Snuff Box

Andrew “Pope” Cody has a very strict routine. He wakes up, has a glass of water with his pre-workout supplements, then runs a few miles before heading back to do a few weight-lifting sets. When he feels like he has let the pent up energy out of his body, he'll shower and then eat a protein heavy breakfast so he can take the rest of his pills. 

Because if he doesn't take his meds, he'll surely go crazy when he's on set. The medication numbs the worser parts of himself. The ones people usually are afraid of.

The ones directors tend to tell him to “tone down” when he's fucking whatever actor or actress they're asking him to for the week. 

They're lucky he even cums. It doesn't feel good. Hasn't since he started working as a porn star. 

But it pays the bills better than robbing people. 

It also keeps him away from his family, since most of his shoots are in Los Angeles. 

So, he deals with the fact sex is muted now. The medication helps him not feel some type of way about it, thankfully, because he doesn't have sex for fun. 

It's all for work. 

That is, until he meets you. 

You're sitting off to the side, legs dangling off a dressing table, laptop resting on your beautiful exposed thighs. 

It's hot on set. You're wearing flimsy little shorts and a halter top that lets Pope see much more than anyone should for a girl your age. 

“Who is she?” He asks one of the producers on set. 

Could you be his newest co-star? 

Why is he…excited over that prospect? 

Pope hasn't felt any kind of attraction in a long while, so if you are, maybe he'll actually get to enjoy himself for once. 

He's curious to know what your pussy feels like. 

Are you a loud performer or a more subtle and shy one? 

Do you actually cum or do you just fake it for the camera? 

He wants to make you cum for real. 

But his desire gets shut down immediately when the producer he asked answers, “oh her? I don't know who she is. Probably one of the director's kids or something. Wannabe producer. Been trying to pitch a script but no one's biting.” 

“Why's that?” Pope doesn't know why he's so curious about you. 

The producer laughs, in that grating kind of way that makes Pope want to knock his teeth out. Especially when the guy goes, “because she wants to make girly porn. As if that shit will sell. Men aren't going to buy into any of that cutesy femme shit.” 

Pope knows there's a female audience for porn. He has a lot of followers online. Plenty of them are women. And he is fully aware of the many comments he has read on his posts where some of his fans wish he would do more work that “catered to the female gaze”. He never understood what that meant. He has worked with plenty of female directors and producers before, but apparently they focus on making sure male audiences are satisfied first and foremost. 

He's never read a script made for a woman's interest before. 

Now, he's even more curious about you. 

So much so, that he's walking over to you before he can stop his legs from doing so. 

You look up and are startled to see Pope. You've never seen him in person before. You didn't know he'd be on this set. Your aunt is one of the directors and she didn't give you much notice on what exactly the production was. 

“Oh, hi.” You put your hand out and introduce yourself. “You must be Pope, right?” 

“Have you seen my work?” He asks, shaking your hand, his lingering in yours for a beat longer than he normally would. 

“Clips here and there.” You seem a little flustered at his question. How cute. 

“I heard you've been trying to pitch a script.” Pope is more direct than he intends.

You're surprised he knows about it. “I am, but it's probably not going to sell much.” 

“Can I see it?” He leans back on the edge of the table next to you, gesturing to your laptop. “My shoot isn't for an hour. Wouldn't mind something to kill the time.” 

“Oh, sure!” You scramble to pull it up. 

Pope glances over your shoulder, seeing how many scripts you have written already. You're sifting through them, parsing out which one you'd want him to see. You decide on one where you had based the main lead on him and hand him your laptop. 

“You can fold it over to use like a tablet.” You show him, your hands brushing against his as you do, your heart skipping a beat when you feel how big his fingers are. 

Pope is so close to you that he nearly leans in and kisses you. He doesn't, but he does take a brief inhale, liking the smell of your perfume mixed with the sweat that's trickling off your neck from your nerves. 

You sit there in silence, his big bicep casually resting on yours as he scrolls through your script. You take out your phone to distract yourself, trying to calm your rapid heartbeat from his proximity. 

You never thought you'd ever get the chance to be near anyone in the industry. You always figured you'd be behind a camera. But Pope is right next to you, so close that you can feel the heat radiating off of him. 

It almost makes you dizzy how hot he is…

Pope is worried his skin is growing too red. He hasn't felt this turned on in years. Reading this script has him needing to resist getting hard, which is usually not the case for him. Most of the time, it's difficult to get hard and he'll end up needing a pill or some help. 

But what you've written is too well-aligned with the fantasies that haunt his mind. 

“What would you consider this?” He asks you when he finishes reading, handing you back your laptop.

“Ah, like a dark romance, I guess?” You had shown him the plot where the main lead, a distant family friend whom the other lead refers to as her uncle, lures her to his private estate for the summer so he can hold her captive until she agrees to be his forever. 

“I like it.” Pope tells you in that flat tone of his that has you questioning whether or not you heard him correctly. 

“Really? You might be the only person who thinks so.” You're elated to hear that but then immediately talk yourself down. “Everyone else I've shown it to thinks that it's too focused on his obsession with her and that it should be the other way around because “why would anyone want to watch a man throw himself at a woman”. Men wouldn't buy it, I guess.” 

You bite your lip after you say that, wishing you hadn't just dumped all of that onto Pope.

You open your mouth to apologize but then Pope goes, “then those men just don't get the appeal. I think it's good and you should make it.” 

“Wow.” You can't stop the big smile that forms on your face. “That's so sweet of you to say, Pope. I hope I get the chance one day.”

Pope wants to tell you that he'd make it happen but they're calling his name to get ready. So, instead, he tells you, “do you want to come over after this and talk more about it?”

You're speechless. No one has ever invited you over to their place before. 

And it's Pope, of all people. 

He never invites people over. 

His house is his sanctuary. 

But he wants you alone. 

He wants to get to know you more. 

He wants to see if your desires truly align with his own. 

“I'll have to check in with my aunt first, since she drove me. But I'd like to.” You reply, reaching your hand up to touch your warm cheek. 

You must look so flustered right now. 

Pope loves the sight of it. Such a shy girl. To think you're on a porn set right now and about to watch him fuck someone else. 

He'll have to put on a good show for you. 

“I'll come find you after, little one.” He calls you what the uncle in your script calls his pseudo-niece and it has your skin flushing with more heat in response. 

Once he's out of your line of sight, you bury your face in your hands, muffling a scream because what was that! 

Did he really just…

You loop him calling you “little one” over and over in your head, wanting to memorize the sound of it for when you touch yourself later. You have to resist touching yourself now while you watch Pope at work. 

You've, of course, seen him naked before. You've watched plenty of clips of his porn online. For research purposes, of course!

But there's something different about seeing him in person. 

About knowing how his hands could feel, how warm his body is, how big he is compared to you that makes watching him pound his huge cock into his co-star all the more enjoyable. 

Then, your heart stops in your chest when he locks eyes with you from across the set when he cums deep inside of her. 

That wasn't in the script. Not in the one he's performing right now, because rarely does male centric porn ever “waste” a cumshot. 

It's in yours, though, because you like the idea of getting filled and you're certain other people do too. 

But for a shoot like this one, they want to see his cum on his co-star somewhere, for the visual. 

Pope couldn't help himself, though. He wanted you to see what he could do to you. He hasn't cum that much in a long time, which might be the only saving grace for the shoot because when he pulls out of his co-star, so much leaks out that they don't have to fake it for the shot. 

All in all a successful shoot so the director yells “cut” and it's done. 

You meet Pope out in the parking lot afterwards, since your aunt didn't seem to care if you wanted to go home with a porn star. She knows he's clean, because he has to be for work, and that you're an adult so she's letting you make your own decisions. Her only warning to you was that you will likely get your heart broken dating a porn star.

But you wave off her concerns because you don't believe he's interested in you. 

Pope just likes your scripts…right? 

That seems to be the case when you come over to his house and he spends the entire time reading through every idea you've written. 

You're both sitting on his couch together. He has on some kind of nature show, the one that follows a pack of lions throughout their day.

You watch one of the lions chase after a gazelle before it pounces on it and the gazelle becomes its next meal. You don't know why watching that has your heart racing so much. 

Maybe it's because you're currently in a lion's den and he's looking to make you his next meal… 

But you're oblivious to it, to Pope resting his hand on your thigh casually as he scrolls through your writing, asking you questions about it here and there like what you're looking to do, etc.

“I'd like to make a truly indie production.” You explain to him your dream shoot. “Like maybe only me and the stars on set. The script just being a loose guideline. Going with the flow, seeing where the scenario takes us naturally. I'd like for it to be organic and less “produced” than the stylized porn available now.” 

“Have you ever thought of starring in it yourself?” Pope poses a question that has you stammering out your reply.

“I-I…um…” You shake your head, the nerves apparent in your voice as you admit, “I don't think I could. I've never…” 

“No one has ever touched you before?” He can hardly believe that. 

In his eyes, anyone would be lucky to have the chance to be near you. He can barely keep his eyes off of you as is. 

“Why would they?” You chew on your cheek after you say that, wishing you didn't let your insecurity slip out so readily so you pretend to shrug it off, “it's not a big deal. I'm not in a rush to experience anything.” 

“Shouldn't you experience the things you want to produce?” Pope doesn't mean to sound so coercive but it definitely doesn't help that his hand slides higher up your thigh as he asks, “wouldn't it be nice to know for your writing?”

“But no one would want to…” The words get caught in your throat when he leans in, his lips so close to your own that you can taste his breath. 

“I'd want to.” His voice is so low, so intoxicating that you almost melt when he says, “if you'd let me, little one.” 

This is all too similar to something you've written before. It's like he's roleplaying your own words back to you. 

You don't know how to react to it…

“I don't think this is a good idea.” You tell Pope as he leans in closer to you, pressing a kiss on your jaw, making your whole body shiver as he trails upwards to the shell of your ear. “Oh god…”

“We don't have to do anything today.” He whispers right into your ear. “But I'd like to see you again.” 

“Why?” You feel so stupid asking that, your insecurity leaking out again. 

Pope cups your face, turning you to look at him, his gaze so intense. “Because I want to know what you look like when you feel good.” 

His thumb swipes over your bottom lip, seeing the way you're trembling, the nerves overtaking you. 

You're so precious, so scared, so perfect for him. He can't get enough of you.

“I'll probably be really bad at it.” You want him to be prepared. “You might not have a good time. I won't know what I'm doing.”

That makes him chuckle lightly. “I've got enough experience for the both of us.” 

“I've never even kissed anyone before.” You admit with your eyes locked on his lips. 

The lips you've watched go down on his co-stars. The lips you've seen leave marks on their skin. The lips you're desperate to kiss right now.

“Do you want to?” He brushes his lips against yours. A simple brush, not a true kiss, but it has your whole body quivering just from that light touch. “I think you do.”

“Will you go slow?” You have to ask because you're so nervous you'll get swept up in him. 

“I'll go at whatever pace you want.” He pulls away and you don't like how disappointed you feel. But then, he pats his lap and gestures, “come here, little one.”

This is truly everything you've dreamt of and he's feeding into it. You stand up, staring down at his lap, trying to figure out how exactly you should sit. 

When you've stalled for long enough, Pope just grabs you by your waist and tugs you down onto him. You're straddling his lap now, his large thighs becoming your new chair. 

Your breath catches in your throat when his lips land on your neck all of a sudden, causing you to grip onto the thin black shirt he's wearing that doesn't leave anything up to the imagination. His chest is flush against yours and he can hear your heartbeat thrumming so quickly, like your heart might burst at any moment. 

Pope smiles against the column of your throat, pressing a kiss there. Just one, right in the center, so he can feel the air get caught before it can reach your lungs. 

“Stay calm.” He instructs, his words warm and oddly gentle. “It'll feel better if you aren't so worked up.” 

“I'm sorry.” You don't know what you're doing… 

You smooth out his shirt, worried you've wrinkled it from how hard you were gripping it for leverage. 

“You can hold onto me, little one.” He takes your hand and places it onto his shoulder. “Lean on me.” 

His other hand splays across the small of your back beneath your shirt, practically engulfing your skin. Every touch is sending signals to your core that you've never felt before. Anxious signals, screaming at you to stop this before you start feeling more than you should. 

“Maybe we should stop.” You say out of concern, your nerves getting in the way. 

“Just one kiss and then we can stop for today, okay?” He already has you on his lap. He can't lose out on this golden opportunity.

One kiss will be enough to convince you. Pope is sure of that, sure of himself and his skill. 

He just needs you to say yes. And to stop squirming on his lap or he might have to do something about how hard he's getting. 

“Okay.” You nod, gripping onto his shoulders like you might fall off his lap if you don't. “Just one kiss.” 

“Atta girl.” He shifts slightly, pulling you closer until there's not an inch of space between the two of you. “Why don't you try?” 

You shake your head immediately. “I'll fuck it up.”

That draws another chuckle from his lips, which you feel very prominently on yours from how close he is to you. “I doubt that. I want to see you try. Then I'll take you home.” 

You take in a deep breath, your chest rubbing against his when you exhale. Pope's eyes drift down to your chest, loving how your top lets him see much more than he'd want anyone else to be able to. He'll have to make sure you only dress like this for him. 

His eyes go back up to look into yours, that intense gaze of his making you even more nervous than you were already. 

“I don't think I can do this.” You tell him as your hands ball up the fabric of his shirt beneath your fists. “I'm scared. My heart feels like it'll explode.” 

So cute. Pope can't help thinking how adorable you are, so frightened by the prospect of a little kiss. 

“And you want to produce porn?” He smirks at you, nudging your nose with his own playfully. “You need to be able to do this if you want to direct it, little one.” 

“Okay, okay.” You know he's right. 

You have to find the confidence to push forward, to make things happen. 

So, you press your lips against his. You don't do it hard. It's the lightest kiss Pope has ever felt, laced with fear and anxiety. 

Exactly the kind of kiss Pope has been dreaming about. Everyone he has ever kissed before you has been so full of themselves. 

You are the exact opposite. So careful, so worried you'll do it wrong that you barely do it at all. 

Just the gentlest little tap on his lips. 

Now he needs to know how frightened he can make you. 

So, Pope slides his hand up to the back of your head, securing you in place so that the moment you lift your lips away from his, he can press them right back down. 

Your eyes widen, not expecting for him to kiss you back again right away. 

It's not harsh. His lips just stick onto yours, keeping steady right there. Then, when he starts to move them, you start to panic, the blood rushing straight to your head and tension forming in your core. 

You're wriggling in his lap like a scared little mouse caught in a trap. 

Just the way he wants you to be. 

“Easy.” He breathes against your lips. “Don't get scared. Just pay attention to what I'm doing and follow me.” 

He tilts your head a little, angling himself a bit to get a better hold on your lips. You're gasping between each feverish kiss and Pope loves it. 

Loves how inexperienced you are, how easily provoked you are. 

Like when he grinds his hips upwards just as a tease and you moan against his lips unexpectedly, your face heating up in reaction. 

“Oh god, I'm sorry.” You can't believe you're reacting this much. 

“Don't be sorry.” He says, sliding his hand over to cup your jaw. “I like that you feel good. I wanted to see it, remember? I like hearing it too.” 

“It's embarrassing though…” You feel like such a virgin. 

You are one but you feel it a hundred times more because you're in the presence of someone who fucks for a living…

“Is it?” He nips at your bottom lip, liking how you shiver when he does. “I think it's cute.” 

“You think I'm cute?” You don't believe him. 

Not until he says, “I don't “think” it. You are cute, my precious little one.” 

His precious…

Bad thoughts are running through your mind. Of hoping he means it and it's not just part of some roleplay of his. But you know that can't be true. 

What could you offer him that he can't already get? 

Pope can see the warring thoughts in your eyes. So, he leans in and kisses you again, which snaps you out of your own head. Especially when you feel the tip of his tongue flick your bottom lip. 

“Let me in.” He says, his tone sultry. “I want to know what you taste like.” 

Pope smiles when you grab onto him tighter, unable to keep yourself still otherwise. Then, you nod, since you can't bring yourself to say any words. 

His tongue flicks at your lip again and this time, your lips part, allowing him in. You expect him to go slow, to let you adjust to the idea of his tongue in your mouth but he does the exact opposite. 

He just ravages you, his tongue tangling with your own, stealing your every breath away. His kisses get rougher, his movements too. You can't hold in your voice when you feel him grip your ass with his hands and roll his hips against yours, forcing you to feel how hard his cock is beneath you. 

You know how big he is. Porn star big. 

Impossibly big for someone who has never had sex before. 

Big enough that it feels like he's fucking you already. 

“Wait, wait!” You gasp out onto his lips, trying to get him to stop because you don't think you'd be able to live with the embarrassment if you came from this. “Please, Pope, I can't—”

“Are you going to cum, little one?” He smirks at how scared you are of your own orgasm. “It's okay if you do.” 

You shake your head. “No, I can't, not like this…” 

“There's nothing wrong with cumming from this.” He keeps rolling his hips and since your lips aren't plastered to his, you can't stop the moan that leaves your lips. “Let it feel good. Stop resisting.”

“But I shouldn't—” You bury your face in his shoulder, dry heaving as the friction against your clit becomes too much to bear. “I don't want to cum, I don't want to—”

Suddenly, you feel his hand slip into your shorts and without any warning, Pope pinches your clit, rolling it between his fingers until you cum so hard that you see stars in your vision. You're reeling, clinging onto him, your whole body shaking from the sudden surge of pleasure. 

“There you go.” Pope starts rubbing your clit over the fabric of your underwear, making you whimper into his shoulder as another orgasm builds inside of you all too quickly. “Let it happen again.” 

He grabs your face with his free hand, pulling you up so he can kiss you again. 

Kissing him feels very different when his fingertips are playing with your clit. 

You're lightheaded, unable to breathe, so close to cumming that you're nervous you might pass out…

Then, he moves off your clit right when you're about to and you whine uncontrollably before catching yourself. He laughs lightly, almost menacingly, at your reaction to getting teased. 

“Did you want to cum?” He asks you, wanting to hear you admit it. 

You chew on your lip. You shouldn't tell him yes. You shouldn't even be doing this. You should have him take you home like he said he would. 

But you want to cum. 

It's addictive, that wave of pure bliss that he gave you. It was unlike any of the orgasms you've given yourself. 

You want to know what it feels like to be made to cum by Pope. 

So, you tell him the truth, “yes, please make me cum, Pope.” 

“I like a girl who knows what she wants.” He says with a smile that could kill. “Can I make you cum with my mouth?” 

Pope wishes he could take a photo of your shocked expression, all wide eyed and beautifully nervous. 

“I-I've been on set all day. It's probably—” 

“Then take a shower here.” Pope offers, if you're really that nervous. He likes that you didn't say no. 

He likes that you're so easy to convince. 

“Okay…” You can't possibly decline getting eaten out by a porn star. People would think you're crazy to miss out on something like that.

“Mmm, good girl.” He praises you, making your whole body yearn for his affection. “Now, I'll make you cum one more time before you shower.”

“Wait, what—” You squirm when Pope suddenly dips his hand into your underwear and slides a finger inside of you, “Pope, stop—!”

You can't stop gasping when his finger curls at the same time as he starts palming your clit, giving you the friction you were desperate for just moments ago. But now his thick finger is buried inside of you, searching for the spot that makes you cry out his name. 

“Andrew.” He demands, thrusting another finger inside of you. “Call me Andrew when you cum.” 

“Andrew, please, please, not there—” You cry out when he grazes the right place inside of you, your stomach tensing at the feeling, “your fingers are—oh god—”

You're saying his name on repeat into his shoulder when his fingers keep pounding right where you need them to until you're bursting at the seams, cumming all over his lap because he won't let you stop. 

“No, no, I can't cum anymore!” You tug at his arm but he keeps fucking you with his fingers against your wishes, “please, Andrew!”

Pope's too strong. He has you locked on his lap with his other arm wrapped around you, pinning you to him as his fingers ravage your insides until you're squirting so hard that you drench his hand. 

It's only when tears start streaming down your face that Pope finally lets you breathe, pulling his hand away. 

In your daze, you watch him lick his hand clean, grinning so happily at you with your lovely glazed over eyes, so lost in your orgasm. 

Pope leans in for a kiss and for the first time, you lean into it, kissing him back the way he taught you to. You're a bit sloppy with it, but he adjusts you until you're kissing him exactly how he wants you to. 

“Someone's a fast learner.” He compliments you again, which gets you wriggling, your heart racing once more.

You glance down, at how wet you've made his lap, humiliation coursing through you at the sight. 

Pope catches it and says, “do you feel bad for almost ruining my couch?” 

“I'm sorry.” You do feel bad. You've never squirted before in your life. 

You thought that was just something that happened in porn… 

“How sorry?” He wonders aloud. 

“Very sorry…” You definitely wouldn't be able to afford to buy him a new couch.

“Then help me get out of these pants.” He points to his lap. “Take them off before your cum can touch my couch.”

You stare at how daunting of a task this is going to be. But, you listen, grabbing a hold of his belt buckle and undoing it. Then, you unzip his pants. 

“Now get on your knees in front of me and pull them off.” Pope's tone is so commanding that you do it without a second thought, moving to the floor in front of him. He stops you before you can tug at his waistband. “Wait a second, little one. Look up at me.” 

You do, your eyes meeting his. He likes the way you look on your knees. You would look even better with his cock in your mouth. 

He'll shelve that for another time, when he has trained you so well that you'll be begging to put him in your mouth yourself. 

Pope nods, gesturing for you to continue. You tug off his pants by his waistband, leaving him only in his boxer briefs. You notice the spot of precum leaking from where the tip of his hard cock is pushed up against the fabric of his underwear.

You can't help but wonder what he tastes like…

It doesn't look like Pope will have to train you at all because you ask him, “can I try making you feel good with my mouth?” 

“Sure.” He says, reaching over to grab his phone. “If I can film it.” 

“W-What?” You weren't expecting that. 

“If it's your first time sucking cock, we should get it on camera. It'll fund our future film.” Pope knows how much authentic first time content goes for, especially when he's an experienced star and you're just an innocent inexperienced reluctant woman who never thought she'd ever star in a porno. 

“Y-You want to make my film?” You hadn't asked yet if he was interested. 

“If you star in it with me, I will.” Pope doesn't want to do it with anyone else. 

He only wants you. 

“What?” You sound like a broken record at this point.

But he likes how cute you are, all surprised. “You heard me, little one. I'll finance it myself, just be my co-star.” 

“But I don't know a thing about…being filmed…” You know there's a whole learning curve to it, of knowing where the camera is and what angles look best. 

It's something you've never thought about for yourself. You've only considered it in the context of filming others.

“You'll learn. I'll teach you. Like right now.” He hits record on his phone, holding it steady in his hand. “You're going to suck me off for the very first time in your life.”

Pope grabs your hand, putting it back at his waistband, inviting you to take his underwear off. 

You do it, leaving him bare from the waist down. He looks incredible like this, his cock hard and leaking precum. His shirt clings to his upper body beautifully, reminding you that you were just grinding on his lap with his chest pressed flush against yours.  

You feel so small knelt in front of him like this. He hovers over you like a giant, engulfing you completely, consuming you with his eyes locked on yours. 

“Now, do what you think is right. You've watched plenty of videos. You know what to do.” Pope wraps his hand around his cock, pumping it a few times for the camera, before leaving you to do the rest. 

You shake away the nerves so you can lean in, dragging your tongue along the bottom of his shaft until you reach the tip, swirling around it, tasting him for the first time. He chuckles at how stunned you look at how pleasant he tastes. You expected it to be more musky but it wasn't at all. 

It's oddly…sweet. 

“Do you like how I taste?” Pope takes a hold of his cock again, pushing the tip of it against your lips. “Let me feed it to you if you like it so much.” 

You part your lips, letting his cock slip into your mouth. He's so big that your jaw nearly locks up trying to take him. You're careful with your teeth as he slides deeper inside, until he's so far down your throat that you gag. 

“First time and you're already taking me like a porn star. Good girl.” His praise is so addicting that you start to suck on his cock in hopes he'll reward you with more. He does, which makes you so happy, “fuck, just like that, use your tongue too. You're doing great.” 

You alternate between sucking on his cock and using your tongue to lick up and down his shaft. You try to pay attention to what triggers him to groan and focus on doing that. You know you're doing well when Pope puts his hand in your hair and grips it tight.

“God, I want fuck that face. Can I fuck your face?” He wants to use your mouth for his pleasure. 

You nod, not really knowing what that entails. You know it's harsh from the videos you've seen but…you want to know what it feels like for Pope to use you to make himself cum. 

So, you let him fist your hair rather roughly before he pounds his cock into your throat over and over again. You're gagging and crying but to Pope, you've never looked more beautiful. 

He might not be able to post this video. It might just have to stay in his personal collection. Your first time taking his cock in your mouth. 

Your first time swallowing his cum. 

You gulp it down as he coats the back of your throat with his release. 

“That's it, drink it up, don't waste a drop.” He slowly slips his cock out of your mouth and he can't stop himself from smacking your face with it a bit, so the camera can see how big his cock is compared to your face. You make him groan when you eagerly lick along his shaft again, since you assume it would look good on camera. 

“Fuck, get over here.” He ends the video and drags you up onto his lap again. He grabs a hold of your face, looking at you fiercely as he asks, “who the fuck taught you how to suck cock like that?”

“You did.” You say the only correct response. 

Pope lets out a dark chuckle. “Good girl. You're making me very proud.”

You want him to praise you more so you find the confidence to cup his face like he's doing to you and kiss him, applying the right amount of pressure against his lips that causes him to just start grabbing at your flesh, needing to touch you when your tongue flicks at his bottom lip. 

“Oh, I'm going to fuck you.” He's looking forward to seeing how eager you'll be to please him once his cock is deep inside of you. 

"Do you think you'll fit?” You look down, seeing the way his softening cock is still huge, pressing into your lower stomach. 

“Don't worry, you can take it.” He presses his fingertips into your belly, massaging right where your womb must be, which draws out full body shudders from you. “You'll feel it right here and you'll love it.” 

You meet his eyes and then, quietly, you ask him, “can we…do it a different time?” 

Pope's jaw tenses at your question. “Why?” 

You bite back a nervous sigh, your stomach churning from what you're about to say, “because I don't want this to be a one night stand…”

You let go of his shirt, not wanting to cling onto him when he'll likely kick you out for being so needy.

“I'm sorry.” You shake your head at him, deciding for him that you should leave. “I-I should know better. I'll just head out.”

“Wait.” He wraps his arms around you, keeping you in place. “Who says you get to leave?” 

“Pope—”

"Don't call me that.” He doesn't want you to use his stage name. He wants you to use his real name. 

You're the only one he'll let call him Andrew. 

Which is why he doesn't understand why you can't see how special you are to him. 

Maybe because no one has ever made you feel special before. 

He'll have to change that. 

“Andrew.” You saying his name allows Pope to relax his jaw. Though, he tenses again when you tell him, “I don't think I should stay. I'm going to do something stupid…”

“Like what?” He wants to know what you're running from. 

“Like…” You look down at his slightly swollen lips, at how you wish you could just freely kiss him without the worry that he'll have to kiss someone else for show. 

But you can't want that. 

Your aunt is right. He'll end up breaking your heart.

So you need to push him away now, “I'm going to fall in love with you if we sleep together. I'm already…feeling too much from just…this. I'll fuck it up. I can't keep things casual. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.” 

“Then fall in love with me.” Pope states so nonchalantly that you think he must not have understood you. 

“Andrew, I can't.” You shake your head at him.

“Why not?” 

“Because you'd never…” You don't want to break your heart by saying it out loud but it feels like your heart has already decided to break. 

“Do you want me to fall in love with you?” He asks, again with that flat tone of his that has you feeling like he doesn't understand the weight of his words. 

“You won't.” Your answer isn't what he was looking for. 

“Answer the question.” He's more stern now. 

You pinch your lips together, tears welling your eyes. You should say no, because then you could run from this. From the desire to be his. 

But you can't bring yourself to lie so you confess, “of course I want you to fall in love with me. But you won't—”

“Okay.” Pope hugs you tighter. “Let's fall in love.” 

“What?” You're more astonished than you've been all night. 

“What?” He parrots you. 

“Andrew…don't fuck around with me.” You don't like whatever kind of joke he's making. 

“I'm not fucking around with you. I want to fuck you, though. It doesn't have to be tonight but I'd like you to stay the night regardless.” 

You blink at him. You're unsure if your hearing is fucked or not but did he really just say…

“Are you being serious?” You need a clear answer. 

“Yes, little one.” He leans in to press a kiss on your temple. “I'd like you to stay the night. Sex is optional. I fuck for work. I wouldn't mind not doing it but I want to cuddle at least.” 

“You want to…” You're speechless. 

Pope laughs at how absolutely baffled you are. You turned out to be more fun than he thought possible. 

“Is that bad? Would you not like to cuddle?” 

“Of course I would love to cuddle.” You say it like that's the most obvious thing ever. “But, but…why do you want to cuddle with me?” 

“You gave me a great blowjob.” 

“Andrew!” You smack his chest and he laughs again. “I'm being serious!”

“I am too.” He smirks and you glare at him, making him smile even bigger. “You are so fucking cute. Come here.” 

You're suddenly hauled up into his arms. You have to wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his hips to keep yourself from slipping as Pope carries you past his bedroom and then sets you down in his bathroom. 

“What are we doing here?” 

“Well, you probably shouldn't have your first time in the shower but I want to shower with you.” Pope strips off his shirt, leaving him completely naked now. 

He is used to people ogling him but knowing that you're so noticeably overwhelmed by the sight of him, he actually enjoys being looked at by you. 

“You can touch me if you want.” Pope takes your hand and places it onto his chest. 

You feel his steady heartbeat under your fingertips. It's calming but also worrying because if he felt something for you, shouldn't he…be more nervous? 

It seems like you're the only flustered one, which you don't like. It has you feeling super insecure. But it makes sense that Pope doesn't react much, given his profession.

So, what makes you different enough that he wants to do this with you? 

You can't wrap your head around it, your hand lifting off of him.

Then, out of a need to push him away, you demand something you doubt he'll give you, “I don't want to do this if you're just going to throw me away when you're bored of me.” 

“Is that what you think I'm going to do?” 

You nod, wishing you didn't feel this way.

“Hmmm.” Pope steps closer to you, grabbing a hold of your chin, lifting your face up to look at him since you've been avoiding eye contact this whole time. “How do I show you that I'm serious about you?” 

You shrug. “I don't know…”

“Is there something you want?” He'll give you anything you want. 

“Nothing that isn't super selfish.” You're honest there. Pope likes that you're honest. 

“Tell me.” He wants to know. 

“I want you to only kiss me.” You just spit it out but you don't think he'd actually say yes to this. “And I want to kiss you whenever I want.” 

“So you don't want me to kiss anyone at work?” 

You nod. 

“But I can still fuck them?” Pope finds your conditions interesting. 

“I'm not that selfish. I know what you do for work. I'm not looking to take away your livelihood but…if you only kiss me, I think that would be enough for me.” 

“Alright.” He agrees way too easily for your liking. 

“Andrew, I'm serious.” 

“And I'm serious.” He leans down to press a kiss against your lips. “I won't even go down on anyone else. My lips are all yours.” 

“Really?” You look at his lips, wanting to kiss him again but your nerves stop you. “Are you sure?” 

“Only if you kiss me right now.” Pope needs you to seal the deal. 

You kiss him immediately and he smiles against your lips, loving how visibly excited you are now. You're much more relaxed, which allows him to unbutton your shorts and tug off your bottoms, leaving you bare from the waist down. Then, he tugs off your top, his lips never parting from yours. 

Pope drags you into his shower, turning it on, shielding you from the water until it's warm enough. He presses you up against the tiled wall, his hands roaming your naked body. You're no longer holding back, moaning against his lips when his hands cup your breasts. 

“Just so you know,” Pope leans down to flick one of your nipples with his tongue, “you aren't allowed to wear such a low cut top around anyone but me from now on.” 

“I promise I won't if you keep doing that.” That feels way too good. 

He swirls his tongue over both of your nipples until they're nice and hard then he slides his hands up to tug at them. Before you can react, his mouth is back on yours, his thumbs swiping over your nipples, his thigh spreading your legs apart. You're so shy about how wet you are but Pope grinds his thigh into you, wanting to get you even more wet for him.

“Cum all you want, little one.” He says, pressing a kiss against your cheek. “We'll wash up after so no need to hold back.” 

It's destructive that Pope knows what he's doing. You wonder if he's been this way with anyone else. You can't possibly be the only one swept up in his charms. 

But you are. 

Because Pope hasn't felt desire like this before. 

There's something about how absolutely overwhelmed you are by his actions. He finds it too entertaining. He can't get this from the people in his industry, nor would he want to. 

He has been searching for someone like you. Close enough to understand what he does for work, but far enough away that you haven't been exposed to the sides of him that he's trying so hard to hide. 

Does he need to hide them from you? 

The things you have written have shown him that there's a darkness lurking in your mind that is on the same frequency as the needs in his. 

Shall he test you? 

You feel his hands slide up your chest and wrap around your neck. Pope can feel your breaths quicken, fear suddenly causing your body to tremble in his hold as he squeezes around the delicate column of your neck. 

“Are you scared of me?” He looks at you with the blankest stare you've ever seen. 

And you can't believe how turned on you are. 

Because he's performing your script, albeit with a bit of improv since this scene doesn't happen in a shower. But it's the same concept. 

Hands wrapped around your throat, thigh between your legs, nerves on high alert. 

So, you answer just as you wrote it, your voice the right amount of shaky, “d-do you want me to be?” 

Pope doesn't answer. He doesn't need to. 

He just steps aside, letting the warm water of the shower suddenly hit your face. You shoot your hands up, trying to stop the water from getting into your eyes but then Pope squeezes your throat and you gasp, swallowing water uncontrollably instead. 

“Wait!” You can't push his hand away before it slips between your legs, dipping a finger back inside of you. His thigh keeps your legs apart so you can't resist him adding another one. “Andrew!” 

“Scream my name louder.” He grips you by your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “Let me see how scared you can get.” 

In all his content, you've never heard Pope sound so frightening before. He usually plays the rougher, harsher characters but the producers never let him show this side of himself. The one he developed in prison. 

The one that yearns for the dark. 

Your hands are gripping his shoulders, your nails digging into his flesh as his fingers drive into you over and over again. You cling onto him desperately, trying not to topple over completely but it's so hard to stay still when he's fucking you with his fingers like this. 

The steam is getting to your head. The look in his eyes is heating up your core. The desire he has to see you completely unravel is messing you up inside, more than his fingers already are.

You should've known better than to expect vanilla sex from Pope. 

This is what he truly likes. He only wishes it were his cock getting milked by your tight pussy instead of his fingers. But you need to loosen up a bit or you'll never take him. 

You need to be able to handle him at his worst because the moment he puts his cock inside of you, he'll surely lose all rationality. 

Like he does right now, when you kiss him out of nowhere. 

Pope did promise you that you could kiss him whenever you wanted but he would've never guessed that you would do so while he was abusing your pussy with his fingers. 

And now, he has to fuck you up. 

You moan when Pope kisses you back, his tongue flicking at your lips, his movements rougher and sloppier than before. It helps that the shower washes it all away, making his rather aggressive kisses much more enjoyable since there aren't layers of spit to contend to. 

You cum so much when he curls his fingers just right and he basks in how your pussy clenches to his fingers. “I need you to do that on my cock.” 

“I think I'll die if you fuck me.” You might die right now because his fingers haven't stopped moving inside of you despite your blatantly obvious orgasm. He moves his fingers rapidly side to side until you're close to collapsing, your head so dizzy from cumming so hard all over his hand and thigh. 

You're clinging onto him for dear life and it's only when he thinks you actually might pass out that he slows his fingers and pulls out of you. 

Then you feel a light slap against your cheek. “Stay with me, little one.” 

