Fics I Like

You’re thinking about all of that while you’re in the kitchen, waiting for the water to boil for coffee. Back when you didn’t come over regularly, his fridge was basically empty. If you don’t count the whiskey and a pack of tortillas he always had, even though he probably never actually cooked anything with them.

That changed once you started coming around more. You started bringing food. Stocking the fridge a little. And suddenly he’s not eating out all the time anymore. Sometimes you make something simple for him. Tacos. Empanadas. Stuff like that.

And honestly… sometimes it already feels normal. Like he comes home from work and you’re here. Like having food ready for him is just a thing now.

Relationships still scare you, though, because…

You don’t even get to finish the thought.

Out of nowhere there’s a body right behind you. Hands on your arms. And even though it’s not rough, not painful, and you know damn well the only man in this apartment is Javi, your body still jumps.

You flinch. Hard. Because you didn’t hear him come in. And because the shock hits before your brain can catch up and… fuck.

Your body reacts before your brain can catch up. Pure muscle memory. You jump out of his reach like you’ve been shot.

Flashbacks hit all at once. Hands grabbing your arms from behind. Too hard. Painful. Being thrown to the ground. Him screaming in your face, calling you a slut.

You squeeze your eyes shut, hard. Your head fills with static, broken only by memories. Slaps. Rough hands. Yelling. Crying. Fear.

This isn’t about Javi and you know that. But your body doesn’t. It still goes through this every time someone leans over you. Every time someone comes up behind you and you don’t expect it. Sometimes even when you do. Every time someone raises their voice, even a stranger annoyed that you’re in the way. The fear switches on anyway.

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Then… slowly, you open your eyes again. You force yourself to breathe. Deep, shaky breaths. You look straight at Javi’s hands, watching them, needing to know what they’re going to do next.

But Javi doesn’t do anything. He’s frozen, clearly shocked, his hands held out in front of him. “Hey, hey, I’m sorry, I… I scared you. I didn’t mean to,” he rambles quickly, instinctively trying to step closer.

You immediately press back against the wall. You don’t even know why. You don’t want to do this. You don’t want to move away from him. You trust him. You know he wouldn’t hurt you. Not like that. Not like…

Or would he?

Suddenly you’re not sure of anything and your throat tightens, tears threatening.

Javi seems to get it. He stops instantly. Lets his arms fall to his sides. Slowly backs away until he sits down at the kitchen table. He watches you quietly. Gives you space.

After a few minutes, you feel your body start to loosen. Little by little, you peel yourself off the cold wall. You decide not to say anything. You were just startled. That’s all. You don’t need to explain. This isn’t the moment. Javi doesn’t need to know any of it.

“Uh, sorry, I… I just got scared, that’s all,” you say, forcing your voice to sound light. You even try to laugh a little, but it comes out wrong. Too tight. Like someone trying way too hard and failing.

“No,” Javi says, quiet. Almost under his breath. “That wasn’t just being startled. And… we both know it. People don’t react like that if it’s just a scare.”

The silence that follows is thick. Heavy. Neither of you rushes it.

He clears his throat. “I’m… not great at this,” he admits. “But you can talk to me. If you want. If you need to.”

“It’s complicated,” you say quickly, before he can add anything else. You step a little closer. Your body feels less locked up now, but it’s still careful. Still watching. “It’s not a morning coffee kind of thing. Honestly, it’s not a coffee thing at all.” You let out a quiet, awkward huff of a laugh.

“That’s okay,” he says right away. No hesitation. “I can wait. You don’t have to tell me now. You don’t have to tell me ever, if you don’t want to. I just… I’m here.”

And something about that lands heavy in your chest. Because Javi is gentle, yeah. He notices things. He shows up. But he’s also spent most of his life handling everything alone. Closed off. Guard up. He’s not the soft, golden retriever type. He’s still figuring out how to be with someone.

You step closer again. He stays where he is. Sitting. Not moving. Like he doesn’t want to stand over you. Like he wants you to feel in control. Like he knows.

And suddenly you want to tell him. You don’t know why. You just do. Like maybe it’s time to say it out loud. To him. To yourself. “I didn’t want to ruin the morning,” you say softly. “This stuff… it’s not easy. And I don’t want to put my shit on you, but… yeah. It wasn’t just a scare.”

He doesn’t push. Doesn’t interrupt. Just nods once. Slow.

You see it in his hands. The way they shift like he wants to reach for you so badly it almost hurts. But he doesn’t. He stays right where he is. Because right now, staying still is the safest thing he can do.

“You know… my relationships before you were mostly normal. Until… until the last one,” you say quietly. “It was a while ago. And I think I’m mostly okay now but… sometimes it just…”

“Comes back,” Javi finishes for you. Soft. Careful. “Old shit. Your body remembers something bad.” He nods once. “Yeah. I get that.” Maybe not for the same reasons. But still.

“There were times when everything was… fine,” you keep going. “Normal. You know? And then he’d drink. Or take some drug. And then… sometimes I was just standing too close. Or I said the wrong thing. Like I messed something up.” Your voice cracks. Tears blur your vision. Your knees start shaking and you don’t fight it. You slide down onto the floor, pulling your knees in, arms wrapped tight around them.

Javi gets up slowly. But he doesn’t stay standing. He lowers himself to the floor too. Moves carefully. Like he’s making sure not to scare you. He sits close, but not too close. Same level.

Your body doesn’t panic. If anything, it eases a little. Probably because it’s him.

“Can I?” he asks quietly.

You nod.

He reaches out slowly, gives you time to pull away if you want. His hand settles on your arm. Gentle. Still.

And that’s when it breaks. Because suddenly your body wants him. Needs him. Distance feels wrong now. You lean into him and he gets it instantly.

His arms come around you, solid and warm. Pulling you in. Your knees slide down and you end up pressed against his chest, tucked into him. His heat. His smell. Everything about him feels grounding. Safe. Like a place you didn’t know you were missing until now.

“Don’t blame yourself,” he says softly. “Please. None of that was your fault. Not one thing. Someone getting drunk or high doesn’t excuse losing control. Doesn’t excuse crossing lines. And it never makes it your fault. Ever.”

You cry into his shirt. Hard. Relief mixed with leftover shock. You soak the fabric of his shirt and he doesn’t even care. Just holds you tighter, pulls you flush against his chest until you can feel his heartbeat under your cheek.

“Breathe, cariño,” he murmurs. “Slow. With me.”

You try to follow his breathing. In. Out. Again. After a moment, it starts to help. The sobs quiet down. The tightness in your chest loosens.

Javi still has you. He doesn’t let go. His arms stay wrapped around you, holding you close. Firm enough to feel safe. Gentle enough not to trap you. “Shhh… I’m glad you told me,” he says quietly. “I really am. I’m glad because now I know that… that I can help. And I hope you know I would never… I’d never…”

“You’d never hurt me,” you say softly, filling in the rest for him. “I know, Javi. I trust you. And I’m really sorry I jumped away like that… I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

“No. Hey,” he cuts in right away. “Stop apologizing.” He pulls back just a little. Not to create distance. Just enough to cup your face in his hands. Warm. Steady. “Your body remembers bad shit. And I accidentally triggered it. That’s not on you. Now I know. I won’t do that again. No sneaking up behind you. Even if I’m just going in for a hug.”

You smile. Like, actually smile. For the first time since everything went sideways. “You know you’re surprising me, Señor Peña.”

He brushes the last tears off your cheeks with his thumbs. “Yeah? How so?” He tilts his head a little, brows pulled together, looking almost lost. Those stupid soft eyes.

“Because you’re… softer than I expected,” you admit. “Not that I didn’t think you were. I knew you were. You just didn’t really let it show this much. Not until now. You’ve always been gentle, but I think maybe you kinda forgot you’re allowed to be like this. That it’s okay to let that part of you out.” You smile at him and place your hand on his chest, right over his heart. You leave it there. Feel it beating under your palm.

You half-expect a joke. Some sarcastic comment to deflect. Instead, he just exhales and says: “Maybe… yeah. Maybe we both have stuff to learn. But I think I found someone I actually want to learn all of it with.”

And sitting there on the cold kitchen floor, your hand over his heartbeat, his hands resting easy on your hips, you know something shifted. For both of you.

Like you both needed this moment to realize that you’re not just two people crashing at his apartment anymore. That somewhere along the way, you started to actually mean something to each other.

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Din Djarin (The Mandalorian, GOAT)

Of Shadows and Roses by @the-scandalorian (Bodyguard!Din x Royalty!Reader)

All Mine by @mellowswriting (Possessive!Din after Reader uses herself as bait)

Narcissus by @bits-and-babs (Armour/mirror sex)

Looking out for you by @beskarandblasters (Jealous!Din after Reader uses herself as bait)

Cherry Liqueur by @decembermidnight (Reader teases Mando in public)

Breaking in the New House by @beskarandblasters (I love Husband!Din and Wife!Reader fics)

Javier Pena (Narcos)

Sweet Dreams by @javiscigarette (Javi can't sleep)

Phone Sex...amiright? by @tightjeansjavi (Reader calls Javi at work)

Sharing is Caring by @ezrasversion (Corrupt DEA Agent!Javi, Mafia AU!Joel Miller, Reader Threesome)

The Saint, the Sinner, and the Devil by @joelsgirl (Corrupt DEA Agent!Javi, DBF Mafia AU!Joel Miller, Reader Threesome)

MIA by @itsharleystuff (Jealous!Javi with Undercover!Reader)

Surprising Javi P with a Lingerie Set by @swiftispunk

Not here...not now by @gracieispunk (Reader visits Javi at work)

Bunny by @whatsnewalycat (Sex Phone Operator!Reader; Part 2 is great too!)

Ease by @javiscigarette (Javi takes care of Reader after a bad day)

Joel Miller (TLOU)

Say It Right, Peeping Neighbour, and Right Place, Right Time by @chaotic-mystery (All the DBF and BFD fics are amazing; these are my fave)

Quickie by @joelscruff (This falls in the middle of the Boyfriend's Dad series, but it's the first one I read and I was hooked!)

That Funny Feeling by @bluebeary-jay (Joel loves pet names 🥹)

I've Got Lust on My Tongue by @itgetsdark-x (Bratty reader a la Maddy Perez)

The Babysitter, Part 1 by @proxima-writes (There's a Part 2 as well!)

Under the Table by @toxicanonymity (A lot of good Joelkemons, but Speakeasy is a classic and maybe my fave?)

Online Friends, Sticking it to the PTA, and Caught Sunbathing by @walkintotheriveranddisappear (All of Emma's Joel fics are really hot [honestly you can't go wrong], but these are my faves)

Late Night Smoke by @bettercallwillow (Dbf smoking. sigh)

Calling Joel Daddy by @inkedells (I honestly love it when authors bold the dirty talk 🤭)

Gimme What I Want and In the Next Room by @atticrissfinch (The masterlist is some of the hottest Joel fic, if I may say so; these are my faves)

An Open Window by @velvetmud (Joel being a peeping tom; I also always hope for a sequel to this one!)

Crave by @toxic-seduction (Part 2; Reader finds Joel in the QZ)

Good Luck Charm by @javiscigarette (Joel watches the football game)

Ravish by @psychedelic-ink (Webcam Model!Reader; Part 2 is also incredible!)

I Know it When I see It by @bageldaddy (Pornstars!Joel and Readers. This series has me and everyone else, I think, in a chokehold. Reading, as well, the writer's thoughts and feelings about the porn industry and the care put into the characters is such a joy and makes the fic that much more rich)

Chaser series by @livingemkayde (Nanny!Reader and a love triangle; not finished but so good I'm happy to wait forever)

Right my Wrongs by @chloeangelic (Father in Law!Joel)

In A Feud with Her Neighbour by @proxima-writes (Read this delicious fic and the bonus scenes will be the icing on top)

Kiss and Tell by @toxic-seduction (Stepdad!Joel and mom goes away for the weekend)

Peaches and Cream by @javiscigarette (Joel buys reader peaches)

Didn't Cha Know by @chloeangelic (The Joel Reader has been pining for is her boyfriend's brother)

Gif to breakup the text block:

Camgirl by @phuckinphia (Another Camgirl but this time she's Sarah's friend 🫣)

The Right Wrong Number by @proxima-writes (Sarah's soccer coach!Reader)

Nightmares by @fruispunk (QZ!Reader has nightmares that Joel hears and mistakens for something else)

Damage Done by @bluebeary-jay (Joel accidentally triggers Reader; mind the tags. Heavy angst, heavy topic that is beautifully written)

Yes, Mr. Miller by pedropascallme (Babysitter!Reader, Part 2 Thank You, Mr. Miller is also excellent)

How Long series by @gracieheartspedro (Link is to Part 1; series is complete and wonderfully hot and emotional. Reader's boyfriend Tommy is a cheat😢)

Francisco "Catfish" Morales (Triple Frontier)

Fictional Death by @psychedelic-ink (Frankie comforts Reader)

Well Fed by @the-ginger-hedge-witch (Frankie is HAPPY 🥹)

Forest Ranger AU by @the-ginger-hedge-witch (I'm not an outdoorsy person but this AU makes me wish I was)

It's Always the Quiet Ones by @thot-of-khonshu (Frankie surprises Reader)

Pero Tovar (The Great Wall)

Kinktober 2022 - Breeding by @moralesispunk (Guard!Pero and Royalty!Reader)

Bodily Exchange by @absurdthirst (Mafia AU!Pero and daughter of mafia boss Reader)

Damnation or Salvation by @absurdthirst (Pero is sent to retrieve Reader)

Dying Wish by @absurdthirst (Pero makes Reader's father a promise; okay at this point, just all of Keri's Pero fics 🤭)

Marcus Moreno (We Can Be Heroes)

Din and Grogu's most recent venture had run two days longer than expected, though Din had communicated that to you via holo. He had promised they would be back in two days' time, and that time had arrived. If another delay came their way, you didn't know what you would do, because you were certain you couldn't wait another minute.

The worst part was that you didn't understand why. For years, when your home was a ship and not a cabin, you were able to go even longer without seeing Din as he ventured on job after job. Now, long after the Crest's devastating fate and years spent close together...

It was just lonely.

You glanced over your shoulder at the empty cabin. Only a single light was on, casting much of the comforting space in an ominous shadow. It felt so empty without all three of you there, and it was getting unbearable. You had tried to keep yourself busy with errand-running and other tasks, but there were only so many mundane tasks you could do.

You exhaled and squeezed your eyes shut, holding the comm even tighter in your fist. It was time to come to terms with the reality that Din had faced another delay, and that you would have to sleep in an empty bed for one more night.

The prickling sensation around your throat didn't cease as you resigned yourself to your fate and prepared for bed. After all you had been through with Din, you refused to cry over something as pitiful as loneliness. Your emotions, however, didn't agree with your sentiment, and the prickling only got worse as you settled into bed.

Your cheek rested upon your pillow as you looked over at the empty half of the bed. The tightening of your throat only got worse until you had to obey its demands, causing you to squeeze your eyes shut once again as the tears fell. With the comm still nearby on your bedside table, you tried your best to sleep, and somewhere amidst your crying your body finally gave out.

It wasn't much longer until the sound of your bedroom door opening woke you up.

At first, you were alert, sitting up straightaway and nearly reaching for your blaster in the process. When you caught Din's silhouette, however, all that panic faded and was exchanged for the sweetest wave of relief.

"Din," your utterance of his name was breathless as you rose from the bed and approached him. He met you in the middle, leaving his travel pack on the floor in favor of returning your embrace. A gloved hand firmly held your back before it ran along your spine in a gesture so overwhelmingly comforting that it almost made you sob with relief into his shoulder.

"I'm sorry we were late." Din's voice was hushed, causing it to crackle through his modulator as he continued to hold on to you. He waited until you were ready to pull away.

"It's okay." You smiled as you braced your hands upon his beskar, studying every inch of his visor and taking it all in. "I'm just glad you're safe."

Din gave his helmet a fond tilt. "We were..." Din paused as he studied you in return, and his helmet straightened in severity. His chest stalled as he lifted a gloved hand to the side of your face. His thumb ran over your cheek in a slow, steady motion. "Cyar'ika, have you been crying?"

You blinked a few times at him in disbelief. Your lips parted as you sought a way to dodge his question, but if the evidence was there for him to see, then there would be no way of lying to him.

"What is it?" Din's free hand removed his helmet from his head in one swift motion before it rested on the other side of your face. His brown eyes were widened in concern as his gaze searched yours. "What's wrong?"

You exhaled, your throat tightening again—but that time, it was in embarrassment. "It was nothing serious, I promise."

Din circled his jaw as he gave you a once-over. "Anything that bothers you is serious to me." His brow wrinkled together more as his gaze found yours. "Please, let me help."

You held his wrists and offered a reassuring smile. "You already have." You gave his wrists a squeeze as he lifted an eyebrow at you. "By coming back."

Din's brow relaxed in understanding, but you still offered the confirmation he was seeking.

"I just missed you. That's all." Your voice was pitifully quiet.

Din immediately took you back into his arms. "Oh, cyar'ika, I'm so sorry. I had no idea." He rested his chin upon your head. "You can always comm me. You know that, right?"

You closed your eyes and shrugged. "I didn't want to worry you." You swallowed hard and added one more thing. "Or make you feel bad."

Din took a deep breath, and the movement took you with him. "I appreciate you thinking of me like that, but you don't have to. Especially when it comes at the sake of your own wellbeing."

You nodded and kept yourself nestled in his warmth. "Okay." You let out a sweet exhale. "But you're back now. That's all that matters."

"I am." Din kissed your head before he urged you away, gesturing with his head to the bed. "But rest also matters, too."

You huffed and shook your head at him. "Whatever you say."

Din kept you closer than usual as the two of you rested that night, bringing a relief that went beyond any words—and soothed the ache in a way only he was capable of doing.

When it rains, you meet them. Under the heavy downpour of an autumnal storm do you slip out from the castle walls, heart beating loudly within your ribcage. Kylo is asleep in your bed, snoring, undeterred by the thunder which shakes the walls or the lightning which brightens the sky in white hot flashes. He will remain asleep for many hours still, you know this, because this is not your first time sneaking away.

Kylo needs to be asleep for these meetings, because your beloved King would never let you venture off into the misty woods alone if he were awake. Too dangerous, too uncertain, too risky, he would say. But they do not like visitors unannounced, and you have yet to bring him up with them, so in bed he must remain.

The rain is cold and hard as it pelts down on your hooded cloak, a cloth covered basket tucked safely against your side. You duck under branches and step over roots, deviating from the path towards the deep dark rumbling hum of the things which have awaited your arrival for many moons now. They are hungry you see, and you are going to feed them.

There are no words to be exchanged, none that any mind could comprehend, as you step into a clearing made of patted down earth and soft grasses, no trees in the ring that these creatures have made. Bones litter the floor, and you pick them up carefully, stashing them in your basket for your own use in time.

