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summary: another anniversary spent alone makes you spiral. jack comes home and is faced with how his neglect is ruining you.
cw: heavy angst, alcohol intoxication, vomiting, small injury (glass cut), implied depression/(brief) suicidal ideation, non-sexual nudity
wc: 2.4k
a/n: not beta-read yet, we die like, uhh, robby’s will to live
now playing: begged – Olivia Rodrigo
All that I want
Is to sit here silently
And watch movies on TV
What a shame you're not here
Here to witness my devotion
And my endless well of needs
I'm an anchor in the ocean
You know I could never leave
So I'm patient, you're learning
Pretend it's not hurting
And they say it's a virtue
To not let good love slip away
Your makeup has faded. Black mascara smudges around your lash line, having bled from tears that fell like gravity itself demanded it.
This is hardly the first anniversary you’ve spent alone. Far from it, actually.
Anniversaries, birthdays, holidays, Christmases—you name it. There is a story to be told about each one of them, a story of how you sat on the couch, nursing a glass of wine while waiting for Jack.
If he wasn’t saving lives in the ER, he was risking his own. It doesn’t matter that you’ve knelt in front of him, the hardwood cool and unforgiving, as you pleaded for him to take a day off. Just one.
There is always something. A colleague who has children and needs that day to take them to Disneyland. Or a patient who only trusts him. A shift he just has to cover.
You’ve heard nearly every excuse possible and smiled like it didn’t matter, like you didn’t matter, because maybe you didn’t.
When you and Jack first started dating, he warned you that surgeons are the worst kinds of doctors to date because of their pretentiousness. He seemed to have forgotten to mention that ER doctors came in second on that list.
It wasn’t the desire for fame or hubris that made Jack so careless about your feelings. It was his devotion to everyone but you.
Sure, he’d kiss you and make you feel special—on a day when he could afford it. When he wasn’t chasing the high of being needed by strangers who’d maybe not even remember his name once he had saved them.
You know the placement of every freckle on his body, and still, it doesn’t change anything.
The third glass of wine doesn’t taste as bitter as the first. You don’t particularly like this brand or year or anything about it—you just know that Jack had bought it for today, back when he was still telling himself that he’d be home to celebrate with you.
As the cap of the bottle dances between your fingers, the metal now warm from your body heat, you glance at the clock.
Three hours and twelve minutes.
God, you’re a fucking loser.
Maybe it would be a different story if you were married. Maybe you could forgive yourself for your desperation, your constant attempts to convince yourself you mattered to him as much as he mattered to you. If there were a little bit of proof of his commitment, you’d be able to look into the mirror without feeling sick with shame.
But there is no ring on your finger or the promise that one will come one day. Jack doesn’t want to get married again. He says you two don’t need that.
Three hours, thirteen minutes.
You slosh the wine in your mouth while the darkest of thoughts creep in. It’s just a little fantasy you’ve curated and perfected over the years, and it’s an insane one, but you love to lose yourself in it every now and then.
Jack comes home. The house is quiet. Too quiet. Goosebumps creep up his arms and neck as he calls out your name. When no answer comes, he runs up the stairs and finds the bathroom door ajar. Light seeps out under it, along with a small pool of water tainted light pink.
Fine. You’re a little melodramatic. Maybe Jack’s neglect has driven you to regress into your teenage self who also fantasized about this whenever her dad yelled at her.
Once the fourth hour starts, the wine bottle is empty, and you’re so drunk it feels like time has stopped. The tears certainly have. They’ve been replaced by this hollow laugh that echoes through the house while you watch the trashiest TV show you could find.
While the alcohol courses through your veins, your eyes zero in on the women’s lip and cheek fillers. It stands out to you like black ink on white paper.
You wish Jack would’ve been a plastic surgeon instead. You wouldn’t care that he sees women’s naked breasts and gives BBLs on a daily basis if that meant that he was home in time for dinner.
Once you stand up to get a new bottle, you feel all the blood rushing to your head. Your legs are unsteady, and your forehead and nose feel so heavy, like they’re pulling you forward.
You find out just how firm the fridge is when you knock against it.
It’s not like you feel it anyway.
The next bottle of wine is closed with a cork stopper. You’ve seen Jack open this kind of bottle with that metal apparatus that looks like you could find it in a gynecologist’s office. You have no idea how to use it. So you take a knife and start hacking away. You only miss your fingers by pure, dumb luck.