“I'm…dizzy…” You feel so lightheaded from the steam and the orgasms.

“I've got you.” Pope helps you wash up. 

You find it odd how gentle he's being in the shower now. He's almost too focused on making sure you're taken care of from head to toe.

He even helps dry you off after the shower. He seats you down on his toilet so he can plug in his hair dryer and blow dry your hair for you. 

You feel utterly spoiled, especially when he pulls one of his shirts over your head so you have something to wear and aren't cold while he finishes up with your hair. 

It smells like him. You like that a lot. 

“All done.” He pats your head. “Feeling better?” 

You nod. “Refreshed.” 

“Want some water?” 

“Can I come with you?” You put your hand out then realize what you're doing. 

Were you seriously going to try to hold hands with Pope?

Would he even—

Pope grabs your hand and yanks you to your feet, interlocking his fingers with yours as he walks the two of you out of his bathroom. Your heart is beating out of your chest at the sight of him leading you to his kitchen, hand firmly clamped around yours. 

When you're close enough to him, he picks you up and sets you down on the kitchen counter, legs dangling off like you had them earlier on that dressing table. He likes the look of your bare legs. Maybe he'll have you stay pantless at his place. 

“What do you want to drink?” He opens his fridge, gesturing to the few options he has. 

Protein shakes, water bottles, beer and some juice. Usually he doesn't drink anything besides water. Tonight, he feels like a beer. 

“I'm not old enough to drink.” You hadn't thought about that. 

Pope didn't realize you were that much younger than him. “Do you want one?” 

You shake your head. “I want to be sober when we cuddle.” 

That makes Pope put his beer back in the fridge and grab water instead. “Then we'll both be sober.” 

You don't know why that makes you so happy but the butterflies in your stomach are going nuts. 

He rests his hand on your thigh, massaging it gently as the two of you drink water. You like the casual touching. 

You like Pope, a lot. 

So you set down your half-finished bottle of water then put your hand on his chest. It's bare. He's only wearing underwear. He looks way too good like this. 

It makes you almost frustrated that this sight has been seen by millions…

“Like what you see?” He steps closer to you, tossing his bottle of water aside so he can place both of his hands on your thighs. “You can touch me as much as you want.”

“You aren't tired of being touched?” You're worried that after the shoot, he must not want to do this for much longer. 

But then he says, “I'd never get tired of being touched by you.”

“Have you always been such a flirt?” You chuckle, your hands roaming his bare skin more freely now. “I hope you don't regret this. I might never want to let you go.” 

You say it like a joke but Pope says it back like a promise, “I'm never letting you go.” 

“We just met.” You remind him. 

“You don't believe in love at first sight?” He thought you'd be more of a romantic type than a realistic one, given your aspirations. 

“Love…” You blink up at him. “Are you saying…?”

Pope doesn't hide his truth. “I knew you were special the moment I saw you. I was hoping you'd be one of my co-stars.” 

“I…still can be…” Your skin heats up when you say that, not believing that it actually came out of your mouth. 

“Do you want to make content with me?” Pope wouldn't mind that. 

As nice as it is to get paid regularly to do bigger porn productions, he knows he could pull the same numbers if he started making videos on his own. Or with you. 

Especially with you. 

“What if you get sick of fucking the same person?” You let your insecurities flood out, sighing. 

“I could ask you that.” He spreads your thighs open with his big hands, settling his hips between them.

You glance down, surprised to see that he's hard. His cock is practically begging to burst out of his underwear. 

“Are you going to get tired of being fucked by me?” He grinds his cock against your bare pussy. You can feel so much warmth radiating off of him despite the layer of fabric between the two of you. 

It has your heart leaping out of your chest when you answer, “I doubt I could ever get bored of you.” 

“I feel the same way about you.” Pope wants to reassure you that he's choosing you. 

He can't help it. He hasn't wanted anyone like this before. 

He would give it all up for you. 

But he knows you're too sweet to let him. “You don't have to stop making porn for me, Andrew.”

“Say my name again.” He likes hearing it from you. 

No one ever calls him Andrew, especially not in porn. And he is grateful for that because now the only memory he has of someone moaning his name is you with your lovely voice. 

“Andrew.” You wrap your arms around his middle, tugging him to you. “I'm serious. Don't throw away your livelihood for me.” 

“I'm not throwing it away. I'm shifting to a new style. You can help me. It would be good filming practice.” 

You can't believe what he's offering you. “You'd let me direct you?” 

“You said you wanted to make an independent production. Doesn't get more independent than just you and me.” He leans down to press a light kiss on your forehead to comfort you, since you're staring back at him so baffled. “I'd like to film with you. Only you.”

“I'm unsure if I'm star material…” You've never even had sex before. 

How can Pope be so sure you won't drag him down? 

Because he made that video of you going down on him earlier, looking like such a beauty that he's sure anyone would get riled up seeing you on camera. 

“Why don't we practice?” 

“How?” It will probably take you forever to get comfortable in front of the camera. 

“I'll teach you everything about sex one step at a time. We'll film the whole thing, leading up to the first time we fuck.” His words have your heart racing unbelievably fast. “We won't fuck until you're ready to film it. Until you know your angles and what you want to show the world.”

“You would…wait that long?” 

“Would that make you happy, little one?” Pope wraps his arms around you, tugging you closer to him. 

You nod. You'd like that a lot. 

So, that's what you and Pope do. 

You help him set up an account on a reputable adult content sharing site. You shouldn't have been shocked how quickly he builds a hefty fanbase willing to buy his personalized content but you are.

He's making so much money. More money than you'd ever need for a simple production like you've been planning. 

And Pope thanks you for his success. 

He has you do all the filming. All your ideas sell very well to his audience, who love the jerk off videos where he's talking about how much he wants to kidnap you and rape you until you're his forever.

It's easy for Pope to make this content because he doesn't have to pretend. He's being completely honest and his fans can feel it through the screen. But he isn't talking to them. 

He's talking to you, his pretty girl behind the camera who he has a vibe strapped to. He doesn't let you cum until the filming is over. He wants you wet and aching for him the moment the camera shuts off. 

It makes for incredibly authentic videos when you're so desperate for him after all the edging. He has gotten a little too good at making you cum on his tongue. 

You cum so well for the camera. You never have to fake it. And everyone who follows Pope wishes they were you. 

You satisfy them by filming from your point of view, letting the world watch your porn star boyfriend eat you out and finger you until you're squirting all over his face, which he licks up in a way that has people begging for more content like that, where they can pretend to be you. 

You've been faceless thus far. You're worried about showing yourself, that it might kill the fantasies of the viewers.

“Let them be envious.” Pope tells you while you're both cuddling in his bed. “I want to be able to see you in those videos too.” 

“You might be the only one who would, Andrew.” You smile at that, though. 

You really like him. He really likes you. And you believe he does because he is always making these kinds of comments. About how he wants the world to know that you're more than just his co-star. 

But you urge him against it. 

It's better for him if people don't know he's dating anyone. 

You know this because you've been deleting all the messages that he's been getting where they complain about you being there. They want Pope content, not you. And if you are there, they want less of you and more of him. Which makes sense, since it is his account. 

Pope can tell you've grown more apprehensive about filming content together. You insist on just filming him. But he doesn't want to film alone anymore. 

He likes filming with you. He likes having you on camera with him.

He would like it even more if he got to fuck you but you're scared to do it. 

Because you've read several comments telling Pope that they'll unsubscribe if he fucks you. A lot of them are sick of you “capitalizing his time and attention”. They miss when he made porn with different people because at least then, they could pretend he belonged to anyone and everyone. 

But he belongs to you. 

And you're starting to feel bad about it. 

You don't want his career to get stunted because of you. Even though you can't possibly leave him. You love him.

These last few months have been incredible. You've learned so much about filming and about your own body. 

You want to have sex with Pope but you're afraid that the moment you do, you'll never be able to let him go. 

You feel selfish for wanting him all to yourself when there's so many people willing to throw ridiculous amounts of money at him as long as he stays “available” in their eyes. 

But you don't know Pope. 

Pope doesn't give a fuck about any of those people. He only cares about you. He has enough money. He doesn't need to make porn anymore. 

If anything, the porn is just an excuse to keep you in his life because he worries you're not as crazy about him as he is about you. 

Any time he tries to initiate sex, you worm your way out of it. He even tells you that you don't have to film your first time but that still doesn't persuade you. 

You don't come over as often anymore. Only when he wants to film content and you don't stay the night. He can't convince you to, either. You always have some kind of excuse.

Your behavior is making him lose his mind.

He misses you when you aren't with him. He tells you this and you believe him but you also keep up the self sabotage because you delude yourself into thinking that he'll get sick of you eventually, especially when you're acting like this. 

Why would he want you when you're being a burden? You keep it up, in hopes he'll finally see that you're not good for him, that you're making his life worse. 

Even though Pope's life feels empty without you… 

So empty that he has to fill the void somehow. 

And he starts when he catches a comment on an old video of his. 

You haven't been over in a week. He missed you so much that he went back to watch a video that he uploaded of you cumming on his tongue for the first time. He likes that video a lot because you're so shy about how hard you came and he chuckles on video. It's such a natural interaction between the two of you. Beautifully intimate, which is why Pope wanted to rewatch it. He figured other people would like the genuine connection you and him have.

But apparently, some people don't like this video at all. 

He clicks on the profile of the person who left a comment saying that they wish Pope would stop making videos with you because they don't like you. He sees all the comments you deleted from his account from this person, since they're only deleted on his end, not theirs. 

They're all hateful, disgusting comments that make his blood boil. 

Pope realizes then that you've been hiding this from him. He doesn't get why.

Don't you know that he'd take care of these people for you? 

These aren't people you need to worry your lovely head about, little one. 

Pope will handle it. 

He'll handle each and every one of them. 

Then, you won't have anything to worry about anymore… 

You find it strange that Pope's house smells like bleach. It never used to smell like bleach. You know he likes to clean but it's been more excessive lately. 

You're concerned so you ask him the next time you come over, “is everything okay, Andrew?” 

“Everything's great.” He's getting through his list quicker than he thought he would. 

Killing people was something he figured would take him a while to get back into the groove of but he's been disposing of bodies left and right without much extra effort. Though, it helps that he feels incredibly motivated to kill, versus before where he was forced to kill for his mother Smurf. 

This is easy. He'd do anything for you. 

The next jerk off video Pope posts is…dark. 

You didn't plan any of the dialogue. Usually you have a light script written up for Pope to follow along with but today, he just improvised. 

He talks about how much he wants to fuck you, that he would do anything for you, including torture and kill people who are bad to you and dispose of their bodies so you don't have to see them ever again. 

As long as you belong to him. 

It's the most fucked up video he has made thus far. 

And it sells like hotcakes. 

People eat it up, loving that he's so crazed in it. He cums hard for the camera too, harder than he has in a long time. 

Though, his audience has no idea it's because Pope was looking at you and that haunted expression on your face that he wishes he could see while he's buried inside of you. 

That frightened expression never leaves your face. 

Because you ask him, “were you being serious in that video?” 

And Pope answers without flinching, “yes.” 

You're laying beside him in bed. You decided to stay the night after editing and posting that video because it's been a while and you've missed sleeping next to him.

But now you're…scared. 

More scared than you've ever been. 

Because you saw what looked like a fingernail in the bathtub. A whole fingernail, caught under the stopper. Like it couldn't get washed away fast enough. 

His bathroom reeked of bleach and other chemicals. 

But you have no reason to believe that Pope would actually kill people…

“That was a pretty creative concept.” You try to make light of it but it falls flat. 

Especially when Pope furrows his brows at you. “Concept?” 

“Yeah, for the video.” You blink up at him, confused. “You were just acting, right?” 

“Do you think I'd cum that hard if I was acting?” He chuckles at your horrified look. “You should know I'd kill for you.”

“Andrew, that's not funny.” 

“It's not a joke, little one.” His grip around your waist tightens because you attempt to wriggle out of his hold but he won't let you. “Where do you think you’re going?” 

“I want to go home.” You tell him because you're actually super freaked out right now.

He has to be joking. There's no way…

You can't be here if he's being serious. 

“You promised you'd stay the night.” Pope has worked so hard these last few weeks for you. He deserves a treat. He wants to fall asleep with you in his arms. 

“Andrew, I want to go home.” You push at his arms but he won't budge. “Andrew, please!”

Pope is tired of this. Of you fighting him and his needs. 

He knows you want him too. 

You'll appreciate what he's done for you someday. 

Even if you're afraid of it right now. 

You shriek when Pope pins you down on the bed, his body weight making it impossible for you to move. You feel how hard his cock is, rubbing up against your lower belly, making it known what he wants to do to you.

“I'm going to fuck you and you're going to enjoy it.” He's done waiting. 

“No!” You shout at him, shoving at his chest. “I want to go home!”

“This is your home!” He shouts back at you, his words silencing you completely as he exclaims, “you loved it here, you loved being with me! Until those stupid motherfuckers put it in your head that you weren't good enough for me. It's okay though. I took care of them. They won't bother you anymore, little one.” 

“You…what?” You're going to pretend you didn't just hear that.

But then Pope makes it very clear what he's done, so you can't avoid it any longer. “I killed anyone I could who said anything mean about you.” 

And now you're left with that shocked look on your face that has his cock throbbing against your belly. 

“Thankfully, a lot of them were local.” He continues detailing what he's done for you. “I cleaned up the vermin. You're welcome.”

“You're…you're sick.” You think back through the last few months.

Has Pope been taking his pills? 

He hasn't. Because why does he need to when you'll accept him as he is? 

You love all of him, don't you? 

Don't you? 

“Andrew, you need to get off of me.” You push at his shoulders but again, he doesn't dare move. 

“Why?” He likes being on top of you. It's one of his favorite places to be. 

“Why?” You repeat back to him, baffled that he doesn't get why you're afraid of him. “You just told me you killed people.”

“So?” He doesn't know what the big deal is.

Pope grew up around killers. He grew up killing people. This isn't anything new to him. Just a part of himself that he revived for your sake. 

You seem ungrateful though…

“You can't just murder people for being mean to me!” You scream at him, pounding your fists against his hard chest. “Get off of me!”

“I can and I will.” He snatches your wrists and holds them above your head. “I'd do it again and again if you needed me to.”

“I don't need you to kill people for me…” You can't move at all. He has you locked down tight right now. 

“That's how I know you're perfect for me.” He leans in, brushing the tip of his nose against yours. “You would never make me do what needs to be done. You care so much about me.” 

You are in complete disbelief. 

Of course you care about Pope but…do you care enough about him to let him murder people? 

People who specifically were rude and nasty to you? 

Do they even deserve to live?

You shake that deadly thought away. No, that's wrong. You shouldn't be happy that Pope killed those assholes for you. 

You shouldn't encourage this behavior. 

You shouldn't feel so…good that he would do that for you. 

This is fucked up, beyond fucked up. 

It's your wildest fantasy come true. 

But some fantasies should stay fantasies…

Because if you indulge in any more darkness, you'll surely never find your way out.

Is that really a bad thing? 

Can't you just…enjoy being his? 

Pope wouldn't do this for just anyone. You're obviously special to him. You are fully aware of that now. 

And it makes you sick how much you like it. 

“Andrew, we can't be together.” You want to see how crazed he can get about you. “I don't want to be with you anymore.” 

Something fucking snaps in Pope when you say that. 

He lets out a low, menacing growl. Like you've triggered the beast in him that he's been trying his whole life to keep caged. 

“You think you get to run from me, little one? You think you have a choice here?” He starts laughing maniacally and your entire body freezes up. “I don't give a fuck what you think. You're mine whether you want to be or not.”

Then, Pope gets off of you. He stands up, at the edge of the bed, and looks at you staring up at him with wide eyes, so full of that delicious fear. 

“I'll give you until I'm done setting up.” He's being generous. You won't get very far. “But just know, the moment I catch you, I'm raping you on camera.”

Your chest tightens. Every breath you take is a struggle. Your body is trembling all over.

The thrill is unlike anything you've ever felt before. 

Pope ignores the fact that you're still laying in bed, stunned. He focuses on getting all the cameras set up. 

Why would he care if you decide not to run? Makes his life easier if you don't. 

You scramble to your feet when you see him pull out several toys, including a butt plug, so he can clean them and get them ready.

That's when you start to actually panic. 

Because you told Pope you don't want to do any kind of anal play until you've gotten used to sex. 

But it looks like he has stopped giving a fuck about what you want. 

He's going to take both of your virginities, right here, right now. 

Live on camera. 

You shriek when he tries to grab you. You duck under his arms and sprint out of the room. You should've ran sooner. He's so much faster than you are. 

You barely make it to the front door before Pope slams you against it. The wind is knocked out of you immediately which is why you can't fight back when he grabs you by the hair and drags you back towards his bedroom. You have no strength left. Or rather, he is so much stronger than you. 

He tosses you onto the bed without breaking a sweat and he does it again and again, each time you try to get out of it. You're immediately thrown right back down. 

“Stay put.” He commands but you don't listen, making him click his tongue in irritation. “This would be easier if you stopped struggling. I can make you feel really good.” 

“I don't want to.” You shake your head at him, trying again to get off the bed but this time Pope is done with fucking around. 

He grabs you by the throat and holds you down onto the bed. You flail beneath him, kicking at him, screaming at him but the words don't come out. 

The only words that can be heard are his, “you know I could just kill you.”

You still completely at that. He smiles down at you, caressing your face with his free hand. It's not comforting. It's so fucking scary. He's so fucking crazy… 

“What will it be, little one?” He grips your throat with both his hands now, tightening his hold, making you choke for the cameras. “Do you want to die or do you want to get fucked?” 

He lets go of your throat for just a moment so you can tell him, panic in your quiet murmur, “I don't want to die…”

“Good girl.” Pope praises you for making the right choice, giving you a light kiss on the temple. “You're going to let me take your virginity, then?” 

You nod reluctantly. 

“Including your ass?” He wants the camera to catch you consenting to this, even if it's obviously coerced. 

“Please, Andrew, not my—” His hands don't allow another word to leave your lips, gripping your neck so hard that your eyes feel like they might pop out of your skull. 

“Don't be a bad girl.” He shakes his head at you, full of disappointment. “Tell me the right answer.”

He loosens his hold and waits for you to tell him what he wants to hear. 

Heat flashes in his gaze when you answer, “no.” 

“No?” His lips curve into a big smile, a smile so wide that anyone could tell it's an evil one. 

“I don't want this.” You tell him and you're unsure if you're acting or not. It's a little bit of both… “You're going to rape me. I didn't sign up for this.” 

“Oh?” He moves his hands to the side of your head, leaning down until you can feel every word he breathes out on your lips, “what did you sign up for, then?” 

Pope isn't expecting you to cup his face with your hands. Nor is he expecting for you to rest your forehead against his before kissing him on the lips. 

He has missed the feel of your lips on his. 

It feels like it's been too long since the last time the two of you kissed. 

“You.” You whisper to him, so softly so the cameras can't hear it. “I love you, Andrew.” 

“Are you being serious?" He won't let you live if you're fucking with him right now. 

You nod, smiling up at him. “I love everything about you.” 

“I was about to rape you.” He wants you to realize what you almost made him do. 

“I was going to let you.” You nuzzle his nose playfully before telling him, “you still can.”

“Don't push me.” He refuses to let you tempt him any further. 

But you entice him too much. “I want you to, Andrew. Take me like you've always wanted to.” 

His breaths grow heavy, desire clouding his judgment. “We're going to have to cut this part out of the video.” 

“Want to kiss me a little first?” You say with a lovely grin. 

“Fuck.” He finds you so adorable. “I love you so much.” 

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. The two of you lay there, tongues tangled, hips grinding against each other until you're aching for him to fuck you already. 

When Pope can't handle it anymore, he tells you, “we make love for us. Then we fuck for the camera.” 

“I like that idea.” You giggle happily when he tugs off your clothes until you're bare beneath him. “My turn.” 

You strip him and Pope knows then that you're the one for him. Because you're so gentle with him, with every touch. You treat him like he's precious to you. It's all he has ever wanted.

You're beautifully bashful when he starts kissing up and down the length of your body, his hands roaming your skin, wanting to memorize what you feel like. 

“I hope you know the moment we fuck, we're never stopping.” He warns you because he's been waiting for this for too long. He's going to need to have his fill of you. 

“Don't tease me with a good time, Andrew.” You spread your legs for him, dipping your hand between them to show him how wet you are. “Will you touch me? I've missed you.” 

“You have?” Pope hadn't realized how desperate he was to hear you admit it out loud. 

“I'm sorry I was being distant.” You feel really bad about it. 

“It's okay.” He would've suffered as long as you needed him to. “Just don't do it again.” 

“As long as you don't kill any more people.” Your words make him snap up to look at you. 

“But what if they're mean and deserve to die?” He says between gritted teeth and you hold back a laugh.

Pope can be like a vicious puppy sometimes. It's so cute. 

“I don't want the love of my life going to prison over a few internet trolls.”

He grumbles. “Fine. Then I'll take out my frustration on your pussy.”

You gasp when he dives between your legs without warning, his tongue dipping into you immediately. You squirm when the tip of his tongue starts flicking that spot inside of you that has you begging him to stop or you'll burst. 

“Wait, slow down—Andrew!” You push at his head, trying to get him to stop because your orgasm is building too quickly. “Stop! I'm going to cum, I'm going to—”

Your orgasm hits you right then and Pope has a little too much fun licking it up, the sounds surely getting captured on camera. 

“Cum as much as you want, little one.” He says as he thrusts two fingers inside of you, curling them right where his tongue just was, sending shivers through you. “Show me how good I make you feel.” 

You grab a hold of his hair when Pope starts sucking on your clit while his fingers pounds into you. You're trying not to be too vocal. You know the audience doesn't like it. But Pope likes it, so he makes you cum so hard that you can't hold back your voice. 

And he does that over and over again until you're begging and crying for him to give you a break. 

“I can't cum anymore, Andrew.” You won't survive if he makes you cum again. 

You're so overstimulated…

Pope lets out a sigh. “Fine, we'll take a break.” 

Though, a break in his mind really just means he's going to take his time marking every inch of your skin with his teeth. You don't know if this is any better than cumming your brains out. Now you're sensitive all over. Everywhere he touches sends sparks to your core. 

Pope's prepping you to cum hard on his cock. He wants your first time to be so good, you become addicted to fucking him. 

So he has to pull out every trick in the book. 

Edging you until you're dripping wet and aching for something deep inside of you. 

“Finally ready for my cock?” He asks, smirking at the desperation in your eyes.

“Please.” You want him so badly. 

Pope settles his hips against yours. He grabs his cock, dragging it up and down the length of your wet slit, coating himself in your slick. 

“Deep breaths, little one.” He instructs as he pushes the tip of his cock against your entrance. “You're about to take a porn star's cock for your first time. You'll need to relax.” 

Easier said than done because it feels like he's splitting you in two from just the tip of his cock pushing past your entrance. You're gripping onto the sheets for dear life as he slips more of himself into you slowly. 

“Too much.” You cry out, shaking your head, feeling overwhelmed. “You're too big.” 

Your words cause his cock to twitch inside of you which only makes you wriggle even more. It's so intense, the pressure of being pried out like this. 

“Focus on me.” Pope leans down to kiss you, distracting you with his soft lips and loving words. “You're doing so well. Your pussy feels so good.”

“Yeah?” You like that he feels good too. “Do you like my tight virgin pussy?” 

He growls low. “I love it.”

His cock barely fits inside of you. He'll need to fuck you a bit to loosen you up. So, he grabs your hips and looks at you with so much need in his eyes. 

“I'm going to fuck you now.” He gives you a moment to prepare yourself. “Until you're covered in my cum.” 

You shake your head. “I want you to cum inside of me. Pump a baby into me, Andrew.”

The moment you say that, it's like any remaining rationality Pope had left completely crumbles. 

He pins you down by your shoulders and just starts ramming into you. You've never felt such forceful thrusts before that your body doesn't even know how to react. 

You just cum. That's all you can do. 

“Oh god—” You grab a hold of his shoulders, digging your nails into his skin as he pounds you into his mattress. “Too rough, you're being too—!”

His hands slide to your throat and the moment he cuts off your air, you squirt on his cock and he laughs. “Someone likes it rough.” 

You're clawing at him now, drawing blood, unable to handle the orgasms he's pulling out of you. Your vision is going blurry. You can't think straight. 

And you see stars when he whispers in your ear, “how does it feel to get raped for your first time?” 

Your body convulses under him in response and Pope loves how your pussy is clenching around him, milking his cock, begging for his cum. When he finally gives it to you and lets go of your throat, you're gasping for air, cumming your brains out on his cock pumping hot ropes of cum inside of you. You love how warm you feel, completely filled up with his release. 

You don't want it to end. 

You want to be wrung out like this for the rest of your life. 

Pope pulls out of you and you expect it to be over but then you feel three of his fingers replace his cock. You're so sensitive that an orgasm washes over you just from him idly stroking your insides. He's merely resting his fingers inside of you, to keep you plugged up, but you're cumming on them too easily, drenching his hand.

“You're spilling my cum, little one.” He thrusts as much as he can back inside of you. “I need you to hold it in.”

“It's hard…” Especially when he keeps curling his fingers on purpose. 

“Who taught you to cum like a porn star?” He can't even count how many orgasms the cameras must've caught by now. 

“You.” You answer honestly, earning yourself another orgasm when his fingers start fucking you faster. “Andrew!” 

“Don't cum.” He thrusts his fingers deeper inside of you with every stroke. “If you cum, I'm going to rape you.” 

You glance down. Pope is hard again already. Usually it takes longer but when he looks at you, his body is just ready to fuck. 

Especially now that his cock has had a taste of your pussy. 

He can't possibly quit now!

Your whole body tenses in a poor attempt to stop the orgasm that will inevitably shatter you. But Pope is ruthless with his fingers. 

Then he tugs at your perky nipples with his free hand and you burst like a dam, cumming all over his fingers. 

You don't get a second to collect yourself before Pope flips you onto your stomach and pounds every inch of his cock inside of your still spasming pussy. His weight keeps you held down to the bed as he fucks you like an animal desperately needing to breed. He wants you pregnant.

He needs you to have his baby. 

You don't know how many times Pope cums inside of you. The batteries in the cameras all die at a certain point but he doesn't stop fucking you. 

It's a compulsion at a certain point. The moment he's hard again, his cock is buried inside of you. Your pussy has molded to his shape. Your body yearns for his release. 

The two of you don't stop fucking until you take a pregnancy test and it's positive. 

Pope is the most excited he has ever been about anything. 

And you're happy to see him like that. 

So, you'll wait a bit longer before you tell him it's a false positive. You had to figure out how to create a false positive or he would've never let you leave his bed. 

He surely won't once he finds out.

And you're looking forward to it. 

a/n: you know this idea started as one of those crack ideas but then I just ended up writing so much for it, oops! I just fell in love with porn star!pope, he's such a lovely guy (who will be very angry when he finds out you aren't pregnant hehe the next part will be fun ~)

For the fourth morning in a row, the same guy keeps showing up to the shitty dive bar where you work, which is unfortunately open 24/7. And you've been stuck with the shift that starts at midnight since you moved to this city. 

You don't mind it now. Not when you have a hot old man wearing black scrubs to look at before your shift ends. 

Though, he has gotten a bit gloomier over the days. Orders the same thing. A cold beer, that he nurses for half an hour before asking for a double shot of whiskey. Like he needs to pretend to debate drinking more than he should at seven in the morning. 

But today, he starts with the whiskey. 

“Bad night, Doc?” You assumed he was a doctor but you know for certain now since he hasn't taken his badge off yet.

You're a bit too distracted by the sad look in his eyes to catch his name before he tucks his badge into the backpack he always slings in on his shoulder and drops at the bar stool beside him. 

“Jack.” He tells you his name because Jack would rather not be reminded that he's a doctor for the time being. 

“No need to talk about it, Jack.” You pour him his shots but also hand him a glass of water. “But the bar's all yours if you want to. I'm pretty good at keeping a secret too.”

You wink at him, smiling beautifully. 

Jack hasn't had a pretty girl smile at him in a long time. Probably because he's been so wrapped up in attempting to salvage his failing relationship with his longtime partner, Robby, that he hasn't noticed anyone batting their eyelashes at him the way you're doing now. 

The bar is empty. That's why Jack comes here. It's a far trek from work, so no one he knows ever goes to this area. He usually drives but the last few days, he's been calling a rideshare so he has the option to get wasted. He hasn't yet.

Today might be the day he does. 

Because he caught wind of something he shouldn't have. 

And it's killing him.

He has no one he can talk to about it. 

Except you…

“Only if you drink with me.” If Jack is going to spill his secrets, he'd rather you not be sober. At least then, he can pretend that maybe you'll forget all about his ramblings. 

“Trying to get me in trouble?” You chuckle, then grab a cold glass, filling it with beer. “How about this: you drink your usual beer then you wait until I'm off work in an hour and we can drink at my place nearby. Good idea?” 

Jack's stomach churns at that. Because he shouldn't say yes. He's in a committed relationship. He definitely shouldn't go over to your place, especially when it's blatantly obvious that you're an incredibly attractive woman who isn't hiding for a second your interest in him. 

But if Robby can "hang out" with someone much younger than him, so can Jack. 

It's only fair. 

“Alright. But I'm paying for the liquor.” 

You shake your head. “I have plenty of booze at home. You're paying for breakfast.” 

Jack doesn't like how smooth you talk. So casual. So easy going. So much like he was before insecurity racked his every waking moment. 

“Fine.” 

“It's a date.” You slide the shot glasses back towards you and then Jack watches as you down them both back to back in front of him. His eyes trail along the whiskey that drips off the sides of your lips.

He wants to lean forward and lick it up.

A thought he shouldn't be having.

Fuck. He's going to do something stupid, isn't he? 

Accepting your invitation was stupid enough as is but lusting after you would be the worst decision a taken man like him should consider. 

But when he sees the way your tongue swirls around your full lips, Jack can't help but stare. 

You've always had this effect on people. It's what makes the kind of lifestyle you live easier than it should be. Because you can always get a job bartending in any city you go to without a resume and you can always convince the owner to pay you under the table. Same goes with your landlord, who is happy to let you pay your rent in all cash without verifying if your identity is real or not.

It isn't. It never is. 

Because you would've been caught by now if you weren't as smart as you are. 

And you like killing people a little too much to get caught now. 

So, when Jack asks you for your name, you give him the same old routine you do with everyone and tell him, “just call me baby.” 

“Baby? That can't possibly be your name.” 

“It's what you'll call me.” You lean over the counter, giving him a very nice view of your breasts peeking through your low cut sweater. “I like that or babydoll. Especially when I get to call you daddy.” 

Tension forms in every muscle in his body. 

Because…fuck, he has missed being called that. 

Robby never liked it. He was dismissive of Jack's daddy kink, made him feel ashamed for having one so Jack repressed it.

Now here you are, openly feeding into it. 

“I should tell you I'm in a relationship.” Jack has to ruin this. 

But you don't let him. “Then break up.” 

“W-What?” He is so shocked by how blunt your words are that he stammers his own. “E-Excuse me?” 

You put your hand on his, drawing a line from his wrist to his knuckles with your finger, swirling the tip around each bone as you tell him in a sultry tone, “come on, daddy. You know you want to, or you wouldn't have said yes to me.” 

“W-We've been together for years.” It feels like a poor excuse once Jack says it aloud. 

You shrug, not caring at all. “So?” 

“He's…” Jack doesn't even know what he was going to say because your hand comes up to cup his face, lifting his chin to look at you. 

“He's just your boyfriend.” You brush your thumb over his lip, smiling when his jaw tightens in your grip. “You don't need a boyfriend when you could have me.” 

For fun, you step closer, wanting to see how he'll react to your lips being only an inch away from his. 

His reaction is on par with a man his age who has been out of the game for a while. “You're at work.” 

“If you kissed me, I wouldn't mind getting fired.” You playfully bite your lip, purposefully making it swell so he's more enticed than ever. “Do you want to kiss me?” 

Jack should say no. He definitely should say no. 

He's in a relationship. A shitty one, where Robby is cheating on him but he made a commitment. 

One that he'll need to break if he's going to say yes. 

“I—” Jack is rendered speechless when you nuzzle his nose with your own, giggling at how flustered he gets because he thought you were about to kiss him. 

“God, you are so fucking cute.” You want to ride him until the next morning. “Can you just break up with him already?”

Why is Jack even considering this? 

Maybe because he knows it's rational. He caught Robby cheating on him with that younger resident, Dennis Whitaker. He hasn't confronted Robby about it yet.

Jack knows his relationship is over.

So, why is he clinging onto it when there's a gorgeous girl right in front of him that's practically throwing herself at him? 

He should forget about Robby, like he has been trying to do these last few days. 

He can do that by fucking you. 

He will do exactly that.

“Fuck it.” Jack pulls out his phone and against his best judgment, he shoots Robby a text. 

With a video of Robby and Whitaker from Jack's hidden camera in Robby's apartment.

And the only text he sends with it is: It's over between us. 

Then, once it's sent, Jack grabs you by the throat and tugs you to him, kissing you. 

You were not expecting the sudden aggression. But, it's incredible. 

Like Jack is finally able to enjoy himself for once. 

You like how tight his grip is, how you're certain if it was any tighter, he'd bruise your neck. You like how he's eager to kiss you, his tongue slipping into your mouth the moment you let him. 

You slide your underwear off under your skirt, tucking it behind the counter before you end up getting it wet. You're already raring to go, just from this feverish kiss. 

You'll surely have to fuck Jack now. 

“Let me lock the door.” You say all breathless against his lips. “Unless you want people to walk in and see you with your hand wrapped around my throat.”

Jack's eyes shift to the door then back at you, trailing down the length of your body to your short skirt that leaves nothing to the imagination. 

“Do you care?” He asks, his hand releasing your neck from his hold, and you smirk in response. 

“I'd let you fuck me right here if you wanted to.” You're getting fired anyways. 

Might as well enjoy the taboo of it while you can. 

“Do you have a condom?” Jack should not fuck the first person to give him attention but especially not without protection.

You laugh at that. “Did you fuck your ex with a condom?” 

Of course Jack did and he is thankful he did because he has no clue how long Robby has been cheating on him for. He could've gotten something unknowingly. 

Maybe he doesn't feel too shitty about breaking up with Robby now…

You snap your fingers in front of Jack's face, breaking him from his thoughts. “I'm going to take that as a yes. I trust you're clean. You are a doctor, after all.” 

“Are you?” He has to ask.

“A doctor? Definitely not.” You laugh again, earning a glare from Jack. 

“Clean.” He emphasizes the word. 

You pull out your phone, showing him the test results along with proof of your IUD that you got from a doctor friend of yours who works at a clinic a few states away. You always test after every sexual encounter.

You'll likely head there again after this because from the look in Jack's eyes when they meet yours, you've got him hook, line and sinker. “Did I pass, Doc?” 

“Why do you want this?” That insecurity of his leaks out. 

“Hmmm.” You tap the rim of his untouched glass of beer before following the line around it. Once, twice, trailing slow circles around and around, for no real reason.

Jack is mesmerized by how strange your movements are. He's never met anyone like you. Someone who could entrance him with a simple motion. 

Your words draw him further into your spell. “Because I know when a man is dying to fuck a nice pussy.” 

You pull your finger off the rim then and pick up the glass, hovering it over the drain behind the bar in front of you. 

“The question is: are you going to fuck me with a beer in your system or stone cold sober?” You slowly tip the glass, baiting to see if he'll stop you from pouring out his drink. 

Jack doesn't. He lets you pour the bubbly amber liquid down the drain, setting the glass aside when you're done. 

Then, he snaps at you. “Go to that booth and spread your legs so I can see that nice pussy of yours, babydoll.” 

Your lips curve into a wicked smile, “now how did you know I'm not wearing any underwear?”