It is the smallest one first, which comes out to greet you. Standing taller than you on its six legs, the black furred beast blinks at you unevenly with all eight of its glowing yellow eyes, teeth sharp and many, wet nose sniffling and snuffling at your open palm. Raw meat drips red where you extend the offering, and the creature’s throat makes a discordant guttural stuttering sound that you feel in your stomach -- a noise which you have come to know means happiness.

The larger of the beasts begin to emerge from the ring of trees which line the clearing, and though it is pitch black outside, you can see the shine in their eyes, some yellow, some red. The eldest of which glows white, and is to this of all beasts that you bow deeply at the waist, the rain chilling your back. The earth rumbles beneath your feet, and the eyes lower as the beast too purrs in its own way, bowing out of respect in return.

There are seven of them in all, their breathing an uneven gargled noise, wet with blood and saliva as they lick their chops. Each one tries to butt ahead of the other to get a pat on their long wolf-like snout from your gentle hands. As old as time these creatures were, and yet, they behave in such a usual way, seeking affection, attention.

Singing to them a lullaby of ancient times, you feed them, one by one, meat harvested for this purpose, life blessed in its death to sustain these monstrous beings. It is an honor to die for these things to live, and an honor to kill for them. Sharp tongues thank you with careful nuzzles to your hands and cheek, and you are only glad to be bathed in this blood.

You wish you could spend all evening with them, you wish you could run wild through the woods and howl and sing to the moon with them, but you can’t. Only a few hours of time a night are you able to give them, for you need your own sleep beside your husband.

It is as if thinking of Kylo has summoned him -- for at that very moment he rushes forward with his sword and yanks you away from the Things which live in the woods, brandishing his strength and ferocity as he snarls with a rage filled ferver, “My beloved, get away!”

At once the creatures turn on the defensive, their fur rising on the backs of their many shoulders, teeth bared in a dangerous growl, voices overlapping as they speak to one another, as they rage and gnash their jaws, eyes going black to avoid being seen in the dark of night.

“Kylo -- no please, no!” You grasp desperately as his arm, an attempt to get him to save himself from harm.

“Stand back! Lest you be injured by these beasts.” Kylo refuses to listen, and once again thrusts the sword in all manner of directions, blind to the location of where these creatures, large as they are, may be lurking.

“They will not harm me, please I beg of you, lower your weapon my king.” Whispering furiously at him, you feel your heart pounding ever harder up in your throat, the alarm bells of danger ringing in your mind. As strong as your husband is, Kylo is no match for the magic of these creatures, for the power they wield, that they have held for millennium.

He hears you then, hears the fear in your voice -- not for your own safety, but for his.

“I...don’t know what you mean.” Kylo does as you tell him, and lowers the sword, sheathing it back in its spot on his hip, his night clothing drenched from the frigid rain.

“Come my darlings, do not be afraid.” You step out from behind him blindly forward, your eyes though adjusted still cannot see with such little light as this. Opening your palms to the darkness, pinpricks of yellow and red begin to appear once again, the creatures humming a symphony of gratitude for protecting them.

“They understand you.” Kylo stands amazed when they grow close enough that he can feel their hot breath on his face, huge hulking things that tower over even him, “How?”

“Like most creatures, they are simply misunderstood, lonely. I come here to see them when no one else will, to give them the companionship they desire, and the food they need.” You smile, and Kylo frowns when he notices that your teeth are too sharp -- or is that just the light?

“What is it that they eat?” He hazards to ask, causing you to huff out an amused little laugh, the kind that you sometimes give him when he’s being silly. Something cold drips down Kylo’s spine then, and he’s not so sure it’s from the rain.

“Oh my darling, it is not what they eat,” You shake your head at him, reaching a hand out to him now, a palm so comforting and warm and strangely dry in this clearing. You offer him this palm but it is more than just a gesture, it is a question, it is a deal. Kylo’s eyes widen when yours begin to shift from your natural color to a glowing white, teeth growing too sharp, nails growing too long, voice becoming discordant when you say, “But rather, who.”

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Tagging some Kylo loving friends!

New York isn’t a great place to be when you’re caught in the middle of a storm. Even less so when it involves things as delicate as money laundering and a few other matters your father never dared to explain. And you didn’t ask. You already knew. Played the good daughter who keeps out of it, because it was enough to unlock your phone and read the first headline you found.

Senator Enzo Vandspell Discloses Alleged International Corruption Network, Prompting Federal Scrutiny

WASHINGTON — Senator Enzo Vandspell, a prominent advocate for anti-corruption measures in Congress, disclosed on Wednesday a series of documents he says point to the existence of a far-reaching network engaged in money laundering and narcotics trafficking, with alleged connections spanning Latin America, Europe, and the United States.

Speaking at a press conference on Capitol Hill, Vandspell stated that the findings stem from an investigation conducted by his office over the course of more than a year. According to the senator, the materials suggest the involvement of business executives, public officials, and financial intermediaries in schemes utilizing shell companies and offshore accounts to obscure substantial sums of illicit funds.

“This is not an isolated matter,” Vandspell said. “What we are seeing reflects a broader pattern of coordinated activity that has persisted for years, enabled in part by systemic gaps in oversight.”

The documents, portions of which were made available to federal authorities, outline mechanisms including the transfer of funds through jurisdictions with limited financial transparency and the use of inflated contracts tied to public infrastructure projects. Vandspell declined to identify specific individuals or entities during the briefing, citing the sensitivity of the information and the potential for ongoing legal proceedings.

A spokesperson for the Department of Justice confirmed receipt of the materials but declined to comment further, noting that it does not discuss potential or ongoing investigations.

Separately, Vandspell’s office reported an increase in security concerns following the disclosure. In a brief statement, staff confirmed that additional protective measures have been implemented in coordination with federal authorities, both in Washington and at the senator’s private residences. Officials have not released further details regarding the nature of the reported threats.

You should be home right now. No, out of New York entirely. But Celine had spent months working toward her gallery opening, and you couldn’t miss it. Not that anyone here particularly cared who you were. No, they cared who your father was. And anyway, you’d heard Leonardo DiCaprio was around somewhere, so the focus wasn’t exactly on you. Or not entirely.

“Miss Vandspell.”

You turned, already knowing the voice. Louis, one of your bodyguards. “Yes?”

“Your car will be here in ten minutes.”

You nodded, offering him a polite smile before shifting your gaze to the man beside him. The other one. Javier. He didn’t react. Not a single muscle in his face moved.

They worked as a team. Synergy, to keep you safe. You didn’t know where Louis had come from, he had simply appeared one day, ten years ago, when your father introduced him and explained that he would be with you from then on. He was serious, rigid, somewhere in his fifties. He’d escorted you to school, stood watch at every dance, always there, even at a distance. And you knew he was your father’s line straight to you. Everything you did, your father knew, courtesy of Louis. Years of living under quiet surveillance, all in the name of your safety.

Javier was different. He showed up a year and a half ago, right when your father’s investigation kicked off. You didn’t know much about him, and you didn’t ask too much, just the basics. You’d seen him working for your father a handful of times, and then one morning he was in your apartment next to Louis, just like that.

Early forties, maybe. Quiet and serious. He gave nothing away about who he really was. Though you had caught it; small signs of impatience, brief looks of weariness more than once when he had to accompany you in public.

His eyes were onyx black, gleaming within a face that gave away absolutely nothing, again. Pure, unadulterated vacancy. And you know what they say about blank spaces; they’re just waiting for you to fill in the blanks with whatever idea suits you best.

A mysterious man whose name you’d pried out of mutual contacts. You had the highlight reel: retired agent, occasional magnet for controversy, and a reliable asset to your father. Strong hands.

The ambiguity fed you in bursts. You told yourself it was only natural, this is what happens when someone is around for more than twelve hours a day, nearly every day. And at the end of it all, you were just a curious woman.

He gave the distinct impression of a man living under heavy restraint. His shoulders were permanently knotted, his brow perpetually furrowed, and there was always something clenched in his jaw. And on rare occasions, you would catch the sound of a weary exhale; sometimes while he stood just outside your hotel room door. In the profound hush of a still night, it carried as clearly as if he were standing right beside you: a heavy, drawn out breath. Even through the wood of the door, his physical tension was palpable.

You knew he had no wife, no children. That was the very first thing you noticed the day you met; your eyes had instinctively found his hand and noted the absence of a ring. Somehow, it fit. Men who did what he did didn’t exactly build lives that stayed still. Not when their job was tailing someone for hours on end, following them from city to city like a shadow with a gun.

Some days your curiosity barely registered. Other days, it itched at you badly enough to make you want to ask questions; about him, his life, who he’d been before all this. But you always caught yourself before you crossed the line. There wasn’t much point asking a man like him anything personal. He wasn’t the type to answer, anyway.

Now, he stepped forward and opened the gallery door for you.

Another thing that had always been part of your life. You grew up with doors opening before you could reach them, cars waiting with engines running, routes mapped out for you; detours decided without your knowledge. Men in suits surrounding you, steadying you, taking you where you wanted to go and where you didn’t.

Your car door was already open when you stepped outside.

“I need to stop by my apartment—”

“Give my regards to your daddy.”

You stopped short. The scream never made it past your throat. One second you were standing there and the next, your whole body was soaked. Your eyes snapped shut, burning instantly. It hit all at once; your mouth, your nose, the back of your throat.

Gasoline.

“Louis—” you choked, hands flying to your face, smearing it away as panic surged. You grabbed the man beside you, fingers digging into his shoulders as he forced you forward.

“Get in the car. Inside. Head down,” he barked. It wasn’t Louis. Javier.

He shoved you toward the car, already moving faster than your mind could catch up. Louis’s voice rang somewhere in the distance: “Go, go!”

Javier pushed you into the backseat, one hand shielding your head as he forced you down. The door slammed shut behind you, sealing you in as he shoved you sideways.

“Vandspell. Now,” he ordered the driver.

You almost argued; told him no, that you had to, that you wanted to go to your apartment, but the words never quite made it out.

Your eyes burned. Your throat, too. It didn’t matter how many times you swallowed or how hard you scrubbed at your face with gasoline-soaked hands, it only made it worse.

“Stay still.”

His hand closed around your jaw, firm enough to keep you in place. You obeyed and a second later, Javier was carefully wiping your face with a towel.

“Who was it?” you asked as he moved the cloth over your eyes, more gently this time. “What did he look like?”

“Louis has him. Don’t worry about that.”

“That’s not what I asked.” Your voice came out sharp. You didn’t feel particularly inclined to be polite. Not now. Not like this.

“A man,” Javier said. “Wearing a balaclava.”

“Where’s Louis?”

It was the second time you’d asked, and the second time Javier ignored you. The first had been in the car, while he drove in absolute silence down the highway, refusing to tell you where the hell you were going, too. The second was now, as he pulled your suitcase from the trunk and started toward the cabin.

“Javier, you have to tell me if he’s okay.”

He stopped just before the short steps leading up to the porch and turned to face you.

“He’s fine. Louis is fine.”

“Is he coming with us?”

“I don’t know.” He turned back around and kept walking. Up the stairs, through the front door; though he didn’t actually step inside. He stayed planted in the doorway and jerked his chin once. “Get in.”

You tightened your grip on your bag strap and hurried after him. Your hair was still messy from the rushed shower you’d taken back at your father’s house, barely towel dried, and your throat still burned faintly from the gasoline you’d swallowed earlier.

Five hours away from Manhattan, your father kept a cabin hidden among the dense timber of the Adirondack Mountains. It was a lush, cold, and hostile wilderness during the winter months, and through all three hundred and sixty five nights of the year. The jagged peaks were hidden from view, masked by the thick treeline surrounding you, and while the mist was thin for now, you knew it would only thicken as the night went on.

You’d been here once before, when you were around ten. Your father had tucked you and your mother away here for a week. You remembered board games, hot chocolate, and men stationed outside with weapons slung over their shoulders. Men who spoke into bulky cellphones or radios that had looked ancient to you back then. Now you understood why; the signal out here was complete shit. Practically nonexistent.

"Drop it, don't touch that," Javier’s voice materialized behind you a split second before he snatched the phone from your hand.

“What are you doing?” You turned to face him.

The two of you stood in the living room, where the windows stretched floor to ceiling, though the gray light outside still left the cabin dim. Javier crossed the room and switched on one of the lamps beside the couch before slipping your phone into his pocket.

Then he stepped toward you.

“You’re not to contact anyone while we’re here. You understand me?”

“How exactly would I do that?” You crossed your arms. “We’re in the middle of nowhere. There’s no signal.”

Javier turned away and headed toward the small open kitchen a few feet off the living room.

“Why don’t you go take a proper shower instead? There’s more stuff for you in the red suitcase. Erica packed it.”

Erica. Your father’s housekeeper.

“You’re still not going to tell me what’s happening?” You followed after him, catching his shoulder with your hand and forcing him to look at you. “You seriously expect to drag me all the way out here, say ten words total and think that’s enough?”

“What else do you need to know?” he asked evenly. “A lunatic doused you in gasoline with a lighter in his hand. He was trying to hurt you.”

“What about my family? Are they safe back there? I told him he should’ve gotten out of New York—”

“They’re not after him.” He moved closer, his eyes locking onto yours. “They’re after you. They want to stop him from exposing whatever he found, and right now, you’re the only leverage they’ve got. You understand?”

“Yes, I do. I’m not stupid.” Your voice sharpened. “They wanted to use me as a threat. Fine. But if that’s the case, why try to kill me on the first shot? Wouldn’t it make more sense to send a warning first?”

Javier’s jaw tightened as he took a step back. Your eyes swept over his face in a flash.

“So now you’re critiquing their methods?” he asked.

“I’m just saying. If they wanted to hurt me, going for it on the first try without even making a threat first feels pretty sloppy,” you said, folding your arms across your chest. “Why’d they do that?”

He gave a faint shake of his head, lips pressing into a thin line. Then he tipped his chin up just slightly.

“Listen, why don’t you go get settled in? I’ll check the property and finish unloading the car.”

“You’re letting me go to my room alone?”

Javier’s eyes flicked toward yours. “For a minute. You’re a big girl, aren’t you? I’m sure you can survive without me for a couple of minutes.”

You hummed softly and took a step back, uncrossing your arms.

“Alright. If I need you, I’ll call,” you said, turning around. “Unless, of course, they gag me first.”

Behind you, you heard him scoff.

From your bedroom window, you could watch night settling in for good. The view from where you stood was limited, but beautiful all the same; a long stretch of trees, and beyond them, just the faintest glimpse of water catching what little light remained. The mountains in the distance were barely visible now, their peaks rising behind the dark canopy of green.

The window was cracked open just enough for cool air to slip inside, fresh against your skin and enough to leave goosebumps trailing down your arms. Your body still held onto the heat from the shower.

You could still smell gasoline, though at this point you figured the scent had burned itself into your nose. You’d scrubbed yourself down with soap over and over again, brushed your teeth at least three times after getting out, then sprayed perfume through your hair before blow-drying it. Thank God Erica had packed one in the red suitcase.

Javier had knocked on the bathroom door ten minutes ago and walked away after you told him everything was fine. No intruder hiding in the shower with you, thankfully.

Now, as you adjusted your clean clothes against your skin and your stomach growled in protest, you glanced down at the watch on your wrist. Eight thirty at night.

You found Javier crouched in front of the fireplace when you came downstairs.

“I’m starving. Is there anything in the fridge?”

You knew he’d stopped at a gas station in the middle of some tiny town on the drive out here. You hadn’t seen what he bought or how much of it, only that he’d walked out carrying a massive box, shoved it into the trunk without explanation, then gone back inside for more.

“Yeah. Check the counter too,” he said.

You turned on your heel and headed where he’d pointed. The cardboard box sat open on the counter: ground coffee, black tea, three different kinds of cookies, protein bars, several packs of pasta, salt, sugar, rye bread, every canned thing imaginable including beans, chickpeas, soups, giant jars of sauce, bags upon bags of beef jerky and mixed nuts, plus fruit like apples and oranges and a decent amount of vegetables. Off to the side sat two massive gallons of mineral water.

“How long are we staying here?” you asked as you moved toward the fridge.

When you opened it, you found trays of meat and four sandwiches wrapped tightly in plastic.

“I don’t know.” His voice sounded closer now; he was walking into the kitchen.

“That’s a lot of food.”

“Better too much than not enough, right?”

Without answering, you reached in and grabbed one of the sandwiches. It was huge. A sticker across the top listed the ingredients.

“Says it was made today. Think that’s actually true?”

You glanced over at him. Javier stepped closer and tilted his head slightly.

“If it’s not rotten, give it a shot.”

You pressed your tongue against the inside of your cheek. You weren’t in the mood to argue about food, and you definitely weren’t in the mood to cook for yourself.

“Want to eat with me?” you asked, leaning toward the fridge again. “Louis always eats with me.”

“I know. I stand by the door while he does, remember?” He crossed his arms, leaning back against the counter. “Nobody’s doing that for me now.”

“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” you said, pulling out another sandwich. “I think you can survive sitting down to eat with me.”

A minute after you dropped into one of the dining chairs, rain began tapping softly against the cabin roof. Outside, the fog had swallowed almost everything whole, turning the world beyond the windows into a blur of silver and black. Darkness stretched endlessly in every direction except for the moonlight; full tonight, huge and bright enough that its pale glow burst through the mist like scattered frost.

Javier (much against his better judgment, you suspected) sat across from you at the other end of the table, holding his brisket and vegetable sandwich with a faint frown as he took a bite.

Carefully, you peeled the lettuce from yours and set it on the wrapper. It smelled incredible; your mouth watered instantly. You took a bite and closed your eyes for a second at the taste.

“Oh my God, this is so good.”

Javier let out a quiet huff of laughter. It was brief and soft. “No lettuce?”

You waited until you swallowed. “Lettuce is the first thing that goes bad. Tomatoes too, but lettuce dies first.”

“It looked fresh enough.”

“I’m not risking it.”

He tilted his head slightly and took another bite.

Between you sat two glasses of water and an open bag of chips. Your gaze drifted through the glass in front of him, catching the warped image of his hand beneath the waterline; fingers distorted as they curled tightly, for some reason, around the handle of the butter knife resting beside his wrapper.

Your eyes traveled upward, past his watch, past the smooth skin of his forearm dusted with fine dark hair.

“Do you have a girl?”

The question came out so bluntly, stripped clean of the usual social cushioning, that he stopped chewing.

Honestly, it surprised you too.

The hand holding your sandwich lowered to the table little by little.

Javier looked at you with an unreadable expression, though you caught the slightest tightening near the corners of his eyes.

“That’s… none of your business.”

“So that’s a no?” Heat crawled into your cheeks. “A man like you—hard to believe you spend all your time alone when you’re not standing behind me.”

