside of you.

“What’s this all about?” he asked you quietly, yet with distinctive frustration in his voice.

“In my dream— We—” you stuttered, thinking of an immediate excuse. Subconsciously, you rolled your hips, guiding yourself on his fingers; it made you moan even in a dire moment. “We— We used it—” “Oh really? How?” He got closer to your face, searching for deceit. He didn’t blink, but didn’t show obvious distrust. In fact, he managed to conceal all of his underlying disappointment.

Even then, he breathed deeply against your face—still seemingly aroused by the course of action, maybe even more than before.

“Well…” You stared at the gun in your hand for a split second, suddenly gaining control over your body. Then you’ve generated a mimic, looking up at Blue with artificial lust as you rode his fingers proudly.

You didn’t want to point the gun at yourself, fearing that it might give him some dangerous ideas. Surely enough, you’d end up dead either way, so you tried your luck, moaning out a bit too dramatically, “I held it against your head in my dream.”

Blue stayed silent for a minute before laughing with the nastiest grin you’ve ever seen, “Oh really? Show me how.”

Luckily, you were in a creative mood, pressing the tip of the gun against his lips while licking your own. “I asked you to clean it. It’s dusty.”

Blue’s breath hitched for a second.

You mentally told yourself you were dead the second you decided to be bold.

To your surprise, you noticed his face flush in bright red, feeling his hand gripping your hip a bit tighter while the other glided the inserted fingers in and out of you again. His bulge twitched against your clit, making you almost sigh in relief.

Blue parted his lips and licked the tip of the pistol, rolling his tongue over the muzzle, front sight and other expressed brims. Then he used his mouth to suck off the slide.

The wet squelches of your sex, the provocative view, the dark beam behind those glasses; the way his two fingers rhythmically thrusted in and out of your pussy, curling in spots that you didn’t know existed, stretching the spongy walls from time to time; how his hardness caused friction against your clit made you lose your mind.

You never moaned, never threw your head back with a silent prayer for more, never felt so much pleasure from other than masturbating in utter darkness. Never did a man make you feel this good.

Not that they could’ve touched you so intimately. This was the first time when someone, besides yourself, had their fingers up in your wet hole. You never knew why you were prohibited from pleasing Blue’s clients through sex. The only thing you did endure were kisses all over you, dicks rubbing against your body. But nothing more.

Only in this moment did you realise the odd circumstances; you almost pulled the trigger on Blue as you daydreamed, and felt the unknown desires seeping deeper into your bones.

Not for a second did Blue peel his gaze away from you, staring at you intently.

You didn’t know what to make out of it: was it love or possessiveness?

“I never gave you a name,” he groaned, though it sounded like a whimper. “What should I call you?”

He pushed the leaking gun away with his cheek and feasted on your neck instead, later moving up to your ear. “What if I called you Rose? Rose Petal? Wanna know why?”

You didn’t reply, only clenching onto his shoulder desperately.

Then you whined when his fingers suddenly stopped.

You looked at him at last, pleading to continue with that sad shimmer in your eyes.

Blue pouted, cupping your cheek and rolling his thumb along your lower lip. “You need to give me a signal. Anything. I don’t know when you want me to talk! So, let me repeat myself one more time, do you wanna know why I’d call you Rose Petal?”

You nodded eagerly, trying to ride his fingers again, but it was difficult to do so.

His touch burnt you; you hated him so much for teasing you and making you beg for more. You hated him with all of your heart for who he was, and yet—why did that soft caress on your cheek feel so right? Why did he bring himself so close to your face, almost kissing your lips? Why did his eyes, that were usually filled with so much mischief, were now of a wounded animal?

You wept from joy when his fingers stretched you again, moving in and out repeatedly. You were about to drop your head on his shoulder, but his hand firmly held your lower jaw in place; his eyes caught yours. 