“Because a slut like you wouldn't.” He snaps again, his tone harsher now. “Go.” 

You lick your lips before skipping over to the last booth in the bar. The one furthest from the door. Also the one that is out of the line of sight of the only camera.

So, the doctor is aware of the blind spots. 

You wonder where he learned to be so diligent. 

Is he ex-military? Must be. 

For the sake of cleanliness, you throw a freshly washed tablecloth over the table before you hop onto it. Doing exactly as Jack desires, you spread your legs for him to see that you were not lying to him. 

The owner of the bar will have a fun time with that lace pair of yours when they find it later. 

But not as much fun of a time as you're about to have because Jack walks over until he's standing right in front of you, staring down at the sight before him. 

You have the nicest pussy he has ever seen in his life. He wants to know what you taste like. What you look like when you're cumming. 

If you're this gorgeous right now, he knows you'll be breathtaking when you're out of breath from cumming on his tongue. 

He nearly drops to his knees when you use your hand to part your folds for him, giving him a clear view of how wet you are as you say in that sultry tone of yours, “is my daddy going to eat my pussy or not?” 

Jack holds back because he's done giving someone else the reins. It's been a long time since he got to be the one in charge. He wasted too much of his life trying to please Robby.

Right now, he's going to focus on himself and what he wants. 

And what he wants is for you to beg him to touch you. 

“Ask nicely.” He instructs and you can't help how giddy you feel hearing his stricter tone. 

You want to be a brat but you decide Jack must've suffered enough in his last relationship. 

You should make his life easier by submitting to him. 

It's what he needs right now. 

“Will you please go down on me?” You ask so sweetly that Jack swears his teeth might rot. “Pretty please?” 

“Is that what my baby wants?” He leans forward, hands gripped on the corners of the table, fisting the cloth beneath him. “For her daddy to make her cum?” 

You nod eagerly. “Yes, please.”

Jack slides into the booth and gestures for you to adjust. “Scoot over here.” 

You listen without any hesitation and once your legs are in his reach, Jack yanks you closer to him by your knees. His face hovers so close to your pussy that you can feel every exhale he takes. 

He feels parched. He hasn't had anything to drink yet. And the sight of your slick is enticing him too much for him not to give into his need to taste you. 

You let out a breathy little sigh of pleasure when you feel his tongue drag along the length of your folds before settling at your clit, giving it a light flick. 

“Can I touch your hair?” Your hand aches to feel those soft looking curls he has. 

“Say please.” Jack is so fucking hard right now, it's unbelievable.

His cock wants to burst out of his pants when you respond so beautifully, “please, daddy.” 

He nods and you gently lace your fingers through his hair, reveling in the feel of it. You play with his curls as he leans back in, his tongue dipping into you this time. You don't hold in your voice, a moan leaving your lips immediately. 

It's like heaven to Jack to hear you react to his touch. He never liked how quiet Robby could be in bed. It made him feel inferior, like he wasn't doing a good enough job. 

Especially after seeing how vocal Robby could be in that video.

It pisses him off that—

Jack winces when you tug at his hair hard all of a sudden. “What the f—”

“If you're going to eat my pussy, can you focus on me?” You don't like that his mind is elsewhere.

Jack realizes how he's acting. He's doing what he dreaded from Robby. You deserve his undivided attention, like he deserves yours. And you're willing to give him your attention. 

So, Jack apologizes, “I'm sorry, babydoll. It won't happen again.” 

“It better not.” You pull him towards your pussy. “Now you have to make me cum, to show me you'll keep your word.”

He licks his lips then smiles, his mind locked in this moment with you now. “Don't worry. Your daddy is going to make you cum real good.”

He finally feels confident again, especially when you cry out his name the moment his lips seal around your clit and start sucking on it. He alternates between that and swirling circles around your clit until the tension in your core coils up to the point of no return. 

“Please don't stop.” You're gripping his hair tight, keeping him against you as he plays with your clit just right. “Please let me cum, please.” 

Jack does let you, pushing you right into your orgasm with every flick of his tongue on your clit. Your eyes roll back when the pleasure shoots through you, your body bathing in the heat of it. 

It was a great orgasm but Jack knows he can do better. He can make you cum harder than that. 

So, he tells you, “get on your knees.” 

You bite your lip, looking up at him with the same amount of lust he has for you. Then, you, like the good girl you are, listen, flipping over, getting on your knees for him. You give him a wonderful view of your ass and your dripping wet pussy and he groans, kneading his cock through his pants with his hand. He could fuck you right now. Nothing is stopping him. 

Besides this desperate urge to make you cum your brains out. 

“Tell me how you like it.” Jack doesn't want to do the guesswork. 

And you don't mind being honest. “I like it rough.” 

“Yeah?” He smacks your ass all of a sudden, drawing a yelp from your lips. “How rough?” 

“Harder than that.” You wouldn't mind wearing his handprint on your ass for the next few days. 

“Rub your clit for me and don't you dare cum.” Jack demands as he slides out of the booth. 

You do as you're told, playing with your clit as you watch Jack walk behind the bar counter to wash his hands in the sink. You find that oddly endearing. He doesn't want to touch you with dirty hands. You appreciate that. 

He might prove to be more fun than you originally thought. 

Jack sits back down behind you then slaps your ass again, this time even harder as he scolds you, “you're barely rubbing your clit. Do better.” 

“I'm sorry.” You touch yourself the way you usually do, a bit more heavy handed. “But if I keep doing this, I'm going to cum…”

“You cum when I tell you to.” His hand strikes you again. You definitely have an imprint of his hand now… 

Your whole body is shaking from the throbbing sensation of your now sensitive flesh and the ache between your legs, which Jack quickly resolves when he thrusts a finger inside of you. 

His finger is so thick that you're hardly prepared for him to add another one so quickly, prying your pussy open when he pushes them deeper inside of you. 

“You're clenching so tightly around your daddy's fingers.” Jack curls them, trying to gauge where he should touch you. He knows he found the right place when your legs start to buckle. “Is this your weak spot, babydoll?”

He presses his fingertips exactly where you need him to so you beg him, “right there, please touch me right there.”

“Cum as much as you'd like.” He wants to see you wrecked. 

You cum so hard when he pounds his fingers right where you need him too. You cum again when he smacks your ass while his fingers are still inside of you. 

“More, please.” You haven't felt this good during sex in a while. It seems like you and Jack are quite compatible. 

And he is happy to give you what you want as long as you give him what he wants. “Do you want daddy's cock buried in this tight pussy?” 

“Yes.” You repeat the word over and over as he continues fucking you mercilessly with his fingers. “Please, I want your cock. I want to cum on your cock.”

“You're going to cum on my fingers first. I want to see you squirt.” He will make you. He's well aware of where he needs to touch you to make it happen.

And he likes your nervous response, “I've never…”

It's his turn to get you all flustered. 

“Then you will now.” Jack grips your ass with his free hand for leverage as his fingers start moving quickly side to side, stirring up every inch of your pussy with the pads of his fingers. 

You can't seem to stop the orgasm that hits you hard enough for you to see stars in your vision. It crashes through you uncontrollably and you squirt when his fingers pop out of you. He likes the sound of you panting from the intensity of cumming that much.

Jack likes knowing that no one else has made you cum like that before. 

You're in a bit of a daze, your head swimming from the rush of pleasure, which is why you don't register him grabbing your hips and pulling you down onto his lap. It isn't until you feel the tip of his cock pushing against your entrance that you wake up from the bliss, startled. 

“You can take it.” He eases you down onto his cock. “Lean on me, babydoll.” 

You lean your back against his chest as you sink down onto him. You didn't even get a good look at his cock but you can feel how big he is, stirring you up inside like his fingers had. 

You breathe out a sigh of relief when he hilts, impressed you managed to take him all the way. You haven't felt this full…ever. He must be the biggest cock you've ever had.

“You took me so well.” He praises you, his hand resting on your lower belly, his fingertips pressing down on where he's resting inside of you. “Do you feel how deep I am?”

You nod, gripping the edge of the table, needing some kind of leverage so you don't collapse from how good he feels buried inside of you. Your eyes stare at the wet spot in the tablecloth, where you came. 

Heat rises to your cheeks at the sight. 

Did you really cum that hard? 

You feel Jack's lips kiss a line from your shoulder to your ear, distracting you from the thoughts swirling your mind. Then, he whispers, so low into your ear, “now imagine how good it'll feel to squirt on your daddy's cock.” 

You might not survive that. 

You may have initiated this but usually it's more fun to just mess around with someone before killing their ex. You normally don't cum this much, sometimes not even at all. It's mostly supposed to be a memory to touch yourself to afterwards.

But right now, it's looking like Jack is going to be a memory you'll likely never forget. 

So you might as well make it unforgettable. “Can I turn around?” 

“Why?” He wonders aloud. 

“I want to kiss you.” You're honest. 

Now Jack is wondering why his heart skips a beat at how cute of an ask that is. He lifts you off of him and helps you straddle his lap while facing him. He guides his cock back inside of you as you wrap your arms around his neck, pressing your chest flush against his, letting him enjoy the sight of your breasts in that low cut sweater of yours.

He wants to rip it off of you. He wants to see you naked.

You can tell what he wants, which is why you lean in and whisper against his lips, “you can have me naked in my bed after this.” 

“You want to fuck more than once?” Jack wasn't sure if that was still on the table. 

“If you can make me cum like that again, I don't see why not.” You nip at his bottom lip before giving him a kiss. “I like you, Jack.”

Jack reaches up with both hands to cup your face, liking how you relax into his touch. He likes you too. Much, much more than he should. 

He barely knows you and yet he wants to see you again and again. 

Because you make him feel at ease.

You kiss him so naturally, like your lips were made to be kissed by his. The two of you sit there kissing in that booth, your hips rolling against his, grinding his cock deep inside of you. You ride him just like you wanted to, your lips never wanting to part from his. 

You definitely will need to do this again. You're enjoying yourself too much not to fuck him again.

Somewhere along the way, Jack tosses you back down onto the table so he has more space to pound his cock inside of you. He's getting closer to his orgasm, so he needs you to get close to yours. His thumb swipes your clit back and forth as he fucks you, making you rasp out his name beautifully. 

“I'm going to cum, Jack.” You can't hold back any longer. “Please cum with me.” 

“I want to see you cum on my cock first.” He wants to see you make a mess. 

Jack starts fucking you rougher, driving his cock deeper inside of you and you nearly tip over the edge from it. But it isn't until he wraps his hands around your throat and pressing his thumbs down on the center of it that you burst at the seams, cumming so hard when you can't breathe. 

You claw at his muscular arms as he continues to choke you through every rough thrust. Jack has always liked it rough, always enjoyed the light look of fear mixed with pleasure. He finds yours to be the most beautiful he's ever seen. 

Especially when you're unable to stop cumming beneath him, your eyes so glazed over from the pleasure that he could probably snap your neck and you wouldn't even realize it. You'd be too lost in your head to notice. 

So he has to bring you back, loosening his grip on your throat just enough for you to be able to respond to him when he asks you, “do you like getting your pussy fucked like this, babydoll?” 

You nod, smiling softly up at him. “Yes, daddy. I love it.” 

“Tell me to go harder.” He's going to cum when you do.

“Fuck me harder.” You want it too. 

“Good girl.” He leans down, kissing you again as he thrusts wildly inside of you like an animal in heat, no longer holding back his need. 

You cum when you feel him pumping every ounce of his release deep inside of you, warmth filling your lower belly. You haven't let anyone cum inside of you this much in a long while.

You're in absolute bliss, which is why you don't hear the door to the bar open.

But Jack does, so he pulls a gun out of the back of his waistband and points it at the person at the door. “Get the fuck out or I'll shoot you.” 

The door slams shut immediately after that and you laugh so hard, breaking from your daze a bit. “What the fuck, you had a gun on you? While we were fucking?” 

“I grabbed it before I went to wash my hands.” He figured he should be safe than sorry. 

The bar isn't in the best neighborhood…

“Just don't shoot me in bed, okay?” You pat his chest, trying to nudge him off of you. But he won't budge. “Jack?”

“You aren't afraid of guns?” He noticed you didn't flinch when he pulled it out.

You're noticing that he's paying a little too much attention to you while his cock is still resting inside of you. Meaning you can't hide the way his question makes your body tense up.

“I grew up shooting them.” You lie because you are not going to explain to him that you took many lessons to learn how to shoot so you could kill people easily. 

“Are you a good shot?” 

“Are you going to keep your soft cock inside of me or can we have this conversation over breakfast?” You tap at his chest again and thankfully he moves this time. 

Jack puts his gun away in his backpack and then comes back to you with some wet wipes he carries in his bag. You take them into the bar's bathroom to freshen up a bit and then go to grab your things, since your shift is over. You leave behind a note saying you quit and that you don't need your last paycheck.

You aren't planning to stay in this city much longer, anyway. 

Something that proves difficult because you end up sleeping with Jack every day since then. 

Even on the day you kill his ex-boyfriend, Robby. 

You had to make sure to do it on a night where Jack was on shift, so that he had an alibi. You saw him the next morning because he has made it a habit to come over to your apartment after work now. 

A habit that will end rather abruptly soon. 

Because Jack keeps asking you too many questions you can't answer.

Like why you don't have much furniture. Or why you won't tell him your name. Or why you aren't looking for anything serious. 

For the first time, you actually feel bad for what you've done. This was supposed to be a one night stand. A little fun, to help him move on. 

That's all it was supposed to be.

But then you found the hidden camera Jack installed…

It's fresh, not even a day old. You know that for a fact because you religiously scan your surroundings for any kind of tampering. In case the cops are onto you and you need to bolt.

You realize then that Jack is not normal. 

You should've known that from the jump but you ignored the signs since you figured you wouldn't ever see him again. 

So, when you leave without a trace, Jack goes crazy. 

It's bad enough that no one has heard from Robby in days. Jack went over to check Robby's apartment but he wasn't there. He asked Whitaker if he had heard from Robby but he hadn't either. 

Two people in Jack's life have disappeared all of a sudden.

But Jack only seems to care about you.

Because a few days after you cleared out your apartment and left the city, Jack gets a visit from the police that solves what happened to Robby. They ask him where he was the night that you killed Robby and he tells them that he was at work. Then, they tell him that they found Robby's dead body at the bottom of the river. 

A clean bullet through the head. Execution style. Like a professional hit. 

Since the officers are friends of Jack's, they reveal a little extra detail that they probably shouldn't. That a similar kind of killing happened a year ago just a few cities over. 

Same exact gun. Same exact kill shot. 

Right between the eyes. 

Whoever it was made their victims look at them in the eyes as they killed them. 

“What else do you know?” Jack doesn't know if he's asking out of grief or curiosity. 

“Apparently, when they interviewed the dead person's ex, they had been convinced by some woman to break up with them a few days prior to the person dying.” The officer shrugs at Jack. 

“Did they get a name?”

“Just said to call her “baby”. Isn't that strange?” 

Jack maintains a perfect poker face because if he didn't, the officers would know that Robby's murder would for sure be connected to that other murder. But he doesn't say a word about it.

He doesn't know why he protects you.

He just does.

You have no clue how close you were to being caught, or at least put on the radar more than you should be. But you always lay low after a kill.

You have a long cooling off period, an erratic one because you only kill if the universe has you stumble on a miserable person in a shitty relationship. Another saving grace as to why you haven't been caught just yet. 

You stay indoors mostly, at the house you own under your real name. You never kill anywhere near where you live. Your neighbors just assume you're off on business all the time. 

The only regularity you have is visiting the clinic to see your friend to get tested. You're certain Jack is clean but you had to make sure. You did have a lot of sex with him before you left him. 

“By the way, how's the IUD?” 

You groan then say, “actually, can you take it out? I don't plan to have sex for a while and I'm sick of the heavy bleeding.”

You got the copper IUD recently and it has been making your periods unbearable. You wouldn't mind a break from it. 

So, you get it removed and then spend the rest of the week curled up in bed from the pain. 

It's moments like this where you wish you weren't alone. 

The life you live can get a little lonely at times but you doubt you'd find anyone who would be okay with what you like to do in your free time. 

Though, maybe you should just ask the man that's been hovering over you while you sleep for the past few nights.

Jack is very open to keeping you company.

It took him forever to find you so he definitely isn't going to let you get away from him again. 

He had to use every bit of his brainpower to remember the clinic name on your test results sheet. From there, he installed a camera across the street from it so he could catch you when you inevitably visited. 

After you did, it didn't take much for him to be able to smooth talk his way into the office by pretending to be a delivery person so he could snoop through the appointment log and find your real name. 

Along with your medical file.

And he sees that you currently aren't on any birth control. 

Giving him the perfect way to keep you tied to him forever.

You notice the slight tilt in your wall outlet. It's obviously been tampered with. But you can't figure out by who or why… 

Because no one should know where you live. The cops definitely shouldn't.

So who…would? 

You try not to show that you know there's a hidden camera there. You just go about your day like you normally would. The camera hasn't been there long. Maybe a few hours. 

Whoever put it there did it while you were asleep.

You don't know how they managed to get past your cameras. 

It would require them to have extensive knowledge of surveillance—oh fuck.

You know exactly who it is. 

Because you only know one person who is a veteran with a background in military surveillance.

Though, you can't help but wonder why Jack would go out of his way to find you.

Sure, the sex was great but you literally killed his boyfriend. There's no way he doesn't know by now. He's a smart guy. He has friends in the police since he works with SWAT. He would've figured out it was you who killed Robby.

Could he be here for some kind of revenge plot? But if that was the case, he could've killed you in your sleep. 

You doubt Jack is the torturing type. Then again...you do remember the little sadistic streak he had going on. You can still feel how much your ass stung from all of his spanking. 

But again, why would he go through the effort of going halfway across the country for you? 

What's his endgame?

Is it…you? 

You shake away that thought. Again, you doubt you could ever be in a relationship with anyone. 

He's here for some reason. He's watching you for some reason. 

You won't delude yourself into thinking it's more than some kind of morbid curiosity of his. He hasn't ratted you out to the police yet so there is something he wants. 

So, you decide to check to see if it's you he wants. Just to be sure. 

You install a hidden camera on a vase of yours and add some flowers to it to bring into your room, placing it perfectly in the corner on a cute little side table.

Then, for fun that night, you touch yourself.

You do it purposefully where Jack can get a nice view of your pussy through his hidden camera and you make sure to cum while moaning his name. 

Then, you fall asleep wearing only your favorite nightgown, leaving yourself still dripping wet between your legs. 

And sure enough, when you wake up the next morning and head out for the day so you can check your camera footage, Jack was there in your room last night. 

With a syringe. 

You stare at the video, baffled at the sight of Jack injecting you with a sedative. Then, you watch as he goes down on you for hours before he finally fucks you. 

You decide then to put in earbuds so you can listen to the audio. 

And it's full of crazed thoughts of his that surely you should not know. 

He rants about how you made him crazy for you. He talks about the things he wants to do to you, the things he will do to you. 

Like fuck a baby into you in your sleep…

He tells you that it's all your fault he's like this because you seduced him. 

So you have to take responsibility for your actions. You have to let him have you. It's only fair.

You've never encountered anyone with this kind of obsession before. 

It should scare you. 

You should be worried for your life, especially when you hear Jack say that if you don't learn to love him back, he'll kill you like you killed Robby. 

But you've always liked to play with fire. 

Which is why that night, you do the same thing you did the previous night. 

You touch yourself to the memories of Jack.

Then, for the fun of it, you say to yourself as you cum, “I wish my daddy was here to fuck me.” 

And you scream when Jack comes out of your closet with a gun in his hand. 

“Be quiet, babydoll.” He shuts you up right away when he flips off the safety. “Or I'll shoot you.” 

You weren't expecting him to be in your walk-in closet. 

How did he get in there without tipping off your camera? 

Unless…he knew about it this whole time…

Fuck. Of course Jack did. 

He wanted to see what you'd do if he spilled every sick thought out of his head. He expected you to run far away, to be afraid of him. 

But you're just as sick as he is, touching yourself to bait him.

Now, he needs to know how far you'll let him go. 

“Don't stop because of me.” Jack climbs into bed, hovering over you, his gun pointed right between your eyes. “Keep touching yourself. Let your daddy watch you cum.” 

“You only want to watch?” You slide your hand up the length of your body. His eyes follow the ripples you make of the silk you're wearing, the motion so intoxicating. “You could have more than just a look, Jack.” 

“Take it off.” He wants to see you bare beneath him. 

You obey without hesitation, slipping your nightgown off. Jack scans every inch of you, imagining how you would look with his bite marks all over you. Or with the indent of his pistol pressed into your skin. 

He drags the gun down in a straight line, from your forehead to the middle of your breasts, the cold metal causing goosebumps to form on your skin. He pushes the tip of the barrel against the very center of your body, leaving a nice little ring there. 

“I own you now.” He says as he slides the gun back up, resting it against your lips. “Your life is in my hands, babydoll.” 

But he knows his words are just words. 

Because the truth is, you own him. 

With that daring smile of yours and that seductive gaze you give him before you part your lips and pull the barrel of his gun into your mouth, tasting the harsh metal on your tongue. 

The moment you start sucking the tip of his gun, Jack kicks off his pants. He needs to be inside of you right now. 

You moan against the metal when you feel him drag his cock along the length of your slit before pushing so easily inside of you. He groans when he hilts, letting out an almost frustrated huff at how good you feel wrapped around him. 

“Did you miss your daddy's cock?” He smiles when you nod. “God, I missed you. Don't ever leave me again, baby.” 

He pulls his gun from your mouth so you can tell him, “you can kill me if I ever run from you again.” 

Jack smacks your cheek lightly with his gun as a reprimand. “Don't say something like that.” 

“Why?” You pout at him, wrapping your legs around his hips to pull him in deeper. 

“Because I might actually do it if you ever try.” Jack's threat is real and he likes how you clench around his cock in response. 

“I'd let you.” You owe him for keeping your secret. “I'm all yours, Jack.” 

“You better be.” He's sick and tired of not having someone who is his entirely. 

You place your hand on the ring he made on your chest, tracing the dip in your skin as you make your promise, “you own me until this fades away.” 

Jack smacks your hand away with his gun so he can press it back against the center of your chest, digging the mark further into your pretty skin. “Then I might as well shoot you so you can wear that scar for life.” 

“You could just buy me a ring.” You flash your left hand at him. 

You bite back a giggle when his cock throbs inside of you. “You'd marry me?”

“You'd marry me?” You ask back, earning another one of his annoyed glares. 

“Stop doing that and answer my question.” 

“I'd like a better proposal than you holding a gun to my chest but yes, I'd marry you.” You let out the chuckle you've been holding in and Jack basks in how wonderful it sounds. 

He tosses his gun aside so he can grip the sheets by your head, staring down rather fiercely at you, lust raging in his hazel eyes, “I'm going to fuck you until the sun's out.” 

You pull him in closer so you can press a soft kiss against his cheek before whispering, “just until the sun's out?” 

He scoffs at that. “You don't want to leave this bed, do you?” 

“Not while my daddy's home.” You smile brightly. 

Jack likes the thought of that. Of moving away from Pittsburgh. Of making this place his home. Of making you his home. 

“Is your friend's clinic hiring?” He asks and you laugh so loud at him. 

“Can we just fuck already and then browse job listings after?” You're aching to get railed.

“Someone's being needy.” He rolls his hips against you as a tease. “You don't like keeping your daddy's cock warm while we talk?” 

“I'd rather be cumming on it.” You grind your hips up to meet his, desperate for some more friction. “Please fuck me.” 

“I might fuck a baby into you if I do.” He's not wearing a condom and you aren't protected anymore. 

“You didn't seem to give a shit about that last night.” Your lips curve into a devilish smile that matches the one on his face.

“Touché.” He pulls his cock out of you almost all of the way before ramming it back inside, causing your whole body to shake from the feeling. “I'm going to make sure you get pregnant now.” 

Jack then makes it his goal for the night to edge you until you're whining and pleading for him to let you cum. 

But he keeps waving off your desperation, saying, “you'll have a higher chance of getting pregnant if you cum hard when I do.” 

“You're torturing me.” Your body is hot to the touch and you need to cum. 

“Payback for you leaving me.” He considers you both even now. 

“I promise I won't ever do that again so please let me cum.” You can't wait any longer. 

“Fine.” He slips out of you completely, drawing another whine from your lips. “Flip over, baby. I'll breed you like you want me to.” 

You quickly get on your knees and you feel his hand push down on your upper back, having you press your chest against the mattress, burying your face into your pillow. You dig your nails into your sheets the moment you feel the tip of his cock at your entrance. 

You cum so hard when he slams the entire length of his cock inside of you from behind, your legs quivering from the intensity of it. Your body won't stop shaking because Jack smacks your ass as he fucks you deeper into your mattress, causing tension to coil and burst inside of you. 

“Oh fuck—” You muffle your screams into your pillow when you feel his fingers pushing into your pussy along with his cock, filling you up more than you can handle. 

“You can take it.” He says with another harsh smack of your ass, which lets him slip his fingers in deeper, curling them as the tip of his cock pushes against your womb. “You're going to cum so much for me, aren't you?” 

You nod into your pillow because it would be impossible not to cum from the way he's abusing your pussy like this. You yelp when he slaps your ass even harder.

“I expect a response.” He slows his thrusts until his cock and fingers are just resting inside of you. “Are you going to cum for me?”

“Yes, daddy.” You practically pant out, your mind growing fuzzier by the second. 

“Good girl.” He rewards you by fucking you with both his cock and his fingers until you're squirting all over him. “Just like that. Keep cumming, baby.”  

“I can't—” You're going to pass out if you keep cumming this hard. “Please, I can't—”

“You can and you will.” He gets rougher now, sending you spiraling, gasping, reeling from every harsh movement. 

Jack is pounding into you with so much force that your mattress is shifting beneath you with each thrust. You're seeing stars, your vision going dark, your body bathing in constant waves of pure pleasure that can't seem to end. 

Then, you feel Jack's hand against the back of your head, shoving you down into your pillow, cutting off your air. You flail beneath him, trying to stop him, trying to breathe but you can't. 

You can only cum. That's all he'll let you do. You're only allowed to take the pleasure he gives you and that's it. 

You'll get to breathe when he says so. 

“I love my slutty babydoll.” He rams his cock as deep as he can as he pumps hot ropes of cum inside of you. “Taking my cum so well inside her tight pussy. Did that feel good?” 

He tugs you up from your pillow by your hair, letting you finally gulp in air before you reply with such delight in your tone, “yes.” 

“Want to do it again?” Jack is still hard. He could fuck you until he's soft. 

“Please.” You say all breathless and beautiful. “Never stop.” 

Jack doesn't give you a break all night, which is fairly reminiscent of all the times you two had sex before. He has too much stamina for a man his age and you have too much determination to let him think he's wrung you out. Even though he definitely has because your pussy is dripping copious amounts of his cum by the time the sun is out. 

But when you wake up from your nap, you're completely clean, dressed in a nice pair of cozy sweats. 

And there's a morning after pill next to you with a glass of water and some painkillers.

No Jack, though. 

“Jack?” You ignore the pills, getting up despite the weakness in your legs. 

There's no way he left, right?

You slowly make your way through your house and then notice that the door leading to your basement is open. 

Fuck!

Adrenaline spikes through you enough for you to move quickly down the wooden stairs to your cellar, seeing the door to your hidden basement also wide open.

Fuck, fuck, fuck—

You sprint in and see…Jack, standing in the middle of your trophy room, where you keep all the personal effects of the people you've killed. They line the walls, spanning at least a decade of murders you've done.

“You did all this?” Jack turns back to look at you, furrowing his brows at how out of breath and panicked you look. “Everything alright, baby?”

“I…” You don't know what to say. 

Because surely whatever you and him have is over, right? 

He's going to turn you in, right? 

Why wouldn't he after seeing how many people you've killed over the years…

Maybe because he's crazy about you. To the point where this doesn't bother him in the slightest.

But he can tell you're worried so he steps up to you, pulling you into his arms for a hug.

“We're okay.” He pats your head gently. “I don't love you any less.” 

“Really?” You ask, both about this and about the fact that he just said he loves you. 

“If anything, I'm impressed.” He had read through your logbook, where you wrote down the reasoning behind each kill. They were all terrible partners who hurt the people they were supposed to love most. 

“Don't say that…” You shouldn't be praised for your compulsion. 

“I'm just stating the obvious.” Anyone would be impressed that you managed to get away with this many murders. 

As fucked up as that is… 

“Jack…” You're unsure if you believe that he actually accepts the fact that you're a serial killer. 

But he reassures you. “I won't tell a soul. I'm not going to let them arrest my fiancé.” 

You are left absolutely speechless at that which makes him chuckle. 

“God, you are so fucking cute.” He cups your face with his hands, pinching your cheek. “Lighten up. I'm not leaving you and you're not leaving me because if you try, I'll kill you before the FBI gets the chance.” 

You look up into his eyes then say, “promise?” 

“I promise.” He leans down then to seal that promise with a kiss. 

Because now you're stuck with him and all his craziness.

And you wouldn't want him any other way...

a/n: freak4freak nation is back, baby! I had a lot of fun with this one (though I always have fun so this one was just super duper fun!) because I just wanted jack to be so touch starved and nuts that ofc he would be okay if you were a serial killer! that man is a lover boy fr ~ 

"mmmhm..." you giggle back at him. you shouldn't find it so hot that he's memorised your drink of choice. "mm... sammy?"

"yeah?" he whispers.

"i think you're sooo pretty..."

sammy laughs under his breath in response, ducking his head. he's flattered— he knows he's not exactly the definition of pretty, but he'll take any kind of compliment from a girl who looks like you. "you do?" he replies, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"mhm," you hum sweetly, nodding. "and i know it might be naughty to say this, 'cause you're all married and stuff, but–" you lean in clumsily, voice dropping to a hushed whisper against his ear, "i've always wanted to suck your cock..."

"... what?" you catch sammy completely off guard. he's always respected you as a member of the team, but when you're not in the field you look so sweet and polite. he had no idea you had such a dirty little mouth.

you continue, emboldened by the alcohol. "yeah. or... or like ride it or something... or.... sorry, don't know what'm sayin', you're just really hot..."

sammy exhales a little, shaking his head. he's so turned on right now that his wife is the last thing on his mind. "no, no, it's alright, you're drunk." his nose is full of your perfume, dark cherry and amber and cinnamon, and it makes his head spin.

then, your back arches slightly under his touch and his common sense goes out of the window. "y'know what? just dance with me a little."

he rocks you slowly to the beat of the song, his breathing harsh against your cheek. his hands dip down to your ass, pressing you into his crotch so you can feel the hard line of his cock through his jeans.

your breath hitches when you feel it. "sammy, 's wrong..."

"what's wrong, sweetheart? we're just dancin'," he murmurs, even as he grinds forward into you, one of his big hands drifting up your thigh under your dress until it hits the lace of your panties. "just dancin', that's all."

you wedge his thick thigh between yours, rubbing up on his stiff cock as you lose yourself to the thrum between your legs. "mmh.. fuck, sammy..." you sigh out against his neck.

"yeah, that's right, sweetheart," he groans as he scans the room behind you— everyone's way too busy downing beers and trading stories at the bar to notice the way you two are grinding on each other in the back, how his hand is shamelessly palming your ass. then, sammy gets a bright idea: "y'wanna come to the bathroom with me, baby? i'll help you pee."

"but i don't need to pee, sammy," you whine, pressing yourself impossibly closer to his body. "just wanna dance with you all night..."

he chuckles at your drunken stubbornness, then pats your ass before extracting his hand from under your dress. "wanna know a secret?" he asks softly, already leading you by the waist towards the bathroom door. you nod carelessly as you follow him.

It started on her very first day at the Pitt, a day in which she'd uncovered two pivotal pieces of information that no one had been made privy to up until that point.

Dennis Whitaker was living in the hospital.

Frank Langdon had a substance abuse issue.

Both these pieces of information could've served as gossip, but trinity had always considered herself a trooper, and so she kept her mouth shut about both of them.

Throughout her time at the Pitt, more and more news revealed themselves to her. And every single time, Trinity kept them all to herself.

Whether it was something as small as Ogilvie eating the sandwich Samira had been saving in the fridge, or as big as Dana asking McKay for another secret script of sedative to carry around in case of an emergency, Trinity always turned a blind eye and acted surprised whenever someone else happened to stumble upon the same piece of gossip and spilled the beans to everyone else at the Pitt.

But even with her angelic ability to keep her mouth shut, Trinity was, after all, just a person. And sooner or later, something would eventually be too juicy for it to not slip past her lips when probed just at the right moment.

It was only too bad that you happened to be on the receiving end of it.

-

Trinity liked you.

You were a useful addition to the many doubles she had a tendency to pull, always a good partner to have in the long hours under the bleed of the fluorescent white lights of the ED.

She liked to think (and was pretty sure) that the feeling was mutual.

The two of you shared a similar humor, usually placing either Whitaker or Langdon at the butt of every joke, bugging at Robby for more complicated procedures or gaslighting Shen into sharing his Dunkin's coupons with you.

You'd been aware of her thing with Yoyo back when it was no more than a situationship kept on the down low. Just like she was well aware of your moon-eyed crush on the greying night shift attending — information that she always kept to herself despite how obvious she thought you were.

And so she felt pretty confident in saying that she knew you pretty well.

But was she colored impressed when she came to find out that that was not true at all.

Because standing across from her, she found a scantily-clad you, body packed with glitter and hair with the most volume she'd ever seen, dancing to your heart's content up on the stage of the strip club Yoyo had insisted they check out for their weekly date night.

Yoyo had already been here multiple times, or so she had told Trinity right before parking up front about twenty minutes prior to that moment. Yet her eyes widened just as big as soon as she spotted you, fellow resident of Trinity's, practically naked on stage.

As her eyes widened, they turned to Santos', finding them just as wide and peeked at a tiny amused smile forming. Within moments they were both giggling to themselves, betting on a margarita as to how long it'd take you to turn your head slightly north in order to find two of your coworkers in the audience.

All in all, Santos had to admit that, damn, you knew what you were doing.

This was no side hustle or hobby. This was clearly something you'd studied the art of to a T.

But your performance only got better the moment you actually spotted Trinity and Yoyo, eyes wide and a stutter in your step as you walked your way to the pole found at the closest end of the stage.

Your coworkers made a show of cheering for you, wooing at you, throwing bills in your direction, sending one or two pointed whistles your way. Within moments your shock turned into annoyance, and the rest was pretty much history.

Weeks passed until this Trinity brought up the events of that night again.

(Other than the immediate aftermath in which Trinity chastised you for not sharing such an interesting bit of your life with your work bestie and you pleading that she keep her mouth shut about it at work).

And when it was finally brought up again, it was all accidental. Trinity swore by that! She was not the type to blabber about things that didn't concern her.

But it had been a very long shift, and drinks were being passed around at the park, and you had a little bit of leftover glitter on your cheekbone she somehow hadn't noticed in the past 18 hours and she couldn't help but to-

"Hah, what's with the glitter? This isn't your night job."

She'd said it with what sounded like a malicious snicker and happened to word it in a way that made you sound like a lady of the night, but, truly, she had not meant it that way! Had not even realized what she'd said until she realized all voices had quietened down and that the only sound to be heard was the odd cricket hiding around the bushes of the park.

You froze, eyes wide like bambi and a lips slightly agape in pure shock. All color seemed to drain from your face immediately as a strange sense of shame took over your features.

Rather than to immediately look to santos in shock, your eyes looked to the bench across from you where your two attendings sat, mortified at the sudden reveal and at the way in which all conversation seemed to half at Santos' words.

Across from where you stood were Abbot and Robby, pausing their side conversation to look over in your direction, with the former in slight shock and the latter with some amusement at Santos' sudden reveal.

