On my knees

He dawns a quick kiss to your forehead. You half smile as he starts to walk out the door. 

It’s not important. Carmen’s job is much more major than your little outfit check. But you bought the dress specifically for him to gush over it. Carmen pays attention to detail; he knows when that’s a new shirt or dress on you and always comments. 

Just not this time. Because he’s busy. 

Which is okay. You can wait. Wait however long you need to for carmen. Even if your spirits are down for a little while. 

But the door opens back up harshly. You think Carmen might have forgotten something but he strides back over to you and presses a long rough kiss onto your lips. It makes you smile. 

“I’m sorry.” His words are rushed but they sound so genuine. “I’m so fucking sorry, you look beautiful. Did I say you look beautiful today?” 

“Well—“ you shrug your shoulders. It’s a little flattering. Carmen didn’t need to be told to compliment you. He just remembered and then came back to tell you. 

“You’re so pretty. Do a spin for me— yeah, just like that. Shittttt…. babe.” 

Carmen takes your hand, raises it high and he spins you around. You see his eyes trail over your new dress and how it lays on your body. You feel flustered when he whistles. 

“You’re so fucking hot.” 

He kisses you again. Slower, he’s finally calming down. Hands on your hips and he breathes you in, pulls you closer. Like he’s embracing it. All of it. 

“You really are so pretty.” He whispers and his voice— the way he spoke does something to your heart. “And lovely. And I love this new dress. Love it. And you. I love you.” 

He’s back to rushing when his words get into a frensy. Pressing a flurry of kisses across your whole face as his body steps back from you. Even though he doesn’t want to. 

“But I really do have to go.” 

He’s walking away hesitantly to the door. Watching for a reaction that will never come, you can’t get upset at him now. Not when he’s so cute. 

“You look gorgeous.” He opens the door and over his shoulder shouts. “Next Julia Roberts I swear baby!” 

The door closes in a hurry, but once it’s shut everything slows. You feel giddy now. Pumped up thanks to all the silly complaints. Shaking your head you don’t take your eyes away from the door. 

“Love you too.” 

It sounded more romantic when Robby was actually booking it. He didn’t realize those would be the things you decide to dwell on. 

Nevertheless you’re both determined to make it a nice weekend vacation. 

Packing everything up early to drive while the sun was still rising, the girls would hopefully sleep half the ride. Waking them up to actually pack into the car was a little rough but eventually they all fell back asleep. 

And now Robby promised each of this girls that they could get one drink and a sweet treat from inside. But make it last throughout the rest of the three-hour car ride. 

Robby stands with his six-year-old daughter hazel while her eyes rack over the candy options, something about Oreos but he hasn’t really been listening. 

You took Opal and melody into the bathroom a little while ago. Except what Robby didn’t consider was that he actually needed to go to the bathroom more then he thought. He’s trying to be patient for you because melody needed a diaper change and Opel is just transferring to pull ups but gosh, he really has to go. 

“Ooo!!! I haven’t had gummy bears in such a long time.” 

“Then get the gummy bears sweetheart.” Robby can’t help that he’s glancing toward the bathroom again. 

“But I don’t like the yellow ones. N’the red ones look angry.” 

“Maybe if we find you a drink first it will be easier to pick out your candy.” 

Hazel literally jumps for joy at the brilliant idea. 

“Yeah! If I get milk I can dunk the cookies in!” 

There’s a sound of protest at the back of Robby’s throat. “I don’t think they had the right cup for that.” Gently Robby takes Hazels hand and leads her to the wall of sodas.

“Then I’ll just have to pour the milk on-top of the cookies!” 

“No.” 

And before Robby can explain to Hazel that he doesn’t want milk to spill on the floor of the car— and then the car sits in the hot parking lot for a week, only for it to smell like spoiled milk on the drive home. Robby sees your beautiful face come into view. 

You really do look refreshed after a bathroom break. Much better then when Robby had to wake you up on the exit turn to help find a gas station. He still feels guilty for waking you. 

“Sorry, there was a line.” You mumble and hoist melody up on your hip. Your one-year-old daughter looking around the gas station with curly hair bouncing and waving at on lookers. 

Opel by your side and holding onto the belt loop of your jeans, still in pjs from that morning. 

“It’s okay, do you have them for a moment?” 

Robby’s about ten milliseconds away from darting to the bathroom but he needs to make sure you’re okay— that nothing happened and you will be safe for the next few minutes. 

“Yeah. Yeah, just go.” 

And even tho Robby “has to go bad” as Opel said in the car. He lingers long enough to press a kiss to your cheek and make sure Hazels near your eyesight before taking long strides to the bathroom. 