His voice was filled with some kind of longing, gentleness, as if he were on the verge of tears, “You are so beautiful, so delicate. Like a flower. But even more delicate… Would you believe me if I told you that I couldn’t let anyone else have you? I was so scared, so scared that those brutes would break you… You’re so fragile, so delicate, so soft. Like a petal. And what’s more sexual and symbolic than a rose? You— You— Even your pussy feels like a flower… Your folds, your insides are so soft. You smell so— Oh? Did you just clench around my fingers?”

Your body did react to his words; never had you heard Blue speak to anyone like that, though your mind had difficulty understanding him completely. You felt a knot forming in your lower abdomen, as you rode his fingers and grinded yourself against his clothed erection. With one hand you squeezed his bicep, maybe harshly, while the other pressed the tip of the gun to his temple.

A pathetic whine left your lips when he suddenly removed his fingers, stripping you out of pleasure.

However, that heartwarming moment greatly contrasted with reality when he slammed you onto his desk. That sudden force and pain made you drop his gun next to your head; you were thankful that it didn’t go off by accident.

The temporary ache in your back was quickly forgotten when Blue rose those sticky fingers to his mouth, licking them off cleanly. A tongue ran over his lips, collecting the remaining juices of your sex; now his gaze was as malicious as before. It reminded you of the passionate contempt in the depths of your heart.

And yet, you didn’t stop Blue from pulling your fragile dress over your chest, exposing your body to his hungry eyes, or from sliding off your panties.

His rough hands placed your thighs over his shoulders, folding you in half. Just like you’d described. You glanced down at him, realising that you didn’t notice when he removed his glasses, threw away his jacket, unbuttoned his shirt, or pulled down his trousers, aligning his leaking cock with your entrance.

Without a warning, Blue shoved himself inside of your pussy.

The sensation of your insides being stretched by a thick hot cock overwhelmed you, forcing out a mixture of a hiss and a moan from your throat. It felt so much different compared to his fingers. Not to mention that this angle allowed him to push himself even deeper.

He thrusted in and out of you slowly at first, teasing himself more than you. “Now, Rose Petal, the gun. Pick it up,” he ordered through clenched teeth.

Overwhelmed by the contradicting emotions, the heat and proximity, and your racing thoughts, you couldn’t understand his words, feeling how the world was spinning. Even your vision blurred.

That must have irked him, as he slammed himself into you harshly with every spelt word:

“Pick. Up. The. Gun!”

Your sensitive walls burnt from pain; your shaky hand immediately grasped the pistol beside you.

“To my head,” he commanded again. “C’mon…”

You obeyed without wasting another second, pressing the tip of the gun against his forehead.

“Good, very good,” he moaned, dragging out the ‘o’. Blue’s eyes rolled back into his skull as his hips sped up the pace. “I know that you fucking hate me. All of you do. I know how much you want me dead. You’re thinking about it, I know you do—”

You were confused, overfilled with pain and pleasure as he used your body to chase his own pleasure. Your hand shook while holding up the weapon.

“Pull the trigger,” he breathed out silently.

Your insides clenched around his cock; you were afraid that he might be testing you.

That made him upset again, as he slammed harshly with each word, gasping for air:

“I said… Pull. The. Fucking. Trigger!”

You fought back against his command at first, feeling way too scared to commit to it. However, you had no other choice as Blue decided to hit your cervix repeatedly, making you cry in pain. He was pushing you over the edge, forcing you to submit to his design.

Overwhelmed by the varying feelings, you accidentally pulled the trigger.

For a moment, you expected to hear a loud bang, for blood to splash all over your face.

But nothing happened.

There were no bullets in the magazine of the pistol.

That made you disappointed, so you pulled the trigger again and again, hoping to hear a shot. You partially wished to see him dead; you wondered whether it was truly worth risking your life to get a gun with no bullets.

Unless Babydoll had them.

That visible rage in your face, and tears of frustration in your eyes, seemed to arouse Blue, as he moaned loudly, “Disappointed, aren’t you?”