Realization that she'd fucked up and embarrassed you in front of your crush made Santos feel even worse at her sudden blunder. She was hitting herself internally at every extended second of awkward silence.

In the pseudo socratic circle you'd always form when sharing a beer after a long shift at the park, multiple of your other coworkers also reacted to Santos' comment, including Whitaker choking on his beer and Javadi gasping out loud.

Langdon had been a little more reserved, simply lifting his brows in curiosity and Samira furrowing hers in confusion.

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, your eyes swam over all the people around you, mortified, before landing back on Santos next to you. Your embarrassment morphed into irritation, now scowling at the girl before grunting out a response.

"Santos—! God damnit, I- I have to go."

And with that, you walked away despite all the eyes on you, ignoring santos as she spluttered a weak apology in your direction, hand landing on her forehead as she regretted the words that had left her lips.

"Night job?"

"Shut it, Huckleberry, that is not what i meant-"

"Oh my god, is she, like, a sex worker?"

Javadi's choice of language was respectful, but did not aid in santos' case after her fuck-up.

"No! What i meant was-"

"Dude, so not cool exposing her private shit like that."

This time it was Langdon, shaking his head as he aimed, threw, and landed his crumpled beer can into the trashcan to his left.

A few more chastising comments were given by a few other coworkers, leaving Santos no option but to, once again, blurt out something she truly did not mean to say.

"She's not a sex worker, okay? She's a stripper! Now shut up!"

Silence again.

Trinity winced as she took in the repetition of surprised reactions. She just couldn't stop fucking it up even further.

And in that awkward silence, she somehow managed to miss the outlier sitting on the bench across of her displaying all five stages of grief on his face as he took in the new information just given to him.

Abbot sat there, dumbly doing nothing as you walked away in mortification, as Santos continued to unintentionally embarrass you upon your exit, as everyone reacted to the newest and juiciest piece of gossip to hit the Pitt.

He couldn't help himself in the state of shock he'd arrived to. Couldn't even think about moving, much less listening to Mohan scold Santos and Santos promise she'd apologize as soon as she saw you and as she pleaded that no one ever bring up her fuck up ever again.

All he could do was think back to that tiny bit of glitter he'd also happened to spot the moment you'd clocked in and to all the other times in which he'd seen leftover glitter on your lid, on your cheek. He couldn't help but think of all the mumbled excuses you'd give as to why you couldn't join the night shift full time.

Everything suddenly came to light in a whole different way than he'd imagined, and the thought of you like that? Well, it sure had some sort of effect on him.

Unknowingly, Santos had not only ruined your life, but had also completely destroyed jack.

-

"Okay, so don't be mad."

"I already told you I'm not mad at you, Trinity," you sighed as you slipped off your stethoscope, facing your locker while gathering your things.

A few days had passed since the incident.

Santos had turned up at your apartment about half an hour later, groaning to herself as she told you about the aftermath of your sudden exit and very apologetic about it all.

After bribing you with access to her Doordash account for a month and offering to cover for you whenever your second job got in the way, no questions asked, you came around to letting it be water under the bridge.

You'd been lucky that the only people present to hear about your secret had been people you considered somewhat close.

Except that the thought of Jack Abbot, of all people, hearing of such a scandalous secret kind of made you want to die.

It wasn't that you were embarrassed, per se, but who'd want the sexy older guy they can't even maintain eye contact with finding out that you strip every other night? Sooner or later he'd do the math and realize that that was why you'd been rejecting his offers to be under his tutelage (and thus spending more time with him) during the night shift for twelve hours a night — because your side hustle got in the way.

You didn't want him to be... disappointed, for him to see you differently, to view you as cheap or as if you were selling your body. He respected you, and his respect was something you'd never want to lose.

Blatant judgment wasn't something you'd ever expect from Abbot, but the possibility existed within your irrational thoughts any time your brain decided to put those two parts of your life together. Even if your current relationship wasn't anything past mentor and mentee, you would be fine with it staying like that if it meant Abbot at least looked to you with a smidge of fondness in his eyes.

But Abbot hadn't said anything since Trinity blabbed.

There had been no sort of reaction from him, or anyone really.

Upon your return to the Pitt the following day, tail between your legs, no one had made any snarky quip or even looked at you weird after you'd been exposed and had dramatically run away. There were no further comments made other than Santos consistently apologizing over and over again in hushed tones throughout your shared shift.

And so you forgave Santos.

You were friends, and you weren't particularly embarrassed about moonlighting as a stripper for extra cash. It was just not something you openly discussed with your coworkers. You felt that reasoning was valid enough to keep it a secret.

Santos continued, "Well, maybe not now, but tell me that again in two minutes..."

At that, you closed your locker door, trying your hardest not to slam it. Perhaps you'd been a bit jumpy after all. Your guard was always high when it came to this subject.

"What did you do this time?"

Santos grimaced, groaning dramatically to herself and squeezing her eyes shut for a moment before seemingly ripping the band-aid off.

"Abunchofpeoplegottogetherandthey'reallgonnagowatchyouthisweekendatyourclub."

"What?"

She sighed, cursing under her breath and attempted it again.

"A bunch of people got together ... and decided they're going to go to your club to watch you perform this weekend."

Your heart dropped at the word 'club' and stopped altogether at the word 'perform'. You were pretty sure you were about to enter cardiac arrest in that very moment.

Every second of your life flashed before your eyes.

"Oh, my god, santos-"

"I swear I didn't tell anyone about where you work!" she started, a little frantic, "I guess Yoyo told someone upstairs about a cool new club we went to, and then that person told someone else, and then it reached Parker and Shen, — who did the math — and then princess suggested some of the girls go watch you, and then Whitaker decided to join in cause he's sorta one of the girls, and it turned into Langdon joining and I think maybe Robby for some reason? anyway, I think-"

"Oh, my god."

"It's not that bad—!"

You huffed in despair, hands coming up to your face and mutely screaming into them for a few moments. You needed to get it out of your system, and seemingly Santos understood that sentiment as she stood taking in your misery.

"You've completely ruined my life," you said blankly, emotionless.

Dramatic, but it felt that drastic at that moment.

"Well, uh- you should be glad! You know, that, uh, at least Abbot isn't going!"

The mention of his name only made things worse for you.

"Oh, god."

Santos was well aware of your crush on the older man, though she usually used it to tease you. It was bad enough that he was one of the few who had heard the news firsthand, but to even think of him seeing you on the job?

Fuck.

"Do you think he'll... go?"

Santos shook her head a little too quickly, clearly eager to atone and reassure you, not at all actually sure.

"He's an old man! And he works the night shift! You dance nights, right?" you nodded and she continued, "See? He'd have to take the night off, and when was the last time he ever did that? Nothing to worry about."

Her logic was somewhat sound, but her tone of voice assured you that it was mostly just wishful thinking.

And even if abbot skipped this particular outing, knowing that Robby or Princess would probably give him (and the rest of the staff) the 411 of your night job made your skin itch with anxiety.

"From one to ten, how bad would it be if i quit both jobs before then?"

Santos shook her head, lips pursed.

"You can barely afford your apartment on two salaries and tips, you'll be homeless within a week."

"Fuck."

-

After that, you occasionally heard a comment or two about the big night.

You weren't quite sure how or why this had become a thing, much less how it wasn't firing off alarms with HR that not only was one of their doctors openly a stripper — was there some sort of rule for that? — but also that a good dozen of her coworkers were joining in on some scheme to torment her for said stripping.

Okay, maybe 'torment' was a little much.

Mel and Whitaker seemed genuinely interested in watching you out of sheer curiosity. Langdon appeared a little awkward about it, but didn't want to be left out. Javadi was perhaps a little judgmental about it (and would probably vlog it for TikTok), but both her and Samira showed some amused interest at that side of your life.

Robby got a little red in the face when the subject was brought up by Princess in your presence, but he also hadn't shown any judgment.

Plus, you always knew that it was only sooner or later that some patron at the strip club would recognize you or that someone at the hospital would end up on a night out at the club.

You were mostly just glad that Abbot had made no comment thus far, nor had he even been around any time the subject was brought up.

Still, you were a little anxious as Friday night turned up and you bid your goodbyes to Trin and Mel as you headed to the club in order to get undressed and ready to perform.

The girls at the club were pretty much clueless that you'd be bringing in a flock of doctors into the audience that night. It was better that way. Better to keep both jobs as separate as possible (even if they were beginning to seep into one another).

With a few breathing exercises, you did your thing, with a pretty pink set of lingerie, some pumps a bit too high, and a dyson to aid in fixing up something that would allow for some extra volume in your hair.

You couldn't forget the body glitter either, obviously.

Looking in the swanky mirror backstage, you took in your appearance, already an expert in the art of making yourself up for your audience.

Santos sent you a quick text, letting you know everyone was here and that there was no sighting of Abbot, which at least worked in docking down your heart rate a few bpm from its accelerated speed.

The music was already booming outside, and from backstage you could get a sense of the fluorescent lights flashing across the main room.

With one final deep breath, you made your way to the entrance to the stage, a little self conscious at your coworkers seeing you like this, but ultimately sort of glad that the secret was out of the bag and that it was just your friends out there — some lighthearted teasing and a few exaggerated cheers wouldn't kill you, would they?

-

Jack's week had been an absolute rollercoaster.

While externally everything might've remained mostly stagnant in Jack's life, — a difficult statement to make for someone who works night shift in emergency medicine — it was mostly his internal turmoil that had been keeping his mind occupied as of late.

Nothing had happened due to his own doing. But, hell, he could hardly blame anyone else.

But in his messed up mind, he still sorta did.

And that blame fell strictly on second-year resident, Trinity Santos.

(Though Jack was very well aware that this was all his fault. All the fault of the horribly inappropriate way in which he'd been looking to another second-year resident under his care).

Luckily for jack, he had a handle on it — like he did on most things. With a few distractions, he could stop his mind from wandering after your hands graced his mid procedure. He could simply pretend that the sudden accelerated speed of his heart was due to his new anxiety meds, not because the pretty, young, resident he had his eye on was looking up at him with doe eyes, asking if she was doing good.

In jack's mind, there was absolutely no way in which his infatuation with you could possibly worsen.

And this had been the truth for the two years in which you'd been at the Pitt.

It all ended on that fateful night.

After 16 hours of continuous work, Jack found himself sharing some beers with the usual crew of the Pitt. it was always a similar bunch, usually gathering after the specifically strenuous shifts that forced them to remain a few hours past the clock.

In this past year or so, you'd become part of that small crew.

Usually, you'd stand by doctor king or doctor santos, flocking towards people your age (which he noted with a pained heart), rarely ever sharing the usual bench with him or even interacting with him past a polite nod of acknowledgement or a 'goodnight' directed at the group in general.

You appeared to be too exhausted after extended shifts, with your body clearly not having grown accustomed to the sudden overtime shifts at the Pitt just yet. you'd slump over on Santos' shoulder, or occasionally stand with an armed linked with Mohan to shift some of your weight onto her.

It was rare for you to speak up or highlight your presence in these occasions. By all intent and purposes, Jack was certain saw you as a shy, reserved type of girl. Sure, you had your moments of vivacity in between procedures, but you were always avoiding his stare, usually docking your face down whenever you were one-on-one with anyone of authority.

So the words that left Santos that particular night had completely blown the breath out of his lungs.

He had spotted that leftover glitter on your cheekbone — how could he not, when his eyes wandered to you during any miniscule lull in his day? Sometimes there were some speckles on your lid, other times hidden on your top lip, but he could have never conjured that this could be the reason as to why it was there.

"Hah, what's with the glitter? This isn't your night job."

Immediately, Jack's ears perked up.

Even in his older age, his mind went straight to the gutter.

With that teasing tone of voice, there was only one thing Santos could have possibly meant by your night job.

Then he looked to you, finding your bambi eyes expanded larger than he'd ever seen them, mortification filling your features as you panicked and blurted out a half-hearted curse to your friend and all but ran off.

Some comments floated around after that, but Jack blocked them out, only really looking after you as you walked away. He pursed his lips in genuine pity, wishing he could run after you — not that you'd want him to, anyway. His leg was settled comfortably on the bench, and putting it on to chivalrously chase after you would've only made things worse for you.

Then Santos spoke again.

"She's not a sex worker, okay? She's a stripper! Now shut up!"

Jack felt like he'd been shot — a comparison he could easily make, since, clearly, he'd actually been shot at before.

His heart rate went off the charts. His knuckles went white as he gripped his beer can, denting it a little in the process. His jaw tensed and teeth clenched. He wasn't sure if any of this was out of empathetic mortification for you, or if it was due to the images of you flashing through his head. You donning a pretty little number, body bathed in glitter as you performed on stage for all the pathetic idiots fishing for just one bit of attention from you.

(It was the latter).

After that, jack was unsure of what to do.

It was silently (or at least, mostly silently) agreed after that that no one was to give you any shit for the news Santos had not-so-graciously delivered about your personal life.

But, of course, as it always is with a gossipy department, a few whispers of when should we make a trip down there? Or small quips of curiosity in regards of your skill level were shared here and there. Jack didn't participate in them, but he was still privy to them all.

Jack avoided your eyes for a few days afterwards, but never once took part in making you feel any sort of way in regards to what had happened — even though his stupid brain kept conjuring the most inappropriate scenes of you every time you so much as crossed his mind.

So, even in spite of how self composed he'd been, he was a little shocked at himself when he found himself mentally adding himself to the list of people getting together to go check out the club you worked at.

(Garcia had gotten the idea in his head, with her nosy and expansive commentary mid surgery about your first sighting at the club. She went on and on about how you danced, what you were wearing, those bambi eyes popping out when you'd spotted Garcia and Santos in the crowd, the way in which you giggled and concealed a shy smile when they insisted on shoving dollar bills in your g string. It was all mindless gossip to her, but an impending heart attack to Jack.)

He hadn't planned it, not really. He'd heard Princess and Ellis discussing some group outing while he stopped by the nurses' station to pick up some charts, something about a girl's night to support one of the girls — not his words. He wasn't trying to be nosy, but to escape gossip at the Pitt was an impossible mission.

He didn't arrive with the little group that had formed, not even fully sure as to who'd be coming. All he had heard was your name and the time and place, and suddenly he was rearranging his schedule to make sure that he was off that night.

Sweat formed at the back of his neck as he stood there. The place seemed a little shadier than he expected, but he had no time to worry about your safety, not when he needed to muster the courage to walk in and put an end to his misery.

He was a little late, so surely he would've missed most of your dance. Perhaps he'd unknowingly orchestrated it as so. Maybe his subconscious was trying to retain the last remains of his sanity.

And so he walked in, steps heavy and a with some faux confidence in them.

-

Santos had been right. It hadn't been that bad.

Situated on a small table towards the left corner of the stage, you saw a familiar bunch huddled together, all with some fruity drink in hand.

Perlah and Princess were obvious attendees, though you were shocked to see Mel and Samira among the group. Trinity had come in order to provide emotional support, bringing along Whitaker and your favorite night shift duo — Ellis and John.

That had been it.

There was no Robby or Langdon or Dana.

And no Abbot.

Would it have been stupid to be weirdly disappointed by his absence?

Part of you had kind of hoped he'd be one of the bunch, but it was a conflicting thought you hadn't entertained much thus far. He was often present in group outings, usually brooding in the back with Robby or silently paying for a few rounds for the younger doctors.

You didn't allow yourself to ponder the thought for too long as you finished your set, shaking the thought out of your head as soon as it'd arrived.

How could you ever possibly want him to see you like this? Your brain was already scrambling as you tried to convince yourself he didn't see you differently after finding out. Everything was jumbled in your head, unsure as to whether you wanted your boss to see you half naked or not.

His demeanor had remained the same, but he was a pretty stoic guy a lot of the time. You couldn't tell left from right when it came to him.

But then the fleeting thought rushed back in once more.

Would he like to see you like this? Would he sit back and watch you work the pole, watch you bend and flip and twirl all around it as your bare skin shone with that cheap body glitter that made your thighs sparkle?

Maybe he'd finally see you in the way you saw him. Maybe that primitive part of him would come out and he'd finally look twice when you passed by. He'd picture the tiny pink lace under your scrubs, would avert his eyes when you caught him looking for a little too long.

But that was all a fantasy.

Because even at the perfect chance to show up, the one time in which it wouldn't have been odd or inappropriate for him to show up with the rest of the crew, he wasn't there.

It was stupid to be disappointed. You had tried to keep this from everyone in your personal life. And now, at the sudden chance to have the man you'd been going crazy over for the past year (and then some) show up and see you like this, you were sad? You were crestfallen and pouting and confused?

But you'd come to be somewhat of a professional at this.

So even when you looked down and did not find that familiar face down there, you still danced to your heart's desire, weirdly happy to have the cat out of the bag and to have your work friends show up to hype you up like this. It was dumb and silly, but you had your fun.

A little over an hour later and you were calling it an early night.

You stopped by the table, now with your robe on as your friends began to leave one by one. You shared some drinks, giggling when a tipsy Princess insisted on giving you all her leftover dollar bills that hadn't made it your way when you were performing.

The last man standing had been Trinity, who was no longer an anxious mess at the thought of having fucked up when she'd blurted out your secret. The shared laughs confirmed that it was all water under the bridge.

"See? That wasn't that bad. They liked it! I think Parker and Princess might've liked it a little too much, though."

You chuckled with a shrug, "Yeah. Wasn't as embarrassing as I thought."

"Aaaand Abbot was a no-show! Told you!"

It was unfortunate that Trinity was just as perceptive even when tipsy, because she did not miss that millisecond in which your disappointment showed on your face.

"Oh, my god- You wanted him to show?"

"Stop!" you shushed her, "It's not- it's not that i wanted him to, it's just..." you paused, "is he really just not interested at all?"

It felt pathetic even as you said it, and Trinity let you know as much.

"That is absolutely pathetic, man. Please pick yourself back up," she said, bluntly, sighing when she noticed your crestfallen demeanor, "Buuuut, maybe he just didn't show because he thought it'd be inappropriate? It doesn't mean he doesn't, you know, want you."

"You think so?"

"Yeah! I mean, even if he showed, how old is he? Like 60? His heart probably couldn't take it anyway."

That got a laugh out of you, shoving trinity lightheartedly.

"It's time I turn in," she paused, "But remember - you could jump any person in that audience and they'd thank you. Don't sell yourself short."

With those last words of wisdom, she lifted two fingers to her forehead and signaled a goodbye to you, leaving you to the more menial aspects of your job.

The disappointment wore off a little as you helped the bartenders clean up the littered napkins and tiny umbrellas scattered all across the floor, but it remained in the back of your head.

Maybe next time.

-

Jack felt like a coward as he stood out there for longer than seemed socially acceptable.

People came and went, some slightly under the influence, stumbling out of the building, others a little too happy for whatever went down in there. Jack immaturely hoped for a similar outcome for himself before mentally slapping the idea away.

She's your resident. She's so much younger. You shouldn't even be here, encroaching on her personal life like this.

But, even then, he stayed there. An hour passed, two, and he continued to lean against his car in the parking lot — an improvement to standing right outside the entrance like a creep.

From his spot in the parking lot, he could somewhat hear the muffled music coming from inside up until it halted altogether. His mind conjured up images of you dancing to the music, of fucking Parker and Shen teasing you as they threw dollar bills in your direction.

Surely that was an image he'd never forget.

That is, if he grew the balls to walk in.

"I've never bought into the whole 'wisdom comes with age' thing, but, you know, for someone so old, you have, like, zero wisdom."

That broke him out of his thoughts.

It was that familiar voice that had landed him in this situation in the first place.

The slight eyeroll couldn't be helped, neither could the sigh, which Santos clearly caught as Jack turned in the direction of the voice as he continued to lean against his car. His leg had started to bother him by then.

"What's that mean?" he nodded towards her.

"You're late," she began, confidence always oozing out of her even as she spoke to a superior, "You've been out here this whole time? thing's kinda over."

"Yeah?"

She nodded, taking a step forward, "Buuuut, I'm sure you could still catch her if you hurry," she paused in some hesitation before continuing, "She, uh, might be happy to see you."

That caught him off guard, and unfortunately his usually suave exterior broke for a second as he stuttered in response, "That- that right?"

Santos now had the upper hand, which she seemed happy to realize.

With pursed lips, she shrugged, hands behind her hips, "Nothing wrong with supporting your coworker in her ... personal endeavors."

Jack was practically useless in conversation by that point, and so Trinity bid a casual goodbye and walked away. Jack stood there, dumbfounded, a ringing in its head making its appearance as he thought about every decision that had somehow landed him there.

Before he could overthink it, he pushed himself off the hood of his car and walked towards the entrance.

Nothing wrong with showing support for a coworker.

-

"I guess I'm late, huh?"

The words made you stop in your tracks. Skin rose on the back of your neck. You were entirely sure that that could not be the voice you thought it was.

But then you turned around and found him. With that same intense stare that you felt was almost only reserved for you.

Suddenly you felt very self-conscious of what you were wearing, of the pleasers that made you five inches taller, of the silk robe riding off slightly at your left shoulder and giving him a pristine view of your lace-covered breast.

Within seconds you straightened yourself up, readjusting your robe and kicking off your heels as you fixed your posture like a soldier with their commanding officer. You felt as if you'd been caught making a mistake at work, overly apologetic to Abbot only to find that he wasn't on his way to scold you.

Due to your silence (and likely your incredibly awkward demeanor), Abbot cleared his throat and spoke again.

"Sorry i couldn't make it- or, not sorry? you probably don't want your attending coming around here, huh?"

You were too much of a deer in headlights to catch the self-conscious shift in his tone, eyes roaming all over him in his casual clothes, taking particular notice of his arms as they folded over his chest.

"Not- not at all," you finally spoke, "Just, maybe a little awkward? Or at least that's how it felt with everyone else ... The rest of the guys seemed to enjoy the show, though."

He hummed, "Too bad I missed it."

"Yeah," you nodded.

Another awkward silence.

"You could, uh- you could come next time, if you want to?"

Shut up. Don't continue that thought.

His eyebrows shot up as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

"Oh?"

"Y-yeah," you swallowed, "If you're free, that is-"

"Yeah," he coughed out, "I'm free."

You hadn't even told him what day yet. Your heart sped up.

"Yeah? You free next Friday night?"

He nodded slowly, breathing in deep through his nose.

You were convinced you'd caught his eyes run up and down your body. It'd been too quick and you'd been too nervous to be sure. but you were a good 80% sure it'd happened. It had you shuddering internally, somewhat annoyed that you'd thrown on the robe at all, that he wasn't looking at you in the pretty set you'd picked for that night.

"Everyone else coming too?"

You halted, "Oh, uhm, no, I don't think-"

"Good," he interrupted, not adding anything more.

It made you gulp.

"Y-yeah. I'll see you on Friday, then?"

He nodded, lips pursed.

"No, kid. I'll see you on Friday."

Again, he nodded in confirmation, a small smile overtaking his lips. Within mere seconds he had gotten the upper hand of the conversation, leaving you an awkward mess and with your skin rising up in goosebumps at the mere thought of him seeing you.

Unlike in every other interaction you'd grown used to having within the four walls of the club, you were awkward, fumbly, nervous and with absolutely zero game. Trinity would laugh in your face.

Those sultry eyes you were expected to throw at patrons were replaced by saucers, and your confident body language turned into you embarrassingly wanting to rub your thighs together at the confidence in which Jack Abbot had managed to secure a one-on-one with you in your panties.

You said goodbye in return, awkwardly stumbling over your words again as he winked at you on his way out.

All gravity almost left you as soon as he left, legs jelly and breath muted.

You were going to crash and burn come next Friday.

-

A few days passed and Jack was going out of his mind.

He couldn't stop thinking about that night at your club. Of the uncovered skin of your chest, your hair undone, your glossy lips, the slight sheen of sweat on your skin. Every small detail drove him insane.

All that faux confidence had left him as soon as he'd left your eyeline. His heart had been going a mile a minute the moment he walked into the place, reaching a worryingly high heart rate at those bambi eyes staring up at him like he'd caught you with a hand in the cookie jar.

The conflict in his mind between the sexy lingerie he'd gotten a peek of and those innocent eyes staring up at him stirred endlessly from the moment in which he'd bid you goodbye.

He hadn't meant to be too forward, but this had felt like his one chance, and with it he'd somehow signed his death sentence for next Friday.

Ss the days passed, the two of you worked as if nothing had happened whenever your schedules overlapped.

You were still the shy resident who'd squeak whenever caught off guard by him, messing with his poor heart at every turn. You'd share these looks sometimes. Looks that spoke of the anticipation you both felt for what was to come.

And as unsure as he felt about crossing that boundary (and as ashamed as he felt to admit it), this felt like some tricky, painful, extended sort of foreplay that was bursting at the seams.

In bed, he could feel his body itch as he attempted to find sleep. And at night, as he worked, he was constantly on alert at the possibility of your schedules overlapping and having to meet your eyes. You'd undone him without much effort. He couldn't imagine what would happen once he finally saw you on that stage.

Truly, he had no idea what he was doing. He knew he wanted you, but didn't know how to go about it like an adult. Instead, he seemingly opted for what he could probably label as voyeurism.

Because, really, what made him any better than the other rowdy, middle aged men vying for your attention as you worked a pole on stage?

Luckily Jack was used to this constant guilt, this endless turmoil in his mind. The self-depreciation wasn't new, either. It was just a little more glaring any time he'd think of you.

After endless thoughts of you under the pink and purple hues of the club, the days passed and jack finally found himself on the day of his impending doom.

Maybe he was being a tad dramatic about it all. But as soon as he stepped foot in that club during his working hours he came to realize that maybe he would've felt justified in being even more dramatic. His heart felt like it was about to give out.

You hadn't worked that day, clearly. He had opted for half a shift, knowing he'd have gone crazy if he stayed home all day but still wanting to ensure he made more than enough time for your...

Appointment? Date? Meeting? They all sounded either clandestine or suggestive.

He'd tried telling Robby about the whole thing. To try and alleviate some of the weight the whole thing carried. It had proved futile, though, and frankly a little predictable.

"You're- you're actually going? Alone? Isn't that a little... questionable?"

Inappropriate would be a better word for it, yeah.

The words were spoken with an annoying edge of shock and mockery. Jack couldn't say he appreciated them much.

"Hope you know what you're doing, brother."

That was as much reassurance as Jack was going to get from Robby on the matter. It was enough for a man already convinced of stepping into the fire.

When the time came for Jack to step foot in that place, the speed of his heart made him certain that he was on his way to cardiac arrest. The booming music coming from the building and the scent of alcohol mixed with smoke warned him to walk away, but the thought of finding you in there was enough to drive those thoughts away.

The first thing he saw as he walked in was the center stage. It was divided into three, parting towards the left, right and middle. On each flank was a stripper engaging with two or three men perched front row of each respective extension to the stage.

Next thing he saw were small tables scattered all around the place. Some were empty, others had one or two people enjoying a drink, while others were pushed away from the high chairs in favor of making space for a man, his lap, and a stripper sat on it.

He felt out of his depth.

Strip clubs had never been his thing. He held no judgement for the women who made a living inside them, but having gotten married straight out of college, this was just not a lifestyle he had ever engaged with.

After losing his wife, women were something he'd somewhat sworn off. This was the last place he'd ever expected to find himself at this stage of his life. Much less did he imagine ending up here due to the inappropriate work crush he'd fostered on the shy little resident he'd been trying to poach into joining the night shift for the past year.

You were nowhere to be found, and, to be frank, he was a little scared to make eye contact with anyone, lest they believe he's looking for a lap dance.

Jack Abbot and avoidance of eye contact were not two things that went together, he was well aware.

But his wavering confidence would only continue to build up through the night.

It took him a few minutes of wandering around in amazement and confusion until he eventually landed himself on an empty table somewhere near the back. You were bound to show up on stage eventually, right?

Seeing the other girls' performances made his palms sweat.

Would you be doing the same thing? Was he about to witness you in tassels, rhinestones, lace?

Would you sway your hips full of confidence as you marched your way to the pole? Would your muscles contract at the effort needed to swirl around it as you stared him out like a predator did its prey?

His questions only went unanswered for about ten minutes as the curtains connecting the stage to what jack could only assume was your dressing room suddenly flew open.

St the head of the stage, you popped up, standing tall and proud, and completely different from what he'd grown used to seeing all those shifts he'd shared with you these past couple of years.

Your every step was heavy and confident, heels clicking against the shiny floor of the stage. With your hands laid on your hips, your hips swayed seductively, achieving the goal of drawing in every pair of pathetic eyes drooling over you in the audience — Jack included.

Your skin was adorned by baby pink lace, legs, arms, and chest shining under the purple and pink hues of the club. Every inch of you was bare and open for his perverted enjoyment. The lace stuck to your skin and gave him a perfect view of your silhouette. He felt thirst invade his being.

Unable to take his eyes off you, Jack found himself sitting up on his seat, back leaving its recline as his body slowly began to gravitate from his seat into a fully standing position. He was like a moth to a flame, immediately affected by your magnetizing effect.

Every step was mocking torture. He knew his demise was nearing at every step that drew you closer and closer to the edge of the extended stage, where you'd grab onto that pole and finish him off.

He was unable to pay attention to the server who'd stopped by asking him if he'd like a drink, too enthralled by you to do anything more than wave them away.

By the time your manicured hand made its way to the pole, your eyes found his by chance.

There was a millisecond of surprise before that confident vixen consumed you once more. Jack couldn't help but gulp at that look in your eye. The balance shifted immediately. He was no longer your attending, but prey ready to be consumed.

He could have sworn he blacked out for your performance, falling back on his seat the moment you began to wrap your legs around the metal and swirled around it with expertise he never imagined you'd have.

Your every move was life-ruining for Jack. Pathetically, he regretted not camping outside that door waiting for the moment the doors flew open in order to stand a chance at a seat front and center to your show. There was bile forming in his stomach at the sight of every other man eyeing you down, being able to see you up close and throw their unworthy bills in your direction.

Jack thought to himself for a fleeting moment — I'd give you everything. All the money you need. I'd shove it in your purse while you showered in my bathroom. I'd deposit it into your bank account. I'd trap it in the hem of your panties as I watched you dance for me.

Shaking those thought away, he continued to watch you, rendered completely immobile by what he was seeing. The softness of your outfit (or lack thereof) made him dizzy. He ached to run his hand through the delicate lace, to softly snap the bra strap on your shoulder and have you whine his name in return.

He felt sick with desire, something he'd never experienced before. The culmination of feelings he already had towards you — the protectiveness, the adoration, the admiration, the infatuation — fought against the intensity of the lust he that was blossoming inside him. It was always there, but to have it swell, inflamed and threatening to burst made him lightheaded.

Every so often your eyes would find his. You'd send a little kiss his way, or a cheeky wink. Jack's heart boomed out of his chest at every instance.

After what felt like hours, you leaned down to gather all the loose bills men had ready for you, regaining that girlish and innocent air you always had as your performance ended. It was as if you'd been possessed, making your way back to your usual persona as soon as your set ended.

Jack had to brace himself for what he knew was coming. His hands felt clammy and his shirt began to stick to his skin. He had ascended and been brought back down multiple times within those short minutes. He needed to gain his cool back.

But then you walked over, smile shy and eyes giddy.

It was that same look you always had any time he'd call your name for a fun procedure. Even as you walked towards him (no longer swaying your hips in that torturous manner), draped in seductive lace and makeup that could make a man drop dead, he still saw that pretty girl he'd first fallen for.

Your eyes wandered away from his as you stopped at his table with a meek, "Hi."

"Hey," he started, not as smooth as he'd hoped, "That was... some performance."

The way you flushed was a visible, lips turning up in a shy smile.

"Yeah? you liked it?"

"I don't think it'd be appropriate for me to answer that question."

"No? Is your response not family-friendly, then?"

The banter was somewhat new. Back at work, you'd occasionally engage with his back and forth, but you weren't too receptive of it. He knew you were capable of it, as he'd heard you go at it with Santos every other day, but when it came to your superiors (or maybe him in particular), you were more meek.

Maybe it had to do with the way his eyes couldn't find yours. Perhaps you'd noticed the hard time he was having keeping them away from the bare skin he'd been salivating over just a few moments ago. And maybe that was why despite your usual shyness, he still saw some newfound confidence in how you spoke to him.

But two could play at that game.

(Or at least he'd try his hardest to regain the upper hand in order to properly flirt with you. It was the least he could do).

"Why don't you sit and I can tell you all my thoughts?"

Your face morphed from flirtatious to that bashful smile he was so used to seeing. With your eyes timidly downturned, you chuckled as you shook your head.

"As much as I'm sure we'd both enjoy that, I'll get reprimanded," your lips came into a straight line, nose scrunching a bit, "However," you let it drag a bit, "I have a better idea."

At that, you looked around you to see if there was anyone nearby before turning back to him with a smile.

"C'mon," you extended your hand towards his, "The couches are far more comfortable, and I know you've probably been on your feet all day."

He chuckled and took your hand, trying to ignore how sweaty his had been mere minutes prior, "Only took half a shift today. had an important... appointment with someone today."

"Appointment?" you asked, "That's an interesting choice of words, doctor," you spoke as he let you drag him towards the far end of the room.

"Don't wanna test my luck, that's all."

Once you'd made it to the booths, you led him to a worn couch next to a detachable table. Based on some of the other men on the couches, they seemed like the perfect spot in which to get some special attention from the dancers. Jack tried to not let his mind head that way, not wanting to test his luck and all that.

He sat down, comfortably leaning against the couch as you took the spot next to him. Rather than sit normally, you opted to sit on your knees, feet off the floor and body turned towards his own. It had him doing a double take, but he could only assume you weren't allowed to just casually sit unless you were entertaining a patron.

"Feeling lucky, Abbot?"

The added confidence in your cadence was really doing him in. He'd grown so used to your eyes fleeting away from his any time he found you looking his way, looking away if his attention landed on you. There was still a bit of that, but you were firing back. His flirtation was met with reciprocation and he was finding himself at a loss.

"After that performance any man would be lucky to have your attention."

Maybe it was too pointed, but you were so close, and your perfume was beginning to reach and penetrate his pores. The shine of your skin made it impossible to look away, as did the plush of your skin accentuated by the tight lingerie failing at properly concealing the most enticing parts of your body.

Those words seemed to reach a little deeper, and so you chuckled again, shaking your head.

"I'm sure you say that to all strippers."

It was deflection. He could've doubled down with how much seeing you up there — how much having you sat next to him with all your focus solely on him — made him lightheaded and stupid. But he wanted to drag the night as long as possible. He was willing to empty out his bank account if it meant you could sit there and talk to him all night.

He didn't need any funny business with you (as much as every bone in his body was aching for it). He just wanted to get his fill of looking at you, of getting this confident version of you to respond to his flirting, giving him at least some false hope that his infatuation wasn't purely one-sided.

And so he talked. Flirtatious comments came and went. The spaces in between were filled by talking about work, by joking about your weird schedules, your odd hobbies and how you both kept to yourselves in that regard. It was nice, tame, until a charged comment would suddenly pop up in the interim.

"I'm gonna get in trouble if I keep slacking off with you, Doctor Abbot," you said after a while.

Your voice had morphed over the course of your conversation. It was smooth and carried an air of seduction even if what you were saying was completely innocent in nature. Jack was losing his mind.

"Wouldn't want that, would we?"

You shook your head, eyes on his and a satisfied smile on your lips.

"But i think I have an easy fix for that."

That piqued his interest, though his poor heart began to speed up again.

Before he could come up with some flirtatious, yet ambiguous response, you were suddenly pushing his shoulder back, forcing him to recline against the plush of the leather couch and dragging your leg over his, easily straddling his thighs.

Your weight above him made him dizzy. His arms laid limp on his sides, fingers flexing with restraint. He absolutely could not touch you or he'd lose any remaining sanity. It was the one rule at strip clubs — hands off the strippers. It was the most torturous exercise on restraint he'd ever overgone. even if your hips were begging to have his fingers dig into the perfect skin.

