my legacy will become yours;

“Can I get you some coffee?” you ask, walking up to his table, and you try not to notice how his gaze trails up your legs, past the skirt you’re wearing and up to your nametag. Try not to notice that he reeks of alcohol and desperation. 

“Yeah, coffee would be great, thanks.” His voice is low. Tired and distracted. But his eyes? They’re piercing. They freeze you to the spot for a moment before you can walk away, and you feel them on your back afterwards, watching you intently as you make your way around the bar to start a fresh pot for him. 

He’s the only person in here at this hour, which is surprising. Usually there’s at least a few more stragglers still, but it’s nearing 3 AM, and the man looks like he hasn’t slept in days. Your only coworker is sitting on their phone, oblivious to the fact that there’s a customer, and for some reason, this stranger seems so intriguing. 

When the coffee’s done, you pour him a mug (and, deciding to be bold, pour yourself one), and walk over to him, placing both down on the table. 

Mark looks up at you in surprise. His gaze is so scrutinizing, so analytical, almost like he’s trying to break the situation down piece by piece. Like he’s done this with people a million times, and he knows how to collect every little detail that he needs to know about them. After a beat of silence, you speak up, your face hot under the intensity of his stare.

“You looked like you could use some company,” you manage to say, shoving your hands into the pockets of your apron. “Mind if I sit?”

He blinks a few times, surprise evident in his expression, before nodding and gesturing to the booth across from him. Grateful for a moment off your feet, you take a deep sip of your coffee, letting your eyes close momentarily as you do so. 

“Well,” Mark says, gesturing to your nametag, “Seeing as I already know your name, I guess I should tell you mine.”

“Not necessarily,” you quip, suddenly perking up, “You don’t owe me anything, I mean. But it’d be nice to know anyway.”

“Mark.”

“Okay, Mark, good to put a name with a face.” At this, the corner of his mouth twitches up in a brief smile, and you feel as though you’ve won some sort of prize. Getting this man who clearly seems so stoic and so consumed with whatever it is that’s driven him to a place like this, the middle of BFE in the dead of night, to even break half a smile is exhilarating. You’re not exactly sure why, other than the fact that he’s devastatingly handsome and a good deal older and more mature than you. 

To you, Mark seems like a prize that’s ready to be won. 

“So,” He says, clearing his throat, “What’s a pretty gal like you doing working in a place like this?”

“Long story,” you reply. After college, you’d dropped everything to try to go to California to make it as an actor. But life had other plans, and you ran out of money quick and had to take the first job you could get, still several states away from your dream and in the middle of a far less glamorous desert in Texas. “I’m trying to make it to Los Angeles.”

“Los Angeles?”

“Yep.”

“What’s in Los Angeles?” The man, Mark, is leaning across the table now, still looking at you in a manner that could only be described as studious. Surely he’s a cop or a detective or some sort of behavior analyst like on Criminal Minds. You’ve pieced it all together by now. Why else would he be dressed like that, out this late, looking this stressed? 

“Opportunities,” you say after a moment, and he raises an eyebrow, nodding once. “So what’s your story, then? What’s a guy like you doing in a shithole town like this one at a 24-hour diner?”

“Opportunities,” He responds, and electricity crackles between you two as he locks eyes with you. “My job’s too much. Trying to get away for a minute and regroup.”

“Where are you headed?” At this, he smirks, before taking another long sip of his coffee. 

“Los Angeles.”

You still had no idea who he really was, but as you talked, you’d learned you were right about him being a cop. Lieutenant Detective, actually, and he just cracked some big case that you’d seen in the news about a serial killer over on the East Coast. You asked him why he wanted to leave after that, after gaining all that recognition, after saving that little girl. He never directly responded, but from what you could gather, he’s seen far too much for the time being, and probably he’s done some things that are more… questionable in the line of justice. You can tell by the scars on his hands and face that he’s no stranger to a fight, no stranger to violence. 

There are so many similarities you notice between the two of you, more than you would have ever expected to learn within such a short amount of time. You’ve both had your fair share of loss. Of loneliness. Why you’re telling him your life story or why he’s telling you, for that matter, could be explained by how you both are in that strange, dreamlike place of sleep deprivation where everything floats and nothing seems to matter too much. 