His jaw flexed as he chewed. One, two, three, four… five times before swallowing.

“Are you bored?”

You smiled faintly. “I’m asking a question. It’s been a long day, and we’re running out of things to talk about.”

Javier exhaled quietly and glanced toward the kitchen counter behind you.

“I move around too much for that. This kind of job doesn’t exactly leave room for domestic bliss.” His eyes flicked back to yours. “Now finish your sandwich and get some sleep.”

“You’re redirecting,” you pointed out with a small, knowing smile. “Is she in New York? Or back wherever you came from?”

That finally pulled his full attention back to you.

“You’re too curious for your own good, you know that?” he said. “Dangerous habit, sticking your nose into things that don’t concern you.”

“Maybe I am bored,” you teased, lifting one shoulder lightly. Your gaze wandered over the breadth of his shoulders before returning to his face. “Besides, you’ve spent an entire year following me around and learning every detail of my routine. I think I’m entitled to a few answers. Unless the truth’s just painfully boring.”

A crooked, amused smile tugged at his mouth.

“I don’t think you’re entitled to anything.”

Your brows lifted slightly.

“And boring isn’t the word I’d use anyway,” he added.

“Then what is the word?” You tilted your head, hair spilling over your shoulder. “Complicated? Or are you just rusty? I saw the way you looked at that girl at the gala last month — the one who tried to give you her number. Were you about to frisk her?”

Javier leaned forward, eyes narrowing, though there was a flicker of reluctant amusement buried beneath the irritation.

“Maybe she was a security risk.”

You smiled. “She was five two in four inch heels. The only thing she threatened was your peace of mind.” A soft laugh slipped out of you. “Admit it. You’re out of practice.”

A dry sound escaped him, and halfway to a laugh he swallowed it down behind a frown.

“Why don’t we try eating in silence instead, huh? Maybe you’re just hungry. And tired.”

You let the sandwich fall onto its wrapper.

“Don’t do that.”

His eyes locked onto yours.

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child. I’m not.” You lifted your chin slightly. “I’m used to Louis acting like that because he’s been doing it for a decade, but you’re not Louis.” Your voice stayed even. “And I’m not tired.”

“How?” he asked, and you noticed the defensive edge had left his voice, settling into something quieter. “It’s been a long day. Longer than most. You should be exhausted.”

“I don’t sleep much, and you know that.” You reached for your glass of water. “Besides, it’s too quiet out here.”

You took another bite of your sandwich and ignored the way he kept watching you. His fingers tapped once against the wooden table.

“Well, you’re strangely calm considering what happened today. How are you feeling? Really.”

You swallowed your food. In the privacy of your own head, you thought about the smell of gasoline; the slick, half-thick texture of it soaked into your skin and clothes.

“I’m okay. I mean, my throat still burns a little, and I’ll probably smell gasoline in my sleep for the next week, but I’m okay.”

Javier’s jaw tightened. He looked down at his hands.

“Most people would be scared.”

“Maybe I’ve spent too much time around men like you and my father,” you said with a faint smile. “Eventually you learn how to compartmentalize. Or maybe I just haven’t processed how close it actually was because you were there.” You tilted your head slightly. “Give it a few days. Maybe the shock will catch up to me then.”

“Huh.” His eyes lifted back to yours. “You’re tougher than you look.”

Your ego swelled at that despite yourself.

“You think so?”

“Yeah. I figured that out a while ago.” One corner of his mouth twitched faintly. “That, combined with your invasive questions, makes it pretty hard to see you as some porcelain doll.”

Your fingers curled tighter around your glass, though you didn’t lift it. You kept your eyes fixed on him.

“Is that really what you think I am? A porcelain doll?”

Javier pressed his lips together and stayed perfectly still. His gaze didn’t leave yours.

He didn’t answer.

“You’re wrong,” you continued, leaning a little farther over the table. “Porcelain’s fragile. It cracks the second things get bad. I’ve spent my whole life in houses where the walls have ears and every move is planned before it happens. What other choice did I have?”

“I don’t think you’re made of porcelain,” he said quietly. “Not even close. That’s what I meant. But I've heard people talk about you when I first started working for your dad. That's all.”

You blinked once. “Then what do you think I am?”

You caught the way his eyes almost smiled, completely at odds with the rest of his expression. He was thinking something.

But what?

He lifted his chin slightly and tilted his head.

"You're more like… like the glass they use in those high-rise buildings in the city," he said, holding your eyes. "You know, looks delicate from the street, like you could put a fist through it if you tried. But it's reinforced. It's built to take the pressure of the wind and the heat without cracking." A faint smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. “You’re not fragile. You’re just used to being handled with gloves.”

The honesty in his voice made you go still. So did the smugness.

Javier looked calm, but the feeling was there in the smallest details; in the flicker of his expression, the confidence sitting quietly beneath every word.

“And what happens if you take the gloves off? Can you do that for me?”

He froze. His dark eyes locked onto your face and moved over it with maddening slowness, never losing intensity. The surprise wasn’t invisible this time. He started studying you with a heaviness that felt almost physical, like being touched.

A muscle jumped in his jaw. His gaze dropped briefly to your hand resting on the table before returning to your eyes. His pupils had blown wide.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he said.

Every trace of professionalism had vanished from his voice.

“Don’t I?”

“Of course not.”

“And how exactly would you know that?” you asked with a smile. “I wasn’t being very subtle, was I?”

Javier tilted his head, studying you a little more carefully now.

“Vandspell,” he said slowly, “what exactly are you trying to say?”

Oh, he could not ask you that while looking at you like that.

You’d spent a year and a half with him at your back, following you everywhere. Of course you’d noticed the way he looked at you sometimes; rare, but obvious when it happened. And maybe it was the aftershock finally kicking in, or maybe today had knocked something loose inside your head, because suddenly you felt very, very capable of saying exactly what you wanted.

What was he going to do? Run?

And honestly, Javier didn’t strike you as the type of man who’d go tattling to your father about your behavior. No; he seemed much more like the type who’d join in.

So, fuck it.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” you said. “I’m curious.”

“Curious about what?”

“You.”

His brows lifted. “Me?”

You nodded.

“What useful thing could you possibly want to know about me?”

“Oh, a few things.”

You leaned farther onto the table. He swallowed.

“You know, I looked into you a little when my father first hired you.” You tilted your head. “Almost everything I found was about your professional life. That was disappointing.”

“My professional life disappointed you?”

“No. Not being able to find out anything about your personal life disappointed me.”

A quiet huff of laughter escaped him. “What could you possibly want to know about me? Let me ask again.”

“Do you have a girl?”

Javier hid the beginning of a smirk behind his hand. “No. I already told you that.”

“So nobody’s waiting for you back in the city?” you pressed, keeping your voice casual even as your heartbeat picked up against your ribs. “No one complaining about your hours or how impossible you are to deal with when you're tired after work?”

“No.” His eyes stayed fixed on yours. “No one’s waiting.”

“Good.” The word slipped out before you could stop it.

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s true.” You refused to look away. “I’m glad there’s nobody else. Is that so wrong?”

He let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh and shook his head, looking down at his sandwich.

“What?” you asked lightly. “I’m just curious.”

He leaned forward just slightly. Like standing one step from the edge of something steep.

“No. You aren’t.” His tone flattened again. “You’re bored. We’re trapped in a cabin with no TV, no signal, and you’ve spent your whole life being the center of attention. Now it’s just me, so you’re fishing for a reaction.” His eyes narrowed faintly. “You’re poking at me to see if the hired help has a pulse.” A pause. “Why don’t you save these games for your boyfriend?”

That made you smile.

“You can’t stand Wes.”

Javier lifted his brows and tipped his head to the side.

“I’ve seen the way you look at him,” you continued. “The eye rolls every time he opens his mouth. Those exhausted sighs you let out whenever you’re stuck standing next to us.” Your smile widened slightly. “You’re really not that good at pretending.”

“Oh yeah?” he said dryly. “Do tell.”

“Well, I think it’s only fair, don’t you?” you said. “If you get to spend almost two years watching me, then I get to spend almost two years watching you too.” You tilted your head slightly. “What’s it like? Spending hours every day just… waiting for me to finish dinner or for some meeting to finally end?”

“It’s part of the paycheck. You get used to it.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Alright,” he said, his voice dropping lower. “Since you’re so curious, let’s flip it around. What exactly do you think you’re doing right now?” His eyes stayed pinned to yours. “Because I know for a fact you’re not this talkative in the city. Half the time you barely say two words to me in the car.”

You swallowed once.

“Maybe it’s the lack of an audience.”

“I don’t buy it.”

You shrugged and picked your sandwich back up, taking a small bite. Across from you, he kept watching.

“You’re not wrong, by the way,” he said after a moment. “About Wes.”

He shifted slightly, resting an arm along the back of the chair beside him. His eyes drifted toward the window to your left, the shadow of a grimace crossing his face.

“I find him incredibly childish,” he admitted, shaking his head. “The way he talks, the way he carries himself… I honestly thought you would’ve realized that by now. I figured someone as observant as you would’ve gotten tired of the performance months ago.”

You smiled, feeling a strange little victory in his honesty “He can be immature, but he’s not a bad guy.”

“It’s exhausting to watch, especially when I’m the one making sure his complete lack of situational awareness doesn’t get you both killed.” His jaw tightened. “Like at that party last week. The way he practically tried to drag you into that car? He was wasted.”

Your eyes flickered at the memory.

Yeah. Wes had been an idiot. He’d tried to get behind the wheel of his Lambo while drunk out of his mind and high on molly, then nearly thrown a tantrum when you told him you were going home alone. Javier had pulled you away by the arm before you even had the chance to argue.

“You’re a lot of things,” Javier continued, “but you’re not stupid. So yeah, it’s frustrating watching you settle for someone who doesn’t even know which direction the wind’s blowing.”

“A lot of things?” you repeated with a smile, brows pulling together slightly. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

He shook his head once. “Nothing. You’re persistent. Extremely persistent.” He nodded toward your sandwich. “Come on, eat. You’re hungry, aren’t you? Let’s finish dinner so I can get back to doing my job.”

“Your job is watching me, Javier,” you reminded him softly. “And I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. So watch me all you want.”

Surrounded by darkness, pure cold air, and a room you didn’t fully recognize, your hand flew to your chest as your eyes snapped open wide with panic. A bolt of lightning had struck somewhere nearby, violent enough to rattle the windowpanes, but even then, you couldn’t tell whether it was the thunder that had dragged you awake, or the nightmare still clawing at the inside of your head.

Outside, the rain fell in a heavy torrent, its frantic galloping against the roof mimicking the rhythm in your chest. You grabbed your phone to check the time: 3:00 AM. No, 3:31. And for a fleeting second, your mind drifted back to the legends whispered by schoolmates years and years ago. They said that at 3:33 AM, the veil thins, and creatures lurking in the cracks of the day emerge; it was the hour when the impossible and unusual became reality.

The room felt cavernous, its high corners swallowing the light and casting long jagged shadows. And the door stood half open, revealing nothing but pitch black hallway beyond it.

You pushed the blankets aside and lowered your feet onto the floor. Freezing.

Phone clutched tightly in your hand, you stepped into the hallway and pushed the flashlight over it, casting a pale beam over every step as you followed it toward the staircase.

“Javier?”

BOOM.

Another crack of thunder jolted through the house, making you jump in place. Your head whipped around instantly… Had the floor creaked behind you?

Your heart raced at a frantic pace as you rushed down the stairs, ignoring the thudding in your chest and the biting chill crawling up your legs.

Below, the living room flickered to life every few seconds, caught in the pale erratic flashes of lightning. The fireplace offered a pulsing warm glow that bled across the rug and the couch across from it, and on the coffee table sat a pack of cigarettes and a handgun. But Javier was nowhere to be seen.

You scanned the room, searching for a flashlight or anything useful, but found nothing. You spun on your heel and—

"Shit!"

Just as another bolt of lightning tore through the sky, bathing the room in a ghostly white glare, Javier appeared right in front of you.

Drenched to the bone, with wet hair plastered to his forehead, he stood there holding a heavy flashlight and a set of keys.

"You... you scared the shit out of me," you mumbled, recoiling a step. You knit your brows together. "What happened?"

"The power’s out," he rasped.

"I know that."

"The storm must've taken out a line down the road. Go to the fireplace; I’ve got the fire going. It’s the only place that’ll stay warm."

He brushed past you and stopped by the couch. He reached down, took the weapon, and tucked it out of sight.

"Sit," he commanded.

Without a word, you obeyed; the cold was becoming unbearable and exhaustion weighed heavy on your eyelids. You walked over and sank into the soft cushions of the couch. You were wearing only an oversized t-shirt that left your thighs exposed to the air; instinctively, you pulled the hem of the fabric down with one hand to cover yourself.

He vanished from your sight then, and you flicked off your phone’s flashlight, tossing the device onto the coffee table like the useless piece of hardware it had become. Before you, the fire roared, flames dancing restlessly from side to side. The warmth helped, but barely.

“Here.”

At the sound of his voice, you turned your head toward him. Javier stood behind the couch.

Without a word, he draped a thick heavy blanket over your shoulders. His fingers were still wet and freezing, and they lingered briefly against the back of your neck; the touch made you shiver. A second later, he pulled away and moved around the couch, sinking onto the opposite end with enough distance between you to feel intentional. He barely moved after that.

Water continued dripping from his clothes, leaving dark stains across the upholstery as the storm raged outside.

“You’re soaked,” you said quietly, your eyes trailing over him. “Why were you even outside?”

“Checking the power lines.”

His gaze never left the fire.

You frowned, watching the fabric of his shirt cling to his skin like a second layer of cold.

“Why don’t you change?”

“Don’t have anything here.” His jaw tightened faintly. “Louis is bringing the rest of the stuff tomorrow. Clothes included.”

“I’m sorry.”

In the ensuing silence, the reality of the situation felt heavier than the wool on your shoulders. The entire trip had been so rushed that neither of you had stopped to consider that a storm of this magnitude could leave you trapped and empty handed.

What if Louis couldn't reach you tomorrow?

As was his custom, your father would surely send more than one man. Javier, Louis, maybe Renzo, and likely Nora, who usually accompanied you on matters like this. But if the downpour persisted and the roads became impassable, there was no telling if they’d make it.

"So you're just going to stay like that? Drenched?"

“Yes.”

“You could dry off, you know,” you insisted, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. “It’s not a big deal if you take the clothes off. But if you stay wet, you’re definitely gonna get sick.” You nodded toward the hallway. “There are towels in the closet.”

Javier seemed to process your words with a pause. For a moment, the only sound was the wind lashing against the windowpanes and the rumble of the sky.

His fingers brushed the edge of his sodden cuff, hesitating.

"Your hair is dripping," you added, as the final blow to his resistance.

A quiet sigh slipped out of him and he pushed himself to his feet. Grabbing the flashlight from the coffee table, he disappeared down the hallway without another word, as his silhouette was swallowed by darkness and the sound of his footsteps echoed across the wooden floorboards.

You took advantage of his absence to burrow deeper into the heavy blanket. Tucking your legs onto the couch, you leaned back, sinking into the cushions until only your eyes peered over the edge of the wool. The fire’s heat was finally taking hold, numbing your limbs and stilling the tremors in your body.

A moment later, Javier returned.

The jacket, shirt and jeans were gone. He walked with his torso completely bare, revealing a landscape of muscle and warm-toned skin. He wore only a towel wrapped low, clinging precariously to the line of his hips.

You fell silent, a sudden knot tightening in your throat. Your eyes betrayed you, tracing the breadth of his shoulders and the firmness of his chest, where traces of dampness still glistened. Your gaze drifted downward involuntarily, following the thin line of hair below his navel that disappeared beneath the waist of the towel.

A heat flared within you that had nothing to do with the hearth. You quickly averted your eyes toward the fire, hoping the dancing shadows on your cheeks would mask the unmistakable creep of a blush.

"Better," he said.

Javier sat back down, and the contrast was nearly unbearable. You remained motionless, your gaze fixed on the fire, though your eyes weren't truly seeing the flames. Internally, your mind was a chaotic mess of self-reproach; you thought this had to be some cruel joke, immediate karma for trying to toy with him during dinner. You had enjoyed every charged look and every double entendre, wanting to see if you could crack that stone mask he always wore. You wanted to provoke him, yes—but now that he was right there, half naked, the situation had spiraled out of your control.

A persistent tingle stirred in your lower abdomen, a pang of anticipation that you tried to ignore by pressing your legs together under the blanket. Your heart, ever the traitor, thrashed against your ribs with an erratic rhythm; you weren't worried about him hearing it, though, the thunder provided the perfect cover.

Javier let out a long exhale and leaned back against the cushions, stretching one arm across the top of the couch. His fingers came to rest mere inches from your back.

“You’re still shaking,” he observed. “You still cold?”

You turned your head just enough to see him out of the corner of your eye. He wasn't looking at you; his eyes were fixed on the ceiling, but his jaw was set tight.

"Yeah," you admitted in a whisper, clutching the edges of the blanket tighter against your chest. "I'm still a little cold."

You dared to turn fully to catch his profile. He remained there, letting the hearth’s warmth lick across his skin. He looked like a statue carved from only shadows and orange light.

"And you?" you asked. "Aren't you cold? You're almost... well, you aren't wearing much."

"A little. Did you get any sleep?"

"Just a bit," you confessed. "You?"

"No."

"Why?"

“Got a lot on my mind,” he muttered. And this time, he didn’t avoid your gaze.

He looked at you directly, with an intensity that made you feel strangely small and hyperaware of every inch of yourself all at once.

That tingle in your stomach flared again.

"A lot? Like what?"

Instead of an answer, a faint, arrogant smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. He remained silent, turning back toward the fire and running a finger over his mustache.

Oh, playing the mysterious type, are we?

Two could play that game.

Without a word, you let the blanket slide from your shoulders, allowing the chill of the room to bite at your skin. You rose from the couch and crossed to the fireplace, and felt his gaze searing into your back; you knew exactly how the hem of your shirt rode up with every step. You knew you were showing just the right amount of skin, and that as you leaned over to reach for the poker, your tights and ass were perfectly framed by the glow of the embers.

You gripped the iron tool and shifted the logs, moving with an unnecessary focus and tending to the fire while the heat enveloped you. When you finished, you set the poker back in its stand and turned around with excruciating patience.

You found him exactly as you expected: staring. His gaze was so heavy, so raw, it felt as though it could physically pin you against the wall. You didn't flinch. You held his stare and began to trace your own waist through the thin fabric of the shirt. You moved your fingers with a gentle touch, stroking upward, dragging the hem higher inch by inch, and stopped only when your fingers reached your naked waist, letting the garment hang dangerously high.

You stood still, waiting for him to make a move. But Javier didn't stop you, nor did he look away. Instead, he shifted his hips slightly forward on the couch, and you noted, with a silent surge of triumph, the way his breathing began to quicken.