A floral scent that had been floating around began to completely overtake him at your newfound closeness. He wasn't sure if it was your perfume or shampoo, or maybe whatever body oil you had on that gave your skin that extra sheen.

"This okay?" you asked at the sudden proximity, "Need to make it seem like I'm working."

Before he could stumble upon a response, you leaned in closer, lips gracing his ear.

"I can touch, but you can't, okay? Don't wanna look suspicious," you whispered, "Don't wanna be sent away to dance for some other guy."

It made him irrationally frustrated to hear of that possibility.

"More than okay," he huffed out.

"You sure? you seem a little tense."

Your nose dragged up his jaw, making him shudder. You weren't fully on him, but rather hovering above him. Your weight laid on your knees, leaving some space between his crotch and your own. The itch to pull you down internally clawed at him.

"Yeah, tense's one word for it."

Once you'd gotten your feel of making the skin of his neck rise in goosebumps, your lips trailed at his cheek, now facing him. Some distance remained between your faces, but not enough for it to be considered appropriate.

"This is weird, right?" you smiled, bashful again, "This is probably not the impression you had of me at work."

He chuckled, fingers digging into the couch beneath him, "Can't say that it was. It's a welcome surprise, though."

You hummed in affirmation before taking in a breath. There was a small glimpse of uncertainty in your eyes.

"So... you're not disappointed?" you began, rephrasing, "I mean... you don't think less of me?"

This caused him to draw his head back slightly. He needed to look at you properly.

And when he did, he found those same eyes that looked to him with worry any time you were certain you'd messed up. It was like you were waiting for the other shoe to drop, to be either objectified or scolded by the man who'd just been melting under you mere seconds ago.

"Kid," he shook his head in disbelief, "you're an adult, and you can do anything you want. Don't let anyone ever try and judge your choices when-"

"No, no, I- I know, I just- I want to know what you think."

That took him by surprise. It also arose a million questions in his mind.

Did you think he was that much of a hardass? That he wouldn't support anything you did, just because it was you doing it? Did you care this much for his opinion?

"Nothing you could do would disappoint me."

Seemingly working your way through a half-formed thought, your mouth shut back up before you could even begin. You gave him those eyes that were always causing him problems back at work. The eyes that held way too much admiration for someone as troubled as him.

You didn't say anything in response. Instead, your hand left his shoulder, reaching up to his cheek and tracing it as you looked down at him with your bottom lip jutting out.

Tucking at a stray curl that always formed next to his ear, you let the moment of fondness pass as soon as it began, smiling down at him once more.

"So, think you'll come again?"

Just like that, the mood shifted to lighthearted flirtation once more. your new normal.

"I'll be front row, kid."

-

A few weeks passed and Abbot kept up with his promise.

Well, maybe he wasn't front row, but he made it in time to see you up on stage doing your short little number twice a week.

It was unfortunate your schedules overlapped so much. He would've stood outside waiting to be let in every other night otherwise.

Every other meeting went just like the first one. They were all held under the pretense of curious innocence. Like ice slowly melting, never going further than tame flirtation.

The suggestive surroundings created an added element of heat that Jack couldn't overlook, but he tried his best. it only became harder when you'd come to sit on his lap, claiming the usual excuse of convenience so you could talk to him without getting reprimanded.

But was it necessary for your lips to trace his neck? For your fingers to play with the hair on his nape? For your breath to fan on his ear?

He'd grown used to the weight of your body on his lap. It was something he couldn't handle losing after just a few times of feeling it.

But despite that, he'd still discourage you wasting your time at the club entertaining him when you could be making money on another man's lap (though the thought killed him). It felt inappropriate to pay you himself, to encourage you to do more than just pretend to keep him busy and entertained, and so he kept his hands to his sides and simply pretended he was like one of the many other men.

And sometimes he felt that maybe he was just that.

But then one of your coworkers would call your name as you sat on his lap mid conversation, telling you that one of the 'big-spenders' was lonely in one of the private rooms, and you'd just give them a look that sent them on their way, one that told them you were busy with something more important.

Jack never questioned this. he simply enjoyed that it meant he could spend just a little longer with you on his lap.

Back at work, no word of these meetings was spoken.

A few looks were shared, a few sheepish smiles and silent agreements that yes, you'd be seeing each other in just a few hours. But nothing further was ever even suggested.

It was your little secret.

It gave Jack an extra edge to his life. The adrenaline spike your meetings gave him rivaled those at his shifts with SWAT.

He never got used to seeing you walk his way, to seeing the sway of your hips as you finished your set and made your way straight to him.

There was no longer any small talk before you were dragging him to a couch and settling on his lap. Your hands got more and more curious every time, though they always remained caressing his jaw and hair, never wandering southern of his neck.

And every passing day, he was growing sicker with want.

Tonight things played out slightly different.

The confident sway of your hips remained, as did the satisfied smile upon seeing the way he tried to subtly eye you up and down as you approached him.

The dragging to a couch in the back of the room was missing. Instead, you led him in a different direction, not speaking a word until you were behind a closed curtain, inside a tiny room that had a couch identical to those outside, just slightly less worn.

There, you parroted your usual moves, guiding him into his seat, but turning back to secure the curtains closed before heading back in his direction.

His heart was going a mile a minute. The velvety walls of the room felt suggestive in nature. The darkened hue of magenta filling up the space reflected perfectly on your skin, making jack gulp against his will.

You donned a burgundy set today. It was tasseled, under the false pretense of covering a little more than usual. Your every move caused the tassels to sway, giving him an eyeful of every curve he ached to touch, bite, lick.

"I thought a change of scenery would be nice."

You broke the silence, once again torturing him with that sway of hips as you sat on his lap again.

— Which was completely unnecessary. No one could see you. There was no need to assimilate, to act as if he was a client. You were alone. Jack didn't voice any complaint.

"Careful, you'll make me think I'm special."

You clicked your tongue, leaning into his ear.

"You are special, Doctor Abbot," you whispered hotly before pulling back and looking into his eyes, "And since we're alone... I thought I'd give a little more special treatment this time around."

Jack's throat went dry. His arms flexed at his sides. His body burned with unchecked desire. He'd been aching since the first time he saw you.

Without any other words, your hands guided his onto your hips, forceful as you made sure he gripped at the bare skin. The tassels tickled at him when his hands went under them.

"Kid..."

"I've never done this before," you began, but your voice remained sultry, "Take a guy back here, let him touch me."

As you spoke, your eyes panned down to his lips, making him lick them absentmindedly.

The gloss on your lips looked so enticing to him, he couldn't help but let his eyes wander as well.

"I usually do a few dances and call it a night. But I've been putting that off these past few weeks."

This time, your weight laid fully on his lap. There were only a few layers of separation between the hardness forming under his jeans and the softness of your-

"I can't focus with you in the room," you continued, "I can't entertain any other man when you're here."

Every word was breathless, and your eyes had lost any sense of subtlety, now fully focused on his lips. Noses bumped, hands reached new places. It was all too heavy for him to handle.

Jack was practically panting by then. Your breaths intermingled. Even your breath had him going dizzy.

"It was bad enough that I couldn't focus at work, and now... now I can't think unless it's your lap I'm sitting on."

"Baby," he moaned.

He couldn't help it. Not when you were so deliciously close. Your lips were a mere inch away from his. and any time he tilted his chin just a tiny bit closer, you'd inch away, forcing him to uselessly chase you.

"I couldn't touch you out there," you breathed out, bottom lip jutted out, almost touching his own, "Cause then I wouldn't be able to stop."

Greedy hands went up and down the bare skin of your back. Every so often they'd land back on your hips, pulling you inhumanly closer, silent in their plea for you to use him. he'd take anything you gave him.

Jack had never felt such desperation in his life. Sweat trickled down his brow, and a small whine threatened to leave his lips. His body pathetically arched towards yours. he was utterly fucked.

"I need you to touch me, Jack."

Jack.

It was always abbot, doctor, sir, never Jack.

It sounded like music coming from your lips.

But, still, he shook his head. his body acted against his needs. For some reason he needed to retain the very last bit of decorum that remained between you.

"I don't know if that's a good idea."

Shaking your head, you refused to listen to those words. Leaning in closer, your tongue peeked out of your lips, teasingly swiping at his lower lip. It was so quick anyone who'd seen it would've missed it. But to Jack it felt like someone had lit him on fire.

"Want you so bad, Jack," you all but moaned, "You've already had me on your lap so many times. Why keep pretending?"

Jack's hands squeezed your hips, stumbling over a response.

Again, you leaned in close. Your lips graced his.

"Kiss me, Jack."

Jack broke, taking the plunge and pressing his lips to yours.

There was nothing accidental or subtle about your first kiss.

Swallowing his groan, you pulled him closer, fingers running through his curls and pulling softly. Your mouths were open, tongues seeking out one other and puffs of breath being shared between you. He could feel your eyes flutter at the intensity of the kiss.

His hands could not find a landing spot. They squeezed at your hips, pulled you closer before running back up the length of your back and tangling in your hair, keeping you hostage in his kiss.

You'd lick into the roof of his mouth, drawing him in, making it torture to even think of pulling away. Your every sigh landed on his lips. Jack couldn't help but grunt at every flick of your tongue against his.

Within seconds of that first, animalistic kiss, your hips began to move against his. It was subtle at first, just a simple sway of your hips into his own. It caused an immediate reaction in him, making him draw a deep breath against your lips and pull you even closer.

The lack of fabric in your lingerie made it so it was just his clothes that remained an obstacle between you. It seemed to bother you pretty quickly into the kiss, as your hands began to paw at his shirt, dragging it up so you could feel at his abdomen.

Your hands were anything but shy, feeling him up like you were trying to meld into his skin. He couldn't blame you. Not when his own hands had been molding you against him, feeling every delicious curve available to him.

After some moments, he reached behind him to pull his shirt off all the way, not missing the tiny mewl you released against his lips at the short moment of separation between his hands from your body. Also gone unmissed was the pout you gave him when your lips separated for the first time.

A second kiss took place just a few moments later, only slightly delayed when you took a moment to eye his naked torso. There was lust in your eyes that made Jack shudder internally. Was that how he'd been looking at you every time you approached him with a new set of life-ruining lingerie?

Again, your hands went up to his chest, hands digging against his pecs. Scratching softly while your tongue attempted to fuck his mouth. He was delirious.

"Yeah, baby, scratch my chest. Just like that..."

That got a reaction out of you. It made you moan, It made you seek out his tongue, trap it in between your lips and suction. Your manicured nails dragged down his chest a little harder now, eventually finding his nipples and rolling. He could do nothing but pull you closer, groan into your lips, rock his hips upward and into yours with a newfound desperation.

"Jack," you sighed out as you pulled away. his lips followed yours, kissing you chastely a few times, "Want you to touch me more."

His hands had been up and down your torso, stuck to your ass and tits, but he hadn't wandered where he knew he'd find the drenched center that had already been dampening his jeans. He knew that the moment he felt you, there'd be no turning back. He'd want to come back again and again, beg you to pull him back here, to say fuck all to your job and let him take you in this tiny room every night. He'd change to days if it meant he could have this every night instead.

But that was too much to drop on you all at once.

Instead, he kissed you again, twirling his tongue in yours before his hand made its way between your bodies.

A full-body shudder overtook him when he reached that crook between your legs. The tiny thong hid nothing, trapped between your lips after all that grinding. Tracing the string with his fingers, a trail of wetness became trapped on his fingers.

He rubbed at you, tracing his way to your clit and circling at the swollen nub. It was begging for his attention, making you cry out at the lightest of touches.

You sighed his name right against his ear. Your hand dug into the skin of his shoulders, gripping onto the muscle as he circled mercilessly at your clit.

It started off slow, calculated, following a particular rhythm that had your eyes crossing. And once he got his fill of your pretty whines of his name, your incoherent pleas for more, he finally sped up, torturing your clit further.

"It's so wet, baby. All for me?"

You nodded pathetically, mouth open, lips gracing the shell of his ear, breath heavy.

Eventually his fingers reached further back, finding your opening. After one finger went another, squeezing into the tight fit of your cunt. It made his mouth water, to think of that pretty pussy weeping around him, unable to take him, too tiny, too tight for him.

You humped at his hand mindlessly, and he let you. He laid his palm flat as he fingered you, letting you rub that aching clit against his palm in the pursue of pleasure.

"Feels so good, Jack. Gonna make me come," you whimpered.

And as much as he wanted to have you shake and cry on his lap, to dig your nails so deep down his back that it scarred, he needed the first time he made you come to be with him, on his dick.

—And maybe also because he was so weak for you, so weak of mind and body that he could already feel his peak threatening to drag him under.

When he stopped his movements, you cried out, continuing to hump at his hand like a bunny in heat. it only served to break him further.

"Jack, fuck me- I'm begging you, please."

Nothing could've taken his breath away like those words. Those breathy, desperate words whined right into his lips. It took a herculean effort not to lose himself at that moment, not to grab you and bend you over and have his animalistic way with you. He wanted to. so badly.

"I'll give you anything you want, baby, you know that," he sighed out, brain completely melted, "I'll fuck you," he nodded to you, a little patronizing, a little dizzy with desire, "I'll take give it to you, baby."

You kissed him again, shamelessly moaning into his lips and going back to humping his bulge. His hands gripped at your ass, pushing you against him, desperate for the friction despite feeling like he was about to explode. You were the most delicious thing he'd ever had on his lap. he was desperate to have you.

Whining into his lips, you went to undo his belt, fidgety and all over the place. He could've helped you out, but he grew distracted as his lips trailed a path down your neck, suckling at skin without any thought in mind other than how good you smelled, how soft your skin was. There was no thought to all the marks he'd end up leaving behind.

When he finally reached your breasts, you'd finally undone his belt and unzipped his pants. He grunted as he lifted his hips and lowered his pants and boxers just enough to give you full access to his dick. You took hold of it just as his lips reached your breasts, fingers easily pushing your bra aside in order to have his fill of you.

He groaned against your tit, nibbling and pulling at your nipple with his tit as you wrapped your hand around him.

"Hnng- ffuck, you're so big, Jack," you panted out, one hand on his dick and another dug deep into his curls, keeping him attached to your breast, "It's not gonna fit."

There was a pout in your voice, he could tell as much. The words had their intended effect on him, making him fuck into your fist just once.

Yeah, it was gonna be a tight squeeze. It was gonna be so excruciatingly tight he ran the risk of cumming within ten seconds of your cunt suffocating him. But fuck if he wasn't going to drag your pussy up and down his cock.

He voiced as much to you.

"But this pussy's gonna take it. right, baby?" His lips trailed their way back up your neck, finding the shell of your ear. Your head tilted away, begging that he press his lips to your skin again, "Hmm? This perfect pussy's gonna take my cock, isn't it? That's what you've been wanting, sweetheart? A big cock in this tiny pussy?"

You fisted at him harder, faster. One hand clawed at his back, surely leaving marks over the ones you'd already left behind.

"J-jack, please— Need it so bad- been thinking about it for so long..."

He took over for you, nudging you so you'd raise your hips a little and taking a hold of his dick. Taking advantage of the angle, he circled his tip against your puffy clit. it was still begging for his attention.

It only made you whine some more. The music from the club drowned out the sound to anyone who may have been outside. but, then again, these sounds were not foreign between these walls.

"Yeah? How long, baby, tell me."

He was torturing himself. Getting the tip in, he swallowed back a groan at the tight fit. It was so warm and wet. It was heaven.

You sobbed out. You were a mess. Some eyeliner pooled under your eyes. The glitter on your cheek was damp with sweat. You were just as fucked up as him.

"Since- since I met you— couldn't get you out of my head. Want you so bad, Jack-" you gasped, feeling him bury himself a little deeper, "Need- need you so much- I'll be so good, baby, I promise-"

Finally, he buried himself all the way in. He knew in that moment he could never look at you the same. You'd broken him down night by night, torturing him with a new little set every time, making his imagination run wild with pictures of his fingers pulling at the delicate strings, at fantasies of bending you over one of those worn out couches and fucking you stupid.

And now he had you sobbing on his lap, grinding against him, using his body like there was no shame left in you.

His head rolled back to the cushion of the couch, hands gripping your hips unforgivingly as you fucked yourself on him. His hips followed yours, matching your rhythm, making you throw your head back in pleasure.

You shone perfectly under the fluorescent lights of the room. Your makeup was a little runny and your hair a little messy, but you still looked like a fucking dream. He couldn't believe he had such a pretty thing going crazy on his cock. The thought alone made him rock his hips harder against you.

Despite the discomfort, he put his weight on his feet, humping you like an animal in heat. The faster he went, the more cries of his name that left your lips. it felt like sustenance to him.

"Feel good, sweetheart? Huh? Tell me- tell me how good it is-"

"S-so good, Jackie- hnng- gonna come for you- gonna— J-jack, ffffuck-"

It drove him crazy. He needed more of you. He needed to die buried in you.

With one hand, he pulled your head in his direction, fingers gripping at your hair before slipping to the angle of your jaw. There, he held you in place, licking lazily at your lips as you continued to cry his name.

"Mouth open for me, baby. Tongue out- yeah, like that, gorgeous."

The kiss was absolutely nasty, but Jack couldn't help himself when it came to you. His tongue licked at yours, and like the obedient girl you were, you let him have his fill. He licked into your mouth, swallowing every tiny gasp when his hips drove into that perfect spot in your cunt.

When you came, you finally pulled away, stuttering a series of gasps of his name as your nails clawed down his back one last time.

He kept on fucking you, eyes clamped shut in pleasure. Your sounds continued spurring him on as he reached his peak. Your voice whispered in his ear seductively, almost making him lose his balance in the process—

"Inside- 'm on birth control. Come inside, please-"

Jack's eyes rolled back as he finally let go with a pained groan and one last thrust. His body deflated on the couch as he buried himself as deep as humanly possible, filling you up with everything he had to give. Atop him, your hands continued to run through his hair, adding that extra layer of pleasure for him.

Dome silence followed, though the music continued to sound off in the background. Your heavy breaths took up most of the sound in the small room.

"Jesus Christ, kid," he panted out, hands still intermittently squeezing at your hips, "I really hope you're not doing that to every guy you give a lap dance to," he chuckled, breathless.

You carded your hand through his hair, frowning jokingly at him.

"Told you I was giving you special treatment."

"'Special''s damn right."

More silence ensued; comfortable silence. Your bodies relocated slightly, with you still on his lap but cuddled up against him and him no longer hard. It was comfortable, even somewhat domestic. Every so often you'd kiss at his skin or him at yours. It was more than clear that this was no spur of the moment thing, that he was far more than any other man who'd ever walked through these walls.

Then you broke the silence once more.

"Remind me to thank Trinity for her big mouth."

Jack laughed under you, nudging you under his chin, kissing your hair chastely.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing,” you breath, “but my boyfriend is going to be here any minute,”

“Is that right?” He says, voice dripping with desire as he looks down at your mouth, “what was he thinking? Leaving a pretty girl like you all helpless and alone?” He drags his gloved fingers down the neckline of your shirt. 

“Please… don’t hurt me…” you say, taking your bottom lip between your teeth as he begins unbuttoning the front of your shirt. “I’ll do anything you want,”

“Anything…?” You can hear the smile in his voice. You nod, staring into his brown, puppy-dog eyes. He rips the remaining buttons off the front of your shirt, pulling it off you then pushing your skirt down your legs leaving you in your bra and panties. He pulls a silk scarf from his pocket tying your hands behind your back.

“Get on your knees.” He says in a gruff voice. You drop down as he unbuckles his belt pushing his underwear and pants down his thick thighs. He takes his hard cock in one gloved hand and your face in the other, he taps the pink tip against your lips, “open.”

You part your lips as he takes your jaw in both hands, pushing himself slowly to the back of your throat.

“Oh, fuck,” Andrew’s head drops back as he moans, feeling you swallow against him, your nose brushing against his pelvis. You bob your head around the base of his cock before pulling up inch by inch sucking hard. You release him with a pop before looking up at him through your dark lashes, keeping eye contact as you lean forward and take his pink tip between your lips and he whimpers at the sight. You make pathetic, wet choking sounds as he pumps his dick past your pink lips over and over.

Andrew bites down on his gloved palm watching you on your knees with his dick in your mouth. Your cheeks are flushed and your lips are swollen, pieces of hair fall over your face and he reaches forward, tucking the strands behind your ear. You let out a small breath and hum around his cock closing your eyes and taking him deeper into your mouth. You gag as you push him further down your throat squeezing your thighs together, he groans at the sight.

“You when I fuck mouth?” He says through gritted teeth, “Huh? Does it make your little pussy wet to choke on my cock?”

You moan around his shaft in affirmation, looking up at him through your dark lashes as he grips the back of your head. You look so beautiful with his cock between your lips. You pull back with a gasp, his dick bouncing up against his stomach, and suck his balls into your mouth… his whole body shivers. He brings his hand to the base of his cock, tugging and twisting on his shaft as you lick and suck on his balls.

“Oh fuck,” he groans, taking you by the throat and pulling you up to your feet. You flex your hands behind your back aching to touch him as he pushes you back towards your bed. Stopping at the foot he reaches behind you and unties your hands, thinking he’s decided to let you touch him, you reach for him before he grips down on your wrists again.

“No touching,” He says in a deep voice. He pushes you back onto the bed where you land with a bounce. You watch him peel his tight black t-shirt off his sculpted body before pushing his pants and boxers down, stepping out of them. He crawls over you, balaclava still obscuring his handsome face. You keep your hands by your sides like you’d been told to but you want to pull the black fabric off and kiss him so badly it hurts. He reaches underneath you, unclipping your bra and pulling it off you before taking your wrists in his hands again, tying them to the headboard.

He drags his hands down your body, pinching your nipples between his black latex covered fingers. He shifts down the bed so his face is right above your covered pussy and yanks off your panties exposing you to him. He pushes your thighs apart and just stares at your glistening core for a moment before letting out a long breath. He runs a hand up your thigh, the glove smooth against your skin. He rests his thumb on your clit and starts to make slow aching circles on you. You let out a breathy moan at the feeling of the latex against your pussy, trying to shift your hips up. He puts his arm across your waist holding you down and he slides one thick finger inside your entrance.

“Mmm, fuck,” you whimper as he slowly pumps in and out of you, curling his fingers up and rubbing to press against your front wall. You roll your hips down on his hand as you pull against the blinds that hold you in place. He presses his palm against your clit rubbing it up and down as he rubs his fingers inside you over and over. You squeak out a moan and he flicks his up from the creamy white ring you’re making on the base of the black gloves. Andrew lets out a low groan at the sight of you, back arching off the bed, your nipples pink and hard, your cheeks flushed, and your mouth open. He knows your body so well for can feel your orgasm coiling inside you. He keeps teasing your clit, shaking his hand from left to right, rubbing little ovals on you, making you squirm.

“You wanna come on my fingers?” He rasps through the balaclava. 

“Yeah,” you whine, gripping down on your headboard, “please… can I come for you?”

Andrew groans as your desperation torn between keeping up with this intruder fantasy and ripping off his mask and devouring your pussy with his tongue.

“Come for me,” he growls, your hips jerk up against his arm and he drills his fingers in you over and over feeling your pussy spasm around his hand as you fall apart for him. He keeps pumping into you slowly as you come down from your orgasm, your legs trembling and your breath jagged. He crawls up your body, shoving his fingers in your mouth, the taste of your cum and the plasticy glove on your tongue. You moan around his fingers sucking on them hard as he watches you with devotion.

He can’t wait any longer, pulling his fingers out of your mouth, gripping the base of his cock, and rubbing the pink tip over your swollen pussy.

“Please,” you whine and he smirks under the mask before pushing into you slowly. Your eyes squeeze shut and your head rolls back at the sensation of his fat cock stretching you out. He grips your jaw forcing your chin down.

“Eyes on me,” he growls and you force your eyes open, brows furrowed in pleasure. He pulls his hips back, the thick veins of his cock catching on your sticky walls making you both whine. He bends over you and snaps his hips forward hard, making your tits bounce at the force of his thrust while you let out a pathetic moan. 

“Andrew,” you whimper before you lean up and place a kiss on his covered lips. The sound of his name in your voice, the tease of your kiss on his lips… he loses it. He rips the mask off, curls wild, eyes wilder, untying your wrists and takes your face in his hands kissing you hard. Andrew fucks into you at a brutal pace as he slips his tongue in your mouth licking on your soft lips, swallowing all the desperate sounds you make for him as you drag your nails down his back.

“Your pussy is so fucking perfect,” He groans agasint your mouth, “fuck, I love you,”

“Andrew- I-” you squeak out as he drives his cock into you over and over, his perfect lips now on your neck “love you,” you manage to get out and he smiles against your throat. He sits back on his knees, hooking your legs around his waist, peeling off his black latex gloves, gripping your hip with one hand, rubbing tight circles on your clit with the other. A creamy white ring forms against the hair at the base of his shaft, and you tighten your stomach clamping down harder on him. 

His hips stutter at the feeling of your pulsing around him. You dig your fingernails into his thighs as your breath shakes. You’re both close, his cock stretching you out creating an ache deep inside you, your pussy clamping down on him tightening a hot coil in his stomach. 

“Fuck, I’m-” you reach up for him and he immediately crowds over you, keeping up his hard fast thrusts, both of you on the edge, “I’m gonna come-” you whimper, tangling your fingers in his curls.

“Come on my cock, beautiful,” he says, eyes locked on your face as your breath hard out of your perfect, pink mouth.

“Mmn,” you whimper, pulling him flush to your body, gripping down on his neck, digging your nails into his skin, “I'm- I'm coming- I’m-”

“Good girl,” he manages to groan out before his own orgasm takes over him, abs flexing and hips stuttering, as he releases his hot, creamy load deep inside you. He keeps fucking in and out of your pussy through both of your highs, both of you whining and moaning messes as his cum squelches out of your tight pussy. His thrust slows to long strokes before he pauses, staying pushed inside you as your arms remain wrapped around his neck. 

He pulls out slowly and you feel his hot cum dripping down your ass and you whine at the feeling. He rolls over and grabs a tissue from beside your bed, wiping up the mess between your legs with a light, careful touch. He throws it in your trash can before laying on his back and pulling you onto his chest, placing a sweet kiss on your forehead.

“You ok, pretty girl?” Andrew says in his normal, measured voice as he tucks your hair behind your ear. “That wasn’t too much was it…? I- I didn’t want to scare you too bad…”

“You could never scare me,” you lean up and place a soft kiss on his jaw before he tilts his head down kissing your lips. 

“The gloves were a very nice touch,” you smile against his mouth. He blushes, tucking his face into your hair, now feeling quite shy about the whole role-playing ordeal. “It was!” you giggle. 

“Tomorrow I’m putting a better lock on your door,” he says, running a long wave of your hair through his fingers.

“You actually broke in?” You smile at him in disbelief, “you have a key!”

“You said your fantasy was a break-in,” Andrew says, somewhat confused at your surprise. You give him a sweet, knowing look. Of course your perfect, very earnest, boyfriend took your instructions literally. 

“I did,” you say, pressing a small kiss on the corner of his mouth, “I did say that. And I love you so much for taking my requests so seriously.”

“I love you,” he says, placing another kiss on your soft lips. The two of you lay in silence for a while, rubbing small patterns into the other’s skin, soaking in each other's company. Andrew breaks the silence first.

“If you think something's wrong- even if you’re not sure- you go back to your car and call me, ok? You gotta wait for me to come check, to make sure you’re safe.” He cups your face in his warm hand and strokes your cheek with his thumb gazing into your eyes with adoration.   

“Ok,” you say, brushing the tip of your nose against his. “Maybe the lesson here is that you need to come stay here with me more…” you say, playing with his fingers.

The automatic doors of the Pitt slide open and closed as shift change tears through the emergency department.

You are exhausted. Twelve hours on your feet. More charting than should be legally allowed. Three trauma activations. A headache brewing behind your eyes. And somehow, despite all of that, your attention keeps drifting toward the ambulance bay entrance.

Toward Jack Abbott.

Night shift is arriving in waves. Nurses exchange reports. Residents rush between stations. Monitors beep endlessly in the background. Then Jack walks through the doors. The second you spot him, your stomach flips.

Six months.

Six months of secret dates, late-night phone calls, and carefully planned schedules. Six months of pretending there is absolutely nothing going on whenever anyone from work is around.

Usually you're good at it. Usually.

Jack makes his way toward the nurses' station, coffee in one hand. His eyes find yours immediately. Of course they do.

"Long day?" he asks. You let out a tired laugh.

"Catastrophic." His mouth twitches.

"Sounds about right." Nobody notices the way his gaze lingers. Nobody notices the tiny smile you fight to suppress. At least, you hope they don't.

Jack reaches for a chart you're holding. Your fingers brush. The contact lasts less than a second. It shouldn't mean anything. Instead, it feels like striking a match.

You glance up.

Jack is already looking at you. His jaw tightens. A dangerous look.

One you know very, very well. You should let go. Instead, your thumb drags lightly across his knuckles. A terrible decision. His eyes narrow immediately.

"Really?" he mutters. You blink innocently.

"What?"

"You know exactly what." You grin. Unfortunately, a nurse appears beside him before he can say anything else. The moment breaks. The tension doesn't. For the next twenty minutes, every glance feels loaded. Every accidental brush of shoulders feels deliberate. Every second spent near him becomes its own form of torture. By the time you finish charting, your shift is officially over. You are gathering your things when a familiar voice speaks beside you.

"Come with me." You look up. Jack is standing there. His expression is calm. Too calm. Which is exactly how you know you're in trouble.

"Jack—"

"Now." Your heart skips. You follow him through the employee exit and into the cool evening air. The hospital noise fades behind you. The parking lot is mostly empty. Jack keeps walking. You keep following. Only when he reaches his truck does he stop and turn toward you.

"I've wanted to see you all day." He hums, his eyes softening. Your chest clenches and you look around fearfully.

"Jack.." You mutter, smiling softly. His hand reaches out and he drags you towards him, your bodies pressed tight against each other as he leans on his truck. His expression shifts immediately. That look. The one reserved only for you. Not the one he gives patients. Not the one he gives coworkers. Not even the one he gives friends. This one is different. Warmer. Softer. Dangerous in an entirely different way. A laugh escapes you as you plant your hands on his chest to try to push him away.

"You know we're standing in the hospital parking lot, right?"

Jack glances around.

"Pretty sure."

"Anyone could walk out here." He shrugs, leaning in to kiss your cheek. His lips trail down your cheek, to your jaw. His hands slide down to softly grasp at your ass through your scrubs, and you close your eyes, leaning into his touch as his hand cups up to cup the side of your face.

"I missed you today.." He hums against your skin. "Bed was too empty. Couldn't sleep." He says, his voice rough. You hum, nodding softly. Your whole body is on high alert.

Your boss could walk out. Your boss, aka Jack's best-friend.

Your friends could walk out. God, Trinity would never let you live this down. Dana would probab;y burn you at the stake.

But the feeling of Jack's lips on your skin sends you reeling.

He spins you around pressing you against his truck, groaning against your skin. His body cages you against the cool metal of his truck. The hard surface at your back contrasts sharply with the heat radiating from his chest. Jack's hands move with purpose, one sliding up your side while the other remains firmly on your hip, holding you in place. You tilt your head back, giving him better access as his lips find that sensitive spot below your ear.

"We have to stop." You rasp. "You have to work. I have to- I have to go home." Jack chuckles, a low rumble that vibrates through your entire body. Jack's mouth crashes against yours then—hungry, demanding, desperate. The kiss tastes of coffee and exhaustion and something that is uniquely Jack. One of his hands moves from your hip to your lower back, pressing you even closer against him. The other tangles in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. When you finally break apart, both breathing heavily, Jack rests his forehead against yours.

"Get in the truck."

"Jack—"

"Just for a little while," he interrupts softly. "I need to hold you properly, not like this." You glance around the parking lot again, your professional warring with your personal desires.

"If someone sees—"

"They won't," he promises, though you both know it's a risk. "Everyone's busy inside. We'll be quiet." His thumb traces your bottom lip. "Please?" You stare at him for a long moment. Then you groan.

"You're impossible." A grin immediately breaks across his face.

"That's not a no."

"It should be."

"But it isn't." You roll your eyes. Unfortunately, he's right. Again. Jack opens the passenger-side door before you can change your mind.

"Five minutes." You point a finger at him. "Five."

"Five."

"Jack."

"Five." You narrow your eyes suspiciously. He places a hand over his heart.

"I am deeply offended by your lack of trust." You laugh despite yourself.

"Get in the truck."

"You are the worst."

"Get in the fucking truck, baby." The inside of the truck is blessedly quiet. Away from the bright lights of the emergency department. Away from the endless noise. Away from the constant demands of the day. The moment the doors close, the world seems to exhale. Jack settles into the driver's seat. Then immediately reaches over and drags you int his lap, making you climb over the console. Like he's been waiting all day to do exactly that. Maybe he has. His head buries itself in your neck, one hand crawling on the small of your back, pushing you into hik. For a while, neither of you says anything. The silence isn't awkward. It never is. It's comfortable. Easy. The kind that comes from knowing someone inside and out.

"Tired?" he asks quietly into your neck. You laugh weakly.

"Is that a serious question?"

"Fair."

"I'm pretty sure my soul left my body around hour nine." Jack snorts.

"You should go home."

"I know."

"You need sleep."

"I know."

"You need food." You open one eye.

"Okay, rude."

"I've known you long enough." Unfortunately, he's right. Again. A comfortable silence settles between you. Outside, hospital staff move in and out of the building. Ambulances come and go. The Pitt keeps running. It always does. Inside the truck, though, everything feels still. Jack leans back slightly to look at you. His expression softens.

"You know what sucks?"

"What?"

"I get here right when you're leaving." You smile.

"The tragedy."

"I'm serious."

"I know." His gaze drops to your joined hands. "I don't like missing you." He tugs you closer, closer still, until your knees straddle either side of his lap. He's smiling with a softness that undoes you completely, a patient, stubborn smile that says he always knew you'd cave.

"You could always switch to nights," Jack offers, his voice gentler than it has any right to be at this hour. His knuckles graze your thigh, just barely, but it's enough. You feel your skin erupt in goosebumps.

"You can't just— Jack, we're in the middle—"

"Of the parking lot. Yeah." Despite the steady, reasonable words, his hands are mapped out under your scrubs, palms broad and certain, heating the bare skin of your waist. For one long moment, he just looks at you—really looks, the way you never let anyone see. It's a miracle you haven't combusted yet. "Hey," he murmurs, thumb brushing circles over your ribs, "you're safe here. I'm not letting anyone see you like this. Just me." You want to tell him it's a bad idea but the words tangle behind your teeth, undone by the gravity of him, the rare silence, the rare privacy. Instead you groan as he kisses you with bruising finality. Jack’s hands slip under the hem of your shirt, detouring up your back, unhooking your bra one-handed like he’s done it a thousand times before. You shiver as callused fingertips graze your spine, the low drag of his mouth setting your every nerve alight. You rock unconsciously forward, desperate to erase every inch of distance between you. He moans like it’s church, like you’re something sacred. You barely keep up as he lifts your shirt, stripping it over your head, stashing it behind you with one arm never leaving your waist. He maps your skin with his mouth, trailing kisses down your collarbone, between your breasts. Each brush of his lips makes the heat coalesce low inside you, makes your thighs tense around his hips. You scrabble at his scrub top, yanking at it until he laughs—deep, unapologetic, full of mischief—and helps you peel it off, leaving his chest bare and golden beneath the tinted dome light.

“Greedy,” Jack teases, voice taut. The word stokes something reckless in you. You dig your nails into his shoulders and grind down against him, feeling the hard line of his cock straining against the thin fabric.