One thing is evident from your conversation. He’s a very broken man, in need of something to take his mind off of everything.

And you’re a very broken girl, in need of someone to make her feel like a person again instead of a shell.

And before you know it, you’re in his car. It really doesn’t take much convincing on your part to leave with him. Day shift would be there within the next couple of hours, and your coworker could sit there in the empty diner and frighten away any other customers with their hostile attitude. He touches your knee under the table when he asks you to leave with him, heat pooling  at your center as he dares to slide his hand up further to your inner thigh, just to see your reaction. 

The ride to the motel is silent. Charged. You both know exactly what this is, and you’re not regretting a second of it. You’ll no-show at your job until they get the hint that you’re not coming back, and Mark will take you to California. And both of you will get even more than you initially wanted from the arrangement. Mark will have company, you will have a way out, and you’ll both have someone to take the edge off for the first time in a very long time. It’s a win-win situation, really. 

The room isn’t nice by any means. It’s cheap, but it’s available, and Mark pays for it, so you don’t really have room to complain. Not that you’d want to, anyway. In truth, you’d never considered doing something like this before. Hookups in college, sure, but not with someone who’s at least fifteen years your senior and taking you to a motel, bringing you along with him on a days-long trip practically just to fuck. 

The first time, it’s sloppy. He’d been teasing you the whole way there, a hand down the front of your skirt as he drove. His thick fingers pumped in and out of you as you panted and spread your legs open for him. But you knew he wasn’t going to let you finish like that, so you’re needy by the time you finally reach your destination. The door is barely closed to the motel room before he’s on you, lips pressed to yours like a man starved, open mouthed and groaning. You don’t even get to fully undress. He just hikes your skirt up and moves your panties to the side, bending you over the edge of the bed, before finally pushing his length into you. 

And oh, he’s big. So big.

Your walls stretch painfully around Mark’s dick as he seats himself fully, and you hiss softly, moaning as you try to adjust. 

“What is it, doll?” He teases, his movement stilling inside of you and making you wiggle your hips back toward him for more. “Too much?”

“Hngh. Big,” you gasp, one of his hands on your hip and his other pulling on your hair, forcing you to look up at him. “You’re so big.”

You mean it in more ways than one. Mark is a huge, hulking man. Built like he doesn’t miss a meal, but could still take even the most toned men in a fight easily. He’s a big guy, and the way his strong body presses into you confirms this, his large frame completely dwarfing yours.

“You can take it,” Mark growls. And he’s right. It’s heavenly, the feeling of him filling you up so completely. You know if you were on your back, you’d be able to see his tip through your skin, it’s so fucking huge. You whine for more, and he picks up the pace, dropping the hand on your hip down to rub your clit in tandem. White knuckling the sheets to keep yourself upright, you feel that familiar feeling of warmth deep in your belly that tells you that you’re reaching your high. 

“Oh God, Mark. Fuck,” you whine as you grind your hips back into his, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the small room. 

“Say my name again,” Mark growls, his breath hot on the back of your neck as he lifts you up by your hair briefly, sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin there. 

“Mark!”

“Again.”

“Maa-ark! Oh, shit—”

He fucks you so good, then, that you’re coming all over his dick at the same time that he’s crying out your name, emptying his load into you. He rubs your clit through your high, putting you on the verge of overstimulation, and then finally collapses beside you, hair matted to his forehead from sweat. His chest, visible through his partially unbuttoned shirt, gleams with it too. God, he’s so huge and imposing that the buttons of his shirt look like they’re about to pop. And you want to climb right back on top of him and feel so full again while his come is still dripping out of you. 

So you do. And you ride him, stripping yourself of your shirt and bra until he’s begging to come inside you again, which you happily oblige. You let his dick fill you up until morning, until you both have exhausted yourself so much that you have no choice but to give in to sleep for a few hours, sweaty and naked and on top of each other in a heap. 

The next few days go like this. You two drive for a while, talking about everything and nothing all at once. You only stop here and there for a bite to eat (Mark really doesn’t miss meals, you learn, and you’re surprised to find this is a bit of a turn on for you). Once you arrive at that evening’s motel, you’re on top of each other, desperate from a day of far too much distance and far too little time spent with Mark’s mouth on yours and his hand between your legs.

