It might be the way she rolled her shoulders back, or how her stoic eyes locked onto the zoid while she worked. Sometimes, it was the subtle way she rubbed the back of her neck. He collected those quiet signals like puzzle pieces, using them to piece together what she wouldn’t say out loud. That’s where his detail-oriented nature kicked in.

Tonight was one of those rare occasions when she worked later than he did. Knowing how drained she’d be, he figured the least he could do was take care of dinner. He’d gotten home earlier than usual, picked up Italian from her favorite spot, and had already set the table—plates laid out, utensils neatly placed. A small surprise, but one he hoped would make her night just a little easier.

She finally emerged from her home office, and from the slow, dragging sound of her steps through the living room, he could tell—she was worn out. But at least now, he could finally spend some time with her.

She sighed and dropped onto the couch, letting her body sink back against the cushions. Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment, grateful for even a second of rest. The tension in her neck was starting to rise, creeping up like a slow wave. She could’ve fallen asleep right there—if not for the warm, mouthwatering smell of basil, garlic, and Parmesan drifting through the room. 

She was about to fall asleep, if not for the cushion shift beneath Dex’s weight, his familiar warmth settling in beside her.

She gave a quiet, absentminded nod, her cheek brushing against the soft fabric of his white button-up.

“Long day?” he murmured, his voice low and comforting as he wrapped his arms around her, drawing her gently into his chest. The scent of his cologne—something clean and woodsy—lingered faintly on his shirt.

“Good thing I picked up dinner,” he said with a smile, his lips pressed against the top of her head.

The rich aroma of basil and garlic still hung in the air, warm and inviting, and her stomach gave a soft, involuntary growl in response.

“Ohh, how did I get lucky with such a good boyfriend?” She mumbled into his chest.

“I think the lucky one is me.” He said. 

A grin spread across his face, his dimples deepening as he basked in the warmth of her praise. A proud smile spread across his lips, beaming at the praise. He yearned to constantly please her, to stay in her good graces. When Dex got it right—when he read her correctly, or made her smile after a long day—it lit something in him.

She shifted onto his lap to face him, her movements slow, unhurried. The smile on his face—soft and full of admiration—melted the exhaustion from her body. His stormy hazel eyes held something unspoken, almost spell-like, especially in the way he looked at her—like she was the only thing that existed in this world. 

Her hand rose to cup his face, thumb tracing the curve of his cheek. His eyes softened as he leaned into her touch, savoring the moment. She leaned in and kissed him, a gentle press of lips that made his heart soar. He melted into her.

Then she rose up onto her knees, shifting higher above him. Her fingers threaded into his blonde hair, nails grazing his scalp in delicate, teasing strokes. The buzzing and tension in his head was soothed away by her tender touch. He closed his eyes, basking in the light scratch of her nails against his scalp, the way her touch moved through his blond strands—soothing, tender. 

“I missed you.” He mumbled, hiding his bashfulness against her neck. 

It was a slow burn under his skin, growing hotter with every heartbeat. His hands swept along her back, fingers rough and calloused, savoring the contrast of her softness against the hardness of his palms. Her scent clung to him, dizzying and addictive, flooding his senses and stoking the fire roaring inside him.

He needed her. Needed her like air, like salvation—needed to be lost in her.

“I missed you too.”

She saw it—felt it—in the way his hands gripped her, tracing every curve like he was trying to memorize her body, as if this might be the last time. Her nails grazed the base of his neck, drawing a shiver from him, feeling the tension coiled beneath her. Her hand slid into his hair, curling tight—a firm, commanding grip. Then she tugged, sharp and deliberate, pulling his head back to meet her gaze—commanding, electric. His breath hitched, eyes darkening as he looked up at her—jaw slack, lips parted, trembling on the edge of a plea, completely under her spell.

“Say you need me.” He pleaded. 

There’s a switch in her eyes. It hit him like a jolt, sending his heart racing with anticipation. Power radiated from her gaze—sharp, unflinching, utterly in control. And the sight of him—so captivated, so desperate—made her ache with a deeper hunger. His fingers dug into the flesh of her ass, pulling her closer as his tongue slipped between her lips, tasting her, claiming her. He was unraveling fast, barely holding on to any self-control. The way she rolled her hips against him—deliberate, maddening—ripped a groan from his throat, muffled by the ferocity of their kiss.

He bucked up beneath her, instinct and need colliding, and deepened the kiss until she pulled away breathless, trembling with the need for more.

“I need to feel you.” She breathlessly whispered.

She pushed herself up from his shoulders, eyes locked on his as she tugged her shirt over her head in one swift motion. His eyes took in the beauty of her bare skin. Her skin flushed, lips parted, she leaned back in, trailing rough, hungry kisses down the line of his neck.

His hands were already moving, quick and eager, working open the buttons of his shirt with practiced urgency. The fabric hit the floor, forgotten, as he gripped her shorts and dragged them down, desperate to feel more of her.

His mouth followed the curve of her body, kissing everywhere his lips could reach—devouring her with reverence and need. Her hands worked fast in unzipping and pushing his pants down. He helped her slip out of the last scraps of clothing, shedding every barrier between them until she was bare before him, every inch of her offered, glowing in the heat of his gaze.