“Gonna tease me, or are you gonna let me ride you?” you whisper, nose brushing his. Jack’s eyes go black. His hands grip your hips, steadying you, kneading bruises into your skin.

“Fuck,” he breathes, “please.” He scrambles for his fly, cursing a little when your hands get there first and help, and the two of you manage, in a mutual chaos of limbs and laughter, to free him. You shuck your own pants and underwear, grateful for the cover of rain-smeared windows and the blanket he keeps stashed in the cab. You climb back onto him, legs shaking as you nestle knees on either side, your bare ass sliding against cool vinyl. Jack’s attention is molten, fixed on your mouth, your throat, your chest, his palms guiding you as you lower onto him slow, so fucking slow, fighting the urge to rush. He leans his forehead to yours, breath ragged.

“You’re so tight, baby. Christ.” His words stroke pleasure up your spine, make you arch into him. You stretch around him, pulse thumping muggy-hot. The fullness burns, but you keep sinking, inch by inch, until your bodies lock together just right. Jack’s hands hold you steady, fingers shameless where they spread your thighs wider.

“Just like that,” he says, voice barely more than a gasp. “Take it. You’re doing so fucking good.” You hide a whimper in the base of his throat, teeth scraping gentle. He bucks up, just barely, testing you, and you flinch at the jolt of feeling. But it’s not pain, not really. It’s the promise of relief, the bright pressure of him inside you, desperate and thick. He rocks you up and down, slow at first. You find the rhythm, bracing your arms on his shoulders, riding the push and give of his hips. Every time you lift and slide down, he groans, low and open, like he planned to worship you right here under the sterile hospital floodlights.

“That’s it, angel. Good girl. You like that?” he pants, lips grazing your ear, and you nearly sob at the endearment. No one has ever made you feel anything like this. Like the world is distilled to the backseat of a Chevy, and your body is the only urgent matter left on Earth.

“Yes,” you choke, clinging to him, heart hammering. “Yes, Jack, yes—” He leverages you up, thrusts in a little sharper. “Say it again. Want to hear you.” You do. You say it for him, say it for yourself, every word punched out on the ride of his cock. It gets easier, the wet glide, the pulse of want. He slides one hand to your jaw, thumb tracing your bottom lip, his eyes so honest you struggle to hold his stare.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Jack croons. “Best thing I’ve ever had.” Praise hits you raw, makes the ache inside impossible to control. You ride him harder, abandon the need for quiet. The truck starts to rock, subtle at first, then not—suspension groaning, windows fogging, metal biting at your back as you get lost together. Jack’s face dissolves to soft around the edges, pleasure making his lashes flutter. He helps you, of course he does, thumb finding the spot at the top of your clit, circling it in time with the pace of your hips.Every stroke is dizzy, electric. Jack’s too big for you, always has been, and he knows it—knows how you love being pressed full, stretched open, helpless to the pace he sets. He talks you through every second of it.

“That’s it, babe—” One palm on your hip, the other splayed wide across the small of your back. “You look so fucking pretty dripping on my cock.” He bites your shoulder, playful but sharp. You gasp and grind down, greedy for more, and Jack steadies you, hips working a small circle that makes your toes curl. He pets your hair, voice low and deeply satisfied.

“You’re taking it so well. God, I missed this. Missed you.” You dig in and move faster, head thrown back. His hands frame your face, thumbing away the sweat, stroking your cheek like you’re something deserving of reverence or maybe just up-close study. “There she is. Perfect. Perfect for me.” You’re losing yourself, deliciously so, chasing the high he has always offered so easily. Jack’s words tumble over your skin, a feverish litany of praise: good girl; baby, you feel like heaven; can’t get enough of you. The truck rocks harder beneath you, the air thick with sweat and rain and skin. You’re sure you’ll leave the cab smelling like fuck, and the thought of it almost unspools you completely.Jack’s face goes slack with pleasure, the line of his jaw working as he watches you fuck down onto him. You match his rhythm, making the truck bounce on its shocks, the whole world boiling down to the heat where you’re joined, the sweat running from your hairline, the feral edge of your pulse. You want to be quiet—god, you want to—but every time he hits the end of you, a raw little sound tears from your throat, and Jack answers with a grunt, more helpless each time. Your hands dig into the damp muscle of his shoulders, sinking your balance there. He lets you set the pace—the depth, the pressure, the angle—like he knows exactly how much you need to take control. His own body barely stays contained, all of him trembling under the thin veil of restraint.

“God, you’re so fucking perfect.” He groans, nipping at your neck. His praise unravels you, makes you whine as you bounce on his cock, thighs burning. “Atta girl,” he says, “just like that, Jesus, just like that.” He meets you on the upstroke and it hits perfect, a whiteout, and you clench around him like you might never let go. Jack is nothing if not strong; he lifts you to change the angle, guiding your hips so you crash down harder, deeper, again and again. The stretch is sharp, and you whine, burying your face in his shoulder as he fucks you slow and full, savoring every inch.

"Shh," he soothes, running his thumb down your spine. "You’re almost there. Let me hear you, angel." You can't quite control the desperate little noises that escape. He kisses your ear. "You can take it. Doing so good for me." You’re moving fast now, wild, Jack’s hips rising just enough to punch deeper every time you take him. Every inch of skin is electric, a live wire zapping your brain blank. Your orgasm builds dizzy and tight, faster and meaner than you expect. Jack catches your jaw, turning your head so you have to meet his eyes. You shudder, a hot burst of light behind your eyelids. He keeps you steady as you come, clenching tight around him. Jack groans, curses, and thrusts up into you as you milk the finish out of him, swallowing every shiver, every desperate noise. He holds you there, buried deep, for a long moment after, greedy for the afterglow. You collapse forward, boneless. Breathing each other in, foreheads pressed tight. He doesn’t let go—won’t, can’t. The whole ER could be on fire and you think he’d still have you sealed up in his lap, heartbeat sync’d to yours.

“There she is.” His voice is a blanket, the gentle drag of his hands up and down your back more soothing than the best sedative. “You okay?” You nod, unwilling to move.

“Gonna pass out,” you mumble. He laughs, wiping the hair from your face.

“We’ll just stay here,” he promises, amused. “I’m good with that.”

You shake your head.

“Jack, your shift-”

“I can be a few minutes late. Lemme hold you for a sec.” You do just that, sprawling across his chest with your pants around one ankle, everything sticky and sweet. Jack pets you absently, tracing lazy circles over your spine as you drift through the delicious aftershocks. The world is a muffled, infinite cotton ball. If time stopped, you might thank it. Maybe you even pray, a little, in the hush that follows, your heart finally un-clenching for the first time in twelve hours. The windows are fogged so thick you could sneak a corpse out of a hospital and no one would clock it, but you're not here to think about bodies or work, only Jack's hand splaying gentle wide over your ribs, the low hush of him in your ear. You almost fall asleep. And then there’s an unmistakable staccato rap on the passenger window. You freeze. For a second your brain decides it’s a hallucination, some ghost of a Code Blue haunting the concrete outside. But it happens again—a sharp, rhythmically certain knock, followed by a muffled cough. Beneath you, Jack tenses, but his laugh—muted and helpless—vibrates through your cheek and into your bones.

"Don’t look," he whispers, which of course makes you look. You squirm upright but can’t find your top, can’t find shame either; you’re still impaled on Jack, legs numb and boneless and absolutely not prepared to deal with social reality. Jack finds your shirt one-handed and holds it out, the other locked across your hips. You squirm to pull it on, body full of glowing aches. His cock softens inside you as you wriggle, but you know he’s still hard as hell everywhere else: his eyes, his voice, the way he grins as if it’s all a perfectly reasonable misunderstanding. He rolls down the window a crack, like maybe it’s just a pizza delivery or one of his patients looking for their missing nurse. Rain pings the outside in fitful spatter.

Standing in the parking lot, arms crossed, is Dana.

And right behind her- Trinity. Dennis. Robby. Mateo. Princess. Perlah. Mel. Langdon.

Oh god.

Every single one of them. For one horrifying second, nobody moves.

Nobody speaks. The entire parking lot seems to fall into stunned silence. Dana's expression is completely blank. Which is somehow worse than if she were angry.

Trinity, meanwhile, looks like Christmas came early. Dennis is staring at the truck like he's trying to decide whether this is actually happening or if he's suffered some kind of stress-induced hallucination.

Mateo's mouth is hanging open.

Princess looks deeply entertained.

Perlah looks seconds away from bursting into laughter.

Mel has both hands over her face.

And Robby—Robby looks directly at Jack.

Then at you. Then back at Jack.

"Oh." The single word somehow carries the weight of six months of secrets. Beside you, Jack closes his eyes. Slowly. Like a man accepting his fate.

"Jack," you whisper.

"I know."

"Jack."

"I know." Trinity immediately points.

"I knew it." The parking lot explodes.

"I told you."

"You absolutely did not," Dana shoots back.

"I literally did."

"You guessed every person in this hospital."

"And I was right eventually."

"Oh my God," you groan. You bury your face in your hands. You may never recover from this.

Ever.

Jack, apparently, has reached the same conclusion. Because he simply leans back against his seat and sighs. The sigh of a man whose life is about to become significantly more difficult. Robby rubs both hands over his face."For how long?"

Neither of you answers. Robby points.

"That silence is making me nervous."

"Six months," Jack says. The entire group erupts.

"What?"

"Six months?!"

"Six months?" Dana looks personally offended.

"Six months and nobody told me?"

"To be fair," Princess says, "that is objectively hilarious."

"It is not hilarious."

"It is a little hilarious."

"It is not." Trinity is practically vibrating.

"I need everyone to understand how validated I feel right now."

"You accused Jack of dating three different people."

"Details." You risk a glance toward Jack. To your surprise, he's smiling. Not embarrassed. Not annoyed. Smiling. The soft kind. The one that's been directed at you all evening. Robby notices immediately.

"Oh, that's disgusting." Jack laughs. Actually laughs. And suddenly everyone starts talking at once. Questions. Accusations. Celebrations.

A truly unreasonable amount of yelling.

The secret is officially dead. Gone. Destroyed. Burned to ashes in the employee parking lot. You should be mortified. You should be panicking. Instead, as Jack's hand finds yours beneath the chaos, a strange sense of relief settles over you. No more hiding. No more pretending. No more carefully timed exits and secret glances. Just the truth. Finally. Dana points at both of you.

"We are discussing this later." Trinity immediately points too.

"I have approximately four hundred questions." Mateo raises a hand.

"I also have questions."

---------

The first morning back at The Pitt after the parking lot incident feels different.

Not quieter.

Never quieter.

Just… louder in a very specific way. You don’t even make it past the locker room before it starts.

“Ohhh, it’s her,” Dana calls the second you walk in. You freeze.

“Please don’t start.” Trinity appears behind her like she’s been summoned by gossip itself.

“Oh, we’re starting.” You groan and shut your locker a little too hard.

“I hate all of you.”

“No you don’t,” Trinity says cheerfully. “You’ve just been promoted.”

“To what?”

“Main character.” Dana points at you with zero hesitation.

“Six months.” You bury your face in your hands.

“Can we not say that out loud in public areas?” Robby walks past and doesn’t even try to hide his grin.

“I, for one, support this development,” he says.

“You would,” you mutter. Down the hall, you hear it before you see it. Jack’s laugh. Low. Amused. Infuriatingly calm. He rounds the corner holding a chart, coffee in hand like nothing in your entire life has been fundamentally altered. The second his eyes land on you, something shifts. Softens. Like it always does. But now everyone sees it.

“Oh my God,” Dana whispers immediately.

“Stop,” you hiss.

“I’m not doing anything,” she says. “I’m observing science.” Trinity leans in.

“He’s looking at you like that again.”

“Like what?”

“Like he wants to fuck you in his truck again.” You make a strangled noise. Jack walks over without hesitation. Of course he does.

“Morning,” he says, like yesterday didn’t happen. Like six months of secrets didn’t explode into chaos. Like the entire hospital didn’t witness your downfall.

“Morning,” you manage. His gaze flicks over your face.

“You look tired.”

“I am tired.”

“Did you sleep?” You narrow your eyes.

“You’re not my attending.” He smiles slightly.

“I can still ask.” Behind you, Dana makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like choking. Trinity is absolutely vibrating. Jack leans just a little closer.

“Did you eat?” You sigh.

“Yes.” A pause.

“Liar,” he says immediately. You glare at him.

“You don’t even know that.”

“I do.”

“How?” He glances at your locker. Then back at you.

“You didn’t pack anything.” You hate him. Deeply. Fiercely. Romantically. All at once.

“Go away,” you mutter. His mouth twitches.

“Not yet.” That does it. Dana slams a chart onto the counter.

“I cannot do this.”

“You’re not involved,” you say.

“I am emotionally involved,” she snaps. “I was lied to for six months.” Trinity raises a hand.

“I was correct for six months.”

“That’s not a personality trait,” you say.

“It is now.” Jack finally steps back, but not far. Never far. Just close enough that his presence is still there. Still grounding. Still impossible to ignore. As the shift starts, it only gets worse. Because now everyone watches. Every brush of your shoulders in the hallway. Every time he hands you a chart a second too long. Every quiet check-in that sounds suspiciously like affection disguised as medicine.

“Are you sure you’re okay to take trauma bay?” Jack asks during rounds.

“I’ve taken worse,” you reply automatically.

“I know,” he says. Too soft. Too familiar. Behind you, someone drops a pen. Hard.

By midday, it’s unbearable.

You’re charting when Robby leans over your shoulder.

“So,” he says casually, “how’s domestic life?”

“I will transfer departments.”

“You won’t.”

“I will.”

“You absolutely will not,” Dana calls from across the desk. Trinity slides into the seat beside you.

“So do you two argue? Or is it just intense staring and violation of hospital policy?" You slowly turn your head.

“I’m going to start requesting new coworkers.”

“You’d miss us,” Trinity says confidently. You open your mouth. Then Jack appears behind her.

“Stop harassing her,” he says mildly. Trinity spins around immediately.

“Oh, now you’re protective?”

“Yes,” he says simply. That shuts everyone up for exactly half a second. Then Dana goes,

“Oh my God.” And everything falls apart again. By the end of the week, it’s official. You are no longer a person at The Pitt. You are a storyline. If you walk into a room, conversations stop mid-sentence. If Jack walks in after you, someone says “Aww” at least once. If you so much as stand near each other for more than ten seconds, Trinity starts narrating it like a documentary.

“You see here,” she whispers loudly, “the couple in their natural habitat. Dangerous. Unsupervised.”

“I’m going to file a complaint,” you say.

“To who?” Dana asks. “HR? About you dating your attending? Be serious.” Jack, of course, makes it worse. He starts showing up with your coffee without being asked. He fixes your ID badge when it flips backward. He quietly takes over your charts when you look like you’re about to pass out. Every single time, someone sees. Every single time, someone comments. And every single time, Jack just shrugs like he doesn’t care.

Which is almost worse.

One afternoon, as you’re escaping to the supply closet for exactly thirty seconds of peace, the door shuts behind you. Jack is already inside. You stare at him. He stares back.

“You followed me into a closet,” you say.

“I missed you,” he replies.

“It has been twelve minutes.”

“Exactly.” You groan.

“You’re never letting me live this down, are you?” He steps closer.

“No,” he says simply. Then, softer— “But I’m not really trying to.”

Two months. That’s how much time you have left until graduation. That’s how much time you have until officially start your new job, and can finally quit your current one. 

It’s also how much time until you and Sammy can stop sneaking around in his life.  

Things have been better since his little jealousy incident, mostly because he kept his promise to never come to your work again. He still picks you up after when he can, and he’s always extra nice to you when he does, but no more going inside. 

He gave up on feeling anything but joy at seeing you at all recently, ever since he started having an even harder time at work. He tries not to unload on you too much, but his partner has been giving him trouble, falling in with the wrong kind of friends, and going down a path Sammy wants to lead him away from. 

“He’s been meaner, you know? Like he can’t find any ounce of empathy for anyone anymore. And I get it, you know, I do, we all go through those times. When my partner got killed, I thought I was ready to throw it all away. I was gonna kill the guy who did it, but when I got the chance...I couldn’t do it. I didn’t want to lose my soul over it.” 

You’re at his place, Nate just put down for sleep for the night, the two of you unwinding on the couch. You’d beaten him home after your classes, and he’d come home after his shift to you making dinner, school books scattered on the table, and Nate on your hip. It felt so normal. It felt like some kind of picturesque dream and when Sammy saw it all, he felt like he couldn’t breathe from how right it was.  

“Is it because of that guy, Mendoza?” You ask, frowning at the memory of the slimey officer who’d brought a whole party to your club.  

“Yep,” Sammy says, lips twitching into a grimace. “He’s not a bad cop just...treats everything like he’s in fucking Training Day.” 

“Not a bad cop, but kind of a shitty guy. The girls who went with them that night told us about their little after party, said it got completely out of hand,” you told him as you ran your fingers through his hair. You’ve grown to love the way his eyes always close and he shivers when you do that. You can feel the tension of the day leave his body in waves.  

“Yeah, apparently one of the girls got high on some shit and got his gun and was shooting it around for fun, someone could have been seriously hurt. And you know how Ben told me? He fucking laughed about it. Like it was some funny perp story. Someone could have been really hurt. Some time, that guy is gonna do something to really get someone innocent hurt.” 

“Well...despite how that shift when for us, I’m glad you warned us about them.” 

“Didn’t want your friends to be in danger.” 

“Or me?” You ask, playfully pouting. 

“Oh Baby, I knew I didn’t have to worry about you going off with some other guy.” 

“Yeah, especially one with that cheesy porn-stache.” 

“Ha, exactly, all mine,” Sammy says with a light laugh. “And I thought that night ended pretty well for us.” 

He leans down to give you a chaste kiss, and follows your lead of deepening it when you open your mouth to him. His hand goes to your cheek, pulling you into him, sharing each other’s breath, and he’s about to let things heat up when— 

Nate’s crying starts up from his room, and the two of you groan into each other’s mouths.  

You give Sammy a smile as you push him away. “Go be a good Daddy.” 

And he lets out a sharp breath, shaking his head as he stands up from the couch. “Honey, I know I give you a hard time for calling me Officer Bryant, but you really shouldn’t go around casually calling me Daddy now.” 

And you giggle as you watch him go, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. You’ll keep a note of that for later.  

+ 

It’s not back to all sunshine and rainbows though. Sammy’s issues with his partner continue on, and most nights he comes home tense and more stressed than you’ve ever seen. You give him as much peace as you can, and you can always tell that your presence is the one thing that calms him down.  

One particular rough night, when you were staying at your own place because he was supposed to be on shift for multiple days in a row, he shows up at your door. You don’t even get a greeting out when you open the door to him, just one, dark, broken look from him, tears in his eyes, as his body breaks down in your arms. 

He presses his face into your neck, as you wrap your arms around him, and gently guide him over to your couch. 

“S-Sammy? What’s wrong?” 

“Shitty fucking day,” he stammers, shoulders shaking as the stress of his day releases from his body.  

“What happened?” You ask, cradling his face in your hands, kissing him all over, anything to slow the racing of his heart. “You can tell me.” 

“I-I can’t—”  

“Sammy!” You say sternly, cutting off his ranting. “You can tell me anything, okay? No matter how dark it is, I can handle it. What I can’t handle is seeing you like this.” 

He worries his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes darting back and forth between both of yours, reading that you mean exactly what you say. Tammi never wanted to hear about it. Or she’d play devil’s advocate to him. But you...you truly want to support him, to be there for him.  

“It’s bad, Baby,” Sammy finally sighs, voice cracking from the sobs still caught in his throat. “This...this kid...it’s all fucking Mendoza’s fault.” 

“What did he do?” You ask, thumbs rubbing calming circles on Sammy’s cheeks, wiping up the tears that fell. “Tell me everything.” 

He shakes his head, eyes shutting tight as he does his best to form the words. “Mendoza fucking lied, he-he said that some banger shot him up at his house. And Ben wanted to track down who did it, based on some bullshit rumors. We talked to a couple of the guys, and they didn’t know a cop was shot, it was obvious. But Sherman needed to make a fucking point for his friend. He got us all twisted up in this shit and one of the gangs...they shot up a kid’s birthday party.” 

“Oh my god, Sammy,” you gasp, pulling his face into your chest as his tears start up again. You card your fingers through his hair, sharp nails scratching at his scalp in a way you hope is soothing.  

“Kid was only ten. A-and he was this little thing, real small, and when we got there he was bleeding and he...” Sammy’s voice trails off as he takes several deep breaths. “We got him to the hospital, but...last I heard it wasn’t looking good.” 

You let the silence hang between you two for a few moments, continuing to sooth him with your hands. It’s not the first time Sammy’s work has come back with him, effected his mood in such a deep way, but this is the worst you’ve heard. It makes the things you go through at work seem so small in comparison, even though you know Sammy would probably punch out any of the guys who harass you.  

He’s told you dozens of stories from his work. From a girl who was witness to a gang crime that he did everything to protect, to another kid he’d tried and failed to prevent from joining that life. One thing was always clear to you; Sammy Bryant wasn’t some asshole cop in it for the glory, he truly cared. 

“You said Mendoza lied? So it wasn’t one of those guys?” 

A deep, broken sigh releases from Sammy’s lips. “It wasn’t any guy. He did that shit to himself, because he’s a corrupt, dirty bastard. He wanted to collect insurance money, and this fucking kid got caught in the crosshairs of his fucking lie.” 

“Oh Sammy,” you cooed. “Can’t you report them or something?” 

“It wouldn’t matter at this point. Ben woke up to how shitty his little friend it anyway.” 

“But he’s the one who went in and caused this, you’re going to just let him off because he had bad information?” 

“Baby,” Sammy sighs. “I don’t want to give up on him, you know? When I was at my lowest, doing stupid shit like this, I needed someone to pull me out of it. If I abandon him now, it kills the whole point of me going back to patrol. He’s a dick but he needs me now more than ever.” 

You click your teeth together. As annoyed as you are from what you hear about Sherman, and what you’ve seen, a warmth grows in your chest from how much Sammy cares. “You’re too nice, Gorgeous. You’re too good of a man.” 

“Hell of a fatal flaw to have,” Sammy says, testing the waters with a joking tone to his voice. 

You smirk, “Yes well, I’d rather you be too nice than anything else.” 

“I’m gonna check in on that kid tomorrow, too.” 

“Of course you are.” 

After a few more moments of silence, Sammy’s rapid breathing slowing, he’s finally able to lift himself up again. He swipes a piece of hair from your face as he pulls you into a chaste kiss. There’s no heat behind it, no silent request for something more, just the feeling of closeness that he needed all day. 

“Thank you for listening to me,” he says in a whisper so soft you almost can’t hear him. “I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

You smile into your next kiss, and he deepens it, attempting to press you into the couch. But you feel the franticness in his touch, the way his fingers are still shaking a little from the shock of his day, and with a regretful hum, you push him back. “Wait, maybe we should just take it easy tonight, you’re all shook up.” 

He reluctantly nods his head, nose twitching in the way it does when he’s disappointed, running his hands nervously up and down your thighs. “Yeah...I guess you’re right.” 

And you can’t help the amused smile that creeps across your face. He never hides the fact that he’s very into you. 

“How about I give you something else to cheer you up?” 

His brows raise as a hopeful smile forms on his lips.  

“It’s not sexual.” 

His smile only falls a little. “What did you have in mind?” 

Your eyes crinkle as your smile grows. “Good news. I um...you know how I’m graduating in a few weeks?” 

“Yeah, Baby, I’m so proud of you.” 

“Thank you,” you say, kissing his cheek. “Well, obviously since I’m almost done, I’ve been looking for jobs in my field, and it’s not exactly an in-demand field to be in, so I’ve actually gotten a few offers...and it looks like I'll be able to quit my day job, well night job, pretty soon.” 

His mouth drops open, eyes going wide, but words are stuck in his throat. Would he be a bad person if he was too excited to hear that you wouldn’t have to dance almost naked for strangers anymore? Would it be completely backwards and unsupportive of him? 

But...you said this was good news. So... 

“Sammy?” You ask, snapping your fingers to bring his eyes back to focus. “Any thoughts? I’d thought you’d be happy.” 

“Oh I am!” He says quickly, nodding and smiling, taking your hands in his. “Honey I’m...that makes me very happy but...I’m trying not to be an asshole right now.” 

You roll your eyes. “Sammy you’re allowed to be happy that your girlfriend isn’t going to be a stripper anymore.” 

“Okay when you put it like that,” Sammy groans. “I just...I’ve been working on the jealousy thing and the supportive thing, and I don’t...you don’t have to quit because of me, okay?” 

“Sammy. I’m quitting because that was always my plan. Having you in my life is a bonus, though. Hopefully whatever job I end up getting is good fall my loans and everything, but I’ll figure all that out.” 

Speechless, Sammy’s mouth closes in a tight smile, holding in words of true joy, as well as a question that’s been on his mind for weeks. The solution to some of your financial problems. A solution that a part of him still feels is too soon. So, he covers it up with a joke. 

“Well, maybe you can teach pole dancing classes to rich ladies or something, would hate for all those skills to go to waste. Get some extra cash in that way.” 

“Oh my god!” You say with a loud laugh, playfully shoving Sammy by his shoulder. “You’re ridiculous!” 

“Just thinking of you, Baby!” He replies, leaning in close to cover your cheeks in light kisses. 

You continue to giggle at the touch of his lips, happy that you were able to pull him back from the edge of his horrible mood. “God, I fucking love you.” 

And that. 

That gets a pause out of him. His movements still with the lightest brush of his lips to your skin, breathing making goosebumps form in the flesh. He’s so sure you can hear his heartbeat speed up, hundreds of miles a minute. 

Sammy sucks in a breath. He never thought he’d feel this again, and actually he’s not sure he’s ever truly felt it before. It’s not just about the feeling of warmth and love, but of trust that you mean what you say. “You really do, don’t you?” 

You tap your forehead to his, taking one of his hands in both of yours, kissing each of the knuckles. “Of course I do.” 

With a shaky breath, every final piece of tension leaves Sammy’s body, he lets himself be held in the truly calm safety of your arms. “I love you too.” 

+ 

It’s been a couple weeks since you first told Sammy you love him. And You just cannot stop saying it. Every time one of you leaves, every time one of you comes home, when you wake up in the morning, when you go to sleep, passing the remote to change the channel... I love you just comes out so naturally. 

And he’s been in such a better mood as well. Maybe it’s that confession of love, maybe it’s the fact that Ben has started shaping up at work, or maybe it’s the promise of your impending retirement. 

He’s been more vocally supportive about your job, that’s for sure. Before, he’d try to ignore it mostly, show his support by keeping that jealousy in check, or telling you how beautiful you look in your little costumes. But now, he actually wishes you good luck, tells you to have a good night, have fun even. It’s a little scary, how giddy he is now that he knows there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. 

You kind of love it though. All this extra attention you’re getting for this part of your life. He’s been going through all these rough times, but he shaped up for you, learned to keep his emotions in check for you. 

So. 

Why not give a little something return? 

So. 

For as much as he loves your little flirty text check-ins throughout the day, you know he’s still not the biggest fan of the ones involving pictures. Too much of a risk of the guys catching a glimpse of you in one of your sexy little outfits. It’s not even about hiding who you are from them, more that Sammy doesn’t want them to see his girl like that. 

Naturally you have to send him a few little pics of you in this outfit, though. A pair of white lacey panties, with feather flocked garters that lead into white sparkly platform heels, a matching white lace corset, that barely holds your tits in, and tiny white feathered wings. His perfect little angel. 

{sammy, get home on time tonight.} 

{ill do my best baby} 

You laugh, shaking your head. He has no idea what’s to come. You flip through the many mirror selfies you took, settling on one that shows off the perfect curve of your ass. As you hit send, you really hope he’s not texting and driving, a habit you’ve been trying to break from him. 

{you kno i hate it when ur late :/ } 

A couple minutes pass by after you send the picture. You just know if he’s driving he probably derailed the entire vehicle into a curb. 

{fuck.} 

{baby...} 

{???????} 

{ur so sexy baby} 

{ill be home EARLY.} 

Tossing the phone aside with a satisfied smile, you throw on a black silk robe, touch up your makeup, and start cleaning up in the bedroom, especially around your practice pole.  

A couple hours go by, the time for Sammy’s shift ends passes, and you get a couple texts confirming that he did indeed manage to wrangle Sherman enough to get off shift early. It’s quite the drive from the station to home, though, so you take the extra time to drink plenty of water. 

Usually, Sammy is home sometime around 8:30 from shifts. But you hear the crack of the door at exactly 8:05. Impressive. 

You quickly turn your lights down and hit play on your practice playlist, the low vibrations from the bass filling your tiny apartment. 

“Honey?” Sammy’s voice calls from the door, followed quickly the by sound of his bag dropping on the ground. 

“In here, Gorgeous,” You say, tone light and casual, standing at the edge of your bed. 

Sammy’s face is pink and giddy and all smiles as he enters the room, just the slightest bit of apprehension and disbelief decorate his features. “Wh-what, umm, what’s this?” 

“Well,” you approach him slowly, not missing the way his eyes light up at just the slightest slip of your robe off your shoulder. You put it back up slowly, before taking both his hands in yours. “I was just thinking about my impending retirement, I still have to put in the practice time...and you’ve been so good to me lately...I think it’s finally time to lift the ban.” 

It’s like watching a man win a billion dollar lottery. Sammy releases a brief laugh, face gone completely red, all the way down to his neck, probably to his whole chest. He’s speechless as you lead him to the bed, pushing him lightly to sit on the edge. There’s no fight in the way he goes down, bouncing slightly and staring up at you with wide eyes. 

You giggle to yourself as you turn away, scrolling down your playlist to find the perfect song. Somehow, Sammy does manage to find his voice. “Honey...you sure?” 

“Are you saying no to a lap dance?” 

“Nope,” Sammy says quickly, shaking his head, swallowing a lump. “J-just don’t want you to feel like you have to do these things for me—" 

You sigh. Sometimes he’s just a little too respectful.  

You queue up your song choice, and step onto the platform that houses your pole, slowly dropping the silk robe from your body. 

“Gorgeous, don’t ever say no to a nice thing. Now, you know the rules, right? No touching the talent, not until I tell you,” you add with a wink. 

Sammy nods quickly, sitting back with his hands behind him on your bed, fingers white knuckling the sheets. He’s been half hard already since the drive home. His chest rises and falls, sweat gathering on his brow, lip bitten between his teeth, as your song starts up, and your fingers grip the pole. 

You spin around, body gracefully swaying to the beat of the song, dancing with a practiced ease. He never got to see this part of any of your routine up close, and a part of him admires just how nimble you are. He’s pretty familiar with how your body can move, actually, but watching the way you grip the pole, lift yourself to wrap your legs around it and spin, he can truly appreciate how much work you actually have to put in. 

You drop down, rolling your body against the pole, then drop your upper body down so just your ass is in the air, as you quickly tear away your tiny shorts. 

Sammy can’t contain the soft, desperate sound that escapes his lips at the sight of your ass, at the garters digging into your skin where he wishes his hands were instead. He watches every twist and turn, ever roll of your body to the beat, the dripping of sweat down your soft skin. He wants to break the rules already, wants to drop to his knees and grab you and lick up every drop. 

But he maintains whatever tiny ounces of control he’s got, stays in his place.  

You take one more spin around the pole, stopping to face him, leaning back so your chest is poked out, hands moving slowly up from your thighs, to your tummy, to your tits. His eyes follow their trail, and you smirk, heart already racing, as you break the clasp of your corset, ripping it open so your breasts bounce out. 

“Fuck,” Sammy groans, hands tightening in the sheet, as his thighs twitch. 

You’re pushing him, you know you are. You’re going to make it so much worse for him. 

You drop to your knees, looking up at him with a dark, neediness in your eyes, as you crawl slowly towards him. He spreads his legs just slightly to welcome you between them. Your hands trail up his legs, pushing his knees out just a little more, before sliding up to his thighs, to the bulge under his zipper.  

Sammy swallows a lump, eyes closing and mouth dropping open just enough for breathy pants to escape. You sway your body back and forth as you stand up between his legs, hands following their own path up to his chest, where your fingers scratch over his t-shirt, then up to his curls. 

You give him a rough tug from the back of his head, snapping his eyes open, and you look down with a smug smile. “Having fun, Baby?” 

“Yeah,” he responds, breathy and voice barely there.  

It feels like the night of your first meeting, sitting in the private room with that cute officer who was too nervous to touch you. Now you, as you roll your body, tits bouncing right into his hungry face, you’re looking into the eyes of the man who loves you. Your body twitches as you feel yourself gush just a little from your core. You bite your lip. You have to focus. This is for him. 

Quickly, you turn around, bending down and grinding your ass onto his lip, earning a low groan ripped directly from his throat. “Oh shit, Honey.” 

It thrills you the way he just can’t help but sound so in awe of you. 

You straighten back up, back cushioned fully to his muscular frame, as you grind on him, following the slow rhythm of the song.  

Just like the first time, rules simply don’t matter to you here. “Gimme your hands, Officer Bryant.” 

He meets you with a needy mewl, bringing his hands to your sides, gripping you tight, hopefully tight enough to bruise a little. 

You grab his hands, pulling them up to your breasts, as you lean your head back on his shoulder, and unlike before, he squeezes you on his own accord. You whimper into his neck, licking up a line of sweat from the freckled, red skin. 

“That’s it,” you moan, keeping up the grinding of your hips. You can feel how hard he is, straining the zipper on his jeans, and you know you’re staining them from how wet you are.  

It’s that same electricity as the first time. His rough, calloused are gentle on your skin, causing sparks wherever they touch. You need him more than that night, need the man you’ve gotten to know, the one who has memorized every way to bring you to the peak of pleasure.  

You look like you’re in control, but you know you’re going to have to give this up soon. 

Unlike the first time, you don’t have to let his hands stop where they are. 

Keeping one in place on your breast, you bring the other down, guiding him between your legs, and he groans when he’s met by a gush of your juices to his fingers.  

“Fuck, oh Honey, so wet for me,” Sammy whines, turning to kiss your neck. 

“Yeah,” you whine, bucking your hips into his touch. “Just for you, Sammy, all for you.” 

“Baby,” he moans, dipping his fingers between your lips, sliding into you by just an inch, just enough to get a taste of your slick on them.  

You give him just that, regretfully pulling his hand away by his wrist, and bringing those fingers up to his mouth. He groans, eyes closing from the sweet, delicious taste that fills his tongue. 

You take the moment of distraction to remove your body from his, both of you sighing from the cold. But you’re quick to turning his lap, straddling his hips and tearing his shirt over his head. 

His fingers fall from his mouth as he looks up at you in wonder. 

The dance is long forgotten, no beat of the song in your mind at all as you grind down on his clothed dick, head thrown back as you whimper into the air. You just need him. You know he feels the same. 

“Baby, lemme fuck you,” Sammy begs, gripping the bed once again. 

You nod, unable to put into words just how desperate for him you are. He goes for the buckle on his belt, both of you making quick work of shedding his strong legs of his pants. You push him down on the bed, his back to the sheets, defined abs contracting with his deep, excited breaths, as your hungry eyes widen at the sight of his hard cock leaking on his tummy. 

He goes to pull you onto him, but you catch his hands before they can get you, slapping them away as you climb onto his lap. He watches you, eyes sparkling with love and adoration, as you slide down easily onto his cock. You gasp as he fills you. 

Sammy chokes out a moan, eyes darting over every movement of your body as you start to ride him. “Shit, just like that, Honey. So fucking good to me.” 

“Sammy,” you moan, leaning forward and gripping his chest, fingernails digging into his skin, leaving little crescent marks. “Feel so full.” 

You scratch down him with a moan, angry red lines flowing down his skin. He’s gonna have to explain that in the locker room. The guys are definitely going to make fun of him. Probably say they’re proud of him for getting some. It drives you a little crazy, how you can claim him too. 