That luck runs out when you try to pop out the cork stopper by hitting the bottom of the wine against the kitchen counter.
What used to be the bottle is now a bunch of shards and a cold, wet feeling seeping through your socks.
You laugh hysterically and drop to your knees, not half as careful as you should be. Something pierces your big toe, but you don’t care.
The front door opens. Jack steps inside. And his eyes widen. If anything, Jack has always had one hell of a timing.
You’re a fucking mess.
“Jackie,” you slur.
You try to get up, but your muscles protest.
“Jesus, what the fuck?” he hisses.
He is by your side in an instant, stepping over the glass carefully. It crunches underneath his boots when he picks you up by your underarms and puts you down on the counter.
“Baby, what the fuck happened?”
You giggle. You fucking love it when he calls you baby.
“Oopsie,” you whisper.
Jack stares at you with disbelief. His fingers catch your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his.
For a second, his mouth opens, and you await the lecture that never comes. Instead, his eyes dart over your face, taking it all in—the smeared makeup, the heat radiating from your cheeks, the glassy, far-away look.
“Are you drunk?” he asks, his voice trembling slightly.
You try to bite back a smile as you reply, “As a skunk.”
He lets go of your chin and takes a step back, running a hand through his hair.
You let yourself slide off the counter, trying to close the distance again.
“Stop,” Jack yells.
His arm snaps forward, pushing you back. For a moment, you stumble. Your back hits the counter, and you look up at Jack with a hurt expression. Then your eyes follow his, and you realize that you almost stepped into the glass. A stupid smile spreads over your face.
Jack’s expression falls.
“Hey,” he says sharply. “What the fuck is wrong with you? What are you doing, huh?”
He grabs you by your biceps and pulls you away from the sharp mess on the floor. You only feel the closeness as his fingers dig into your skin.
“I missed you today,” you murmur dreamily.
Even to you, your own voice sounds far away. Or maybe only to you? You can’t tell.
Jack stares at you, his eyes searching for something. Anything.
“Talk to me,” he demands. “What is going on? Why are you wasted on a fucking Thursday?”
Oh, that one blows.
On a Thursday. Yes, a random Thursday.
You giggle so hard your throat hurts.
“You’re never gonna believe this, but—” As you pause dramatically, Jack’s eyebrow twitches, “—it’s kinda an important Thursday. Like… really important.”
It’s almost visible how the wheels in Jack’s head start turning. They spark, creak, and squeak as he searches for the answer that’s written all over your face in the runny mascara and that look bordering on insanity.
His face falls when the wheels come to a stop.
“Fuck,” he whispers.
As his eyes dart to the calendar pinned to the fridge, you feel your stomach turning.
“Yeah,” you say.
Your mouth feels dry now, and nothing’s quite as funny anymore.
Jack looks at you, but you don’t meet his eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
You believe him. That’s the worst part. But it doesn’t matter how sorry he is, because you’re sorrier. To the little girl you once were who thought she’d be happier than her parents ever got to be.
You shift your weight and wince softly.
Jack’s eyes widen.
“Are you hurt?” he asks.
His voice comes out rough.
“No,” you murmur.
Jack pats you down anyway, his hands searching alongside his eyes as he inspects your legs. At the end, he finds a small shard of glass stuck in your big toe.
You're holding onto Jack’s head as he looks at your foot. His ears have grown red.
“You are hurt,” he mumbles. “I—Lemme…”
Torn between another apology and his worry, Jack picks you up. His arms slide under your back and your knees. The room tilts dangerously—you had almost forgotten that the contents of an entire wine bottle were coursing through your veins.
“Rollercoaster,” you whisper.
He shushes you as he carries you to the upstairs bathroom where you keep the first aid kit.
The bright, white light flickers to life and hurts your eyes, making you groan. Jack only glances at you with more concern before he sets you down on the bathroom counter.
“Hold still,” he instructs.
His arms keep you in place for a few seconds, like he is trying to show your body how to keep balance.
“Don’t fall, please,” he adds, a little gentler.
Then he crouches down, grunting a little as his knee pops. Somewhere through the haze of the wine, you remember that he just worked for sixteen hours. But then again, it’s your anniversary, and your empathy for his exhaustion is outweighed by your own misery. By far.
He finds the first aid kit and takes a pair of tweezers before he catches your foot with his other hand.
“It’s not too deep,” he says quietly. “Maybe that’s why you didn’t feel it until you moved.”