"Do you want me to keep going... or do you want me to stop?" you asked.

He remained incredibly still. “How the hell am I supposed to look your daddy in the eye when I cash my paycheck?”

You offered a lopsided smile, feeling the power of the moment firmly in your grasp. You began to close the distance between you, step by step. When you were directly in front of him, you leaned down, resting your arms on the back of the couch just behind his head, trapping him within your space.

“Oh, come on,” you whispered, tilting closer. “You really wanna pretend you care?”

Your lips hovered dangerously near his.

“You’ll put on that good-man act,” you murmured. “Smile nice and polite while your eyes give absolutely nothing away.” Your gaze flicked briefly toward his mouth. “Such a good man. Always protecting me.”

Javier let out a low growl, and his hand clamped firmly around your wrist.

With a sudden, violent yank, he pulled you down onto him. You gasped as you collided with the heat of his bare chest, and your hands instinctively grasped his shoulders before sliding down over the hard ridges of his pectorals.

He wasted no time, hauling you up until you were straddling him, your bare thighs gripping his waist. One of his hands surged upward, locking his fingers around your jaw. He squeezed just enough to force your head back, and tilted your face toward his as he hauled you closer. His breath fanned across your lips.

"Does anyone know about this?" he rasped. "That you wanna go behind your daddy’s back and your rich little boyfriend just to get fucked by your bodyguard?"

Your heart hammered so violently against your ribs you thought it might shatter them. "No."

Javier’s eyes darkened, turning into two pits of black ink. "Tell me, how does that boy like to fuck you? I bet he’s so wasted half the time he can’t even get his dick hard enough to do the job. What a waste."

He dragged his thumb across your lower lip, pressing down and stretching your mouth open.

"He likes it on his back," you whispered, your voice trembling as you leaned into his touch. "Or doggy style, if he’s feeling adventurous."

You moved your mouth closer to his, so close your lips brushed his; his thumb was still hooked over your bottom lip.

"And what about you?" you challenged, your eyes locked onto his. "How would you fuck me?"

He leaned in, his lips brushing the soft skin of your ear. "I’m not really good with words, sweetheart."

In response, your hand traveled slowly up the expanse of his bare chest. "Then show me."

You pulled back just enough to catch his gaze before reaching for the hem of your shirt, and dragged the fabric upward and over your head, tossing it into the shadows. Javier fell into silence; his eyes tracked your movement, dropping to your bare breasts and devouring the sight of you in the amber firelight. Beneath you, you felt him surge; thick and rock hard, straining against the thin towel directly against you.

You reached up, cupping his face with one hand, and your thumb grazed his cheekbone. Slowly, you closed the distance, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that was deceptively tender. You parted your lips for him, your tongue sliding in to taste him.

As you deepened the kiss, your other hand wound into the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling firmly to tilt his head back. You caught his lower lip between your teeth and gave a playful tug.

He let out a growl, so animalistic and raw that vibrated from his chest straight into you. His hands slammed onto your backside and his fingers pressed deep into the flesh of your glutes. He jerked your hips forward, grinding you ruthlessly against his throbbing erection; the thin barrier of the towel did nothing to hide the fact that he was ready to snap.

And then, he broke the kiss.

"You have no idea what you’ve started," he rasped.

Javier didn’t wait for an answer. He attacked your neck, his teeth grazing your skin and his tongue swirling over the spot where your pulse was jumping. One of his hands slid from your hip, traveling up your ribcage until he captured your breast, squeezing it and flicking your nipple over and over with his thumb, watching as it peaked under his touch.

His other hand didn't stay still; he reached down between your bodies, his fingers hooking under the edge of your panties and shoving them aside. When he found you, he let out a whimper; Javier buried two fingers inside you with a sudden thrust, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing it with such a soft and heavy pressure that your back arched as soon as you felt him.

"Yes, fuck" you whimpered, your head falling back as the friction made you shiver.

He just watched you unravel, moving his fingers and letting them get wet. There was a triumphant smirk ghosting his lips.

A moment later, he withdrew his fingers; glistening and wet, he brought them to his mouth, tasting you without breaking eye contact. It was so filthy; no one had ever looked at you this way. Or at least, it had never felt this natural and raw before.

He gripped your waist again, his knuckles white with the effort of holding back.

"Not here," he gritted out. "Get on the rug. Lay down in front of the fire."

Obediently, you slid off his lap as Javier stood with you. You turned away, dropping to all fours on the rug and crawling toward the hearth. Every muscle in your back and hips flexed under the orange glow, your skin prickling as the intense heat of the flames washed over you and your body moved with a deliberate sway of your hips, feeling his eyes burning a hole in your spine, before settling onto your backside in the center of the rug.

Standing right over you, he reached for the knot of the towel at his waist and jerked it free, tossing it carelessly onto the couch.

There he was, fully exposed in the flickering light. He was massive; his cock thick, angry and fully erect, pulsing with every thud of his heart. A single glistening bead of pre-cum clung to the tip, reflecting the fire. It watered your mouth. A second later, he wrapped a large hand around the base of his shaft, grazing the dark curls of hair at his groin, and began to slowly pump himself.

The sight of him doing that just for you made your breath hitch. The payoff to every thought you’d had about this hard quiet man over the past year couldn’t be sweeter.

Without breaking eye contact, you hooked your fingers into the lace of your panties and dragged them down your legs, kicking them aside. You lay back on the rug, spreading your legs wide until you were completely open to him.

The heat of the fire was nothing compared to the ache between your thighs. You slid your hand down and your fingers disappeared into your own wetness. You began to stroke yourself, circling your clit with a slick pressure while watching him stroke himself right above you.

"Look at you," Javier rasped. His hand moved faster now. "Open like a gift for me. Soaked and desperate."

You let out a broken moan, arching your back as your fingers worked harder, slicking your folds with your own cream. "Don't make me wait."

He stopped mid-stroke, his chest heaving as he stared down at the way you were touching yourself. His face was full of pure delicious lust.

Javier dropped to his knees between your thighs a second later, the heat from the hearth making his shoulders glisten like oil. But he didn't rush; he started by dragging his fingertips along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, teasing the edges of your wetness until you were squirming beneath him. Then, he pressed his palm flat against your mound, grinding in a slow circle that forced a jagged breath from your lungs.

He slid two thick fingers into you, pushing deep until he hit hilt, and started a slow soft pump; in and out, stretching you, letting you feel the sheer size of him through his hands. Then, he hooked his fingers upward, findind that one delicious spot that always made your toes curl.

In the privacy of your own company, you’d driven yourself to the edge with this exact motion more times than you could count. Half the time, Javier had been right on the other side of the door, completely unaware; you knew how to stay quiet. But your fingers were nothing like his. Not in the way they moved, not in their size, and definitely not because this time, it was him doing it. It was enough to make stars burst behind your eyes.

The sound was so filthy, so wet.

"You hear that?" he muttered. "You're so fucking wet for me, baby, aren't you?"

You threw your head back, your cheeks burning with a feverish flush. Every time he curled his fingers, a hot jolt shot through your spine. When you opened your eyes for a fleeting second, all you could see was the orange roar of the fire, blurring into a haze of pleasure.

Suddenly, he leaned down, burying his face between your legs. When his tongue lashed against your clit, you let out a strangled sob, your fingers instinctively diving into his thick hair, clutching him against you. He was destroying you, his mouth working with punishing hunger that pushed you right to the edge of unraveling.

You began to toss your head, your hips bucking uselessly as you tried to find friction. You were so close.

But then, he pulled away abruptly. His fingers vanished, his mouth left your skin, and the sudden cold made you whimper in protest.

"What do you want?" he gritted out through clenched teeth. His chest was heaving, his face was inches from yours.

You ran a trembling hand through your hair, staring up at him with blown out pupils as your breasts were rising and falling frantically.

Javier reached down, his large hand sliding under your hip to give your ass a stinging slap that made you jump.

"I just asked you a question," he growled. "What do you want?"

You pushed yourself up onto your elbows; your hair was a mess around your shoulders.

"I want you to fuck me," you breathed. "So fucking hard and deep, Javier. Can you do that for me?"

A dark, dangerous shadow crossed his face. Slowly, he nodded, his gaze locked onto yours with a promise of total ruin.

"Yeah," he rasped, reaching for his cock. "I can do that."

Javier gripped his shaft and guided the head to your entrance, which was already dripping and swollen. He didn't ease in; with a low grunt, he lunged forward, burying his entire length inside you in one deep soul shattering thrust.

The air left your lungs in a wheeze. You were stretched to the absolute limit, your internal muscles spasming around him as he bottomed out. He stayed there for a moment, buried deep, as his forehead rested against yours.

"You're so fucking tight," he choked out.

You smiled, suddenly cock-drunk. And he began to hammer into you with a raw intensity, his hips hitting yours with a slap so loud it echoed over the crackling fire and your heartbeat. He reached down and yanked one of your knees upward, pinning it against your chest so he could drive even deeper.

"Yes, please," you sobbed, your head thrashing against the rug. "Please, don't stop... oh god, don't stop."

He leaned down, his mouth crashing against yours in a kiss for a moment before his attention shifted to your neck, his teeth sinking into the delicate cord of your throat. You screamed into him, your own teeth catching his shoulder, biting down hard enough to leave marks as the pleasure became too much to bear. It felt like your nervous system was short-circuiting, every nerve ending screaming under the friction of him filling you.

Javier let out a loud, pained moan and his pace became frantic. He reached up, and his large hand wrapped around your throat; not to choke, but to pin you, to claim you. He forced you to look at him.

"Mirame a los ojos," he rasped. "Mira como estás. You think that rich boy could ever make you cry like this? You think he knows how to break you open?"

He slammed into you again, harder this time, harder and harder, his thumb stroking your jaw while his fingers tightened slightly on your neck. Your breath was completely destroyed, coming in tiny pathetic hitches.

"You’re mine tonight," he growled. "Mine. Just my cock stretching you out until you can't think of anyone else. Say it. Tell me who's fucking you. Say it."

"You," you gasped, your vision blurring as you neared the ledge. "You are... Javier... please…"

He let out another groan, his muscles coiling like a spring as he prepared to lose the last of his control.

The sound was absolute filth and you loved it. You could feel yourself overflowing, your own heat and cream coating his shaft and dripping down the curve of your ass, slicking the insides of your thighs until every thrust felt like sliding through hot velvet.

Javier let out a ragged uneven breath. He reached down, hooking his forearms under your pits and hauling your upper body off the rug until you were arched toward him.

"Look at you," he commanded. "Look how well you're taking me."

You forced your eyes open, glancing down through a haze of sweat and pleasure to see the primal sight of his thick cock disappearing into you and pulling out glistening with your nectar, over and over.

"See how sweet you are for me?" he growled. "How you take every inch like you were made for it?"

Before you could even gasp, he shifted his grip; his hand buried deep into the hair at the nape of your neck and jerking your head back. He crashed his mouth against yours in a desperate kiss.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him flush against you as your breasts crushed into his damp chest, and hooked your legs high around his waist, locking your ankles behind his back.

"Please... yes, right there, Javi," you sobbed into his mouth, your internal muscles clenching around him. "I'm so close... I’m right there."

"I know, baby," he gritted out.

He was losing it too; the measured man was gone, replaced by a one driven by pure lust. His skin was scorching, slick with sweat that acted like a lubricant between your bodies, and for the first time all night, you were no longer cold.

His movements became desperate. "Don't you move," he hissed. "Take all of it. Take it, take it, you're such a fucking good girl."

The climax hit you hard and soft at the same time; your entire body spasmed, your back arching off the rug in a messy line as the first wave of the orgasm tore through you. Debilitating, high-pitched whimpers escaped your throat and got lost in the roar of the fire. You were unraveling, every muscle in your cunt clenching around him in a desperate pulse that seemed to have no end.

Javier didn't let up; his movements became erratic and frantic as he felt you shattering beneath him. His fingers dug into your waist with bruising force, his knuckles white as he anchored himself inside of you; you reached for him blindly, your hands roaming over his sweat slicked shoulders, his heaving chest, his jaw.

You pulled him down, kissing him, your teeth catching his lip and drawing a metallic tang of blood. And as you finally broke apart for air, a thin, silver thread of saliva lingered between your mouths.

He let out a broken moan, his face contorting into a pained beautiful expression that looked almost like he was weeping. He pressed his forehead hard against yours, his eyes squeezed shut as he fought to stay upright.

"Come inside me," you choked out, your voice a wrecked whisper against his lips. "Come inside me, Javi... please…"

With three more violent thrusts, his entire frame went rigid. A low sob erupted from his lungs as he finally surrendered, and you felt the scorching heat of him flooding you, wave after wave of his release pumping deep into your womb, filling the space he’d spent the last minutes claiming.

He went still then, buried to the hilt, his weight collapsing forward as he trembled against you, savoring the dying echoes of the friction and the absolute chaos of the storm outside.

Slowly, he let his forehead fall against yours, and your hands slid up his broad shoulders until they curled around the back of his neck.

You smiled softly. “Where’s the serious man who wouldn’t even look me in the eye during the drive?” you teased. “You look different now.”

Javier lifted his head just enough to meet your gaze. His hand brushed gently along your cheek before he gave a faint shake of his head.

“He’s gone. You buried him the second you took that shirt off. I’m supposed to be the one protecting you, but God help me… I’d do it all over again just to hear you fall apart like that one more time.”

His words felt like a victory; they sent a thrill through your stomach.

“Well,” you murmured, your fingers tracing lightly along the back of his neck, “it’s just gonna be you and me until tomorrow.”

“Ah — javi! You’re gonna drop me!” You shriek as your husband of eight hours tossed you over his shoulder as if you weighed nothing, your legs dangling down his front and your white heel-clad feet lightly kicking at his stomach, your head dangling around his ass and if you were being honest, you weren’t complaining about the view. Your hands scramble around his lower back for some kind of stability as Javier marches down the hallway of your hotel until he meets the door of the Wedding Suite.

A smirk plays on his lips, one of his large arms wrapped around the backs of your thighs while the other assists on landing a sharp, playful smack on your butt. “Not gonna drop you. This is tradition baby — the groom carryin’ his wife to bed. Can’t argue with traditions.” He says, reaching into his slack pocket and removing the key card from it.

This was the first time the two of you were actually seeing your wedding suite considering you had to get ready apart. You swat his back lightly. “I can argue about you dropping me on my face though.” You giggle.

Javier lets out a low grunt as the door unlocks with a click. He quickly pulls the handle down and pushes the heavy door open with his hip, successfully making it inside without anybody falling. “There,” he concludes, pulling you from over his shoulder until your feet were back on the ground, stabilising you with a hand on your waist when you wobbled on your heels. “Would you look at that? Didn’t fall. Now C’mere and give me a kiss. Been waiting to feel those pretty fuckin’ lips on me properly all day.” He demands, his voice that rough growl that you now recognised as his bedroom voice from being in a relationship with him for the past two years. His hair was slightly dishevelled from the day of first dances and I-do’s — a black tendril of hair falling — from the rest of the strands that were slicked back — over his forehead, his brown eyes warm with love and something else a little deeper — a little dirtier.

This was the night you’d been dreaming of ever since you were eleven years old using your pillow case as a vail and forcing your stuffed animals to be your wedding guests. You wouldn’t have ever thought that the cocky, slightly intimidating DEA agent you worked with in the Embassy would ever become more than an office crush, let alone your husband. It felt surreal in this incredibly exciting, terrifying way.

And as beautiful as the ceremony was, how emotional your vows were and how breathtaking Javier looked as he watched in awe of you walking down the aisle, the part that continued to play in your mind throughout the day of mingling with family in your home state and dancing with Javier’s incredibly sweet dad, was what tonight would bring. How it would feel getting brought back to the hotel room and having your dress practically torn off you. How large Javi’s cock would feel in all the different positions the two of you would experience together. How mouth watering his voice would sound in your ear as he pounded your cunt from behind or the groans from him as you sucked and stroked his cock.

You could only imagine his reaction when he saw the special white, lace, bridal lingerie you were wearing for him underneath your dress. You grin at the desperation in his words and slowly lean in to capture his lips in a kiss that started off slow but quickly developed into something hungrier. Both of Javi’s hands come to your waist, his fingers digging into the fabric of your dress as he spun you around and pinned you up against the wall next to the door, a low growl escaping his chest as he bit down on your lower lip — a silent plea for you to part your lips for him.

You do so with delight — more than happy to feel the warmth of his tongue slip between your lips. When he does, you moan around it, lavishing in the drool worthy sensation. One hand stays firmly on your waist, keeping you pinned against the wall as he brings his other up along your jaw, his thumb rubbing the soft skin of your cheek before trailing up behind your neck.

Your hands tangle in the fabric of his black suit jacket, eventually pulling the item off of his shoulders until it was a forgotten pile on the floor. Javier’s fingers tangle in your hair, wrapping the long strands around his hand until it were secure enough for him to tug.

You break the kiss, pulling away as you gasp for breath. The taste of his saliva and the smell of his cologne is intoxicating to you — making your brain feel disoriented and your hands sweaty. “Fuck,” you breath, a surprised giggle escaping your lips. “Not even gonna let me check out the room properly?”

Javi smiles humorously, dropping his hand from your now, slightly tangled, hair and cupping your face with both his hands. “Just need you, hermosa. Looking so beautiful in this dress,” his voice enticing and seductive as he steps closer, his body flush with yours as he raises his knee towards your thighs, pressing it directly between them. The action makes you whimper, your pupils dilating with lust. “Making me think about that pretty pussy. How it’d feel to get on my knees right here and just.. fuckin’ taste it.”

Your breath catches, your fingers loosening in his jacket as his words wash over you. Your cunt is now pulsing rapidly beneath your underwear, your clit feeling stiff and swollen. “You wanna taste my pussy?” You ask dumbly — flushed and lightheaded.

Javi chuckles at your flustered state, his hand slipping down from your face until it could squeeze a handful of your breast. “Mm,” he confirms, his head tilting to the side as his thumb brushes your nipple through your dress. “Will you give me that, Mr’s Peña?”

The name slides off his tongue so easily and it makes your stomach flutter, a grin decorating your lips. “Yes, Mr Peña.”

“Yeah,” he nods cockily, leaning back into your lips to brush them lazily. “That’s what I thought.” He drops to his knees at that, the toes of his shoes digging into the hotel room carpet. His hands come up to lift the fabric of your dress, but you beat him to it by slipping the straps of it down, the dress easily sliding off your body and to your feet with one tug from Javier.