When he comes back, (bladder feeling so much better) he’s pleased to find that most of the girls have picked out their treats. Opel with the Butterfinger and you-hoo combo, and melody— even though she’s still little and you probably helped swayed her decisions for your benefit. She has a regular Hershey’s bar and some lemonade. 

While Hazel has a soda and—

“Still haven’t decided on a candy?” 

Robby asks, taking melody from your arms and hearing you sigh in relief has him grinning.

“It’s a hard decision!!!” 

“Okay. Okay. Take your time. Just know the longer we wait around here the colder the water at the park will be.” 

“Well I like cold water.” 

“I don’ttttt.” Opel whines and stomps her feet a little. Ever since waking up from her nap she’s been fussy. “Hazel, just get the Oreos and let’s goooo…!!” 

 Hazel makes an annoying groan and throws her head back. But she ends up getting the Oreos anyway because she’s a good big sister. You know she will share in the car and they will all probably make an agreement to mix the very last of their drinks together for a taste test. 

“Okay! Everyone pick out the thing they wanted?” 

Robby grabs each of the girls candy. (Even picked up an extra one for you) and went with melody to the cash register while you got the rest of the kids in the car. 

Paying the clerk Robby realizes that most of the candy is chocolate and a thought Dawns on him.

The backseat of the car is going to get so messy. 

Your mother has the maids set up the guest room and spiff up the parlor just for his arrival. Over tea you ask if you’ve ever met this man having no recollection of him or the importance of his family name. 

“Oh yes! You met him once. Long ago when you were still in diapers I presume.” 

Still, you’re anxious. Someone so high in society coming to your house. Nerves make your heart beat faster and you have to drink a second cup of tea just to keep the butterflies in your stomach from stirring. 

Finally when his carriage arrives it looks rich. Smells of old money and leather before the door even opens. 

A man steps out, curly salt and pepper hair askew on his head. Broad shoulders and stubble on his chin that seems just right. There’s a ring on his finger that pains you to know a matching one is missing and a small out of place frown on his lips. 

Like it’s unusual for his face to morph that way. 

Your father greets him with a hug, your mother a curtsy. Then his eyes land on you. And it’s the most heart stopping moment ever. 

A hand pushes you forward and your fathers voice explains your existence. 

“My daughter. The last time you saw her she was just a wee lad.” 

“Yes.” Jack hums like he’s pleased. He straightens and his chin goes up while his eyes fall down your form. Swiftly like a cherry falling from the tree. “Just beginning to talk.”

You feel the need to curtsy more proper than anytime before. It really was just an accident when you lifted up the sides of your skirt just a little too much, letting your ankle show and your fathers disapproving tsk from behind.

“I can assure you I have an excellent vocabulary now sir abbot.” 

“Quite.” 

When you rise back up it’s like a delusion, imagining his eyes trained on your lips. 

“She also has excellent piano skills; would you like to have a listen while the maids bring in your things?” 

Your mother puts her gloved hands on your shoulders while speaking to him. Jack nods once to her, your father, and then yourself. 

“That would be splendid.” 

A strong leather smell breezes past you as your father leads Jack inside. Once they walk a little ways and fallen into conversation your mother advances you inside, hands still on your shoulders. 

“I think it’s time to lower your skirts dear.” 

“Mother.” 

She said that far too loud, and Public. Something that should be discussed in private the next time you head to the tailor, far too scandalous for just walking down the hall. And in front of guests. 

It means many such things to have your skirts lowered— maturity, a debut just around the corner. A lustful gaze on your back. Things you don’t want just anyone overhearing. 

Yet when you look up Jacks eyes are on you, his head turned just slightly and a smirk that makes your stomach turn with embarrassment. He sends you a wink over his shoulder while your father speaks. A small signal silently saying he heard that. 

What’s next? He shall learn your corset measurements and be a name on your dance card? 

But when he shows up to your debut party not a week later it seems like those are the exact things he wants to know. 

Making love. Of course. 

And that term is an excellent one because that’s what it feels like. When Dean is right up behind you, hooking your thigh over his torso and panties pulled to the side. 

His breath is hot on your ear and his grunts are far and few between making them something to cherish. 

You feel deans hip push forward and into your heat, knocking out all the wind inside of your lungs. His hand slides under you shirt letting the fabric bunch up, holding your breast with a gentle loving. 

Soft, slow mornings like this are the best, you can feel the love and tenderness that radiates off Dean. 

But the buildup is so slow. And for once with sleeping in late, you feel like you have so much energy that needs to just go somewhere. 