Yeah, you think to yourself, that’s definitely why.
“Spoken like the doctor you are,” you answer.
Jack looks up at you for a second, his lips pressed together. He murmurs something you don’t quite catch and then pulls out the shard.
You gasp as the pain shoots from your toe to your knee and pulls up high into your hip.
“Ow, what the—?” you hiss.
Jack keeps your leg still and rubs your shin slightly.
“Sorry,” he mumbles.
“Not for that.”
The air in the room grows cold.
Jack straightens up, and his knee pops again.
“I’m sorry for today, too,” he begins.
He doesn’t get very far because you immediately hold up your hand.
“No,” you bite out sharply.
For a few seconds, you just sit on the counter, your legs swinging slightly. Jack watches, fumbling with his fingers as he searches your face.
“Can I clean your cut, please?” he asks.
You shake your head vehemently.
“It could get infected if I don’t,” he retorts.
You open your mouth to argue, but the words don’t come out. Instead, a wave of nausea hits you.
“’m gonna be sick,” you mumble.
Jack’s eyes widen before his hands land on your waist.
He half-carries, half-drags you to the toilet and makes it just in time as the wine comes back up, tasting ten times as bad as it did when it went down.
“Shit, baby,” Jack curses.
He gathers as much of your hair as he can save and rubs your back as you throw up once, then twice.
It’s all liquid, too, because you haven’t eaten in a few hours—you were planning on having a big dinner with your boyfriend after all, as one does on their anniversary.
As your stomach cramps, you think about the muffins that you ordered, lemon batter and raspberry icing.
The third time your tummy revolts, it’s just dry-heaving.
Spit dribbles down your chin, and your hands tremble. You’re somehow sweating and shaking simultaneously. Jack whispers and shushes, but you don’t want his comfort. You want to keep drinking until you pass out.
“Leave me alone,” you murmur, your hands flailing weakly.
“And let you knock yourself unconscious? No, thank you,” he replies. “You’re so fucking drunk, you’re lucky you haven’t given yourself alcohol poisoning.”
It’s clear he’s aiming for dry and sarcastic, but you hear the fear in his voice.
“Get out,” you rasp.
Your throat might as well be on fire.
“No,” he snaps.
“You don’t care if I crack my head open,” you accuse.
His grip on your arm tightens.
“Hey,” he says sharply, “That’s not true. I care very much.”
You groan and rest your chin on the toilet seat as your head begins to spin again.
“Then why are you never here?”
The silence that follows is only broken by your renewed retching.
Once you’ve emptied your stomach, Jack leaves you by yourself on the bathroom tiles for a few seconds. His eyes keep flickering back to you as he turns on the shower, testing its warmth with the tips of his fingers.
He returns to your side and flushes the toilet for you.
“Can you stand?” he asks.
You’re surprised at just how soft his voice is.
You shake your head. He doesn’t sigh.
Instead, he nods quietly and maneuvers you against the wall.
“Put your arms up, baby,” he instructs quietly.
Piece by piece, he removes your clothes. You feel how his fingers tremble as he unhooks the clasps of your new bra, all black lace and clearly bought for today.
Once you’re down to nothing, he starts undressing, too. He leans his prosthetic against the wall and then manages to get both of you in the shower.
The tiles are cold underneath you, but the warm spray from above keeps you quiet. Jack doesn’t say anything as he sits next to you, his grey curls slowly growing darker as the water hits. He doesn’t reach for you either, but his knee presses against yours.
“You love me?” you whisper.
Jack braces next to you. You feel the tension travel up from where his leg touches yours.
“I do,” he murmurs.
You swallow hard.
“Then why do you never choose me?”
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cw: f!reader, smut (mdni), like… watersports but tame (?), my first time dabbling with that, it’s really more bladder control, I guess? correct me if I’m wrong, daddy kink, forced orgasm (again, kinda?)
Jack can be so mean. So mean.
Whenever his fat cock is bullying your cervix, your slick walls molded to his shape, you always feel the pressure on your bladder with every thrust.
Today, he’s already drawn three or four orgasms from you, and your cunt feels raw. So sensitive that every pass of his fingers over your clit sets your nerves aflame and your hips buck wildly.
“Jack,” you gasp.
All you get in reply is him shushing you.
“Take it, baby,” he grunts, “you’re doing so good. Just take Daddy’s cock.”