You were then left with just the infamous bridal wedding lingerie set and heels and for a second, Javi just stares in complete awe. The set was beautiful, one that you’d nervously shopped for in a small lingerie store back in Bogotá one evening while feeling brave. The main piece was a white lace bustier that sat like a corset and a bra combined. The lace is sheer and floral, meaning that your perked nipples were visible through the thin fabric — the cool air hitting them a little suddenly. The panties matched, same colour and same fabric. They sat low on your hips and the thin straps at the side created a slightly strappy, cut-out look, echoing the delicate, ornamental style of the top.

But surprisingly — not underwhelmingly — his hand comes up to your thigh, about three inches above your knee where your garter sat. It was a pale blue satin ribbon gathered into gentle ruffles that sat beautifully against your skin. His voice comes out a little low, a little strangled. “Was wonderin’ what your something blue was.”

And it was true, that was your something blue. Something you’d borrowed last minute from Connie — Steve’s wife who you had formed quite a close relationship with considering you and Javi both work with her husband. It wasn’t even something you’d thought about much but he seemed to like it.

You smile behind your bit lip, dropping your head back against the wall behind you. You couldn’t conjure a response — not when he was so close to your cunt which had now — undoubtedly — created a dark spot onto your panties, one likely visible to Javi. He takes your lack of response as a sign to get cracking, so he lifts one of your feet up, removing your foot from your heel — the freedom from the shoe feeling satisfying — especially so when Javier presses a kiss to the bridge of your foot before repeating the action with the other until you were barefoot.

He moves his face up toward your covered pussy, pulling one of your legs over his shoulder for easier access. He starts to plant slow, teasing, wet kisses over the lace, the contact making you gasp and send your hand shooting down to fist his short hair. “God — please, Javi. You know i need it.”

“Yeah,” he coos, his other hand that wasn’t holding your waist steady coming down to rub a circle into your clit over your panties. “I know you do, amorcito. And I’m gonna give it to you. Just gotta have some patience.” And then, slowly guiding your leg that was hanging over his back to the floor again, he tugs the tight fitting panties down your thighs and legs until they are left at your feet. He assists you in stepping out of them, the air hitting your cunt. You had shaved completely for the occasion and it was a nice change for both you and javi, although Javier couldn’t care less about the baldness of your pubic area. Same pussy, same woman.

He manoeuvres your leg back to its previous position, his mouth now overwhelmingly close to your core that his breath was ghosting over your folds. “Fuck,” he curses to himself, leaning in and pressing a kiss directly over your swollen clit. You wince at the sensitivity of your nerves, his mouth, even in the brief contact, it sends a surge of electricity through your veins. “Just making a fuckin’ mess of yourself, baby. Pussy’s fuckin’ dripping for me.”

You’re about to open your mouth to chide him over his stalling, but your mind is quickly put at ease when he delves straight between your legs, pulling you closer with his hand on your waist greedily as his tongue laps at your folds before bringing his tongue upwards to your clit, finding the little bud easily and sucking it between his lips.

A sharp shriek is forced from you, your hand tightening in your husbands hair as the other slams back behind you to find some kind of steadiness on the wall. Your knees buckle slightly but with Javier’s hands holding you so firmly, there’s no doubt that he’d keep you upright. “Oh, fuck — gimme your fingers, need your fingers.” You beseech shakily, your finger nails undoubtedly leaving tiny crescent moons in the skin of his scalp, likely something you will have to dote over the next morning when you see the scarring.

Javi immediately complies with your request, pulling back momentarily from your pussy with a flushed, wet face and bringing his hand up to your mouth, holding his middle and ring finger to your lips. “Suck for me.” He orders, his voice firm yet still carrying that gentle fondness for you.

You, of course, do not hesitate in taking the digits between your lips avidly, bobbing your hand as your drool coats them. When he’s satisfied with the lubrication of them, he pulls them out, appreciating the pruney sight of his slick fingers and the red smear coated on them from your lipstick. “Atta’girl,” he praises, taking them back down to your core and gently circling your entrance with them. You sigh in satisfaction as he sinks them in inch by inch until they are fully sheathed within your cunt, your wet, velvety walls hugging him appreciatively.

You groan at the fullness, your head slamming back against the wall once again quite painfully. Javi looks up once, checking you were okay before diving back in to continue his sucking on your collection of nerves. “No need to hurt yourself, baby girl. I know it’s a lot.” He murmurs patronisingly into your clit, the vibrations of his voice against your flesh making you keen in pleasure.

“Please just fuck me, Javi. It’s all I can think about.” You beg, eyes squeezing shut from the heaviness of them, courtesy of the way Javi’s fingers curled upward to that spongy spot and the way he applied just the right pressure on your clit. It was intoxicating, leaving you desperate for more. It just wasn’t enough and you were feeling greedy, greedy for more of him, whatever he was willing to provide you with.

He pulls back from between your thighs, looking up at you smugly. It was as if he knew exactly what he was doing — like he was intentionally making you crave more. His fingers stay buried inside of your cunt, folding up and down more rapidly now, making it harder to force your eyes open. “What’s all you can think about?” He questions, cocking one of his eyebrows as he feigns oblivion to what you wanted.

You groan exasperatedly, gritting your teeth in frustration. He knew exactly what you wanted, but Javier being Javier meant that he would push and push until you described in detail what you wanted. And from an outsiders perspective, it doesn’t look too challenging, but when you’re pinned against a wall, your juices coating your thighs while you tried to contain your desire, it was easier thought than done. “God — want.. want your cock Javi, need it inside of me.” You say at last, the words feeling rattled coming out of your mouth

Javi didn’t need any more than that. See, he liked to act as if he were the one in control — which ultimately, he was in this case — but the truth was, that pussy of yours got him more fucked up than he would like to admit. And right now, which the way his cock was throbbing in his pants, his balls pulled tight and full of cum, he couldn’t really resist.

He pulls himself up off his knees and in one swift movement, he pulls your body up into his arms. You were facing him with your legs wrapped around his waist and your arms looping around his head as he carried you in through to the room properly, tossing you down on the bed and making you squeal at the harsh yet soft landing while he climbed over you.

You giggle when his body covers yours, one of his hands gripping your cheek while the other got to work on unbuttoning his slacks and wriggling out of them and his boxers, his erect, weeping length slapping down against your inner thigh. You both moan in almost perfect unison when Javi brings his lips down to yours, smiling into the kiss at your giddiness. The proximity of his cock and your core felt agonising as both your lips moved against one another, your hands coming up to fist the fabric of his dress shirt.

He pulls back with a gasp, his lips slightly pinker from your lipstick as he looked down at you in awe. He takes a second to just admire you, your hair flowing beautifully around your shoulders, slightly messed up from his own desperation, how flushed your skin looked, how you panted at him, pupils blown wide with desire and love for the man above you.

His thumb delicately brushes over your lips, your mouth, almost on instinct, puckering up to press an absentminded kiss to the digit. And the smile on his face is one that you’ve only recently noticed is one reserved for you. Not a tight, because-I-have-to one, but a real, genuine one that made your chest tighten every time you seen it.

“You look so beautiful like this, y’know that?” He says more as a statement than a question, the hand that was on your cheek now trailing down to the babydoll/bra that you were wearing. He could see your pretty, peaked nipples through the thin embroidery and the sight of them, so stiff and swollen made his cock strain even harder. “My pretty wife. Tell me how you want it, sweetheart. You wanna lay on your back?” He asks pensively, squeezing one of your breasts in his hand and rubbing a circle into your covered nipple.

“Hmm,” you ponder, reaching up cupping the side of his face, delicately running your nails over his jawline in the way he liked. “Wanna be on my belly,” you decide, starting to sit up, forcing Javi to do the same. Your voice drops to that low, sensual tone — the one you always had when you were turned on.

Both of Javi hands come down to your hips, his fingers assisting his hands in squeezing the soft flesh before flipping you over onto your stomach rather harshly, your body bouncing slightly on the mattress with the impact. You moan at the sudden roughness, enjoying the way he manhandled you.

He positions himself behind you, his hand reaching for your upper back and quickly undoing the back clasp of your babydoll top and watching as the supple flesh of your breasts spill free from the confines of the cups. Javi leans over you so his front is flush with your back, his arms dropping down beneath you to fondle your soft tits.

You moan softly when he tweaks one of your nipples, the stimulation feeling satisfying. You arch your back prettily for him, leaning back until your ass was flush with his cock and subtly grinding into it. Javier growls at the sensation, the bouncy, soft flesh feeling unreal on his swollen cock head. He smirks, one hand coming down hard on your cheek to watch it ripple and heat under his touch. “You wanna grind now?” He asks sneeringly. “Weren’t you just begging for my cock a second ago? And now you wanna stall?”

You whimper meekly, laying the side of your face down into the soft, white comforter as a pout washes over your face. “Well fuck me then, Javi. What’s stopping you?”

He chuckles at your neediness, using both hands to spread your asscheeks before grabbing his cock and giving it a few strokes. He positions himself between your legs, running his head up and down your folds teasingly before settling on notching it inside of your hole. The slight, initial stretch takes you back a little — like it always does. The feeling of his wide tip pushing past those nerves even the tiniest bit making you gasp and fist the sheets.

“Oh believe me,” he starts, both his hands gripping your hips as he slams inside of you aggressively until he’s buried to the hilt, his large cock pushing through your walls intrusively until they had no other choice but to adjust. Even with how wet your cunt was, his thick cock never failed to bring tears to your eyes. “Nothing is stopping me.” He finishes through gritted teeth, letting out a loud moan as he smacks your asscheek once again, his head falling forward in ecstasy with how tight you were squeezing him.

A sudden cry is forced from your throat — it now feeling hoarse with how sharp it was — from how agonisingly good it felt. Javier starts to pump his cock in and out of you now at a steady pace, a fucked out smile crossing your lips as your body shook from his thrusts. He could get so goddamn deep from this angle and it felt so overwhelming yet so pleasurable at the same time. His soft lower stomach smacks against your ass with every movement of his hips, both of his hands coming off your body to urgently rip the buttons open on his waist coat and dress shirt, the two of them hanging mindlessly off of his shoulders as his hands resume their spot on your hips, his finger tips likely indenting your fragile body with how hard he was holding you.

“Just wanna get fucked hard, huh? Just greedy for cock, ain’t that right?” He taunts through his teeth, his chest going red with pleasure and the heat of being so domineering. Your moans turn pornographic as you try to scramble for words, anything to respond with.

You let out several whimpering gasps as you try and form a sentence, the way Javier’s cock curved up into your g-spot getting the better of you. Tears spill from your eyes, heavy and hot streaming down your cheeks as you get used like a rag doll. “Dick’s so fucking good, Javi,” you manage to sob out, your voice a quivering wreck as you let the pleasure in your stomach over take you. “Gonna cum already.”

And you were — going to cum already. With the way his balls slapped against your sore, puffed clit and how his dick just brushed that sensitive spot so perfectly, you were already feeling your orgasm bubble to the surface — one that you knew would be overwhelming with how fast it was arriving.

“Yeah? That dick just so fucking good that you’re gonna soak my cock already?” Javi chokes, his tone of voice almost like he didn’t believe you. He brings his hands back down to your ass and spreads your cheeks once again, wanting to get a view of that pussy sucking in his cock. The sight makes him groan and you nod in response to his question.

But before your walls even have a chance to clamp down on his length, he’s pulling his dick from within you — the skin of it now slick and shiny from your arousal. Your hands drop their grasp in the sheets, your pussy pulsing around nothing as you desperately pull yourself backwards — chasing his touch.

“J-Javi! What the — fuck? I was right there!” You exclaim in confusion, sitting up slightly to roll over onto your back with the assistance of your husband. Your met with a flushed face, multiple sweaty tendrils falling over his forehead. His chest is now bare, those strong arms and biceps looking even more inviting than usual with how tense he was, likely because he had just deprived himself of an orgasm too.

Javier wets his bottom lip, helping you up onto your knees as you stare at him in confusion. “Yeah, I know you were. Want you facin’ me when you cum on my cock, baby. Don’t worry, you’ll get what you want. But first..” he starts, holding his cock between two fingers as your eyes dart down to the thick length bobbing between his thighs. “First I want you to suck this dick. Show me how much you wanna cum, hermosa.”

His breaths were harsh, almost aggressive like it was taking everything within in him not to just pounce on you and fuck you stupid. Clearly, he wanted to drag this out and apparently, make you work for that climax your craved so deeply. You bit down on your lip, looking down at his cock. A pearly ring had been created at the base with a mix of his precum but the majority being how slick you were. It made your core clench with embarrassment and arousal.

Without responding, you drop to your belly and shuffle towards Javier, opening your mouth welcomingly to invite his dick. Javi grins — delighted that his plan was being accomplished as he places his swollen tip between your pink lips, the sensation of your warm mouth enveloping him nearly sending him over the edge. “That’s my girl,” he grunts, his hand dropping into your hair as you sink down on his length, sputtering as you attempt to make it down to root of his cock which contained that pretty residue from your cunt — the thought of tasting yourself on him making your vision blurry with tears.

You garble a moan around him as your tongue finally reaches far enough to lap at the liquid, the tangy, unfamiliar taste of yourself making your eyes roll back prettily as you start to bob your head up and down on his length, fucking his cock into your throat again and again.

Javier looks down at you in a mix of pride, pleasure and arrogance. The glimmer in his eyes accompanying the mischievous smirk tracing up his lips. You force your eyes to open, keeping them on his while you try and control your gag reflex.

You give your sensitive throat a break as you glide your lips back up to his tip, swirling your tongue around it knowing just how enjoyable that was for him. The heavy feeling of the hot, wet muscle on his sensitive cock head was overwhelming to say the least, despite Javi’s attempts at keeping his composure. His smirk falters as the hand that wasn’t gripping your hair falls down to brace on the mattress, a deep groan following.

He exhaled shakily at how teasing and delicate you were being to those cluster of glands, his lips parting ever so slightly in satisfaction. This fills you with gratification and prompts you to sever eye contact and pull back from his dick, bringing one of your hands up to stroke him while you took a break to talk. A string of saliva attaches you to his length, the sight probably messy and dirty but not phasing you in the moment.

“You wanna fuck my mouth, Javi? You seem to be having a real good time.” You ask alluringly, spitting a glob of saliva onto his dick to sever the connection of your spit and his manhood.

Javi just about falls to the floor at your question. The way you ask it in a such a sultry manner — a way that is so unlike you in real life, it fills him with something that made it uneasy to breath properly through his nose. You were so confident about it too, something that always made him weak in the bedroom. “Fuck, baby. Are you sure?” He asks genuinely, not wanting you to feel obligated into doing something out of your comfort zone just for his benefit.

Your heart melts a little at his check in, but with how turned on you were feeling, you didn’t feel the need to prove that you wanted this. So instead of replying, you place both of your hands beneath your body, looking up at him kneeling above you with a smug expression.

Javier can’t contain himself anymore. Taking his cock in his fist, he slots it between your lips and thrusts his hips forward harshly, filling your throat and making you gag a little uncontrollably around him. He pauses to let you get used to the intrusion, allowing your throat to relax and for your gag reflex to calm down.

When you nod up at him with readiness, he starts to rock his hips back and forth, not roughly, but with enough fire behind his eyes to make you whimper. Your saliva drips down onto your chin, spilling onto your chest lewdly and the sight makes Javier snarl, his teeth clenched hard enough to break one.

“Qué chica más sucia, ¿eh? Just suckin’ and spitting on my cock and now you’re letting me fuck this pretty face? Fuuuck.” Javier grunts through his teeth, reaching down and cupping his heavy balls, a sharp hiss coming through his teeth when your tongue slides around his shaft when he thrusts inside your mouth once again. The feeling was unlike anything Javi had ever felt and no coloured contacts could cover the fact that his eyes were darkening significantly into a black rather than their natural brown.

It was taking over him — that mouth of yours, how you looked up at him with such ballsiness yet submission. It made him feel significant, like he was actually worth pleasing. That sensation in his balls made his pink tip swell in your mouth with every thrust. He felt so fucking sensitive down there, his gut clenching as the point of no return approached him. He couldn’t leave you hanging, not on your wedding night now matter how badly he wanted to explode in that perfect mouth of yours.

Mid thrust, just when you are expecting Javier to push back into your mouth fully, he pulls away from you, forcing his cock out of your mouth with a heave for breath, a bead of sweat dropping from his forehead. You make a sound of confusion but he quickly quiets you by laying down and signalling you to straddle him urgently. “Need that pussy. Was gonna cum if I didn’t stop you.” He confesses breathlessly, assisting you with a hand on your waist to straddle him, his slippery tip prodding your gooey, soaked entrance — the smell of sex thick and intoxicating in the air.

You breath out shakily, clutching his bare shoulders as you sink down on his length slowly, the stretch feeling a little less intense in this position. “You want me to ride you?” You ask quietly, your forehead bumping his, your sweaty chests colliding with one another as your cunt completely envelopes him.

You don’t move — not yet at least. You stay sitting on his cock until his eyes flick up to yours, a little less lust filled and a little more emotional now as he gazes back into yours. He nods, both hands gripping your hips gently as he leans in to brush your lips. You reciprocate the kiss immediately, moving against his mouth slowly and unhurried as you slowly ground your hips to move his dick inside of you, feeling him brush against that special spot perfectly at this angle. You didn’t bounce dramatically, you just simply allowed yourself to live in the moment after all the roughness from before. Just two bodies moving together to make the other feel good.

When you pull back, you smile bashfully, leaning your forehead against his fully as a giggle passes your lips. “I can’t believe we’re married.” You whisper, moaning softly when he moves his own hips to assist you and ensure that you weren’t doing all of the work yourself. Your clit rubs up against the collection of half-neatly trimmed hairs on his pubic area — the friction feeling electrifying.

Javi smiles a little crookedly, one of his hands leaving your hips and coming up to hold the back of your neck delicately. His voice dips a little lower — not serious, just genuine. “Are you happy?” He asks, his cock twitching inside of you as he spoke. “Like — really happy?” And you can’t help but notice the hint of insecurity in his tone, like he’s afraid of the answer. Sometimes you got the impression that Javier didn’t understand your love for him — that sometimes he found it hard to believe that a woman could actually be so in love with a man like him with his line of work, the brutality that came along with it and sometimes influenced himself.

You frown a little, not halting your movements but slowing down a little. You take your hands from his shoulders and bring them up to cup his cheeks, your thumb running over his bottom lip gently. “Of course i am, baby,” you say like it’s obvious but not in a condescending way. “I’ve never been happier.”

And for a second he just stares back at you, trying to let your reassurance wash over him. He suddenly gets a burst of energy — love or lust, he wasn’t sure. But he did know, was that it was overwhelming enough to force him to pull you in with both his hands, encouraging you to speed up your grinds, a sound of surprise escaping you.

A low, almost-ashamed whimper leaves Javi as his eyes lock on the look on your face — the small twitches in your features and the way your mouth dropped open slightly, the slight roll of your eyes. “Jav — god,” you groan, dropping your face down into the crook of his shoulder and letting him take over on pleasuring you. The subtle slap of his balls on your asshole makes you clench around him, that release that was cut short earlier starting to bubble in your stomach once again.