“Dean—“ you let out a breathy whisper while your hand travels into his hair. Not pulling or scratching just there.

“Honey— faster, please.” 

And with a kiss to your jaw Dean obeys. Instead of the slow roll of his hips it’s back and forth thrusting. It’s picking up the pace just slightly that it makes you feel crazy. 

“More…” 

You almost whine. Because deans a good lover, but this? Right now? It’s not enough. Not enough to satisfy you throughout the whole day when working. 

“I don’t…” Dean goes back to the slow roll of his hips before halting completely inside. “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“You won’t.” Shaking you head immediately and turning to press a kiss to his lips. “You could never.” 

Dean hums, but there’s still that pinch in his brow and conflicted look in his face. 

“You say that but—“ 

You know he’s thinking about his dad. Even behind bars Dean still hesitates to do the most simple of tasks with you. Haunting his every action. 

“Dean I want it. Please I’m asking for it. You’re not forcing me.” 

He scoffs out a laugh, he has the prettiest smile and when he kisses you again, he pulls away mumbling something like “well I won’t make you beg.” 

His hips start moving again, first and second push are slow but after that his movements make you dizzy. Dizzy with the sudden speed and pleasure. 

The moans slipping for your lips are different. Now coming deep from your chest without any remorse. Even Deans breathing becomes more breathy. 

Your hand starts to fist in his hair, not too terribly hard but enough to where it’s grounding. With every harsh thrust you feel that energy in your body leaving, bouncing away to be replaced by lazy pleasure. 

“Fuck Dean…”

Your thigh starts to shake so deans hand grips tight holding it up. Hips pushing up against his pelvis you can feel that coil start to build in your abdomen, rapid not gradually. 

It has your breath uneven and hitching, chest rising and falling and soon you’re tipping over that edge with an unattractive moan. But who cares when it feels so good? 

Dean lets you ride it out, pulsing around his cock hard. Now he’s the one with shortness of breath. Cumming in the condom and going back to his slow place of slipping out of you. 

 “Was good?” He asked, there’s not enough brain energy at the moment to say more. 

“So good.” 

Dean throws the condom in the trash before cuddling up behind you. Thigh sore from being stretched around him for too long but it’s fine. Just a pleasant reminder of what happened this morning. 

“Then we have to do that more often.” 

“We’re going to take a sample of your blood!” 

Jacks voice raises deeper and louder so the old lady can hear. She smiles and nods. 

“Oh! Yes. Feel free. Might take a little while though, I’m a hard one to stick.” 

Jack shakes his head in that effortless kinda way and rolls a chair closer, hand between his legs as he sits down. Mindful of his prosthetic. 

“Not with me ma’am. I’ll make sure to find the best vain and get it first try.” 

She laughs all surprised like and looks up to you. You know the feeling. Getting flustered under abbots compliments. 

“Missing a syringe, there should be one in that cupboard can you grab it for me?” 

Jack gestures to a cupboard and you nod, probably not looking nearly as flawless as him while looking for supplies. 

But Jack begs to differ. Really he didn’t mean to do a double take on your ass. But it’s just there when you bend over and venerable. Plump and memories of gripping at it floods his mind. 

Just as he was turning to look away, he caught something— a flash of hot pink when your shirt drew up while bending over. 

A fucking thong. 

Thin strings on either sides of your hips and Jack can imagine the fabric wedged between those perfectly rounded cheeks— what were you thinking wearing that into work?

When you stand Jack mourns the loss of the spectacular view. Grabbing the syringe you offer with less than steady hands. 

“Are you trying to kill me?” 

Your brows furrow, he’s whispering now and looking intently into your eyes. Lust blown and surprised. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Because hot pink thongs are what you wear when you’re trying to kill a guy.” 

You gawk. “Jack.” 

The patient is right in-front of you, eyes darting between the pair. 

“I mean— you were practically asking for me to pull at them, I could have given you a wedg—“ 

“It is laundry day. I had nothing else.” Your face starts to feel like it’s heating with embarrassment. Hissing through your teeth like a viper. 

“Mmm… very likely. How come I’ve never seen this pair before?” 

And before you could snap back something about him being a very presumptuous asshole your patient speaks. 

“Huh? What are you saying to the poor lass getting her all flustered!? I can’t hear anything!” 

Jack lets out a little breathy laugh. Shaking his head and finally getting the syringe ready. 

“Ohhh don’t worry about her, she’s in good hands.”

Hands that want to sneak down the front of your pants apparently. 

What is jack abbots problem and why do you like it?