Mark the loser

It was a complete accident- Jack had intended to get you up, and you had intended to go, you'd just dozed off cuddled against him for a second too long and he'd told himself just another few minutes. You looked peaceful and content, the little stress line that had developed between your brows now softened out

You deserved peace, jack thought, especially when you'd both been so exhausted lately. Not to mention the bliss that came with getting to feel eachother without having to rush.

It just so happened that in those few minutes, jack had accidentally passed out himself.

And from the very second his eyes snapped open again, he feels a sense of impeding guilt. Its silly, you tell him as much, the very moment he gets more insistant about your water intake or the way you've gotten up to pee the third time in 40 minutes. UTIs happen, isn't your first and probably wont be the last- hell you both treat at least one at work almost daily in the ER- but it's nothing a few days course of antibiotics and staying hydrated wont solve.

Which, ordinarily would fine.. If Jack didn't have the week off with you already planned.

And by Thursday, just a mere 72 hours later, Jack feels like he's going insane. Something about knowing he cant has made the sight of you pottering around the house in his T-shirts twice as difficult. Watching you cook, tidy, fucking lounge around, looking the very dictionary definition of domestic, has him aching in his pants in a way that feels like torture.

Because oh how easy it would be to bend you over the kitchen island, ingredients scattering over the marble counter tops, and fuck you from behind. To groan praise and proudness into your ears-

"s'my girl, my fucking pretty girl, wandering around like- fuck- like a dream".

"Got me deep baby.. Ahh fuck, You feel that? You feel me fucking you deep like this? Takin everythin I've got"

With your back pressed flush against the broad planes of his chest, fingers scrabbling for his like they always do when you grow close. Those digits not the only thing gripping him tight in those moments.

or fuck, to hoist you up onto the washer with that basket full of dirty laundry at his feet and lap at your perfect fucking pussy from hole to puffy clit. Tongue lewdly, wetly, flicking with vigour of a man starved. Fingers, much like when he's fucking you, this time drifting to tightly grip at his peppery curls, the curve of your mound bumping at his nose as he feasts and you writhe.

So yeah, by Friday Jack's lost count of the cold showers and preventions he's subjected himself to. Including the few frantic jerks of his fist in the bathroom as you sleep soundly in bed.

Which means, by the time he can touch you again without worry? Jack is the very definition of unrestrained. And while desperate isn't a word you'd ever really think of when it comes to describing Dr. Jack Abbot, its exactly the case when you initiate that first touch.

Your lips on his neck make him shiver, the slow, devastating grind of your pajama short covered core on his lap coaxing the most guteral moan from his chest. He lets you continue though, grinding, bouncing, despite the pleasure that licks up his spine like a drug. He doesn't even care you're both still fully clothed, too thoroughly in need of hearing those little breathy whines that drag in time with your hips just a minute longer.

And when you do shift, trying to drop between his knees on the carpet, something quite literally cracks in Jack's very being.

"N-no, cmon back up, you cant." he pants, head shaking, voice breaking, gripping your wrist tight. "I wont last baby, i wont fucking last if you put that mouth on me"

But when it comes to him getting between your thighs? Well, he's almost making himself cum in his pants rutting against the couch cushions. The fabric of his boxers sporting a growing damp patch from the way his tip drools pre.

"There she is.. There's my girl, fucking-" he groans, cutting himself off with a terribly precise, broad swipe of his tongue to your cunt. "-missed her so bad sweetheart, you have no idea"

Getting inside is made worse for him too, freckled biceps bulging near your head as he leans his weight down, the squeeze of your hole swallowing the fat head of his cock almost too much to take. Jack's slightly glassy eyes rolling, then fluttering shut, as he heaves in lungfuls of air tinted with your scent.

Fuck, have you always felt this good?

But even desperate, borderline trembling, Jack makes sure you cum first; even by a fraction. His own orgasm erupting with every rhythmic squeeze of you soaking him down to his heavy, aching balls. A noise only described as a yowl pressing against your neck when the first rope paints your walls, smaller, quieter gasps following until you can do little but leak out his load.

Except this time, after pulling out with a sigh as he watches his spend trickle down to your ass, he's twice as strict. Ensuring neither of you drift off before getting up to rehydrate and use the bathroom.