It’s like you’re living in a daze, almost. You want him so badly all the time that once you finally get him in bed, you can’t stop yourself from fucking him until you see stars.

Yet it’s not all so methodical all the time. Mark is thoughtful, you learn, and on the second day, he makes a stop to buy you some clothes for the trip. 

“Until you can clean out your apartment,” he says as you pull into the parking lot of the closest big box store, “I’ll get you what you need for the next one.”

He is attentive in a manner that you didn’t know was possible for a man who you’re just supposed to be fucking for a ride. Remembering fast food spots that you prefer over others. Memorizing the places and ways in which you like to be touched. 

All of these things combined start to make you feel like you could be in real trouble here. 

Hell, you could really get attached. 

On day four, once you arrive at the selected motel for the evening, you’re surprised by the fact that Mark doesn’t immediately pin you against the door, as has become your routine. Instead, he shuts the door behind him, his eyes filled with what you know now to be lust. But something else is there, too. 

Something darker.

“I want to try something,” Mark says, voice low and gravelly as he takes off his jacket, placing it on a chair nearby. “You can say no if you want to, but I’ve been thinking about it for a couple of days now and I really can’t get the idea out of my head.”

Mark fishes around in his pocket and pulls out a rather large pocket knife.

You feel your entire body stiffen. Have you misjudged him completely? Are you about to be on one of those late night news stories, like the victims of that killer in Mark’s city that he told you about?

He then holds the knife out to you. Curious, your brow furrows, and yet you reach out for it, taking it from his grasp. 

“I want you to use it on me,” Mark says, his tone bordering on a plea. “Please.” 

Electricity courses through you. You’ve never seen him like this before, never expected such a huge and hulking man to ask to submit, to practically beg to. And yet here you are, holding his knife, picturing dragging it across his husky frame.

Something inside you shifts. You flip the knife open, stepping towards him, a smirk on your face.

“On your knees, then, Detective.”

No time is wasted. He complies with your request, a slight gasp coming from his full lips as you bring the knife up to his cheek, pressing the cool metal of the blade to it ever so slightly. You drag the knife down to his neck slowly, careful to keep to the blunt edge. Mark shivers and groans at the sensation, and you take great pleasure in pushing his suspenders off his shoulders, kneeling down to his height.

“Open your mouth,” you tell him. At first, his expression is puzzled, but he does so anyway, and you place the hilt of the knife between his teeth to free your hands. “Good boy.” Mark groans audibly at this, and you make quick work of the buttons on his shirt, which were already straining against his chest and abdomen. 

“God, you wear these clothes so tight on purpose, don’t you? Such a whore.” You’re teasing him now, and you can tell that his breath is quickening. There’s really no knowing where all of this dominant energy is coming from. You didn’t think you had it in you. But Mark is eating it up, so you’re happy to oblige him. You’re already wet and he hasn’t so much as touched you.

Once his shirt is off, he’s left in a white tank and his dress pants. You decide to take this little game a step further. Taking the knife out of his mouth, you hum softly as a trail of saliva leaves with it, his mouth in the most delicious looking pout you’ve ever seen.

“Fuck,” he gasps, before taking the brief moment of pause to connect his lips with yours in an open-mouthed kiss, tongue sliding into your mouth as he grasps the back of your head. 

He needs you. So, so badly.

Breaking the kiss earns you a soft whimper from Mark, which goes straight to your center, your desire increasing by the second. 

“Okay, up,” you tell him, before moving to grab his shoulders, guiding him to sit on the bed. Kneeling in front of him, you put the knife’s hilt between your own teeth as Mark reaches over to tangle one of his free hands into your hair. You make quick work to undo his belt, noticing fairly quickly how much his large cock strains against his pants. He shifts his hips forward, chasing some form of friction from you as you finally free his length from his pants. Eyes wide, you give him a puppy dog look from your vantage below him, eliciting a low moan from him just at the sight of you. 

“Jesus, baby,” He groans, and you take the knife from your mouth, passing it to him. 