He pounded inside of you with less force—in an attempt to rub the spots that numbed both the previous pain and your hatred. To finally make love to you, to show you how well he knew your body and cared about your pleasure.

“You really wanted that gun to go off, huh? Wanted to blow my brains out, yea? Wanted to see me dead? You think I don’t know what you’re actually thinking about?”

You dropped the gun beside yourself again just to drag your nails over his back, in part upset that you couldn’t claw at his bare skin. You wanted to hurt Blue because you despised him. You wanted to tear him apart while he gave you all he had.

“You hate me so much,” he whispered, making you glare at him. “I know what you and the other girls are plotting against me. How could you leave me?.. Especially when I care about you so much! When I did my best to protect you from all of the perverts that begged me to give you up! Oh— Rose Petal, my angel, I couldn’t do it— You’d make me so much money— But how could I give you up when even I didn’t allow myself to play with you? I need you so much… You have no clue how happy your little request made me. I masturbated to that idea for so long… I don’t know how much longer I could’ve lasted without you, your body— I— I wanted you for too long. I watched you when you didn’t even know that I was beside you. When you sleep, when you eat, when you dance… Bathe… Get dressed, get ready… You are so… Perfect, so beautiful. So delicate… Oh—”

But you couldn’t handle it. Your hands slithered around his neck and squeezed it, making him yelp in surprise.

Even then, he choked out, “O-Oh, you— H-Harder… Do it— Harder— Show me how m-much you hate me!”

And you listened, obediently tightening your grip and watching him struggling in your grasp.

However, Blue neared his body towards yours and the master key dangled over your chest. It restored your faith in Eros; yet, your focus quickly shifted to Blue pressing himself against you, pushing your legs over your head and snapping his hips into your pussy ferociously.

His tongue darted out, poking your lips. You denied him at first, but essentially gave into the temptation, realising that you still needed to distract him in order to obtain the final possession.

Secretly, you wanted to feel his lips clashing against yours, to feel his tongue dancing with yours, exploring your mouth. You couldn’t help but moan into his mouth, taking all of his remaining breath.

Oh, his hands holding your thighs in place, his smell, the weight of his body crushing you, the gentle scratches of the papers behind your back, his lips on yours, the slapping skin and that deep penetration—all of it drove you mad.

Blue shook from the lack of oxygen in his body, his face turning from red to purple, but he still didn’t want to stop you from choking him.

When your blurry gaze finally focused, you saw his eyeliner running down his cheeks.

Combining the overwhelming sensations running in and around your body, the previous feeling of an approaching orgasm took over you, making you clench around his length involuntarily and cry in his embrace out loud.

“I-I love you,” he choked out against the plush of your lips, sobbing, but you still held onto his neck firmly. “So— So!..”

Then Blue let out a sound of a muffled moan or a groan, maybe even a pathetic whimper, pushing his length into you completely for the last time while your insides spasmed, making you see white.

Amid your own climax, one of your hands released his neck and searched for the master key that rested on your breasts. You quickly broke the fragile chain, securing the desired object in your palm.

At last, you enjoyed the last seconds of the intense pleasure overriding your body, and the feeling of Blue’s lips caressing your face, his cock twitching inside your desperate pussy while it milked him dry.

To enjoy the last second of passion with your cursed lover, kissing him on the lips for the last time, tasting the salty drops of sweat on his moustache.

Creating a memory for the whole eternity.

When his body gave out from the release of unspeakable pressure and crisis of oxygen, you pushed him off to the floor. Luckily, he didn’t have the strength to restrain you.

You pulled your dress down, panties up, and picked up the worthless, sticky gun. You double checked whether the master key remained in your other hand.

And you ran as much as your weak legs and high heels allowed you, slamming the door behind yourself, not even bothering to look back at the man that you both hated and lusted over at the same time.

Now your life could be better than this.

And you only prayed that your sacrifice was worth the price; though you’d secretly do it again, and again, just to feel his touch again.