The sounds of both your moans and pants fills the room, in your desperation your movements speed up, rolling your hips in a way that makes his cock hit deep inside, jolting pleasure up your spine. 

A constant string of your name, swears, thanks to god flow from Sammy’s lips out of his control, as he grips your waist tight. “Yeah Baby, bounce on it, show me what fuckin’ you got. Fuck, that’s so good, such a good girl for me. Fuckin’ love you.” 

You mewl at his words, eyes blinking back tears from the pleasure. “Love you, Sammy, feel so good inside me.” 

It’s about this point, that you suddenly realize that you definitely didn’t grab any form of protection in your desperate need. It’s fine. It’s cool. You’re on birth control. You’re both clean. It’s not the first time you’ve had unprotected sex. But.  

He always pulls out. 

Why the fuck does he need to pull out? 

“Want you to fill me up,” you whimper, looking down into his eyes with a deep need. “Fuck me till you fill me, please.” 

A wave of shocking, electric pleasure rips through Sammy. His hips buck up, an ocean of arousal crashes like waves in every inch of his body. “You sure, Baby?” 

“Yes,” you moan. “Pleasepleaseplease, need it so fucking bad. Come on Daddy.” 

A strained groan leaves his lips as Sammy grabs you by the hips and flips you so your back is onto the bed, that name the final straw. Your legs quickly wrap around him, as he fucks into you, hard and fast, chasing that end.  

“Yeah, Baby, gonna fill you up,” Sammy says, panting. He pulls you into a deep kiss, tongue licking into your mouth as you both moaning into it.  

He slows down for only a moment, lightly gripping your face in his hands, wanting to savor this kiss, the way your tongue feels against his, the way your body hums with excitement around him, the way your pussy contracts and chokes his cock. 

“Please,” you sigh, pouting when he finally pulls away. “Please, fuck me, Sammy, make me come.” 

You’re begging, pathetic and needy, voice almost gone, any control you pretended to have completely out the door. In a way you’ve only ever felt with him. 

“I’ll make you come, Honey,” Sammy whispers, planting one hand on the bed, while the other snakes between your bodies, rubbing at your clit in efficient circles. He starts the thrusts of his hips again, slow, hard, determined, cock hitting your cervix with every motion. A barrage of words spills from him, severed entirely from the rational parts of his brain. “Gonna come in you, Baby, gonna fill this pussy, shit, need to feel you come around me, milk my fuckin’ cock pretty baby—” 

“Sammy, fuck,” you can feel your body start to tense up, the initial shocks of pleasure over take you. Your hands grab at his back, fingers digging into the tight muscles. You throw your head back, a rough yell ripping from your throat as you feel yourself pushed over the edge. 

Your cunt pulses, gushing around his cock as it squeezes like a vice around him, and Sammy buries his face into your neck, thrusts going wild and hard and unrestrained, until he shoves his cock all the way in, hips slapping roughly into yours.  

Ah!Ah!Ah! the only sound Sammy can make as his own pleasure breaks in him, pushing his cock into your warmth, coming deep inside you until he’s empty. His hips twitch as every last drip is spilled inside, and for a fleeting moment, irrational as it is, Sammy thinks maybe he can just keep you like this all night, filling your pussy until he knocks you up. 

Maybe another time. 

Your chest heaves, as you whine, overstimulated, and as you open your eyes, tears fall over the skin down to your ears. You take a gasping breath, bringing your hands up to brush through Sammy’s sweaty curls, no fight at all in the way your nails scratch into his scalp. You let out a small, satisfied hum. 

It takes a couple minutes for Sammy’s wits to finally come back to him, as the tension of his body releases, and he rests on the warmth of yours, bodies still grinding against each other, the pulses of electricity fading between you.  

Sammy kisses your neck, sitting up and brushing the sweaty hair from your face, placing a chaste kiss to your lips.  

It’s messy when he pulls out, and he feels his cock give one more, weak kick watching his come leak from you. 

Your legs twitch uncomfortably, and he hums sympathetically. “Don’t worry, Honey, I’ll get you cleaned up.” 

“Wait,” you whisper, voice rough and throat sore. You grip him at his bicep, pulling him down to keep his warmth for just a moment longer.  

He looks down at you, stars in his eyes, staying in his place, thumb rubbing at the bruised skin of your hip. He can see the question in your eyes, and he almost scoffs at the idea. “Loved that, Baby, worth the wait.” 

You smile. Tired and buzzy and satisfied. “Can’t believe I let you come in me. I don’t think I’ve ever let anyone do that.” 

“Really?” Sammy asks, adorably crooked teeth biting his bottom lip, looking absolutely giddy. A little cockiness is stored somewhere in there as well.  

You shrug. “Well, it’s not exactly responsible.” 

“Hey, I’m an officer of the law, I’m always responsible.” 

You snort. “Yeah, okay. I’m the one on birth control, I’m the responsible person in this bed.” 

“Honey, this was all your idea, you begged me, I’m an innocent participant.” 

You roll your eyes. But nonetheless, you pull him back down for another kiss. You’ll let him carry you to the shower in a minute, for now you just want to savor this closeness, the softness of his lips, the care in his touch.  

+ 

+ 

+ 

One thing about little Nate, is that along with the red hair, he has his father’s eyes. Round, dark eyes like little spots that look up at you wide and full of wonder. And when Nate laughs, which he does so much whenever you get to hold him, those same eyes crinkle just like Sammy’s. 

Your time with him is always short, cut off either by Tammi interfering or you having to leave for school or work. But you know you have a connection with him, you know when he looks at you, he recognizes you, he knows you as someone important. 

Sammy sees that too. It makes his heart skip every other beat whenever he watches you play with Nate.  

When he told you about Nate, when you two started this relationship, he was so scared that he’d never be able to merge these two parts of his life. The way you never shy away from his time with his son is probably part of why he fell for you so embarrassingly quickly. 

“Do you know if you’re going to have him for my graduation?” You ask. You’re laying on the carpet, lifting a giggling Nate up and down above you, while Sammy watches from the kitchen. 

“Um,” Sammy blinks himself out of his daydreams, fantasies of you with Nate and another baby on the way... “I’m not sure, I’ll check the schedule.” 

“I’d love it if you both could come, but if it’s going to start shit with Tammi then don’t fight it,” you say, bringing Nate in close to your face to you can blow kisses into his cheek. “My mom is going to be there, you know. Maybe it would be better if she doesn’t meet my significantly older boyfriend and his child all at the same time.” 

“Significant?” Sammy asks with a frown. 

You smirk up at him. “You know what I mean.” 

“I think you just called me old.” 

“You are older than me.” 

Sammy’s face turns down in a pout, mumbling in response, “Well, I don’t think it’s significant.” 

You giggle from where you lay on the ground, before rolling over to sit up with Nate held tightly against your chest. “You’re in a weird mood today, Gorgeous. Everything alright?” 

With a shrug, bottom lip worried between his teeth, Sammy lets out a sigh, “Yeah, yeah, just um, need to talk to you about something.” 

“Okay,” your smile drops. 

“It’s nothing bad, Honey, at least I don’t think so,” he says, walking over to sit on the couch next to you. He takes Nate from your hands, kissing the top of his head. “It’s about this little guy right here. And you.” 

There’s a tonal shift in the air, which had started so casual and relaxed, and is now tense. He’s nervous about something. You climb onto the couch, curling your feet underneath your legs, fingers going up to comfortingly squeeze Nate’s toes. “Go on.” 

“Well, you know I’m trying to get full custody of him? Well, my lawyer told me today that I have a really good chance at winning that, maybe just with very little supervised visits,” Sammy explains 

“That’s so great,” you say with an assuring smile. “So then what’s wrong?” 

“Nothing, Honey, really,” Sammy sighs. “It’s just...fuck, I’m tired of acting like once you’re done with your current job, you’re just gonna stay in that little apartment, trying to start fresh out of school, and paying off loans and bills, while I live all the way out here with Nate. As if you...wouldn’t be spending most nights here anyway.” 

Your face scrunches up. He knows you have a job lined up, and that you’re responsible with money. Why would he be worried about all that now. “What are you trying to say?” 

“I’m saying, Honey, I’m saying wouldn’t it be easier if you just...came to live with me?” 

It all makes sense now, the nerves and the talk of bills. You snort. “Easier?” 

Sammy’s mouth drops open, then closes again as he swallows a lump. “Better, I meant better.” 

“You want me to move in with you?” You ask with a playful smile. He’s so cute when he’s jittery. 

“Well, I...” Sammy’s voice trails off as a red blush creeps up from his chest. “Only if you want to.” 

A wide, bright smile breaks on your face, and you surge towards him, pulling his face in to pepper kisses up and down his cheeks, “Of course I want to.” 

“Really?”  

“Yes, really, wanna live with you, have something to look forward to coming home to every day.” You assure him, eyes glancing down to Nate, who has started to nod off to sleep, in Sammy’s arms. You press a kiss to Nate’s forehead, straighten out some of his little red curls. “Is it going to be okay for him?” 

“I think so,” Sammy hums. “You’re here almost every time I’ve got him anyway. I know he loves you already.” 

Your finger lightly taps down Nate’s pudgy cheek. “Yeah...” It feels crazy to admit it, but you know a part of him already loves him too. 

“And I love you. I want you here, want to really start a life,” Sammy says, leaning in to kiss your cheek. 

You answer with a kiss to his lips, humming into it as he wraps an arm around you to bring you closer. There’s not much you can do with Nate right there, but this softness, this closeness, it’s good enough. 

“One question,” you start, pulling back suddenly, earning a soft, annoyed whine from Sammy. “Should we just go ahead and move my pole over now, or do you think it would be more fun if we installed it last as like, a celebratory thing after the move is done?” 

“Are you trying to put a stripper pole in my house?” 

“In the bedroom, yes,” You say, blinking innocently. 

“And how do I explain that to him,” Sammy says, glancing down at his son, “when he’s older?” 

“It’s called a lock, Sammy. When he’s old enough to know what the thing is, we put a lock on the door. And encourage him to do lots and lots of slumber parties at other people’s houses.” 

+ 

+ 

+ 

It’s been months since graduation, months since you moved in with Sammy, and since you quit your job. 

Sammy was so right. Teaching pole dancing classes to rich bored housewives is in fact very fun. It’s a great way to spend the evenings that Sammy is working late, and you do earn quite a bit of extra pocket money. 

Your day job at the Huntington Library is fun as well, and beautiful, surrounded by old books and flowers from the Huntington’s garden. Sammy always says you smell like paradise when you come home, thanks to the natural perfume from the foliage.  

Sometimes you’ll come home with a set of books for both of you to read. He got really into classic American novels and science fiction, so sometimes you’ll surprise him with special editions you’re allowed to borrow. He really loves it when you bring home children’s books for him to read to Nate.  

Tammi met you, of course. Not too long after you moved in and she lost custody. As much as you were a little afraid of her from everything Sammy had ever told you, it was important to you that she sees that you were someone good for Nate. And for Sammy.  

She was only a little rude during the entire ordeal, but after a very heated exchange over the phone with Sammy that night, every visit since she’s been on her best behavior. She’s even admitted that she knows Nate likes you. 

It’s all so domestic, but not in a way that’s suffocating. No, it’s in a way that feels comfortable and right, like you were always meant to fit into a life like this, into Sammy’s life like this. 

The final piece to complete it all is finally formally meeting Sammy’s friends. From the small encounters you’d had at the club, you knew they weren’t all bad, but there was still that tiny fear that they’d recognize you and you’d never be able to live down their judgement over your former life.  

Sammy always says he doesn’t care. That he’ll let them make fun of him, but he’d stand up for you no matter what, but you know him. You know the teasing would get to him.  

So, you two put it off. You put it off for months. He told them he’d been seeing someone and that it was serious, but he still hid you for a little while. They’ve been giving him shit for weeks. Even threatened to follow him home just to get a peak at you. Honestly, he wouldn’t mind that so much, if only because most nights you greet him while dressed in lingerie and one of his t-shirts, looking sexy as hell.  

But then you start bothering him about it too, teasing him about not being able to stay a dirty secret forever. 

Which is how you get to this grand Labor Day barbecue at Sammy’s house. If a year ago somebody asked you if hosting a giant party for a bunch of cops and detectives would be something you actually looked forward to, you would have told them they were crazy. 

But. It actually is a lot of fun. 

Sammy reserved the whole pool area, invited everyone and their families, told people to bring whatever food and booze they wanted potluck style, and let you play DJ. It’s loud, it’s raucous, it’s a little overstimulating, but each time Sammy happily introduces you to someone new, big toothy smile on his face, you still feel right at home. 

So far, nobody has given any sign of knowing your other life, all the wives and girlfriends are sweet and welcoming, exchanging numbers with you and inviting you to various book clubs and wine nights.  

All the guys comment on how pretty you are, as you stand there in a tiny bikini with just a sheer wrap covering the lower half of your body, tucked into Sammy’s side, fingers tapping on his bare stomach. 

“You two look like you’re out of some magazine,” Ben’s breaks through the noise, turning your attention away from a conversation with Cooper. 

Sammy’s partnership with Ben has improved some, enough that he told Ben about you before anyone else, but this is still the first time you’re meeting him.  

“That’s just how it goes being the two most attractive people at the party,” Sammy teases, kissing your temple when he feels you tense up. 

“You must be Ben,” you say cautiously, holding out your hand for him to shake. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” 

“Fuck, I hope he mentioned at least one of my good moments,” Ben says with a laugh. “He hasn’t said a lot about you, though. All I know is you’re a very distracting texter.” 

You can feel yourself start to blush, memories of a few times you sent Sammy a little sexy picture in your costume of the night playing in your head. “What can I say, gotta make sure he’s always thinking about me.” 

Ben bites down at smirk at the sight of you two, watching as you give Sammy a kiss on the cheek, and whisper something else sweet in his ear. There’s something about, maybe that you’re almost too hot for Sammy to have won over, that Ben can’t quite place. But for as much as he tries to wrack his brain, he can’t figure out what this feeling is. 

“How long did you say you two have been together?” Ben asks, leaning into a cooler to grab a beer.  

Sammy bites his lip. “Since um, well—" 

“A few months,” you say casually, shrugging. It’s been almost a year, really. But eleven is technically a few, so you’re not exactly lying. “Times go by so fast, it’s so hard to say at this point.” 

“Right,” Ben says suspiciously, tipping the bottle to his lips. 

“Hey,” Sammy coughs, shaking Ben’s hand. “Thanks for coming man, maybe we’ll all go out with that teacher of yours at some point, you can interrogate my girl all you want.” 

And that gets a laugh out of Ben, who nods as he starts to walk away. “Sure man, keep your secrets. Nice meeting you.” 

You smile at him as he joins a group at the edge of the pool, and turn in Sammy’s arms. “My girl.” 

“Yeah, Baby, all mine,” Sammy murmurs, leaning down to kiss that ticklish spot right below your ear. 

But your moment of bliss is very short lived when the loud, obnoxious, raspy voice of officer Dewey cracks through like a train wreck.  

“Holy shit, is that Officer Sammy Bryant’s new boo?” 

You let out a long groan while Sammy cringes, already coming up with a million and one apologies for having to deal with this specific friend.  

“How the FUCK, did you land such a smokeshow, Bryant?” Dewey catcalls, dipping his sunglasses down to show off that his eyes are raking up and down your body. 

You purse your lips and roll your eyes, leaning more into Sammy’s side as his arm wraps around your waist. He knows you’re not the biggest fan of Dewey, especially after watching his antics at your club. At least he doesn’t seem to recognize you, you’d never hear the end of it. 

Sammy opens his mouth to respond, to say something in defense of himself, but you beat him to it. “By being sweet and caring and sexy,” you say, kissing his blushing cheek. Then, to up the ante just a bit, give him a little something to brag to the boys about, you whisper in his ear just loud enough that you know Dewey will hear it anyway, “And he’s got a big dick.” 

You giggle as Sammy’s hand tightens on your waist, pushing you back from Dewey to shield you as his friend makes a show of rolling his eyes and hooting and hollering.  

“Honey,” Sammy groans, hand coming up to rub at his temples to cover his, now red, blush. “They don’t need to hear that.” 

“Sure they do,” you say with a playful smirk.  

“Nah, kid, we do NOT need to hear that one!” Dewey says, mock shivering in disgust. He pushes the sunglasses back up to his eyes, but tilts his head to give you another once over, eyebrow raised. “You know, kid, you do look kind of familiar, where did Sammy say you met again?” 

You eyes go a little wide, and you feel every part of Sammy that’s touching you go tense. You were so sure none of them would figure it out, but what do you do now? If Dewey, the most idiotic of Sammy’s coworkers knows who you are, there’s no way the rest won’t see it.  

“Um, well,” Sammy starts to stutter. How does he answer this? We met at work? That's true for him, you did meet when he was working. But you met again at your work. At the strip club. Where they all saw you. They all saw you dancing. On a pole. Mostly naked. Sammy swallows a lump. “Well, we, uhh—" 

“Wait!” Dewey’s face breaks into a knowing, bright smile, and he claps his hands while nodding. “No, I know where I’ve seen you! Fuck, man, Sammy you bad, bad boy!” 

Your hand starts to shake as you go clutch at Sammy’s bicep, and you inhale a deep, slow breath. “It’s okay,” you try to assure him, but even your voice is completely defeated. “Sammy, it’s fine, I don’t care—" 

“I fucking care, Baby,” Sammy says nervously. “Listen, Dewey, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but she’s—” 

“Woah, woah, woah,” Dewey exclaims, hands up in surrender. “Buddy, what do you take me for? We’ve all been there, right? We’ve all looked for a little strange while on the job.” 

And both of you freeze, glancing at each other questioningly. Sammy looks back at Dewey, putting himself subtly between the two of you. “Dew, where do you think you’ve seen her before?” 

The man rolls his eyes. “Bro. I’m not gonna snitch on you or anything okay, case is closed, not a big deal, nobody’s gonna care. But I’m pretty sure she’s that hot witness we were talking about for weeks after that robbery last fall.” 

It’s like a thousand pound weight is lifted off of both you in an instant, and you both let out all the air you’d nervously trapped in your lungs, laughing along with Dewey. Sammy nods, biting his lip. “Right, right, yeah, of course. Look, um, don’t go around making it a big deal, okay, it’s still against the rules.” 

“I gotcha buddy! I’m not gonna blow up your spot!” Dewey lightly punches Sammy’s arm. “Rules be damned, I say! Be happy, Brother. I’ll keep your little secret.” 

He throws you a wink as he picks up a bottle of beer, chugging it almost completely as he walks away. 

“Fuck,” Sammy sighs, laughing breathlessly as he turns back to you, pulling you into his arms. “That was close.” 

“Hot witness you were talking about for weeks, huh?” You ask with an amused smile. 

“Well,” Sammy’s voice trails off, lip twitching. “A lot of the guys saw me talking to you, they took notice.” 

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you call me hot.” 

“I tell you you’re pretty and beautiful, all the time, Baby.” 

“Those aren’t the same things.” 

Sammy sighs, pulling you into his side, sliding his hand up your spine, leaving chills in its path. “I tell you how sexy you are, that’s the same thing.” 

You scrunch your nose, trying to hide your smile. “Okay, fine.” 

“You are hot, Honey,” Sammy says, voice dropping an octave, humming right into your ear. “You’re so sexy, I’m so lucky. How about we duck out early and go upstairs—" 

“Oh, shut up,” you whine, looking around to make sure nobody is listening in. 

“You’re the one commenting on my dick size—" 

“That was for your benefit.” 

Sammy raises his brow, shrugging with a cocky smile. “And I feel going upstairs to fuck would be for your—" 

“Sammy!!” You whine again, slapping his chest.  

You both fall into a fit of laughter, as he finally gets your arms around him again, leaning in for another kiss to your cheek. “Alright, alright, I give up.” And he pauses to look at you, study the lines on your face from every crease caused by your smile, take in your skin under the sun. He’s had you for almost a year, but in this moment, it feels like a whole new beginning. “You happy, Baby?” 

And you don’t even have to take one single second to think. “Of course, you make me so happy, Sammy. Aren’t you?” 

Sammy nods, looking back on everything he had to go through before you. Nate was worth some of the bullshit, but if he’d known he was going to be led to you, maybe he wouldn’t have spent so much time fighting for things that weren’t worth all that pain. 

“Yeah, Baby, more than ever.” 

“I still cannot believe you are dating a COP.”  

“It’s been 6 months, what’s not to believe?” 

“That she’s actually committing to a cop!” 

“Okay, thank you! That’s enough from the peanut gallery!” You shout from the other end of the dressing room. The music from the club is bumping through the walls, as a group of you get ready for your shift for the night, helping each other put final touches on hair and makeup. 

“I didn’t mean anything by it, he is cute,” Kenna, the most protective and cynical of your friends says. “But I mean, come on, a cop? I’m surprised he hasn’t tried to have the club raided or some shit.” 

“You realize his cop friends are like, half our audience some nights, right? They’re not gonna do anything to us,” you point out. “Now, can someone please help me get these lashes on?” 

“I got you,” Krysta chimes in, on her way with the good lash glue. “You know we’re just looking out for you, right?” 

“Yeah,” you shrug. “But I mean, you all know he treats me right and everything, I don’t really care what job he has. Besides, he’s not one of those corrupt cops with a violent streak. From everything he’s told me, he actually does care about people.” 

“Well, the second he turns, we’ll make him disappear, don’t worry,” Kenna says with a wink. 

“I don’t think he’ll have that problem,” Krysta says. “I remember when he came in the first time, he looked like a terrified baby deer.” 

“Exactly, he’s respectful,” you say.  

“That only goes so far. He knows what you do for a living, are you really telling me it doesn’t bother him at all?” Kenna asks. 

And, well. You bite your lip as you look at yourself in the mirror. “We don’t really talk about it.” 

Krysta and Kenna share a look.  

“Oh, girl—" 

“There’s just no reason too!” You say defensively. “We have other things to talk about, okay? This is just a job, just like how what he does is just a job.” Truthfully, you don’t really know how much it bothers Sammy.  

He hasn’t stepped foot in the club since that night, although he does sometimes pick you up. He’ll wait in the alley at the back, and won’t leave the car, but he’s happy to see you. Always tells you how pretty you look, asks if everything went well. And yes, when he asks that question it comes with a stiff tone, a tight jaw, like he’s waiting for you to say some creep grabbed you so he can have a reason to run in and set them straight. But he hasn’t asked you to quit.  

And for just over six months it’s been good. It’s been so good.  

Maybe it has to do with his age, the fact that he’s a real adult with maturity and a good job and a kid, but he doesn’t treat you the way other guys have. He’s not some dumb college bro who just wants to sleep with you and confuse your brain.  

Sammy is attentive. He really cares about your life, your school, your time. He checks on you every day, but gives you space when you need to study or work. You two can’t exactly go out in public yet with all the circumstances of how you met, but he makes sure you never feel like some dirty secret. 

You have routines. You have favorite places to eat. You save Jeopardy episodes to watch together. You even work out together. Well, he hits the weights while you take your dance and yoga classes, but it’s in the same gym close to your apartment.  

About two months in, he’d gotten into this horrible accident while on the job. You were worried when he didn’t answer your texts all day. It’s not that he always texted back right away, that would be unreasonable for someone in his line of work, but hours between answers was unusual. 

When you finally got a call at almost midnight, and he’d told you what happened, you rushed across town to see him.  

It was after visiting hours, but thankfully you were friends with one of the nurses, so she helped you sneak in. 

“Oh my god,” you’d whined upon seeing him in that bed with a big bruise on his face and a sling on his arm. 

“Baby? What are you doing here?” he’d asked, eyes darting around to check the time, to make sure nobody saw you here. 

“Are you kidding me? Of course I had to come,” you said, sitting at his side and carefully carding your fingers through his curls. “What happened?” 

Sammy hesitated, happy to see you, already feeling better, but not wanting to scare you. “Well, I’m not sure if I should tell you.” 

“Now you definitely need to tell me.” 

“Honey, my job comes with certain risks—" 

“Sammy!” You gave him a stern look, and he relented. 

He let out a sigh. “Okay, okay. Ben and I have been dealing with this pimp, an asshole who wanted to turn out his own daughter. And Ben’s been getting in his face a little, which I told him not to do. I kept saying to tread lightly, but he let it get to him. Anyway, this guy followed us, pulled up on us at light and tried to shoot in our vehicle, so I sped off, but we had to drive right into traffic, and he clipped our car, so we spun out and a civilian drove right into my side.” 

“Jesus, Sammy I’m so sorry,” you said, kissing his cheek. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, Baby. Slight dislocation of my shoulder, and my face looks worse than it is, but I’ll be okay. They’re gonna let me out of here in a day, you’ll see.” 

“Okay,” you said quietly. It fell to a tense silence between you two, as Sammy watched the anxiety fill your eyes.  

He leaned into capture your lips in another kiss, still stunned you put in all the effort to be there with him at all. Tammi may have showed up, but she never would have wanted to hear that story, and if she did, she’d have been begging him to quit, or to go back up to detective. As though that was any less dangerous. But you? You listened to him, you took it in. You actually asked him. 

“Hey, are you even allowed to be here?” he’d asked, nosing along your cheek, taking in your comforting scent. 

“Definitely not,” you’d said. 

You’ll never forget the way his lips had twitched into a smile, before you gave him a comforting, chaste kiss. 

He was only in for two more nights, and you’d snuck in to see him on both of them. Thankfully none of his friends tried to stay passed hours, so it was easy for you to have alone time. 

So, you still haven’t formally met his friends, but you have met Nate. Sammy’s adorable son who looks like his little ginger doppelganger.  

It was about four months after you’d started seeing each other, and even though you thought it might be too soon, Sammy just felt it was right. And you loved Nate. He’s the sweetest, happiest kid you’d ever met.  

You had plenty of experience watching young kids at the club, with the amount of single mothers who sometimes didn’t have an option but to bring them in and hide them in the fitting rooms. You were always the first to volunteer to watch them between dances. 

Sammy’d winced at that. 

“Not that I’d ever let you two be in the same room, but don’t ever tell Tammi any of that,” Sammy had jokingly said, as he watched you play with his son. His heart had been so full that day. 

Tammi did not know about you. And you agreed for Sammy and Nate’s sake it should stay that way for a while. He got Nate two weekends out of the month, and was fighting for more time, or possibly full time because of all of Tammi’s substance problems. He’d been so nervous to tell you about that. Afraid you’d leave him if he was a full time dad. 

“Sammy, Nate is part of the deal with you, I know that, I don’t want to go anywhere, okay? You make me so happy, you’re not going to scare me off that easily,” you’d assured him.  

He went down on you for almost an hour that night. 

The girls teased you for basically becoming a step mom after four months, but you defended yourself by saying it didn’t count because you two didn’t live together. Although, something exciting raced through your heart at the thought of a little put-together family with Sammy. 

You didn’t get to spend Christmas together, he had Nate and you’d promised to go home and spend it with your mom, but you did do New Years. He’d taken a few days off, and took you up to San Francisco for some big party. You guys ended up missing that in favor of fucking on every surface of the hotel room instead.  

It’s the best relationship you’ve ever had. It was the longest relationship you’ve ever had. 

And the whole time, through the ups and downs and serious milestones you’d made in such short time, you had avoided the topic of your work. 

But, if he was really bothered by it, he could have brought that up at any time.  

Somehow, by some miracle, you actually hadn’t dealt with any really dramatic terrible clients, so when Sammy asked if anything bad happened at work, you really had nothing to report.  

There had been the usual too touchy guys in the private rooms, who would back off as soon as you threatened to push the emergency button. A couple of guys had tried to get you and the other girls to take all of your clothes off, when they knew the furthest you could go was topless, but the bouncers took care of them. And yes, there were dozens who came in their pants when you gave them a lap dance, but these are all the usual things. Sammy doesn’t need to hear all of that. 

“Girlie, I know you think it’s an easy topic to avoid, but trust us, even a man as nice and respectful as Officer Bryant can have his issues. He might be bottling that shit up for your sake for now, but it can still go bad later.” 

And a little part of you knows that Krysta is right. You have no idea how Sammy would react if he had to see you on the job again, on another man, or taking him to a private room. 

Your phone buzzes where it sits on the makeup counter.  

{Hi Honey, i got the whole weekend off, wanna stay over just u and me?} 

You look up to find Krysta and Kenna staring at you with amused shakes of their heads. You turn away with a heated blush on your cheeks.  

{hmmm the whole time? idk could get a better offer...} 

{my offer comes with home cooked meals and dessert for me 👅👅👅} 

{ur so cheesy} 

{r u saying i don’t get dessert} 

{mmmm how about you get dessert first?} 

Krysta and Kenna roll their eyes as they watch you giggle to yourself and squirm in your seat.  

“She’s not listening to us at all.” 

“Wish I had one of those, though.” 

+ 

No, no, no, no, no, no, this can’t be happening, is all Sammy can think as Ben and Mendoza finalize their plans for tonight. 

“Never been to that one, are the girls hot?” 

“Yeah man, even got Sammy boy here to take private dance once,” Ben says, proudly clapping Sammy on his back. 

The place in question, which Ben and Mendoza, as well as a couple of the other guys, are planning to drag him out to, is in fact, your club. Again. 

Back when he first started seeing you, after being dragged out by a similar group, he’d asked if that was a regular location for them. Thankfully, it was a one and done, a place they picked because it was the furthest away from anyone’s wives, so none of them would be caught and in trouble, but also too far to go to all the time. Why the fuck does Ben have to suggest it now? 

“Wow, Boy Scout Sammy getting a lap dance?” Mendoza says with a condescending whistle. “Tell me bud, did you fall in love with a stripper?” 

“Ha,” Sammy snaps, doing his best to save face as the two of them snicker at him. Internally he’d rather be punched in the dick. “It was fine.” 

“He was all smiley after,” Ben says, raising his brows in a teasing smirk. 

Sammy sucks in a breath through his teeth, throwing on a tight smile. “It was a stressful day and she was nice. It was fine.” 

She might be the love of my fucking life and you assholes may be about to ruin all of that. 

“Hey, every day is a stressful day in Gangland, am I right?” Mendoza says, clapping his hands together. “I think that settles it then, us and the boys, Painted Moon, drinks, tits and ass, maybe an after party with some of the girls...” 

Sammy’s ears perk up at that. You’ve told him about some of your friends and the other girls at work, about how they’re much harder partiers than you, and have on occasion accepted offers to earn extra cash by doing private events and parties. He’s not worried about you, of course, but he’ll be damned if he lets a sleaze like Mendoza take advantage of your friends. 

He doesn’t want to go. He really, really wants to make any excuse in the world to avoid getting into this situation. But he has to think about you. He knows he won’t be able to convince you to skip out on a shift, and as much as he’d rather not have to face you in there, with other men’s eyes on your body, their grubby fingers sticking bills in your face, he can’t just leave you alone tonight. 

It’s such terrible timing. He has this whole plan in his head for you two. The case you were a witness on his going to trial soon, and after that’s done, it’s less of a big deal if you two are together. He was going to wait a little bit after that to bring you around, maybe throw a barbecue at his place for the boys and their girls, have you co-host with him. If anyone recognizes you as the witness, it won’t matter by then. It was perfect. 

“Sammy, you’re joining, you don’t get a say,” Ben says firmly. 

There’s a click in Sammy’s jaw, as it tightens, and he feels that little muscle in cheek twitch. “Whatever, fine.” 

He leaves the two of them to their hooting and hollering taunting of him, as he rounds the corner into the nearest conference room, shutting the door behind him. He watches them through the glass as he pulls out his phone to call you, making sure they don’t try to interrupt. 

He really hopes you aren’t too mad. You’d just spend this great weekend together, home cooking and lots of sex, a nice drive in the hills with the windows down, real romantic stuff. And now this. 

“Officer Bryant, are you calling me mid-shift for phone sex, because that would be very irresponsible of you,” you playfully answer. 

He releases a breathless laugh. Any other time, he’d play into it, flirt a little, get you riled up and impatient for him to come home. 

“Baby...you’re working tonight, right?” 

“Yeah, you wanna pick me up after? I won’t be able to stay this whole weekend again, I have to finish a couple papers but I’d love to spend the night together if you can.” 

“No, I—I mean I’d love to spend the night with you, but, um, listen something is happening against my will, and I don’t...don’t want you to be blindsided.” 

“Why would I be blindsided? Is everything okay? Is it Tammi?” 

He takes a deep breath, facing scrunching up uncomfortably, as he turns away from the window. “No, um, Ben and this other guy, Mendoza, they’re gonna take a group from Mendoza’s squad to your club tonight.” 

“Oh.” Your voice goes nearly quiet he almost doesn’t hear it. 

“And I, um, I’m sort of being dragged along...” 

“You’re gonna be in the club tonight? Like...inside...watching me?” 

“Honey, I’m so sorry about this. Ben is in this phase where he’s a real dick about everything, and he’s friends with assholes,” Sammy says, looking over his shoulder to make sure the guys are still on the other side of the glass. “I wouldn’t go, but I want to make sure they don’t get into trouble.” 

“It’s okay, do the girls have to worry about anything?” 

“Not from Ben, but Mendoza...tell your friends to have their guards up, don’t accept any invitations to party with him after.” Then Sammy takes a deep breath. He doesn’t want to do this, doesn't want to risk making you feel like some dirty secret, but you’re so close to being able to tell people about your relationship. “Baby, do you, um, do you think you could do me a favor?” 

There’s a pause on your end, which only serves to make his anxiety spike. “What kind of favor?” 

Sammy bites his lip, pinching the bridge of his nose. He has flashbacks to the times Tammi would call him to derail his work days. “Do you, um, do you have any, um, costumes that come with something to cover your face?” 

Again, you let his words hang in the air for a moment. You know he doesn’t mean anything bad by it, logically you know, but something still puts a stabbing pain in your chest. “I...I do.” 

“Could you please, please wear it tonight?” Sammy begs.  

“Sammy—” 

“Please, Honey,” Sammy pleads, heart breaking at how small your voice sounds. “I don’t want them to see your face, okay? At some point...at some point Ben is going to formally meet you, and I don’t want him to remember you like that.” 

Like that. 

You know he’s not trying to be insulting. He’s being protective. It still doesn’t feel good. “Right, yeah...okay, I can do that.” 

“Honey,” Sammy sighs, cringing at the sadness in your voice. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s fine, I’ll see you tonight.” 

You hang up the phone before he can get another word, another apology, in. He slams his phone down.  

Maybe he’ll get lucky and you make sure to work a stage far away from them. Maybe he'll get lucky and the guys will get so blackout drunk they won’t even recognize each other.  

At the end of all of it, the one thing he cares about the most is that you’re not too mad at him. He’ll make it up to you. 

+ 

It might have been a few months, but the club looks exactly like it did the night he found you here. And yet somehow, it feels even grimier. It’s like Sammy can see the dirt and stains on the walls, can feel the leering from the patrons as they look at the girls like pieces of meat. He supposes it was this skin crawling before, but he didn’t care as much because...well... 

You haven’t come out yet. They’ve been here for about 30 minutes, the guys all sitting around the main stage while Sammy holes up at the bar, and so far there’s been no sign of you. He’d texted you a couple of times since arriving, to no answer, which doesn’t help to quell his anxiety. 

Maybe you already performed and are in a private room, maybe you decided to ditch your shift, maybe— 

“She’s out in the next song, Officer Bryant.” 

Sammy jumps at the sound of a soft voice next to him and when he looks he’s met a familiar smile. “Oh, um, Krysta, right?” 

“Yeah, nice of you to remember,” she says with a smirk. She’s behind the bar, loading a tray with what Sammy assumes is shots of straight vodka. “She’s working the left side stage tonight, didn’t want to deal with your friends.” 

Sammy’s jaw tightens. “They’re not really my friends.” 