“Careful with that,” you tell him, pulling his pants down a bit further for ease of access. His tip is already leaking with precum, and you grin at the sight of it. Mark hisses as you take his length in your hand, swirling your thumb along the tip achingly slowly. The delicious sounds that fall from his lips, then, make you squirm with desire for him. You cannot believe you have this effect on the man. It makes you feel far too powerful.

As you finally take him into your mouth, Mark groans out your name, hips thrusting forward involuntarily as his tip hits the back of your throat. You moan around his shaft, barely stopping yourself from gagging on him. He’s so unbelievably huge that you can’t possibly fit the full length in your mouth, but you try anyway. Dutifully bobbing your head up and down on his dick, your hand pumps whatever you can’t fit in tandem. 

“Good girl,” he grunts. You feel the cool steel of the knife on your throat, which sends a chill down your spine. “Such a good girl for me, holy fuck."

Without warning, you lift off him with a pop, his groaning turning into a snarling, almost animalistic. 

“Now, Mark,” you tease, your lips wet with a mix of your spit and his slick, “I thought I was supposed to be the one in charge here.” In one fell swoop, you take the knife from his hand and stand up, your own arousal almost painful at this point. The knife clatters briefly on the bedside table as you slowly and languidly undress to just your bra and underwear, his eyes appraising you all the time. 

“Not sure if I have it in me to keep going with that, kitten,” He breathes, reaching out to run his calloused hands up to your breasts. He slips his hands under your bra, massaging your tits as you grin above him. 

“Try for me?” you ask him, and there’s a softness in his eyes as he nods, his full lips in a pout. You kiss him, then, your mouths moving hungrily against each other’s. Hands pushing against his shoulders, you lay him backwards against the bed, before breaking the kiss to lift his tank over his head, revealing his plush curves. Grabbing the knife once again, you straddle his waist and allow yourself to grind your hips against him, whining softly as your clothed center finds friction with his hard cock. 

“You’re so wet, baby,” He groans, and you pick up the pace slightly, dragging the tip of the knife down his chest as you roll your hips. This elicits more sounds of pleasure from both you and from Mark, and his hands find your hips to encourage you along, the pads of his fingers digging into your skin.

In your haste, then, you accidentally dig the tip of the knife a bit too far as you drag it across Mark’s pectoral, leaving behind a trail of fresh red blood in your wake. He hisses loudly, eyes shut tightly as he throws his head back against the sheets. 

“Oh!” You manage, slowing the movements of your hips, “Mark, I’m so sorry—”

“No,” He barks, his eyes snapping open. The look in them has shifted again. That darkness that you saw before is now out in full form, as though some force lurks inside him that he has to actively fight back against. And right now, that darkness is winning. “Do it again.”

For a second, you still on top of him, and he grits his teeth. Still gripping your hips, he moves them again forcefully, causing you to gasp and whine. It hurts a little, how tightly he’s holding you. 

“Again?” You ask him, moving your hips with the motion of his hands. 

“Again.”

Probably, you should be scared. Instead, you’re so turned on that if you don’t get him inside you, you feel like you’ll die.

Finally freeing yourself from his grasp, you pull your underwear to the side, lining yourself up with his tip. As you sink down onto him, you wince softly as your walls stretch to accommodate the size of him, a soft whimper leaving your lips. Without his usual foreplay, it stings. But the hurt is good. Almost too good.

“Oh, Mark…” you breathe out, seating yourself fully on top of him, his full length bottoming out inside of you. 

Remembering his request, you place the blade of the knife against his chest yet again, mirroring your first slit with another next to it as you ride him. This earns you a strangled cry of pleasure from Mark, which only spurs you on further. One of his hands reaches up to yank your hair, and you cry out, his other still firmly on your hip as he ruts up to meet your thrusts. 

“Look at me,” he demands, his voice strained as he angles your head down, forcing you to make eye contact with him. “Look at what you fucking do to me, baby, I’m a fucking mess because of you.” 

All the while, he’s picking up the pace, grunting and sweating as he fucks you, little rivulets of blood trailing down his torso.

You cry out his name in a mix of cursing and praising, moving just to the left of where you’d marked him up, using the knife to carve your initial right next to his heart.