One of his arms is planted next to your head, where he stabilizes himself. The thick cords of muscles work every time he rolls his hips towards yours. You’re so boneless by now that your head has lolled to the side, your eyes transfixed on his forearm. If you had a little more strength left in you, you’d bite down hard on the sun-kissed flesh just to have something of him between your teeth.
You’re ripped out of that daydream when Jack’s other hand suddenly presses down on your stomach. He only means to feel himself—the way his cock slides into you and slightly distends the ceiling of your lower tummy. But he presses a little too hard, too deep, and you squeal with surprise when you feel the pressure in your pelvic area.
Jack stops immediately, his brows knitting together.
“What? You okay, baby? Am I hurting you?” he asks hurriedly.
You feel your face heating up (even more) as you shake your head.
“No,” you stammer, “I… that… you’re gonna make me… that makes me feel like I have to pee.”
You can almost see how the information enters Jack’s ears and travels up to his brain, where it sits for a second before his eyes light up.
“Yeah?”
He grins and resumes his thrusts, his hand remaining on your tummy. He doesn’t push down yet.
The level of smugness on his face should be studied.
The heat between you rebuilds after the brief interruption, and you almost forget what had been one of the most embarrassing moments ever to you.
But to Jack? That was information worth millions.
He kisses your neck and hikes up one of your legs to aim even deeper into you, then watches your face. With your eyes closed, you don’t notice just how intensely he examines every micro-expression you make, including the light twitch of your brows when he goes particularly deep.
His palm is warm against your belly, grounding you—until it doesn’t.
Jack smirks as you squeal again while his hand presses down right above your pubic bone.
“Ja-ack,” you gasp, “stop it.”
He shakes his head and fucks into you deeper as he keeps up the pressure on your bladder.
“Just let go, baby,” he instructs, “c’mon. Make a mess for me.”
You shake your head, your face now uncomfortably hot.
“No, Jackie, please,” you beg.
Your plea falls on deaf ears.
He holds you down with that hand on your belly and keeps aiming his tip right at your G-spot. Your thighs tremble as you whimper.
“J-Jack, please,” you try again.
“That’s not your word, sweetheart,” he reminds you. “C’mon, trust me. Make a mess on Daddy’s cock.”
You whine and beg, torn between chasing the pleasure growing in your core and saving yourself from a huge embarrassment.
In the end, it’s not like you have a choice. Jack’s rhythm leaves you no other option but to cum, and the second he hears that high-pitched moan spill from your lips, he intensifies how hard he pushes down on your tummy.
When you cum, your juices spray everywhere. Jack watches with amazement, not quite letting up as you soak his cock and sheets, your wetness dripping everywhere. He twitches inside you as you keep squirting with every roll of his hips until you’re empty.
“Fuck, baby, that- that was amazing,” he rasps. “Can you do that again?”
cw: f!reader, mdni, smut, belly bulge, jack is a little shit
You’d like to smack the stupid smirk from Jack’s face when he bottoms out inside of you, but he’s got your wrists pinned to your back. The raw force of his hips meeting yours forces a whimper out of you, making him chuckle.
“You okay there, princess?” he asks.
Just as you’re about to answer in a tone he probably wouldn’t like, he pulls out a few inches and thrusts back into you so hard that the whole bed shakes. Your entire face is mushed into the mattress, which just so barely muffles your surprised shriek.
“Fuck, Jack,” you gasp.
His thick cock pulses inside of you as you clench around him as if you’re trying to suck him in deeper.
“Hm?” he hums innocently.
With one hand, he keeps hold of your wrists while the other rests on your hip. His thumb smooths over the delicate skin of your lower back, but you barely register the sweet gesture as he thrusts forward again, pushing your face deeper into the pillows.
A whine falls from your lips, which Jack shushes immediately.
“Aww, poor baby,” he coos. His voice is soft and sweet as honey, dripping with faux concern.
He tugs at your wrists, practically forcing you into a more upright position. With your back almost pressed against his chest, you wobble slightly, but Jack’s got you. His free arm wraps around your tummy, keeping you upright.
“There you go, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his breath tickling the shell of your ear. “You can take it, can’t you?”
He fucks up into you, the thick head of him aiming at your G-spot so hard that you think you’ll bruise. Sweat drips down your back, and your breathless, high-pitched moans fill the room.
His hand on your belly moves lower and presses down against the distended shape of his cock.
“Ja-ack,” you gasp, the one-syllable word disrupted by a particularly rough roll of his hips.