She climbed right back onto his lap, thighs spread, and right back into his arms. He looked like a mess already, face flushed and leaking already. She lifted her hips, her hand wrapped around his cock and slid his thick leaking tip along her wet folds. He groaned, lost in the feeling of how wet she was, but displeased by the way she teased and toyed with him. 

“Don’t do this to me…” He pleaded. 

“You’ve been such a good boy, haven’t you?” She slid along his length, coating him in her warm arousal.

He nodded vigorously, “Please…” 

She sighed, savoring this side of Dex—tense, nearly trembling with need. His fingers dug into the cushion, knuckles white as he held himself back from grabbing her hips and slamming her down onto his cock. He looked wrecked—and so damn pretty with those pleading, desperate eyes.

“Such good manners,” she purred, guiding his tip to her entrance. He couldn’t stop staring, gaze locked on hers, wide and glassy with anticipation.

He swallowed hard, muscles taut, veins straining along his hands. Then—finally—she sank down onto him, slow and steady. Her jaw fell open from the stretch of him, coaxing a strangled moan from her lips. They moaned in tandem as her velvety walls engulfed him, his head falling back, jaw slack, lost in the overwhelming relief of being inside her. 

“F-fuck!” He groaned, his hands ran up along the curves of her body, cupping the swell of her breasts. 

His thumbs worked her nipples with slow, deliberate precision—pinching, rolling—until they were stiff peaks under his touch. The sensation sent heat rushing through her, dizzying and consuming, leaving her mind hazy with want. She lifted her hips, then slammed back down, a guttural moan ripping from her throat as he filled her completely.

“Oh god, Dex!”

Her nails sank into his shoulders, clinging to him as waves of pleasure rolled through her. She moved with wild rhythm, slick hips grinding, chasing the high they both teetered on. Each thrust echoed in the room—lewd, wet, and relentless—their bodies colliding in perfect, frantic sync.

"Slow down or I'm gonna cum.” With a rough grunt, he pulled her in tight, foreheads pressing together as if he couldn’t bear to let her go.

“I want you to cum inside me.” She breathlessly whispered.

The sound he makes—a deep, guttural rumble—reverberates through her chest, sparking a rush of pride that leaves her glowing. But what truly quickened her pulse is the way he kissed her: eager, ravenous, his lips crashing against hers with such fervor, she knew they'd be left red and swollen.

Her hips moved faster, chasing the mounting pressure coiling deep in her core. Each roll was frantic, desperate, as the tension inside her wound tighter with every slick drag of him inside her. Their bodies were soaked with sweat, skin sliding against skin.

His hands trailed down her spine, fingers splayed wide before gripping her ass with bruising force. She gasped—half from the sting, half from how it grounded her to him. He slammed her down hard, again and again. Despite being the one in control of her rhythm, he managed to hit every sensitive spot with ruthless precision. The sound of their bodies colliding was obscene—wet, raw, echoing with every bounce.

“You’re doing so good for me,” he groaned against her throat, voice raspy and reverent. “Taking me so fucking well.”

His mouth found her neck, teeth grazing, tongue teasing, lips sucking greedy marks into her skin, claiming her. Her arms wrapped around him like a lifeline, nails digging in as her thighs began to tremble. Her eyes rolled back, filled with tears, overwhelmed by the sheer force of sensation.

“Don’t stop!” she choked out, voice cracking, hoarse and desperate.

His hair clung to his forehead, soaked with sweat, his breath ragged as he slammed up into her at a punishing pace. Every thrust was relentless, purposeful—driving her closer, feeling the way her walls fluttered, clinging to him tighter with each movement. She was close—he could feel it in the way she trembled, in the desperate pull of her body around him.

“Come on—make a mess of me.” he growled, voice hoarse with need.

That was all it took. 

Her body clamped around him like a vise, a scream tearing from her throat as she came—hard and fast, her orgasm ripping through her like fire. Her body went rigid, then shuddered violently as wave after wave crashed through her. He didn’t stop thrusting, helping her ride through it, forcing himself deeper into the tight pulsing clutch of her walls.

He snarled as he came, hips bucking wildly beneath her, emptying himself in hot, thick bursts. His thrusts turned sloppy, erratic, and she milked every last drop from him. He didn’t stop grinding their hips together, not even as their release spilled between them, warm and messy, trailing down her thighs.

He chuckled, his fingertips gently tracing along her arms. “I think our dinner’s cold by now.”

She gave a tired nod against his chest. “Nothing Chef Mic can’t handle.”

He laughed, shaking his head at the ridiculous nickname she’d given their microwave.

“Alright, let’s get you cleaned up then.” He began to shift, but her soft whine stopped him. She snuggled deeper into his chest, refusing to move.

“I can’t,” she groaned. “You fucked every ounce of strength out of me.”

He grinned, quite pleased with himself, and kissed the top of her messy hair. “Fine. Five more minutes. But then you have to eat. I bet you haven’t had a real meal all day.”