Mark cries out in ecstasy, and finally loses control. In one move, he flips the two of you over, knife clattering out of your hands and onto the ground as he does so. 

He fucks you relentlessly, pressing the entirety of his body weight against you. You feel his blood on your chest, mixing with your sweat, and the sensation of it is enough to make you squirm beneath him even more.

“Mark, please—”

“Please what?” He manages through grunts. Clearly, he’s not going to last much longer.

“Please come inside me again, please,” you gasp, reaching up to grab his disheveled hair to try to steady yourself against his relentless thrusts, your ankles hooked beneath his ass in an attempt to somehow push him in further.

That does it for Mark. He’s swearing, groaning so loud in your ear, growling like an animal as he spills his hot load inside you. You’re already on the precipice of your own release, and Mark reaches down to rub hard circles into your clit as he fucks you through his own high. Almost as soon as he does this, you’re crying out and clenching around his shaft, your own orgasm rocking through you like a shockwave. 

“Holy shit,” you breathe out as Mark practically collapses on top of you, leaving his dick inside for just another moment as he presses you all the way down into the bed. 

“Yeah,” he manages, catching his breath. You reach up to push his hair out of his eyes, a motion that’s shockingly tender for the both of you. But then again, so was carving your initial into his chest, in a way. 

You did it to stake your claim. And Mark certainly has no qualms with this. 

After a moment, Mark finally manages to roll off of you, pulling out as he does so. You feel suddenly empty again, and you pout for a second, before Mark reaches over to place a comforting hand on your stomach. He knows enough about what you like at this point, what your needs are, and you know he just needs to give himself a moment before he goes again.

“Should we clean you up, baby?” You ask him, sitting up slightly to look over at him. He blinks a few times, almost as if aftercare hadn’t really crossed his mind when he suggested knife play. But he nods all the same, his big blue eyes and pouty mouth making him look all the more vulnerable and needy against the warm lamplight. 

The two of you shuffle off to the bathroom. The shower is cramped and is by no means suitable for a bulky and tall man such as Mark, let alone suitable for him to be sharing it with anyone. But you manage, peppering light kisses to Mark’s chest as the two of you wash off the blood and the sweat and the sex. 

Once you’ve finished cleaning each other off, you stand under the hot water for a while longer, Mark’s big arms wrapping around you tightly and holding you against his chest as the water flows over you. Before you can stop yourself, you speak, having a newfound thought that worried you rather deeply.

“Mark?” You mutter against his skin.

“Hm?”

“You’re not going to leave me when we get to California, are you?”

It sounds even more pathetic saying it out loud than it did when you thought it. Maybe it’s a strange form of Stockholm Syndrome. Maybe it’s something real. You don’t know. All that you do know is that the thought of never seeing Mark again after this makes you feel sick. You’ve grown too attached to him, and now you’re afraid he’s going to leave you behind.

He’s silent for a moment, and you almost want to tell him you were just joking. You’re on the edge of taking it back when you feel him press a kiss to the top of your head, quite possibly the sweetest gesture he’s ever given you.

“Sweetheart…” he trails off, thumbs rubbing circles into the small of your back. “I have a job to get back to. And I have… I have lots of responsibilities to take care of beyond that.”

For a second, your heart shatters. You curl your fists against his chest, hiding your face there as you chastise yourself internally. Stupid, stupid girl.

“But,” he says, and you peek up at him nervously, catching a small grin playing across his face.

“But?”

“But…” Mark brushes the wet hair away from your eyes, “It doesn’t have to be a goodbye forever. I think I can work something out. And come visit.” He pauses for a moment then, gauging your reaction. “Okay?”

You manage to smile up at him, feeling slightly assuaged by this reassurance. You don’t know if he’s telling the truth. You really hope he is, though. 

“Okay,” you tell him, and press up onto your tiptoes to kiss him gently.

“Besides,” he notes once you pull away, eyes flicking down to his chest where your initial is now permanently etched into him, “Looks like you need a matching letter somewhere, no?”

You grin and blush at this, kissing him again and again, hands tangling into his wet hair. 

You don’t know how it happened, but Mark Hoffman has completely captured you.