“I love you — love you so much, baby,” he moans into your ear, one hand travelling up your back and caressing the soft, smooth skin there. “Gonna show you how much I love you.”

A mix of emotions wash around your stomach as Javi starts to pound you steadily now, refraining from anything harsh, just showing you how desperate he was. Suddenly, in a blurry second, your head hits the pillow before you even know what’s happening. Javier had flipped you over onto your back now, kneeling between your thighs as he took your feet and placed them atop of his shoulders, spreading you wide for him. The movement was so sudden that it caught you off guard, even more so when his cock was buried inside you once again in this angle.

“Fu-ck — ohh, Javi. That’s so deep, just like that.” You moan, feeling his dick reach spots inside of you that you weren’t even aware existed. The rouge warmth blooming on his chest was getting darker by the minute, breath puffing from between his clenched teeth rapidly.

“Gonna fill you up, baby. Need you to cum for me so I can do that. Fill you with my babies, hm? Make you a mama.” He grunts, his voice almost a plea as the lewd noise of your skins slapping together filled the room. Your breath came out in short pants, your climax nearing rapidly until it was too strenuous to hold it back. You can’t speak anymore — can’t call out in desperation and warn him that you are about to cum. All you can think about is his cock hitting all the right spots and the notion of him filling you with his hot, creamy cum — shooting his load into your womb and filling you with his baby.

You and Javi had always talked about having kids in the future tense — never had a date set in stone, but with how you felt right now? You don’t think you would be all that annoyed about it happening this way.

The build hits it’s brink as you feel the explosion of pleasure wash over you like a cold shower, gasping out in mercy, your hands scramble the sheets, every muscle in your body going tense. “Yes, yes, yes,” you cry softly to yourself, your hips twitching upward when you feel Javi’s restraint snap, his dick spurting copious amounts of seed to cover your creamy walls in, the sticky, messy feeling uncomfortable and satisfying at the same time.

Javier had finished inside of you multiple times but those times he was always wearing a condom or you were on the pill — but this time, this time it felt different — it felt meaningful. Like maybe, just maybe a beautiful baby could be the outcome of all this.

Javier whimpers deeply through his teeth as his hips buck out the remainder of his load until the friction is simply too much for the both of you and he has to pull out. When he does, he gently eases your feet down from his shoulders, your thighs trembling slightly from the aftershocks of your climax and with the way the hot substance dribbled out of your quivering hole.

Javi’s quick to reach down and push it back in — partially because it would refrain the bedsheets from getting messy and also because the thought of even a drop of his cum being wasted on the mattress stressed him out enough.

You whimper slightly when his fingers make contact with your cunt, but your discomfort is quickly reduced when your husband rolls you over and lays down next to you, pulling you in to lay your face onto his chest — the sound of his heartbeat underneath your ear lulling you into relaxation.

And for a while, neither of you speak, and really, you didn’t have to. Not when the silence washing over the two of you felt this peaceful. The sensation of your sweaty skin pressed together feeling comforting.

You take your eyes away from Javi’s stomach, twisting your body enough until you were able to look up at him. A giddy smile crosses your lips at the sight of him — hair all messy, eyes tired and lips still a little red from your lipstick rubbing off on them. You bring your hand up to run through his sweaty yet slightly crunchy— from the gel — hair, letting your fingers tangle in the dark brown locks.

“That was really hot.” You whisper, giggling at your own, obvious choice of words.

Javier chuckles in response. “You think so?” He teases, manoeuvring the two of you until he were able to roll you onto your back and lay above you, one arm supporting his weight while his other leaned down, using his hand to cup your cheek. “You wanna do it again?”

And now, grinning as Javi climbs down your body, you have a feeling it will be a long night.

This took me WAY too long, holy shit. I really worked very hard on this fic so comments, reblogs and likes are hugely appreciated. I would love to hear your thoughts on this🤍 love this pairing 🥹

All information regarding my tag list is here and if you would like to see some more of my writing for Javi or some other characters, click here :)

taglist: @rawnoldersupremacist @mytearsricochetm @joelsarchive @axshadows @sage-babydoll @cloudyemsky @amyispxnk @fxckingjo

Little pic of my writing buddy toward the end of finishing this🥹⬇️

He’s not supposed to. You both know he’s not supposed to, and you’re both awfully good at pretending you care. Dean walks into your house without invitation, saying he’s looking for your dad, and you suddenly have about fifty different reasons so bend over and stretch and wear the shortest skirt you can find. Your dad asks you to drop something off at Dean’s garage, and his secretary—an even older man named Bobby, who detests the word secretary, but doesn’t really have any other kinds of duties since he stopped being able to work on cars—doesn’t exist anymore. Dean needs to come out to greet you himself. He has to take the package and let your fingers brush, and his sleeves need to be rolled up, and he’s so sweaty he simply must use his shirt to wipe his face.

You gape at his thick, muscled chest and abdomen. He says your name, grabbing your waist for attention, and you both stare at each other a little too long.

He licks his lips. His throat bobs. Your breath hitches, and you take the smallest step forward. His dull nails dig into your hips, and your hand lands on his belt for balance. There’s an electricity in the air you can taste. It shoots down your spine like a lightning and makes your skin wet and hot. Dean’s eyes go dark, and you push up on your toes.

Then something rattles. Someone calls. Your dad walks back inside with a wide grin and spread arms, and you and Dean jump apart like children playing cooties. He steals a glance at you, before you walk away. You lock yourself in your room or car and rub your inner thighs, eyes squeezed shut with frustration, face burning from the flood of arousal between your legs, sticking your panties to your cunt and filling up the air with the smell of shame and need.

Neither of you speak of it. The dance replays itself for almost a year, and you’re not brave enough to change a single step.

But Dean isn’t either. Though he’d call it not stupid enough. It doesn’t matter than he’s told you he’s more at ease with you than anyone else he’s ever known. He doesn’t think the evidence of his need for you—impressive and mouthwatering, straining through his jeans whenever you accidentally let your ass press against him—amounts to anything but a desire that makes him sick.

It’s wrong, he’d say.

And you’d agree, if it wasn’t growing over your life like a weed. If you hadn’t tried to move on—over and over and over, with boys in clubs and co-workers and dating apps—but failed more times than you can count, all because of Dean. He lives in your dream, now. You structure your day around trying to steal a glimpse of him, because it’s all you’re allowed to have. You stop trying to work the weed of your love out. It’s prettier than all the other deadened brushel of your previous crushes. It breeds a new kind of ecology, makes you brave in different ways than you were before. You know more about cars  than you ever thought you would. Bobby let you into his old man book club—even Dean and your father aren’t allowed—and you can drive a boat because summer vacation comes with even more Dean, and it was just impossibly important that you basically sit on his fucking knee while he taught you to drive.

You won’t change yourself for him. You won’t play pool—there’s too much math and just… standing around—or pretend to like things you don’t. But you know you’re not the only one changing.

Your dad says Dean’s been listening to different music lately. That he doesn’t kill the fish after he catches them anymore, when they go out to the docks, and you’re sure it has nothing to do with you getting teary eyed when he tried to do it in front of you. He let you describe your makeup routine to him once, and remembered everything you told him, to the point that his sister-in-law Eileen noticed that he understood her product before his brother Sam. He’s even—supposedly—driving slower, after you hit his arm and told him not to get himself killed.

And the big one.

He doesn’t flirt.

Not the way he used to. He doesn’t do cheesy pickup lines that only work because he’s a living Adonis, and he doesn’t stuff numbers in his pockets like spoils of war. You overhear your dad making fun of him for having lost his game, and Dean just chuckles and shakes his head.

“Maybe I’m growin’,” he drawls. “You ever think of that?”

Your dad laughs, and it echoes over the lake. “Why the fuck would I have thought of that?”

Dean shrugs and takes a swig of his beer. You can feel his gaze, over the firepit. It’s warmer than the raging flame. You pull your knees into your chest, and don’t dare to look back.

“You really looking for something serious, Winchester?” Your dad asks, and Dean hums.

“Somethin’ like that, yeah.”

Your dad beams and starts to talk about single women he knows, who might be good for Dean. They all sound perfect. Intelligent and kind and age-appropriate, with no weird complications. Your throat hurts like you’re catching a virus. You excuse yourself for the night, and lock yourself in your room.

And it goes like that for a long, long time.

But when the weeds grow over everything, it does, so slowly, start to change.

It’s almost inevitable. Like you both accept that there’s nothing to do but go with the tide, even if it’s sweeping you out to sea. It’s still not spoken about. It just… is.

“You doin’ something tonight?” Dean asks you, and you shrug.

“I never do anything. Any night.”

He snorts. “That ain’t true, sweetheart-“

“I don’t do fun things,” you counter, and Dean hums.

He’s lounging on your couch like he owns it, his arm tossed over the back of the seat and a beer in his hand. He watches you move around the room with lidded eyes and a hand fisted on his thigh. Neither of you acknowledge the almost bungee like tension, that sends you walking past him, even when you don’t need to be.

“I think you’re plenty fun,” Dean offers, and you roll your eyes.

“Yeah, sure.”

He frowns. “I’m not joking-“

“Dean,” you give him a flat look. “It’s okay. I know I’m not- You don’t have to make me feel better about it. I have other redeeming qualities.”

“Redeeming-“ Dean cuts himself off with a disbelieving laugh. “Jesus, woman.”

“What?”

He shrugs and takes a long swig of his beer. You cross your arms and glare at him, trying not to get too stiff. You know you’re not fun. Not like the women he’s used to, not like most people. You can be fun, but you’re never anyone’s first choice to get a thrill. You keep yourself in your head, and you read, and you work, and that’s it.

Dean’s type, if your dad is to be believed, is long legs that are hard to catch and batting lashes that try to outdo his smirk. You’re very easy to catch. All Dean would have to do is offer a hand, and you’d fall to your knees. You couldn’t outdo his smirk if you tried, because the only weapons you have are eye rolls and sharp words. Difficult, you’ve been called.

Not fun.

But Dean’s looking at  you like he’s having the time of his life, staring you down from the couch. You tip up your chin and narrow your eyes, and he raises his brows, amused and lazy.

“What?” You demand, and he shrugs.

“Didn’t say nothing-“

“Yes, you did, you- You said Jesus, woman,” you drop your voice to mimic his, and he snorts.

“I don’t sound like that-“

“You sound exactly like that.”

“No-“

“Yes.”

And this is what you mean. You’re stubborn and mean and a lot of teeth for a girl who doesn’t really know how to use them. But Dean’s eyes gleam, and his smile only grows. Suddenly you’re restless. You need to press your away from that dangerous, hungry gaze, or you need to throw yourself into the dark and hope it’s as warm as you’ve dreamed.

“I think you can be plenty fun, princess,” Dean teases, and you bite your lip. “You just don’t go out.”

“You don’t go out,” you snip, because it’s all you can think.

Dean just hums, looking you up and down. “You’re right,” he muses. “We should fix that.”

You huff, then pause. “We?”

Dean grins, and that’s how it starts.

It’s not a date. You remind yourself of that the whole drive there, that this is not a date. Dean’s just taking you a dive bar he knows, far enough out of town that your dad wouldn’t catch you—though it doesn’t matter if he does, because this is not a date—and he’s going to buy your drinks and sit next to you in the booth and listen to you babble about nothing like you’re telling him the secrets of the universe.

He turns down a waitress with boobs almost spilling out of her shirt, and keeps his hand on some part of your body almost the whole night.

But it’s not a date.

“So,” he murmurs, his thumb drawing small circles on your wrist. You watch him with wide eyes, your breath caught in your throat.

He hasn’t been drinking. You didn’t know that was something he did. And he smells like sweet, summer smoke and leather and oil, and his body radiates heat like a furnace, and you think you might just melt under his gaze.

“You from ‘round here?” He drawls, and you swallow. 

You know that tone. He’s inviting you to play, but in a way that feels far more dangerous than usual. Dean leans down until you’re only inches away. Your eyes flick to his lips, and his hands fists on the table.

You shake your head, and his lips twitch.

“Just passin’ through town, huh?”

You nod, and he raises his brows.

“What’s got a pretty little thing like you, hangin’ out in a place like this?”

Oh. He wants to play play. To have the exact kind of fun you warned him you weren’t capable of.

But you can try.

Under Dean’s gaze, it kind of feels like you can do anything.

You pull all your confidence together with clenched knuckles, and lean forward. Close enough for your lips to brush, if either of you dared to breathe a little too heavy. Dean blinks, and his ears go a little red, but he doesn’t back away. You smile as coy as you can manage, and run your nails lightly up his forearm. You’ve watched a lot of movies, and you might not be fun, but you’re a fantastic actress.

“My daddy did me wrong,” you coo, fluttering your lashes. “Hurt me real bad, and now I’m lookin’ for something new.” You lean a little further forward. Dean’s throat bobs. “Can you help me find it, sir?”

Dean stares at you, and for a horrible second, you think you took the bit too far.

Then he laughs. It’s strangled and tight in a way you’ve never heard. It sends a rush through your blood, and paired with his red face and squared shoulders, you think you might get addicted.

“Fuckin’- Christ.” Dean takes a long drink from his beer, grinning like he doesn’t know what else to do with his face. “That was- Good one.”

You beam, your heart glowing under his pride. He pats your shoulder, throat bobbing, and your eyes dart down to his jeans.

To the thick outline, threatening the fabric. Your mouth waters, and you frantically look away before Dean looks back. He’s grinning when he does, casual but wide. His arm slings fully over your shoulders, his thumb dragging in those small circles, and you wonder if he has any idea, exactly what pathetic kind of doll he turns you into.

“See, princess,” he taps your nose, and it scrunches against your will. “You’re real fun.”

“I think,” you say slowly, trying not to sound too breathless, too desperate, too his. “You have a low standard.”

Dean shakes his head. “I think I got a high standard. You just never seen anyone else clear it.”

“But-“ You try to fight the question. It slips out anyways. “I- I clear it?”

And something in Dean’s face softens. You don’t know how to pinpoint it, because it’s so small, you didn’t even know there was tension. But it eases, and it’s like the clouds clearing from the sky.

“Yeah,” he says. “You clear it.”

You smile. He smiles back.

And before either of you can realize what’s happening, you both let go of that edge at the same time. The one you’d been clinging to, that plunges from stares to… Something.

Not dating. There’s nothing but soft touches shared the whole night. Dean looks at your lips but never moves. You stare at his chest but never climb it.

But there’s something.

And together, you start to fall.

Once a week, you go to the bar. 

You tell your dad you’re going for a walk, or to a friend’s. You go down the street, and Dean picks you up. Neither of you talk about why you’re sneaking around, even though you’re not sleeping together, because you know.

Whatever this is, it isn’t above board. It’s stolen glances and bodies pressed together against the bar. It’s Dean’s hand on your ass, but only ever over clothing, and you sitting in his lap but never kissing more than your drink. It’s secrets whispered in the dark and being backed up against a wall with no way out, and nothing close to a desire for one.

It’s Dean glaring at men who get too close, and you dressing up in a way you’ve never done for anyone else. He’s a causal man, but he turns wolfish when a guy your age sits next to you at the bar. You never wear anything you don’t want to, and you’ve never been lazy about your appearance, but with Dean you try. You get high on his dragging looks and glinting eyes, giggling and smoothing your skirt like a schoolgirl.

You’ve never been a fool for a man. But Dean doesn’t count.

Because he’s a fool for you in return.

“I don’t need the doctor-“

“Everyone needs the doctor, dumbass,” you tap your fingers on the wheel, and Dean grunts.

He’s slumped like a child in his seat. You rub his neck, trying to soothe him, but all you get is a lean into your touch and a few less complaints.

He made the mistake of telling you he hasn’t been to the doctor since his late twenties. You’d like him alive, so you’re putting an end to that now.

And neither of you mention, that you’re out in broad daylight. It’s dangerous. You can’t care, when Dean holds you hand walking into the office and demands you go back into the room with him. He’s restless the whole appointment, looking at the door like he’s thinking about running. You grab his knee, and he shoots you a glare.

“Please,” you whisper, and his shoulders slump.

“Fine,” he mutters, holding your hand on his leg. “For you.”

You smile, and float through the rest of the day.

For you.

He said it simply. Like it was all the reason he’d ever need. He agrees to eat a banana every once and a while, and lower his salt intake, for you.  

“I’m fuckin’ old,” he whines on the drive home, and you smile at the road.

“You complain like you’re young.”

“Haha,” he rolls his eyes, then gives you a strange look. You try not to squirm beneath it, but Dean never makes that kind of thing easy.

“What-“

“You really don’t mind,” he cuts you off with quiet words. You don’t have to ask what he means. “I mean- Princess, you could be runnin’ around with a real white knight, instead of-“

“Dean,” you give him a firm look. “Shut up.”

He raises his brows. He doesn’t look convinced, but his mouth twitches. “Yes, ma’am,” he says, and you huff.

He is a knight. Not the fairytale one, but you’ve never liked things that are so perfect they have to be plastic. You like Dean with all his scars and callouses and rough words. He doesn’t save you, and you don’t save him, but that’s not what this is about.

Your dad says Dean looks alive, in a way he hasn’t in a long time. Your friends say you look happy, in a way they’ve never seen. You don’t cry into pillows anymore. You drive to Dean’s place and knock on the door with teary eyes, falling into his arms because it’s safer than any fortress in the world.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he mutters, carrying you up to his bedroom. “Let it out. I’m right here.”

You still don’t kiss. Dean’s knuckles graze your bare skin, and his morning wood rubs between your thighs, but that’s it. You wear his shirt, and pretend not to notice that your panties go missing, every time you stay at his place.

There’s this line in the sand, and it keeps getting washed away. All that’s left is you and Dean, both pretending it’s still there. So the dance turns. Both of you take new steps in perfect time, staying in the boundaries of something acceptable. Something deniable.

Something leaveable, even if neither of you seem to be eyeing the exit.

Something safe.

It’s all still safe. Your dad has no idea. You think Bobby’s noticed, but he doesn’t say a word. You hold Dean’s hand with both of yours when he pulls you through a crowd, and he looks back to make sure you’re still smiling, but it all coated in the illusion of a friendship.

A friendship where he says he loves you, when he thinks you can’t hear. A friendship where your lips brush his neck when you’re cuddling, and you pretend not to feel his cock rut against your thigh. It’s not sustainable, but you’re willing to let the candle burn itself out, just to have him like this.

But it doesn’t burn out. It’s electric and solar powered, and every bit of warmth only lets it sustain itself long. Nothing dies. Nothing changes. You and Dean never let yourself touch deeper than your souls, and neither of you dare to ask for more.

Until something snaps.

It’s nothing. Compared to the everything that you and Dean have been pretending not to notice, there’s no real reason for this to be the break.