“Uh-uh, baby, it’s okay. You like this, I promise.”
cw: f!reader, mdni, smut, belly bulge, jack is a little shit
You’d like to smack the stupid smirk from Jack’s face when he bottoms out inside of you, but he’s got your wrists pinned to your back. The raw force of his hips meeting yours forces a whimper out of you, making him chuckle.
“You okay there, princess?” he asks.
Just as you’re about to answer in a tone he probably wouldn’t like, he pulls out a few inches and thrusts back into you so hard that the whole bed shakes. Your entire face is mushed into the mattress, which just so barely muffles your surprised shriek.
“Fuck, Jack,” you gasp.
His thick cock pulses inside of you as you clench around him as if you’re trying to suck him in deeper.
“Hm?” he hums innocently.
With one hand, he keeps hold of your wrists while the other rests on your hip. His thumb smooths over the delicate skin of your lower back, but you barely register the sweet gesture as he thrusts forward again, pushing your face deeper into the pillows.
A whine falls from your lips, which Jack shushes immediately.
“Aww, poor baby,” he coos. His voice is soft and sweet as honey, dripping with faux concern.
He tugs at your wrists, practically forcing you into a more upright position. With your back almost pressed against his chest, you wobble slightly, but Jack’s got you. His free arm wraps around your tummy, keeping you upright.
“There you go, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his breath tickling the shell of your ear. “You can take it, can’t you?”
He fucks up into you, the thick head of him aiming at your G-spot so hard that you think you’ll bruise. Sweat drips down your back, and your breathless, high-pitched moans fill the room.
His hand on your belly moves lower and presses down against the distended shape of his cock.
“Ja-ack,” you gasp, the one-syllable word disrupted by a particularly rough roll of his hips.
“Uh-uh, baby, it’s okay. You like this, I promise.”
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
cw: f!reader, mdni, smut, belly bulge, jack is a little shit
You’d like to smack the stupid smirk from Jack’s face when he bottoms out inside of you, but he’s got your wrists pinned to your back. The raw force of his hips meeting yours forces a whimper out of you, making him chuckle.
“You okay there, princess?” he asks.
Just as you’re about to answer in a tone he probably wouldn’t like, he pulls out a few inches and thrusts back into you so hard that the whole bed shakes. Your entire face is mushed into the mattress, which just so barely muffles your surprised shriek.
“Fuck, Jack,” you gasp.
His thick cock pulses inside of you as you clench around him as if you’re trying to suck him in deeper.
“Hm?” he hums innocently.
With one hand, he keeps hold of your wrists while the other rests on your hip. His thumb smooths over the delicate skin of your lower back, but you barely register the sweet gesture as he thrusts forward again, pushing your face deeper into the pillows.
A whine falls from your lips, which Jack shushes immediately.
“Aww, poor baby,” he coos. His voice is soft and sweet as honey, dripping with faux concern.
He tugs at your wrists, practically forcing you into a more upright position. With your back almost pressed against his chest, you wobble slightly, but Jack’s got you. His free arm wraps around your tummy, keeping you upright.
“There you go, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his breath tickling the shell of your ear. “You can take it, can’t you?”
He fucks up into you, the thick head of him aiming at your G-spot so hard that you think you’ll bruise. Sweat drips down your back, and your breathless, high-pitched moans fill the room.
His hand on your belly moves lower and presses down against the distended shape of his cock.
“Ja-ack,” you gasp, the one-syllable word disrupted by a particularly rough roll of his hips.
“Uh-uh, baby, it’s okay. You like this, I promise.”
cw: f!reader, mdni, smut, belly bulge, jack is a little shit
You’d like to smack the stupid smirk from Jack’s face when he bottoms out inside of you, but he’s got your wrists pinned to your back. The raw force of his hips meeting yours forces a whimper out of you, making him chuckle.
“You okay there, princess?” he asks.
Just as you’re about to answer in a tone he probably wouldn’t like, he pulls out a few inches and thrusts back into you so hard that the whole bed shakes. Your entire face is mushed into the mattress, which just so barely muffles your surprised shriek.
“Fuck, Jack,” you gasp.
His thick cock pulses inside of you as you clench around him as if you’re trying to suck him in deeper.
“Hm?” he hums innocently.
With one hand, he keeps hold of your wrists while the other rests on your hip. His thumb smooths over the delicate skin of your lower back, but you barely register the sweet gesture as he thrusts forward again, pushing your face deeper into the pillows.
A whine falls from your lips, which Jack shushes immediately.
“Aww, poor baby,” he coos. His voice is soft and sweet as honey, dripping with faux concern.
He tugs at your wrists, practically forcing you into a more upright position. With your back almost pressed against his chest, you wobble slightly, but Jack’s got you. His free arm wraps around your tummy, keeping you upright.
“There you go, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his breath tickling the shell of your ear. “You can take it, can’t you?”
He fucks up into you, the thick head of him aiming at your G-spot so hard that you think you’ll bruise. Sweat drips down your back, and your breathless, high-pitched moans fill the room.
His hand on your belly moves lower and presses down against the distended shape of his cock.
“Ja-ack,” you gasp, the one-syllable word disrupted by a particularly rough roll of his hips.
“Uh-uh, baby, it’s okay. You like this, I promise.”
cw: f!reader, mdni, smut, belly bulge, jack is a little shit
You’d like to smack the stupid smirk from Jack’s face when he bottoms out inside of you, but he’s got your wrists pinned to your back. The raw force of his hips meeting yours forces a whimper out of you, making him chuckle.
“You okay there, princess?” he asks.
Just as you’re about to answer in a tone he probably wouldn’t like, he pulls out a few inches and thrusts back into you so hard that the whole bed shakes. Your entire face is mushed into the mattress, which just so barely muffles your surprised shriek.
“Fuck, Jack,” you gasp.
His thick cock pulses inside of you as you clench around him as if you’re trying to suck him in deeper.
“Hm?” he hums innocently.
With one hand, he keeps hold of your wrists while the other rests on your hip. His thumb smooths over the delicate skin of your lower back, but you barely register the sweet gesture as he thrusts forward again, pushing your face deeper into the pillows.
A whine falls from your lips, which Jack shushes immediately.
“Aww, poor baby,” he coos. His voice is soft and sweet as honey, dripping with faux concern.
He tugs at your wrists, practically forcing you into a more upright position. With your back almost pressed against his chest, you wobble slightly, but Jack’s got you. His free arm wraps around your tummy, keeping you upright.
“There you go, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his breath tickling the shell of your ear. “You can take it, can’t you?”
He fucks up into you, the thick head of him aiming at your G-spot so hard that you think you’ll bruise. Sweat drips down your back, and your breathless, high-pitched moans fill the room.
His hand on your belly moves lower and presses down against the distended shape of his cock.
“Ja-ack,” you gasp, the one-syllable word disrupted by a particularly rough roll of his hips.
“Uh-uh, baby, it’s okay. You like this, I promise.”
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
cw: f!reader, mdni, smut, belly bulge, jack is a little shit
You’d like to smack the stupid smirk from Jack’s face when he bottoms out inside of you, but he’s got your wrists pinned to your back. The raw force of his hips meeting yours forces a whimper out of you, making him chuckle.
“You okay there, princess?” he asks.
Just as you’re about to answer in a tone he probably wouldn’t like, he pulls out a few inches and thrusts back into you so hard that the whole bed shakes. Your entire face is mushed into the mattress, which just so barely muffles your surprised shriek.
“Fuck, Jack,” you gasp.
His thick cock pulses inside of you as you clench around him as if you’re trying to suck him in deeper.
“Hm?” he hums innocently.
With one hand, he keeps hold of your wrists while the other rests on your hip. His thumb smooths over the delicate skin of your lower back, but you barely register the sweet gesture as he thrusts forward again, pushing your face deeper into the pillows.
A whine falls from your lips, which Jack shushes immediately.
“Aww, poor baby,” he coos. His voice is soft and sweet as honey, dripping with faux concern.
He tugs at your wrists, practically forcing you into a more upright position. With your back almost pressed against his chest, you wobble slightly, but Jack’s got you. His free arm wraps around your tummy, keeping you upright.
“There you go, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his breath tickling the shell of your ear. “You can take it, can’t you?”
He fucks up into you, the thick head of him aiming at your G-spot so hard that you think you’ll bruise. Sweat drips down your back, and your breathless, high-pitched moans fill the room.
His hand on your belly moves lower and presses down against the distended shape of his cock.
“Ja-ack,” you gasp, the one-syllable word disrupted by a particularly rough roll of his hips.
“Uh-uh, baby, it’s okay. You like this, I promise.”