“You goin’ out?” Dean asks from the couch, and you nod, sorting through your purse.

“Yeah, um- Groceries.”

“Ah.” He glances at the fridge. “We outta something?”

Your mouth twitches. “We’re out of everything.”

“We ain’t outta everything, sweetheart-“

You yank the fridge open, revealing it’s bare innards, and Dean cuts himself off. You give him a pointed, smug look, and he drums his fingers on his knee.

“Huh.”

“Huh?” You snort, closing the door. “I think sorry is better.”

Dean laughs, low and rough, his gaze raking over your body. You flush, but don’t shy away. He always does this. It never amounts to something worth being flustered over.

You cross your arms and raise your brows, pretending to wait for your apology. Dean’s jaw works. His tongue flicks out, and you shift on your feet.

“You’re real dressed up for the store,” he mutters, and you shrug.

“So?”

A vein pushes in his brow. “Nothin’. Just- C’mere.”

He stretches out a hand, and you swallow. “Dean…”

He beckons. Two fingers, crooked and pulling you forward like he’s got you on a string. You almost stumble between his legs. You flush for the first time in a while, tucking your hands nervously behind your back. It’s never been this close before. You’ve stood here, but never with his hand so securely on your hip, with him leaning forward so his breath fans over your midriff. His hand drags down the back of your thigh, goosebumps rising in its wake. You shift on your feet, heat pooling in your core.

“You want to come with me?” You whisper, because it’s all you can muster.

“Nah.”

He doesn’t even look up, as he answers. He watches himself touch you, retracing sensitive spots and furrowing his brow in a brutal focus that makes your head spin.  You open your mouth to say his name again, but nothing expect a tiny gasp comes out. His fingers are teasing your inner thigh, and it turns your knees to jelly. You brace a hand on his shoulder. His eyes snap to yours, and there’s nothing teasing or restrained behind them.

His face is blown out with hunger, and you could so easily shove yourself away, but you don’t want to. He doesn’t need to give chase or fight. You’re not a hunt he’s going to lose. You’re laying yourself down like an offering, and whatever he does with it, you’re more than happy to comply.

Dean tugs you down to his lap in one movement. You squeak in surprise, and his free hand wraps around your neck. You barely have time to brace yourself, before he’s kissing you.

And this is better than dreaming.

This is Dean, warm and strong and demanding beneath you. He kisses you like he’s both going to and returning from war. His mouth slots perfectly over yours, lips chapped and warm and coated in a thin layer of spit. His tongue slides over your teeth, then presses down your throat, working in a way that makes your legs spread wide, imagining that heat against your count. His fingers press into your soft skin, encouraging you to mold easily into his body. You coo, throwing every bit of friction back, and a low rumble rolls through his chest.

Dean settles back against the couch. You straddle him, your wet core pressed against the tent forming in his jeans. You comb your fingers through his hair, and his beard scrapes against your cheeks and jaw. He sucks on your lower lip, squeezing the back of your neck. Your hips roll, and he groans.

He’s hard. Thick and hard beneath you in every possible way. Combined with the heat and unrelenting kisses, it makes you dizzy. You need him. You need him in a way you’ve never needed anything, so much it hurts, so much you think you’re going to scream.

And there’s a little problem. You think he knows about it. You’re less sure than you’d like to be. The tips of his fingers graze your inner thigh, and you buck against him with a whine.

Sensitive. Too sensitive. You think you could cum just from grinding against his rock-hard bulge, because it’s the only way you’ve cum before, and combined with Dean’s mouth roaming over your neck—planting open, messy, possessive kisses—you’re already halfway there.

“De- Dean-“ You gasp, and  he groans against your skin. “Dean, slow down-“

He pulls back immediately, his brow knit with worry. “What- What’s wrong-“

“No- Nothing’s wrong, I just-“ You swallow, and Dean’s frown deepens.

“Sweetheart, if you ain’t ready-“

“No!” You shout and Dean’s mouth curves in a smug, surprised smirk. “No- No, I just- Stop looking at me.”

It’s a pathetic whine, but Dean obeys it like an order. He squeezes his eyes shut and cups your cheek, like he’s still trying to keep track of where you are. You giggle, and his thumb drags over your upper lip. You let your tongue flick against the pad of his finger, and he groans.

Dean drops his face against your chest. Still not looking, but mouthing at the curve of your breasts, in a way that really isn’t fair to anyone. You weave your fingers through his hair, trying to only breathe steady. Dean rubs your waist, humming against your skin.

“Talk to me, baby girl.”

“I- I’m not-“ You’re stumbling. Stuttering even in your own thoughts, unable to think outside of Dean’s lips. “You know I’ve never- Been serious with anyone.”

Dean grunts, nipping at the swell of your tits, and you hide your face in his hair.

“It’s- I’ve never been anything,” you whisper. “Except myself. And I- I’m not very good at it.”

That’s an understatement. You cum too fast and it’s nothing more than a small, disappointing shiver. Toys barely help. Nothing helps, except thinking of Dean.

And now you have him below you. Completely still, breathing so heavy it makes you nervous. He’s gripping your hips tight enough to leave a bruise. Tears start to prick in your eyes, having nothing to do with the dull pain.

“I- I’m sorry-“

Dean’s head snaps up. His massive hand covers your mouth, and you blink with glossy-eyed, nervous confusion. You’ve never seen his eyes so dark, his jaw so set. That hidden gleam, that shines just for you, it’s out and free. Dean looks at you like you’re an angel, falling from Heaven, ready to be dragged to the deepest pits of his desire. Your body starts to tingle with excitement, your heart pounding out of your chest and in your pussy.

“Never?” He asks, his voice impossibly low. You nod nervously, and he swallows. “And you want- You want me?”

He asks it as if you’re insane. As if you could ever want anyone else. You grab his wrists and squeeze gently. His throat bobs, and he shakes his head.

“Princess, you could be doin’ so much better- Yes, you could.” He gives you a stern look, when you shake your head.

You push your hips further against him, and a vein in his neck throbs. You drop your brow against his, and he releases your mouth, cradling the back of your neck instead. 

“Baby…” He rasps. “I- I might love you, but I ain’t the only douchebag who’s gonna feel that-“

“But you’re the only one I love back.”

Both of you fall silent. Dean tenses, and you hold his stare. He said it first. You just said it back. Now it’s on him to actually fucking do something about it.

You’re offering to crash into the waves and drown together. He can either stay in line, or try this new dance. Be the one to show you, to have you, to finally just fucking take you. It’s not the noble thing to ignore this anymore. It’s only cruel.

Dean’s throat bobs. You wait.

“Yeah?” He chokes out, and you don’t hesitate.

“Yeah.”

“Are you-“

“Dean,” you breathe. “Please.”

His throat bobs. He nods, once to himself, then once more. Something sharp settles over his features, like a picture coming into focus. His hold on your body tightens, his breath steadies, and his tongue darts over his lips. A satisfied yet starved light shines in his eyes, and your heart thunders. You didn’t know anticipation could feel like wildfire, until you were trapped under Dean’s attention. But he  looks at you the same way he looks at a pool table before he makes a move, his hands starting to slowly massage your hips, and you’re being unraveled with nothing but his gaze.

“Please?” His tone is low. Close to mocking. “Please what?”

You swallow, your voice stuck in your throat. You’ve practiced this, in the mirror. Ever since this—this strange, beautiful dance—began, you’d spent hours under the steaming shower water, imagining Dean pressed behind you, the roll of his voice, the way you’d be cool and collected and match his every sparring tease with the ease of a woman he’d want. The older, leather-wearing, red lipstick models that wrap boys around their finger like they’re collecting rings.

But the practice is paying in nothing. You’re not one of those girls. You’re nervous and wired and wound up so tight, you can’t do anything but lean further over Dean’s chest and pant.

Dean raises his brows, dragging one hand down to kneed at your ass. Your breath hitches, and your hips mindlessly roll. Dean’s jaw ticks, his eyes going so dark you think you might be drowning in them. He pulls you closer, his lips parting as he watches you fuck yourself against his thigh, and it starts to dawn on you with the rising heat, electric up your spine.

For whatever reason, Dean doesn’t want the cool, collected woman. He’s entranced by you, confused and rigid and so frantic for him that you don’t know what to do with yourself.

And you’re in the best kind of trouble about it.

Dean splays his hand on your lower back and shoves you down, trapping you against him with no chance for friction. You whine, and his hand slips under your shirt. He drags a rough, light touch up your spine, bunching the fabric against his wrist, and wraps his fingers around the base of your neck.

“You’re gonna need to use your words, sweet girl,” he warns, dragging his thumb in tiny circles. “I ain’t able to help brats that won’t talk to me.”

You nod, but you’re still breathing too fast to speak. Dean hums, settling fully back into the couch cushions, and waits. Patient and cruel, rubbing your lower back and squeezing your neck in a gentle prompt.

“C’mon,” he coos. “Where’d all that smart talk go?”

You don’t know. You dig your nails into his chest and watch him with wide eyes, trying to drag your thoughts out of the humid, demanding throb between your thighs.

“Deeean,” you manage to whine, and Dean’s throat bobs.

“Right here, baby,” he rasps. His voice dropped. It sends a rush through your blood, the ache between your thighs growing.

“I- I-“ You try to grind down, to show him what you need, and a sharp spank lands on your ass. You squeal, and Dean’s mouth twitches in amusement, massaging the sting until it fades to only pleasure.

“You like that, huh?” He mutters, right before landing another. “Dirty girl. Been neglected too fuckin’ long, haven’t you?” Another spank. You fall against his chest with a cry of need, and his hand drags down, letting him thumb at your pussy through your shorts.

You wrap your arms around his neck, and he weaves his hand through your hair, delivering one more spank before kissing the side of your head.

“No one’s been takin’ care of you,” he says, low and rough. You clench around nothing, nodding uselessly, and Dean hums. “Needy fuckin’ baby, doesn’t even know what the hell to do with herself when she’s finally gettin’ some attention.”

“Dean,” you whimper. “Dean, please-“

He moves his hand around, grabbing your jaw and forcing you a little back. You blink at him through teary lashes, the eye contact too intense, too addictive.

“Please, what?” He taps your cheek, and you swallow.

“Please. Fu- Fuck me-“

Dean yanks you forward, cutting you off with a demanding, bruising kiss. Your nails sink into his shoulders, your body turning to putty as his tongue pushes back down your throat. Dean grunts, groping your ass and angling your head so the kiss deepens.

“De- Dean-“

“I know,” he grunts against your lips, barely giving you a second to breather between sloppy, open-mouthed kisses. “I know it’s achin’, baby. I’m gonna take care of it.” He kisses one corner of your mouth, then the other, his voice dropping to a murmur. “I’m gonna take care of it.”

You mewl, nipping at his lower lip with every bit of energy you have. Dean grunts and stands, keeping you tight against his chest. You wrap your legs tighter around his waist, and he half-stumbles down the hall and up the stairs. You make it five steps before he’s pressing you against the wall and focusing on sucking and licking your neck, then another five before he’s pulling at your skirt, teasing his thumb back over your clothed cunt. Like he can’t help himself from touching you. Like everything is secondary, to getting his hands all over your body.

The paintings on the wall shake, when he kicks open the door to your room. You hug him tighter, kissing over his beard with sloppy, uncoordinated lips. He grunts, swaying against the door frame. You dare a glance up, and find his eyes rolling back, his jaw gaping and breathing ragged. You double your efforts, hypnotized by the effect you seem to have on him. His fingers dig into your ass, and he moans, pressing further back against the door frame.

His eyes flick down to yours, and you keep thinking you’ve hit the bottom of his desire, just to find a new, rawer layer below.

“You like watchin’, sweetheart?” He rasps, and you flush so hard you think you’re on fire.

Dean chuckles and pushes off the wall, kicking the door closed behind him. His kisses turn suddenly sweet and slow, exploring your lips, working you up until you’re panting and scratching at his shoulders. It’s romantic in the worst way. He’s treating you like a delicate flower—setting you down on the edge of the mattress, kneeling between your legs and massaging your thighs—when you just want to be tossed around and fucked like a doll.

Then his hand glides ever so slightly up, his knuckles teasing against your clothed pussy. Your breath hitches, and Dean chuckles.

“You’ve never let yourself feel good, have you?” He murmurs against your lips, and you swallow.

“I- I don’t-“

“’S okay,” Dean kiss over your cheek, his knuckles grinding into your weeping slit. “Should’ve known my busy girl was neglectin’ herself. So smart, so sweet,” he nips at your jaw. “So fuckin’ bad at relaxing.”

You moan a broken agreement, and Dean hums. His mouth travels down your neck, sucking love bites right as his fingers hook around your panties. Your eyes go wide, your cry a strangle, desperate sound you didn’t really know you could make. Dean smirks, pressing his knuckles right against your clit before he rips your panties clean off.

“Dean-“ You cut yourself off with a choked whimper, your elbows shaking with the effort to keep yourself upright. The air on your pussy is cold, and the need just makes it impossible to do anything but blink at Dean’s set jaw and devout gaze.

He brings your panties up to his face and takes a deep, slow breath, his gaze never leaving yours. You whimper, grabbing his hand on your thigh, and he flips it palm up, letting your fingers lace together.  

“So fuckin’ sweet,” he grunts. “Bet you’re gonna taste even better, won’t you.” He squeezes you hand, and you whimper.

“De- Dean,” you spread your legs wider, shameless and needy under his stare. “Just- Please.”

Dean’s gaze drops. He shoves your skirt higher up, fully revealing your slick, pulsing pussy. You’re not sure you’re breathing, as you watch him take you in. He glances up to your wrecked, hopeless expression, a vein ticking in his brow.

“You’re gonna be loud,” he mutters, and you blink.

“Ma- Maybe, I’m not- I’ve never-“ God, you’re seconds from sinking into the bed and never coming back up. “I’ve never- Finished,” you whisper, and Dean’s hand flexes in yours.

He closes his eyes for a moment. Takes a deep, almost labored breath, and shakes his head.

“Gonna fuckin’ kill me,” he mutters, running his thumb over your knuckles. “Swear to god, sweetheart, you could make a man lose it just listenin’ to you.”

You swallow. “So- Sorry-“

“No,” Dean glares at you, and your mouth snaps shut. “No apologies. Never to me. Just gotta- Hold on.”

He kisses the back of your hand, and stands suddenly. You watch, trembling and cold without his touch, as he stuffs your panties into his jean pockets, then yanks his shirt over his head.

And dear lord, he’s a work of art. You’re only able to breathe shallowly, as if something too deep and loud will wake you from this heated, perfect dream. The one where Dean’s towering over you, all muscle and broad shoulders and warm, tanned skin. His chest alone is massive—his tits might be bigger than your—and his biceps bulge with every single movement. You don’t even realize you’re drooling under he’s wiping the spit from your lower lip, smiling with such adoration it makes you squirm.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do,” he mutters, careful and slow. “I’m takin’ care of you, and you’re just gonna lay there lookin’ nice and pretty, alright?”

You nod frantically, trying to lie down immediately, but Dean catches you by the back of your neck. You falter, blinking up at him in confusion, and his lips twitch.

“So fuckin’ perfect,” he says to himself, squeezing gently. “Gonna make that wet little pussy feel better, baby girl. Gonna make it feel so good.”

You whimper, and Dean lets out a ragged breath. He ducks down, pressing his lips slowly against your, and you push up on trembling fingers to kiss him back. He rubs your thigh, tracing his tongue over your swollen lips, and slowly presses you back into the sheets. You’re fully trapped beneath him, wrapped in pure warmth and safe, worshipful strength. 

Dean glides one hand up your side, teasing over your hips and ribs before resting it right under your breast. Callouses fingers flick your nipple once, before dragging gently over the hurt. He smiles against your lips, at your tiny squeak, the sensation sending a jolt right to your pussy.

“I know it hurts, princess,” he coos. “But you’re bein’ so good for me. So fuckin’ patient.”

You make a disgruntled sound. You’re not exactly choosing to be patient. You just don’t have the strength to wrestle with him, or the mind to argue. You’ve watched enough porn and read enough smutty fanfiction to think you’d understand how this would go. In all your carefully crafted fantasies, Dean rips off your clothing and pins you to the mattress, fucking you suddenly and desperately, like an animal finally let out of its cage.

But Dean’s not the kind of animal that others kept trapped. He had himself on the leash. He’s more practiced in control than you could’ve imagined, an expert at letting himself have just enough to be satisfied, without actually having anything at all. And now you’re spread on the bed for him to take without any kind of consequence he could make matter, and he’s not going to do anything but take his time.

“First time I fuckin’ saw you,” he mutters, lips brushing against yours. “Knew I was goner. Spent four years, hearin’ about how smart and kind you were, never knew you were a fuckin’ knockout too. Thought I’d died and gone to heaven, before I realized who you were.” He bunches the fabric of your shirt in his hand, slowly pulling it up your body. “Didn’t realize I was gonna be trapped in a hell where I couldn’t have the one girl I’d ever thought about wantin’ forever.”

Dean pulls off your shirt and begins to pepper kisses over the curve of your breasts, massive hands massaging your sensitive tits. Your back arches, a soft whimper leaving your throat as snaps your bra strap against your skin, then slowly traces the line of the fabric, all the way around to the clasp. He undoes it with a single, easy motion, and, before something ugly and green—reminding you of how many times he’s done before—settles in your gut, he squeezes your tit, and kisses his way back up your neck.

“You got no idea,” he purrs. “How much I’ve been dreamin’ about this. How fuckin’ hard,” he pushes his hips against your thigh, forcing you to feel the length of his hardened cock. “It’s been to keep my hands to myself, when you were runnin’ around looking like every fantasy I’ve had since I was a goddamn teenager. Used to pop one justwatching these bounce around,” he ducks back down, mouthing at your swollen tits. “And thinkin’ about how reactive you’d be, how good you’d feel…”

He trails off with a groan, wrapping his wet, warm mouth around your nipple, his free hand teasing the neglected bud with careful fingers. You pull on his hair and he groans, pushing his boner harder against you, all while offering no friction to your pussy. You try to protest and whine, try to shove his face lower, but he’s set on taking his time.

Dean switches attention between your tits, letting his hands roam your body with leisure. He maps every curve and dip, letting that dirty mouth follow the wake of shivering, burning need his touch leaves. He pulls your skirt down slowly, kissing over your stomach and hips, wrapping a massive arm around your knees and trapping them together when you try to grind into his face.

“Be good,” he warns, letting the tips of his fingers drag under your ass, barely brushing the lips of your pussy. “I know what you want, baby, but you’ve been waitin’ this long. You can be good.”

You think, somewhere in your lust addled brain, that he has a lot of misplaced faith in you. You cannot be good. Not when Dean kisses everywhere around your dripping mound, but never lets anything but his nose touch that little button. Not when he fully drags your skirt off your legs and teases your knees and feet, smiling to himself when you squirm and splaying a huge hand over your tummy, pinning you to the mattress and kissing his way back up your trembling legs.

He pushes your knees to your chest, and sucks dark, possessive marks on your inner thighs. Two broad fingers press the lips of your fluttering pussy together, and your hips buck, tears starting to spring into your eyes. You’ve never been teased like this. So careful and deliberate, like he’s trying to find every possible way to pull you apart. He kisses every spot twice, glancing at your slack, drunken expression like he’s measuring and memorizing each and every reaction. He blows on your pinched pussy and you cry out, grabbing his wrist and trying to roll away from the touch.

“Ah,” Dean spanks you cunt, pushing up on his knees. “This ain’t bein’ patient, sweetheart.”

“I’m- I’m trying,” you try and push his hand back against your core, but he’s too strong. “Dean, just- Just touch me, pleaaseee- Mhm-“

Dean leans down, kissing you back into the mattress. You’re almost folded in half beneath him, your cunt clenching around nothing, weeping for attention he’s taking his sweet time to give.

“If I’d known I was makin’ you this needy,” he rasped. “I woulda started fuckin’ you that first night.”

He spanks your pussy again, then swallows your needy sob with another kiss. You hump the air, the movements shorts and stuttered with how he’s keeping you pinned down.

“So goddamn wet,” Dean drags his hand against your swollen cunt, grinding the heel of his palm against your clit. Your eyes roll back in your head with every short movement, and his lips curve in an adoring, smug smirk. “You like that, baby girl? Feels good?”

“Ye- Yes,” you manage to stutter, clawing at the arm pinning you against the sheets. “Dean- Deean-“

“That’s right,” Dean spanks your pussy again, before running two thick fingers through your soaked folds. “Just like that. Jesus, you’re dripping on my fucking hand.”

He laughs in disbelief, and you didn’t think you were able to flush more, but the heat starts to cascade like a waterfall, a wet pressure building up at the top of your core.

“De- Dean-“ You’re trying to warn him, but his eyes only darken.

“You’re gonna cum?” He pushes those fingers against your entrance, barely dipping them into your tight channel. “Lose it just from hearin’ about how I wanna fuck you?” He leans down, forcing your gaze to stay trapped against his. “How I wanna stuff this pussy up with my fingers, my cock, my fuckin’ cum? Fillin’ you up like you deserve, makin’ you even stupider and prettier than I’ve got you right now, let it drip out, let everyone see who owns this perfect little cunt-“

The heat snaps, and you cum with a long, broken scream of his name.

You’ve never had an orgasm like this. It makes every single one with your vibrator seem downright pathetic, the way this one crashes through your whole body, forcing stars behind your eyes and making you thrash like a dog in heat. Your pussy is gushing in a way you didn’t know was possible, your body rolling in the sheets as the pleasure crests and becomes almost too much to handle.

And you don’t get a chance to come back down. To settle and collect yourself and just beg for his cock, the way he’s been promising for too long.

Your orgasm doesn’t fade, because Dean doesn’t let it.

He presses your knees right to your chest, tangles your hands back together, and shoves his face right into your trembling cunt.

You thought the fingers and the dirty talk were bad. You thought you knew the limit of pleasure your body could take, but Dean seems to be determined to prove you wrong. You knew his mouth was warm and wet and unrelenting, but you hadn’t been prepared for how it would feel against your pussy. It’s like a vibrator got sent on fire and covered in cocaine, giving you a second hand high just from the contact. Dean makes out with your cunt like it’s your lips, but without demanding a single thing in return.

He groans when you pull on his hair, his tongue flicking back and forth over your clit so fast you can’t even find anything but a high-pitched whine in your throat. He licks a rough stripe up your cunt and mouths at your fluttering hole, drawing out every bit of arousal with the tickle and scrape of his beard against your already overused thighs. He draws back for half a second, spitting on your clit and using three fingers to rub your pussy so brutally, your knees give out laying down.

“Dean- Dean- Fuuuuuuck-“ You cry it over and over like a prayer. You hump his face and try to squirm away from it at the same time, but Dean never lets you get too far. He smiles and nips at your clit when you grind against his jaw, and chases you up the mattress when you try to get away, manhandling and dragging you back against his face. Soon you’ve got nowhere left to roll without falling off the bed, and Dean stops putting up with your antics.

You’re still in half below him, but he’s pressing you down too tight for you to move. You sob and crane your neck, holding onto his head for dear life, the slick between your thighs starting to feel too tight again. You don’t have to say it this time. Dean’s eyes glint, opening to look back to yours, and wraps his lips around your clit, sucking on it like the sweetest candy he’s ever tasted.

There’s a thick, slapping sound that fills the room, and you manage to focus from the blur of pleasure just long enough to crane your neck and find its source.

And Dean was already a sight, between your legs. His eyes peeking up, his muscles budging, the hair you convinced to let him grow flopping over his brow. But there’s a reason he’s pushed himself so high on his knees, dragging your ass fully off the mattress.

He’s freed his massive, thick cock from its confines in his boxers, and he’s beating it into his hand like he’s watching the most sinful, lewd porno in the world. He moans against your cunt, almost drinking up your arousal, and his hips jerk into his fist. A shining pearl of precum, falls from his angry red tip.

Your eyes roll back in your head, as your second orgasm rip through you like a storm. Pulling you so totally apart you think you float out of your body, twitching in the sheets and gaping at Dean under hooded eyes.

Dean groans, his mouth working you through it, and when you float back down he’s already started to rub his cock between the lips of your pussy, tapping the head against your clit, and smiling when it jolts you like lightning.

“Look at this fuckin’ mess,” Dean murmurs, bending over until he’s resting his chin on your knees, still trapped against your chest. “Look at you, sweetheart. Such a good girl for me, takin’ it so well.”

You keen under the praise, past words, past anything but the thought of Dean’s warm skin against your, his dick notched at your entrance, begging to just come inside and take what’s been his since the first time you saw him.

“You gonna talk to me?” Dean kisses the corner of your mouth, and you blink at him under fluttering, doe-like eyes. “Or did I work my girl a little too hard already?”

You shake your head frantically, grabbing his wrist. Dean pauses, raising his brows.

“Baby, if you’re tapped out-“

“No,” you manage to breathe, and Dean’s throat bobs. “Please. Please don’t stop.”

Dean stares at you, the mask of teasing and control slowly slipping away. All that’s left beneath it is a man that’s just as wrecked for you as you are for him. He smears drool over your cheek and takes a ragged breath, glancing down to where your bodies are almost joined, where his dick is begging to just drive into your pussy and make you his.

He looks back to you with a zealous, almost primal need. You tip your head back, offering your neck, your throat, your jaw, anything he wants, just as long as this lasts forever.

“You mine, sweetheart?” Dean says, low and rough, almost desperate. Like he’s afraid to know the answer.

You don’t know why. There isn’t another you could possibly give your heart, knowing their going to destroy it and keep it safe all at once.

“I’m yours,” you breathe, and that’s all Dean needs.

He pushes you into the mattress with shockingly gentle hands, dropping his weight over your legs to keep you nice and curled up beneath his massive body. His cock pushes slowly, inch by inch, into your abused, weeping pussy. You gasp, the stretch both more and better than you ever could’ve possibly imagined.

And the through worship of your body paid off. There isn’t a place in your body you can’t feel him. It’s like you’re being split in half and fused back together, all in the small, shallow thrusts that Dean uses to get himself fully seated inside you. His head kisses your cervix, his balls swollen and pressed against your slick ass, his face buried in your knees and his breath fanning—hot and ragged—over your tits.

“So fuckin’ tight,” he says, squeezing you tighter. “Son of a- You feel so fuckin’ good baby, you- You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me.”

You giggle. You don’t know why. You can’t really justify it, past being so cockdrunk and wrecked that everything is kind of bubbly and bright. Dean’s head shoots up, his eyes narrowed, and you giggle again, smiling at him so freely, you can’t bring yourself to care about the tears streaming down your cheeks and cunt. You just feel full, and it’s perfect. You never want him to pull out.

Dean’s eyes glint, and you know you’re in trouble.

Good. You really want to be, as long as it’s with him.

Dean snaps his hips, and your giggle falls into a broken, shameless moan. Dean grins, kissing the tears off your cheeks and setting a slow, rutting pace in your cunt. He bumps over and over against your g-spot, fucking you into a whining, squirming mess within minutes.

“That’s right,” he whispers in your ear, pushing your knees a little higher up. “Feels so fucking good, doesn’t it? Sweet girl, takin’ this cock like you were made for it. Lettin’ me use you like the greedy little cockslut you wanna be. Mine,” he kisses a soft spot under your jaw, words rough and possessive. “Fuckin’ mine.”

You nod, babbling out a pathetic agreement. You are his. You’re a useless, soaked wreck beneath Dean’s massive body, but you’re his, and there’s nothing else you’d rather be.

And you were sure that you’d reached the limit for orgasms for the night, especially given that your previous record was one, weak and barely worthy of note.

But you’ve never been fucked by Dean before. And with the way he’s ruining you, you don’t think you’re going to be able to be fucked by anyone else after.

His cock slides in out of your pussy, like your bodies were made to mold together. The sound fills the room, obscene and lewd, mixed with Dean’s low moans in your ear and your own, pathetic whimpering. He bullies that gummy spot inside of you, driving against it over and over, as his thrusts become longer and harsher.  

Every inch of your body is so thoroughly claimed by him, you almost can’t stand it. The squelch of his dick, each vein and pulse making your wet pussy throb, his messily connected to yours and his hands groping desperately at your hips as you both reach your peak. The heat is building back up like a flood, making your eyes cross and your head spin. You grip his shoulders with shaking hands, your nose twitching and wrecked pleas falling from your lips.

Dean kisses everyone away, past words himself. He grabs your jaw one last time, angling his hand between your bodies to toy with your clit, and something at the very base of your spine shatters. It’s not like the dreamy floating of your last orgasm. It’s loud and wet, making you feel every single second of overwhelming pleasure as Dean’s thrusts become unruly and frantic. You milk his cock, crying his name, gushing with so much slick that you’re almost worried you’re peeing.

The sound that leaves Dean is almost inhuman. He doubles over, clinging to you with a reverence like you’re holy, emptying thick, hot ropes of cum into your pussy. You’re so full, so loved, you grab Dean’s bicep and gape up at him with open, loving eyes.

Dean grunts, drilling his cock into your g-spot with shallow, uncontrolled thrusts.

“One more-“ He grunts. “One more ‘f me, Babygirl, please-“

One last orgasms blooms and shudders through your core. Dean makes a feral, satisfied sound, and collapses over you with a moan.   

And for a little while, you both just lay there. Lost in the feeling of each other, the pure, simple ease. Dean kisses away your tears and buries himself a little deeper, whispering an apology against your lips when you whine.

“’S okay-“ You gasp. “Feels good.”

Dean grunts, still doubtful, and you give him a winning, gentle smile.

“I liked it,” you cup his cheek, pushing your breasts a little higher. “A lot.”

Dean’s cock twitches inside  of you. He groans and drops his face between your breasts, shaking his head. You giggle and pet his head, and he props his chin up.

“Too rough?” He mutters, and you shake your head.

“Perfect.”

“Hmm,” he looks you up and down, and you spread your legs a little wide, using your heels to push him closer.

He grunts and braces himself next to your head, eyes soft and gleaming in the dark. He takes you in—boneless, limp, and dizzy with happiness—and lets out a slow, ragged breath.

“Think I mighta just created a monster,” he mutters, and you beam.

“Maybe.”

He raises his brows, kissing the inside of your wrist. And he’s buried inside of you. You’re filled with his cum, and covered in love marks you have no idea how to hide.

You still flush.

Dean’s eyes gleam with satisfaction. He kisses your wrist again, massaging your hips.

“We’re gonna do this again, right?” You ask knowing the answer.

You just want to hear him say it.

“Yeah, baby,” he murmurs, watching you like none of the world matters. Like it’s really only you and him, and a hazy but glowing and certain future. “We’re gonna be doin’ this until you get sick of it.”

“And if I don’t?” You whisper. “Get sick of it?”

Dean shrugs, smiling faintly. “Then I think we’re gonna be doin’ it for a long, long time.”

✦End note: dfb fever is getting me and i'm not. mad about it.✦

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Andrew’s walkie-talkie crackles at his belt. “Security desk to Cody. We’ve got a 62-12 in the west lawn headed your direction. Team alpha deployed. Secure the asset. Over.”

Adrenaline spikes in his chest. Armed and dangerous intruder -- coming directly for you. Striding quickly through the pool complex, he clicks his own walkie and confirms, “Cody to all units. Copy 62-12. Securing asset now. Over.”

Andrew follows the loud music thumping through the indoor/outdoor space, cursing whatever architect decided that a series of different temperature curvy pools divided by columns and glass walls and oversized tropical plants was a good idea. An intruder could hide around so many of the features, perving on you in your string bikini or aiming a gun at you without being spotted. Andrew’s worked for your family long enough to see the whole range of threats, hired years back when you became an adult and needed your own security team. Now that you're his…whatever it's been between you the last few months…the stakes feel so much higher. You aren't just the spoiled brat he has to stop paparazzi from photographing. You're everything.

He spots you by one of the hot tubs, wrapping yourself in a fluffy white robe, completely unaware of your surroundings as you drown your thoughts in loud music and steam.

At the same time, out of the corner of his eye, Andrew sees the movement of the intruder through the floor-to-ceiling windows out on the nearest lawn, quickly moving from place to place trying to stay out of view. There’s no way of knowing if he’s got eyes on you yet, so Andrew has no choice but to grab you. He snaps one hand over your mouth, hoists you up with his strong arm, and hauls you toward the first locking door he finds.

Thankfully, you don’t try to fight him off as fear spills through your body. You know it’s Andrew from the broadness of his chest, the certainty in his touch, the bite of his sharp masculine cologne, so you don’t try to get away. As soon as he became your personal bodyguard, Andrew taught you to stay calm and go limp when it’s him and to fight like hell when it’s anyone else. He wouldn’t grab you like this if it weren’t serious.

Within seconds, Andrew’s manhandled you through the locker room and into one of the private shower stalls, two locked doors between you and danger. Nearly silent, he breathes against your ear, “I’m gonna let you go now, sweetheart, but don’t make any noise.”

You nod into his skin, tasting the salt of his palm, and feel your body relax as you get balanced on your feet. Andrew’s presence is the one thing that’s always been able to keep you calm. As you catch your breath, trying to keep them slow and steady, he instinctively checks you over for any signs of injury or major distress even though he knows you're fine, breathing heavily with his strong hands on your shoulders. He flicks a button on his walkie to silently alert the team that you've been secured in a safe location.

Satisfied that you’re calming down and safe, he whispers urgently, hazel eyes wide, “You need to wait here, okay? Just sit tight and be quiet until I get back. I have to get the intruder off the property.”

You grab his hand and hold it tight, shaking your head. Tears slip down your cheeks. He’s done enough training with you that you’re able to stay silent despite the terror wracking around your ribcage. You lean forward in the small space, press your lips to his ear, and beg, “Don’t leave, Andrew.” Your whole body shakes and he can hear your teeth chattering with your faces so close together. Even though you're whispering, your throat is so thick with tears that little whimpering sounds come through. “Stay with me; I'm scared."

Andrew’s heart shatters. Fuck. A war rages in his mind. It’s his job to keep you safe. To protect you from harm. To neutralize threats. Your parents cut him a fat paycheck for that reason, trusting him to take the shot on anyone who threatens their baby girl.

But here you are.

Soft, small, vulnerable.

Asking him not to do his job but to follow the nagging voice deep in the back of his mind and the base of his gut that tells him that keeping you safe means holding you close. That protecting you from harm means drying your tears.

The residence is crawling with security. Someone besides him can and will handle the intruder. Andrew knows that if he left you right now, he might be able to catch the guy early and stop some property damage.

But you’d be alone.

And you’d be scared

So Andrew wraps his arms around you. He kisses the top of your head, cradles you with strong hands, and breathes deeply, encouraging you to do the time. And he says, “I’ve got you. I'm right here.”

You nestle into his chest and nod. For a few minutes, he holds you while you cry, pressing soothing kisses to your temple and rubbing your back. You're so gentle; it's one of the things he loves most about you. For many people in your position, this would just be an annoyance, a frustrating blip in your day, but to you it's worth crying over. Andrew needs more of that -- sensitivity, sweetness, fragility -- in his life.

Andrew's walkie crackles to life again. "Security to all units. 62-12 has been neutralized without fire. Surveying property for damage now. Cody provide status on the asset. Over."

Andrew lets out a relieved sigh. Still holding you with one arm, he grabs the radio from its clip and says, voice low and quick, "Cody to security. Copy. Asset is safe and unharmed. Over and out."

After a few moments of silence, both of you breathing in tandem, you pull back from him as much as the cramped stall allows. His arms are still around you and it doesn't seem he has any plans to change that. You press your lips softly to his stubbly cheek -- you secretly love when he forgets to shave in the morning -- and murmur, "Thanks for saving me, Andy."

He lets out a sharp, hoarse laugh. "I should've been closer. Shouldn't have taken so long to get to you."

"You went to the bathroom," you point out. "You're allowed to pee on the clock."

"I know, I know." He shakes his head, running antsy fingers through his curls. "Just…Fuck, if anything happened to you."

"But nothing did," you remind him. "It was probably just another creep trying to get pictures of my tits, anyway."

That makes him hum in annoyance. "That's not better."

"What?" You poke his firm pec and tease, "All grumpy at the thought of someone else seeing my boobs?"

With a conspiratorial sort of smile, he admits, "Maybe. A little."

You raise an eyebrow, drop your hand to the tie of your robe, and tug hard. The soft garment falls to the tile floor, leaving in your very, very small bikini. Then, before he can protest, you've undone the hook behind your back and let the top join it. As he stares at your bare chest, immediately getting hard from the sight and the lingering adrenaline, you gesture dramatically and ask, "All better?"

Andrew sighs contentedly. "You're fucking perfect." He lowers his head and kisses across the tops of your breasts, gentle and reassuring. "Never gonna let anyone hurt you."

"I know," you reply breathlessly as he wraps his lips around one of your nipples. "You always keep me safe. That's why I'm yours."

He gazes up at you from between your tits, smiling boyishly, and confirms, "All mine?"

Your cheeks warm up from the unabashed adoration in his eyes and you give him an embarrassed, bashful nod. "Yours."

"All this for me," he breathes out, giving a low whistle. He mouths down the center of your chest and along your stomach, his tongue memorizing the familiar shapes and curves. He wraps his arms around you again and drags his hands up the backs of your legs, lighting up every nerve. When they finally settle on your ass, Andrew shakes his head in disbelief. "I'm the luckiest son of a bitch in the world."