“Whatever, just saying,” Krysta shrugs. “She’s not in a good mood. She was when she got in but then after that call with you...well she’s really sad now.” 

“I said I was sorry,” Sammy sighs, voice almost a whisper. 

She looks him up and down, taking in the way he’s slumped in the seat, the way the label on his beer has been torn to shreds on the bar top. “I know you are.” 

He can’t find it in himself to look at her as she walks away. Great, so all your friends probably know what an asshole he is. 

His attention goes back to Ben and the guys. Mendoza makes a big show of shoving some singles in a dancer’s g-string, while all the other guys cheer as Krysta starts to hand out the shots. There’s four girls dancing on the stage in front of them and at least three in laps of some of the guys, so their attention is mostly taken up. Ben does look over at Sammy, smile dropping when he sees the sullen expression on his partner’s face. At least he knows he’ll be left alone by them tonight. 

Deja vu overtakes Sammy’s mind when a commotion starts to come from the left stage, as a new song starts to play and...there you are. 

You step into the spotlight, hand wrapped around the silver pole, flashing your brightest smile to the crowd that sits close by.  

His first thought is fuck, you look so pretty. You’re in a baby blue lingerie set, corseted top covered in sequins he knows you sewed on yourself, and a matching baby blue thong with the hips lined with tassels.  

His second thought is fuck, that doesn’t leave anything to the imagination. And yes, he’s seen all these outfits before, watched you pick them out and try them on at your place, caught glimpses of them under your jacket and sweats when he’s picked you up from work, but seeing it all under these lights, after months of getting to know you...it all feels like too much. 

He’s touched every single inch of that body. Kissed every part. Claimed every piece as his, and now it’s all out here for these fucking people.  

The only part covered is your face, just like he asked. You’re wearing a baby blue masquerade mask; it shines under the lights, and covers the upper part of your face. If he didn’t know every other part of you so well, he wouldn’t even recognize you. 

Your tits bounce as you dance, and he bites his lip at the memory of them in his hands when you were bouncing on his dick in the living room only days ago. And now some random guy is trying to cop a feel as he attempts to slip a five in your bra. 

Sammy’s hands tense up on his knees so hard the knuckles turn white. 

It’s fine. This is your job. This is what happens all the time. This is how you make a living. How you pay your bills. 

Bills that would be significantly reduced if you lived with him. That’s a solution. 

You continue your dance, gracefully twirling around the pole, money thrown your way by all kinds of guys hooting and hollering, staring at you and licking their lips with hunger in their eyes. 

And it makes him feel a little sick, knowing he’s looked at you that same way, and it’s different but...his stomach still churns. All these guys, gross men of all ages and types, looking at you and touching you and shoving their money in your sorry excuses for clothes...he can’t stand it. 

And he knows it’s all an act, that it’s part of your job to lure them in, but you’re smiling at them. You’re batting your lashes and blowing kisses and waving your fingers, legs falling open in the splits, body rolling to the beat of the music, all for them. For their money but... 

It makes him very sick. That all these guys would even think they stand a chance with you, that they’d even get one. You’re all his. He’s different. You tell him all the time. He isn’t like these guys at all, he met you first, you wanted him, you came to him. You’re in a relationship. It’s real.  

And yet, as he watches you slip into one of the guy’s laps, turning so your perfect ass (which must have makeup on it to cover the bite mark he knows he left on it) rubs against his crotch, Sammy wants to throw up. 

It’s the worst kind of torture. 

He watches as the man’s hand lingers a little too long after slipping a twenty in the front of your panties, fat sausage fingers dip below the hem. You swiftly move them away, twirling your body with a smile, running your hand up his chest and to his hair, backing away with a wry smile and wag of your finger. It’s a move that’s obviously practiced. You’ve had to do it a hundred times, probably more, multiple times a night. The thought makes Sammy shudder. 

It takes every ounce of strength he has to not go over there and punch the guy out. 

This was a terrible idea. Sammy should have just asked, begged, you to stay home. He could have taken you to somewhere nice for dinner instead. Anything but sitting here like some chump while he watches men touch what’s his. 

You’re not even looking for him. 

No that you have to or even should.  

If you did, he knows you’d just find a terrifying death stare at all the men in the front row. He’s not proud of it. 

Your song starts to fade out, and another girl makes her way onstage, as you slip from the man’s lap, covered in bills and a sheen of sweat. Sammy’s jaw clenches as you blow the man a kiss, swaying your hips when you walk away. 

Right towards Sammy. 

He makes a quick glance over to the other guys, thankfully still distracted by the girls they’ve got, and he jumps a little when he feels a hand slide up his shoulder. 

“Hey, Gorgeous, want a dance?” Your soft voice penetrates over the music, lips ghosting over his ear. You’re trying to sound playful, but Sammy knows your moods. 

Regretfully, his body twitches away from you, and when he looks into your eyes, the way he can tell they fall into sadness even behind the mask, he knows you saw it. “Sorry, not tonight, just...enjoying watching the show.” 

There’s a tightness to his voice. A rough gravelly tone that you recognize from the times you’ve heard him on the phone with Tammi. It’s his I’m very upset but I’m trying not to let that be obvious tone. And what right does he have to be upset right now? 

“You don’t look like you’re enjoying watching,” you say, trying to keep it seductive, leaning your body into his, breath catching when he instinctively lets himself melt into your touch. At least he’s not trying to get away again. “Come on, I bet you could convince your friends to comp you a dance again, we don’t have to stay out here.” 

“Told you they’re not my friends,” Sammy responds, hands balling into fists on his lip. If you two were anywhere else in the world, he’d be all over you by now, begging and pleading for you to dance for him, playing into the thrill of it all. But here, with what he just had to watch...he can’t make himself do it. “You should go take one of those other guys with you, they looked up for some fun.” 

You feel like you’ve been punched in the gut. “Sammy...” 

“I’m sorry just...go do what you have to do.” 

And he’s trying to stay in control. He’s trying to keep his voice down and even, to not draw attention from Mendoza or security. But his skin is crawling and his eyes have been seeing red since you came out. 

You know you can’t push it. His usual eye-contact is replaced by nervous twitchy eyes flashing around the room, his jaw is clenched, and you know it’s best to just leave it here. 

“Are you going to leave?” you ask, voice small, removing any contact you have with his body. 

And that finally breaks him just the slightest bit out of his tense stupor. He looks at you, resists the urge to reach a comforting hand to your cheek, and sucks in a deep breath. “No, Honey, I’ll stay. I’ll take you home when you’re...done.” 

The softness that you recognize peaks through in his voice, the only reassurance you’ve had the whole conversation. “Okay.” 

You leave him like that, rushing back to your stage to join Kenna for the next song. When you look over your shoulder, Sammy is looking down at his hands, biting his lip with a disappointed frown. At least you know he’s not proud of his behavior.  

Several songs pass by as Sammy fights any temptation to watch you the whole time. He’s checked a few times, watched you give a few lap dances, and go into the private room a few times, only to emerge three minutes later. All the guys you leave with come out beaming. Sammy wants to knock their teeth out. 

At some point, to not seem to suspicious or like the biggest downer in the world, Sammy makes his way over to the other guys, taking a seat off to the side by Ben. Your friend, Krysta, serves him a shot, offers to give him a dance, and he declines. At least she’s being nice. 

“Sammy come on, Mendoza is buying us all lap dances, accept the gesture,” Ben drunkenly yells over the music, clapping Sammy on the shoulder. 

“I’m good man,” Sammy says curtly. “Not my type.” 

Krysta lets out a snort next to him, and he looks up sheepishly to see her raise her brows with an amused smirk. 

“Guess your girl isn’t here tonight?” Mendoza’s voice annoying, teasing voice calls over. 

Sammy gives him a polite nod and smile, looking over his shoulder to see you gone again. “Guess not.” 

“Doesn’t mean you gotta miss out on all the fun, brother,” Ben says. 

“You guys are having enough for all of us.” Sammy responds. 

Mendoza leans over to whisper something to Ben, who nods in return. “We’re taking this party to the docks in a bit, some of the girls are getting paid to join for the night, sound like something you’d wanna try out. Or are you keeping that stick up your ass and going home?” 

“Oh me and my stick are very much looking forward to a good night’s sleep, Sherman. You should try it some time.” 

Just as Ben is about to respond, one of the dancing girls lands in his lip, giggling and whispering something in his ear. He gives Sammy a smirk. “Maybe next time.” 

“Yeah, whatever,” Sammy stands up with a wave, returning to the bar to close out his tab.  

The other guys leave, Mendoza giving Krysta a hard time on his way out, trying to get her to join their party. She brushes him off and Sammy at least knows you listened and warned your friends about that group. She comes back his way, and Sammy tells her to let you know he’s going to be waiting out back in the car. 

It’s another hour, about 3am, before he spots you sneaking out the back door. Your head is down, covered in one of his hoodies and loose sweatpants, the blue fabric of your thong still sticking out from the waistline on your hips. You pull the hood down as you slip into the passenger seat, and you try to lean over to give him a kiss, something you’d do on any other night, but he keeps himself just out of reach. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see how your body deflates.  

The first five minutes of the drive are completely silent, with not even music on the radio to drown out the tension between you two. 

You’re the one brave enough to break through it. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine.” Sammy responds quickly, but you can see how tightly his hands are gripping the steering wheel. 

“You don’t seem fine—" 

“I said I’m fine!” Sammy snaps, instantly regretting it. His closes his eyes and sucks in a deep breath. He doesn’t want to do this to you, but he can’t get the images of those guys all over you, their hands on your body... 

But you aren’t going to let him slide that easy. “I don’t know why you’re the one who’s mad right now. As if you don’t know what I do for a living? As if you haven’t seen it before,” you say pointedly. You pick me up and ask about my shift all the time and I never tell you anything because there’s nothing to worry about, but the second you see it for yourself—" 

“Baby, I—” 

“No!” You cut him off, even though you know he wants to take it back. You can feel a ball start to form in your throat, and the sting of tears at the corner of your eyes. “You don’t get to sit here and pout and huff like I’m the one who did something wrong!” 

“You didn’t—” he cuts himself off this time, taking another deep breath. He’s being unreasonable, he knows he is. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

“Then why are you mad at me?” you shout, voice cracking as you do your best not to cry, but you know it’s going to start at any moment. 

“Because I don’t want to have to fucking see it!” Sammy shouts, the dam of self-control breaking in him. 

Your body tenses and you wince at the volume of his voice, “Sammy—”  

“I know what your fucking job is, but seeing it with my eyes, watching those men ogle you a-and grope you and stick money in your fucking bra and follow you to a private room, it makes me fucking sick!” 

“It doesn’t mean anything to me, there’s no need to be jealous—" 

“I’m not jealous—" 

“Obviously you are!” 

You jump again when he continues to yell. 

“I don’t care! I can’t fucking handle it!” 

His eyes are on the road, black and angry and focused on anything but the tears that have started falling down your streaks. You feel like an idiot. Kenna was right, he bottled everything up and now you were going to lose the first decent man you’d ever been with. 

And the thought is devastating but it doesn’t mean you have to sit here and take it. 

“Pull over.” 

“What?” Sammy snaps. 

“I said pull the fucking car over!” You raise your voice in a way he’s never heard, and it actually manages to scare him into doing what you want. 

He pulls to the side of the dark road, under one of the few street lights that’s still lit. There aren’t any other cars on the road at this time of night. He opens his mouth to say something, to try to start apologizing, but it’s too late as you angrily open the door and start to storm away. 

Sammy swears to himself as he leaves the car, jogging to catch up with you.  

“Baby, get back in the car.” His voice is softer, quieter, but it doesn’t deter you from your path. “Baby, please—" 

“No! I’m gonna call a cab and go home by myself!” 

“Honey, I’m not leaving you out here on your own,” Sammy begs, all fight and anger gone from his voice. He catches up to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and buries his face into your neck. “Come on—” 

“Sammy,” You sigh, trying to shake yourself out of his grip. “Get off, just go home.” 

“No, Baby I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please let me take you home. I’m not mad, I promise I’m not mad. I just want to protect you baby, I want you to be okay,” He pleads, and you hear the desperation in his voice, can tell he’s about to join you in crying. “I’m sorry Baby, I don’t want to be like this, I don’t want to be that guy.” 

“Sammy—” 

“Honey, please forgive me, I-I know I’m fucking it up, but...” Sammy sighs, squeezing you tighter. “The thought of you with anyone else? It drives me crazy. Losing you? That’s what I couldn’t handle. You know Tammi cheated on me, and rationally I-I know you would never, okay? But seeing you like that, it triggered something in me, shit I know I gotta work on and I’m sorry, but please don’t go.” 

And your heart breaks at his pleading. You turn in his arms, wipe the tears from his eyes, which have returned to that wonderous expression they usually have for you. “I’m not Tammi, okay? You’re...you’re special to me. There’s nobody else that I want. Sammy...can’t you tell I’m yours? Don’t you know? ” 

“I do Baby, please forgive me.” His thumb reaches up to your cheek, swiping away the tear tracks from your soft skin. “You’re special to me too. Please just...let me take you home, please don’t make me leave you out here.” 

You chew on your bottom lip. Maybe you shouldn’t let it go this easily, but with Sammy it’s so hard to stay mad at him, every word he says is so sincere. If there’s anything you’ve learned about him the last couple months, it’s that he’s a shit liar and he wears his heart on his sleeve. You give him a nod and let him lead you back to the car. 

This time when you’re both in and back on the road, Sammy reaches a warm hand over, laying it lightly on your thigh. You give him a small smile, placing your own hand over his and squeezing in a way you hope is reassuring.  

“Sammy?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I think for the good of our relationship, you really shouldn’t ever step foot in the club again. If your stupid friends try to bring you back, then convince them to go somewhere else. Make something up, any excuse I don’t care. But don’t come back in.” 

“Honey, I said I was sorry, I won’t do this again—”  

“Yeah, cause you’re not going to see it again.” 

He thinks twice about arguing again. He knows you’re right. 

You turn on the radio but the rest of the drive is quiet between you two, fingers laced together in your lap. You’re torn between feeling like you should be more mad, and relieved that his jealousy was out of wanting you so much. Nobody else has cared enough to be so possessive. 

And maybe you’re also not so mad because...well you’re not going to keep this job much longer. He may not know that, but your nights of having to be touched by anyone but Sammy are almost over. 

When you arrive at home, it’s still tense. You can tell he spent the whole ride overthinking, the little frown on his face an obvious tell.  

He walks you to your door, and as you turn back you prepare to say something reassuring, make sure he understands that you’re not mad at him, but when you open your mouth you’re instead met with a deep kiss. 

You whine into it, both rushing as he backs you against the door, bodies melting into each other. His hands find your sides, sliding up under your hoodie to where your bare skin blossoms with heat from his touch. It’s breathless and biting, but you can feel him holding back, you can feel him grip you tight when you know he’d rather have his hands on your ass, or ripping your pants down to what he really wants.  

Sammy’s letting out these little moans, desperate in a way he rarely gets with you. His kisses and bites move to your neck, teeth nipping along the skin, as he uses one of his hands to hitch one of your legs around his waist, and you gasp as you feel how hard he already is through his jeans. “I’m sorry, Baby, I know you’re mine.” 

“Yes,” you moan, tugging at the curls at the top of his neck. “Yeah, Sammy, ‘m all yours.” 

You reach back and stumble as you get your door open, and you both trip on your way inside, tearing at each other’s clothes. He’s looking at you with those eyes you remember from the day you met, wide and wonderous like when you danced for him the first time. That’s the man you know. 

Your jacket and pants are left somewhere at the front door, his shirt thrown in the general direction of the couch. Everything is kicked off including the blue lingerie set, and Sammy is only in his jeans, prominent bulge pressed against you. Your hands run down his taut abs, nails digging into the skin, and you lick your lips as a red flush makes its way up his freckled chest. You want him so bad, you want him to know that you only have eyes for him.  

“Sammy I—" 

“Tell me again, Baby, please,” Sammy whines desperately into another kiss, leading you backwards towards your bedroom. “I won’t ever yell at you again, I won’t ever be jealous. Spent that whole ride thinking about what I’d do if I lost you... I’d lose all hope, Baby, I couldn’t fucking stand it. Please, tell me you’re mine again.” 

Your heart stings at his words. “Of course I’m yours.” 

“Say it again,” Sammy pants, eyes dark and wild, hands gripping you tighter as he shoves you down onto the bed.  

It’s not gentle in a way that sends a thrilling heat up your spine, and you bite your lip as you stare up at him, thighs rubbing together, pussy dripping. “I’m yours, Sammy.” 

He grabs you by your ankles, eyes softening for just a moment as they flick down to where he grips you, wordlessly asking if it’s okay. Your only response is a quick and enthusiastic nod of your head. Sammy roughly pulls you to the end of the bed, so your legs bracket his clothed hips, bringing his hand up to tightly grab your jaw. His thumb gently rubs at your lips, and he dips it into your mouth when your tongue reaches out to lick it. 

“Tell me again,” he says, voice low and gravely, almost inaudible between the way the words get stuck in his throat and the thumping of your heartbeat in your ears.  

You blink up at him, chest heaving, blood pulsing, resisting the urge to rut up against the metal of his jeans zipper. His thumb leaves your mouth with a small pop, and you lick your lips in the trail of heat it left. “I’m yours, Sammy, all yours.” 

You watch the movement of his chest as he sucks in a deep breath, the way his pecs rise and fall, and he opens his mouth but quickly shuts it, stopping himself from saying whatever thought just flashed into his mind. Instead he uses that same hand to undo the buckle of his belt, pulling it from loops of his pants and dropping it carelessly to the ground.  

He watches as your eyes follow his movements, takes in the lines on your face as each micro expression of arousal takes over. You look so beautiful in just the moonlight, eyes sparkling even with your pupils blown dark, and your smile...it reaches every inch of your face. It’s different to the smile you’d given men in the club.  

Even under the mask, Sammy could see that you were faking it, that your eyes had been dull. But as you look up at him now...he knows it’s real. He feels so stupid for before, for letting himself get carried away in his anger and insecurities. How could he doubt you? When he loves... 

“Take ‘em off for me,” Sammy grunts. He pushes down any other thoughts to stay in the moment, to be able to give in to what you both want.  

You reach up to pop the button on his pants, kissing his lower stomach as you pull them down his legs. His hard cock bounces towards you, but just as you’re about to take it into your mouth, Sammy suddenly grabs you by the shoulders and turns you around to all fours. You gasp as he moves you up the bed, and squeal in delight as a rough hand slaps your ass.  

“Oh, fuck, Sammy,” you gasp, as you arch your back towards him, feeling the juices start to drip down your inner thigh. 

“Tell me again.” 

“I’m yours.” 

“Let me take what’s mine, Baby,” Sammy moans, kissing and biting at the back of your neck, brushing the hair off your soft skin.  

You feel the weight of him, comforting and strong, on your body, and you nod, ability to speak leaving you completely. But he does get a long whine from you when he pushes his cock into your wet heat.  

It’s fast from there, your hands planted to the bed as he fucks into you hard, body laid out over yours, hands gripping your waist so hard you hope there are bruises in the shape of his hands in the morning. You moan into the bed, as your fingers twist into the sheet, hips moving back to meet every thrust of his.  

Cold hits your back when Sammy sits up, changing the angle on you with a hand pressed to your lower back. It slides up your spine, shivers following in its path, and completes its journey at the base of your neck, holding you in place, making you take it.  

You turn your head just enough to look back at Sammy, he’s biting his lip, eyes laser focused on where his hips meet your ass. Words are tossed out mindlessly under his breath, “Fuck, so fucking sexy Baby. My perfect girl. Feel good, Baby?” 

“Yes,” you mewl brokenly. “Feels so good, Sammy.” 

“Yeah,” his soft, scratchy voice calls out, desperate for you, desperate to know you don’t want anyone but him. He feels crazy, he feels wrong, but his mind has been overtaken with the need to claim. “Only I can make you feel this, yeah? None of those other fucking losers could get you like this. Only this cock can fuck you like you need, yeah?” 

And you’re at a loss for words, until you feel his hand land down in a hard smack! to your cheek. You scream out, eyes rolling back as a spike of pleasure makes your cunt clench around him.  

And Sammy gets this wild smile that your closed eyes can’t see, as he brings his hand down to spank you again, to get you to make that sound again. “Like that, Baby?” 

You nod your head in quick succession, choking on any words that try to escape your throat. Sex with Sammy is always good, whether it’s slow and loving or fast and playful, but it’s never been like this. Never been driven by this desire to take and claim and you feel a sort of shameful twist in your stomach at how much you love it. 

“Ahh!” is the only thing you seem to be able to say, as a third spank lands on your ass, and you know a pink handprint must be forming in its place.  

The squelch of slick from your pussy tells Sammy everything he needs to know. He could come just like this, your pussy pulsing around him as he spanks you until you’re crying for him, brain turned to mush until the only thing you can think of is him.  

But another part of him is still sitting in the jealousy and need to be reassured. “Answer me, Baby. You like it?” 

“Y-yes,” you finally manage to stutter out, gasping for breath as you feel his cock hitting deep in your core. You wonder if he’d put a hand to your stomach if he could feel it. 

“Yeah, you fuckin’ love it,” Sammy grunts. “Only me, right? You’re just my good girl?” 

“Yes,” you moan. 

“That’s right, nobody but me, nobody can make you feel like this, nobody would fuck you like me,” Sammy says, voice sounding far like in a trance.  

“S-Sammy,” You whimper. “Please.” 

And you’re not even sure what you’re asking for, caught between wanting to come, right on the edge of it, and wanting him to never stop. 

“What, Honey?” Sammy asks with a smirk, without missing a beat in his thrusts. “Had enough already? Too much for my sweet girl?” 

You nod, blinking up at him as a tear drops down your cheek. Sammy lets out a harsh breath, swearing to himself as he leans down to lick it up, the warmth of his body once again covering yours. Your voice is soft, almost lost when you beg, “Let me come, please, Sammy.” 

“Oh, Baby,” he moans, voice dripping with pity. “How can I say no to you?” 

He kisses your cheek as one hand snakes up to your hair, tugging hard to pull your head back, giving him access to your neck. He bites down as you moan, and he uses his other hand to reach between your body and the bed, between your spread legs, to rub hard, fast, circles at your clit. 

Your eyes roll back until they close and you can’t help the loud sounds of pleasure that escape your lips. Sammy turns your head just enough to crash your lips together, rolling his hips into you, fucking you deep. 

He can feel it before you, the way your pussy clenches around his cock like a vice, and your legs start to shake, and you moan into his mouth, chest heaving and tight. 

“That’s it, Baby, come for me, give it to me,” Sammy’s rough voice grunts. 

He fucks your through it, as you moan out and tip over the edge, pleasure ripping through you in a sharp spike, voice cracking as you cry out, “Sammy, oh my god.” 

The orgasm ripples through you, and Sammy stares down in wonder as your body convulses, and he lets go of your neck, swearing as he speeds up his thrusts, until it’s too much for him, until he knows he can’t hold back any longer. Sammy pulls out, jerking his cock with little breathy mewls, “Oh Baby, that was beautiful. So hot, so fucking sexy and all for me.” 

All it takes is one look down at the pink handprint on your ass for him to follow suit, coming on the handprint with a shout of your name. Ropes of come cover you, erasing any leftover touch Sammy saw any other man had put on you tonight. You’re his, only his. 

Sammy sits back on his heels, staring down at you as he catches his breath, wiping the sweat from his brow with his clean hand.  

You’re still shaking a little, aftershocks working their way through your system, as your body starts to curl in, soft hums of pleasure coming from your lips. And you’re smiling as you open your tear-filled eyes up at him. There’s a bite mark on your neck, the hint of finger shaped bruises on your hips, lips red, and you’re covered in a sheen of sweat, glittering under the soft light of your room.  

Your eyes never leave Sammy as he slinks off the bed on wobbly legs towards your bathroom, and you don’t have time to miss him before he emerges with a wet towel.  

Sammy leaves soft kisses on your legs as he cleans himself off you, carefully turning you over on your back. He licks his lips at the sight of your wet pussy, but he thinks better of doing anything else tonight.  

It’s quiet for a few minutes as he cleans you off, and you watch as the unsure frown from earlier makes its way back to his face, scrunched up with anxiety. You reach down, running a hand through his curls, fingers scratching at his scalp in a way you’ve learned is comforting to him. 

“Sammy?” Your voice is soft, still a little shot from all the shouting. “You know I meant all that, right? I don’t want anyone else.” 

His shoulders sag and deflate, biting his lip as he crawls up the bed to lay next to you. “I...I do know that.” 

“Nothing that happens at my job has anything to do with how I feel about you,” you say, this time with more force. You need him to hear you. 

You watch as his feature twitch. He does that when he’s over thinking. “I know.” Sammy’s chest feels tight, eyes darting down to the marks on your body again, this time with a sick twist of guilt in his chest. “I’m sorry, Baby.” 

“Hey,” you say, grabbing his face to make him look up at you. “It’s okay. That was fucking hot. The sex, not the yelling.” 

“Right, yeah.” 

“Like, you can definitely do all that again.” 

“Not the yelling.” 

“Exactly, leave out the yelling, but if you wanna be a little rough in bed, I’ve learned right now I’m pretty into that.” 

And that finally gets a laugh out of him, eyes scrunching up in a that smile you adore so much. “Hmmm I could tell.” 

He stops any retort you could give him with a kiss, deeper and softer than anything he’s been able to give you so far tonight. His arms wrap around you, pulling your body in close to his. He thanks whatever god that might actually exist that you aren’t kicking his ass out and shunning him forever. 

A small thought overtakes him. A tiny little voice that tells him that its because you love him. And no amount of chasing criminals or getting shot at could possibly be scarier than the fact that he might love you back. 

It’s 8:37 in the morning, almost 24 hours since Sammy first spoke to you, since the axis of his world shifted. And he’s fucking late. 

And sure, the idea of a playful punishment when he sees you again is thrilling, but he actually did want to be able to book these guys fast and tell you it was over. And 22 minutes late is so long in cop time. God forbid you think something went wrong. 

Which, it sort of did. There was a minor shoot out, nobody hurt on either side, but it’s the main reason everything is running so late. And why Sammy is more aggravated than he was expecting to be at this time. 

His foot taps impatiently at his desk as he watches the paperwork load up, the slowest these computers have ever been the entire time he’s been on the job. His frustration must be evident, because Ben is laughing right at him as he sits down at his own desk across the aisle.  

“Got a hot date you’re missing out on, Bro?” Ben jokes, taking a long sip from his coffee. 

Sammy jumps a bit at the comment. Ben doesn’t know about you. He doesn’t even know you’re the stripper from last night, but the joke is on the nose enough to jolt his heart. 

“No. Just um, just want to be able to contact the witnesses, get them in to pick these guys on the lineups so we can get to charging them.” Yeah, that was low key enough. 

“Oh, I get it,” Ben snorts. “You want to see the hot coed again. You want to tell her the big strong police guy caught the bad guys.” 

“Shut up,” Sammy says with a laugh. “Maybe we won’t even need her, Mr. Football could smarten up and do it for her.” 

“Not likely. You gonna call her?” 

“Actually I was gonna text,” Sammy says nonchalantly.  

Ben freezes, eyes trained on Sammy as he slowly lowers his coffee cup. “You’re texting her? As in, with your personal phone?” 

Oh, okay so not so low key. “Maybe. I used to give people my number all the time when I was a detective.” 

“But you’re not a detective, Sammy... when did you get her number?” 

Sammy blinks a few times. Ben wasn’t paying attention when he was questioning you, he doesn’t need to know the true timing of the number exchange... “When she said she could identify their voices. Force of habit.” 

“And yet I bet the actual assigned detectives also have her number.” 

But she’s waiting to hear it from me. “I’m sure they do.” 

“Bro.” Ben wheels his chair around the desks, so he’s right next to Sammy’s face. “I was joking when I said you could find the new Mrs. Bryant.” 

“Stop it, that’s not what’s happening.” 

“What’s happening is you’re texting a witness to a crime that you were a responding officer to,” Ben says, shaking his head. “Converting an on-duty contact into an off-duty relationship. It’s genuinely not allowed.” 

“I’m just making sure she feels safe, just checking in.” Sammy insists. “Look, you don’t have to worry about me. I know what I’m doing.” 

Ben throws his hands up in defeat and pushes his chair back to his desk. “Whatever man, I’m gonna pretend I never heard a thing.” 

Sammy throws an annoyed, sarcastic nod his way, and watches as the paperwork finally finishes loading. He says a quick prayer and then pulls out his phone, looking over his shoulders before he sends the text he’s been waiting since last night to send. 

{i know I'm late, but we brought them in.} 

He doesn’t even get the chance to put his phone down before you answer. 

{very late sadly 😔, think you remember the deal 😉} 

Sammy licks his lips, smiling to himself. 

{go easy on me baby, i did my best.} 

{i don’t know........i spent all those extra minutes thinking of ways to punish you, I'd hate for all that brainpower to go to waste...} 

{something tells me none of the things you came up with would feel like a punishment to me anyway} 

{oh i dont know, i can be very mean when i dont get what i want.} 

{yeah i could tell you were a brat last night, the way you left me} 

{😇😇😇 bet you dreamed of me tho} 

{had to get off to the thought of you just so i could sleep at all. wanna touch you like that again} 

The smile on Sammy’s face only grew wider. Even though he’s only known you for quite literally 24 hours, there’s something about you that makes his heart feel warm, makes him feel young and giddy again. 

“Those don’t seem like texts that are just ‘checking in’.” 

Sammy looks up with a frown. “Shut it, Sherman.” 

Ben rolls his eyes, but ultimately goes back to his work. 

{when does your shift end???} 

He bites his lip. Okay, no frills or anything from you, it’s really happening. 

{Not till tonight, kind of late. I could take you to dinner} 

{hmmmm or you could just bring it to my place?} 

+ 

Thankfully, as opposed to your place of work, your apartment is in a fairly nice part of town. Not on campus but close enough that he knows he won’t have to worry about your commute. 

Not that he has any claim over worrying about you. 

You’d buzzed him up and he’d knocked on the door, a takeout bag of sushi in one hand, while the other runs nervously through his curls. A part of him as no idea what he’s doing. It’s been so long since he’s properly dated anyone, and you’re not exactly someone he’s allowed to date in the first place. 

Is this even a date at all? How could someone like you; younger, pretty, probably way too smart for him, want someone like him? Is it just the effects of a traumatic experience, transference, that will wear off in a couple weeks? 

Those worries all fade away when you open the door, smiling wide up at him, glasses on, hair pulled up into a messy bun, wearing a short skirt, oversized sweater, and a pair of pink fuzzy socks. It’s hard to hear any worries or anxieties when you look so adorable. 

“Right on time! I just finished my work,” you say, pulling him in by the hand. 

Your apartment is honestly about what he expected it to be. Lived in, with books scattered around, a clean kitchen, pink and white furniture, art and personal pictures on the wall. Very feminine. But warm, comfortable.  

There’s a little table in the kitchen area covered in school supplies, and he assumes you don’t really do a whole dining table dinner thing, proven right when you tell him to make himself comfortable on the sofa and coffee table. It’s kind of nice to know he’s not alone in having dinners at the TV. Even when he’s got Nate it’s just easier that way, not like he’s cooking any lavish meals for anyone at the moment anyway. 

“Do you want anything to drink? I’ve got...like everything,” you call from the kitchen. 

When Sammy looks up, you’re bending over to grab something and your little skirt is riding up and— 

“Umm, j-just water, thank you,” Sammy stutters, looking away quickly.  

You appear next to him, holding up a glass decorated with strawberries, filled with an ice water. “Here you go.” 

“Thanks.” 

You both take a sip at the same time, both buzzing, nervous, excited...giddy. 

Sammy breaks the heated silence. “You hungry?” 

“Starving!” You answer excitedly, settling down on the couch while he takes out the food. “I had two exams today, and then I was working all day after those on this important paper, it’s like half my grade.” 

“They didn’t give you an extension? Because of yesterday?” 

You shrug. “Didn’t ask, I’m a big girl, I can handle scary moments.” 

Sammy bites his lip, thinking about all the scary things you must go through at work. “Yeah I bet.” 

You give him a look as you finish your bite of food. “It’s not that bad, at work, most of the time. I mean there’s assholes and weirdos, but security is usually pretty good. And sometimes we get nice people, like a girl’s birthday party or bachelorette that just want to be silly. Or guys like you.” 

“Suckers who ask you out after?” He asks playfully. 

“Hey! You’re not a sucker,” you respond, gently shoving his shoulder. “I mean, nice guys who are clearly dragged along and don’t really want to be there but go along with everything. Afraid to touch...” 

Sammy almost chokes on his bite, coughing a bit at your comment, memory filled with the way you let him touch you last night, guided his hands to where you wanted them. “Get a lot of those?” 

“It’s rare but it happens,” you shrug. You sense just the smallest twinge of shameful jealousy from the frown that forms on Sammy’s face. And maybe anyone else you’d be a little annoyed, but it just looks cute on him. “You know, I liked you before you showed up and acted all chivalrous at the club, right?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yes, I spent like all day trying to come up with a reason to call you, and then you walked right into my work. Thought giving you a little dance would go over much better than lying to a police officer.” 

“Ha, well I can’t speak for all cops, but it certainly went over better for me,” Sammy laughs. He watches as you laugh as well, and a little piece of hair falls into your face. Absentmindedly, purely because he wants a clear view of your eyes, he reaches over to push the strand back behind your ear, tucking it behind your glasses. He doesn’t miss the slight blush that forms on your cheek. “Okay, I have to ask—" 

“Why would I work there?” 

Sammy recoils. “I’m not judging you, I'm trying not to judge, but...the things I’ve seen happen to girls in your line of work? The abuse or worse...you’re in school, you seem like a nice girl, why would you do something like that?” 

You can tell he’s being sincere, that he really isn’t trying to make you feel bad. There’s also a warmth that forms in your chest at the protective energy in his words. You let out a sigh, bringing his hand down from your cheek and holding it in both of your hands. Just as big and rough as you remember from the night before, but just as gentle as he rubs little circles on your palm with his thumb.  

“I didn’t exactly grow up with money, and I was only able to get a partial scholarship. A regular job could maybe cover school, but housing? My car? I got a lot of shit to pay for, and not a lot of hours in the day to work for it. I can pick my hours and make way more than I would doing anything else. I figured I can just do this for a little while, until I graduate and can get an actual job, and it will be okay.” 

“Do you ever worry about people from school seeing you? I mean I found you on accident.” 

“Oh, all the time, that’s why I found a place on the other side of town. Most of the stupid frat boys at my school have way more options close by to attend. I’m not like, ashamed or anything, I just don’t want to be bothered about it.” You shrug as you release his hands so you guys can continue eating. 

“What are you in school for?”  

You smirk. “You interrogating me, Officer Bryant?” 

Sammy shivers. “Baby, I think you already know what that does to me.” 

“Oh, my bad, Officer Bryant,” you hum, leaning in close to him. You’re right by the part of his cheek that you’d left a kiss on last night, and you think it’s a shame you’re not wearing any lipstick so you can leave the mark again. Still, you pout, “You washed it off.” 

“Couldn’t exactly show up to arrest gang members with a kiss stain on me,” Sammy answers with his own mocking pout. “Not very intimidating.” 

“Hmm.” Your frown fades away as you lean back. “I’m double majoring in literature and library sciences.” 

“Oh, so you wanna be a sexy librarian,” Sammy says with his own smirk. 

You giggle, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, or a regular librarian. Or work in publishing, or editing, not sure yet. That’s why I’m doing both.” 

“So you’re a brainiac.” 

“World’s smartest stripper, that’s me,” you say with a wink. 

He laughs and chokes a little on his next bite, shaking his head. “You’re somethin’ else.” 

A small, excited tightness forms in your heart for just a moment, and you bite down a smile. “Hey, I got a question for you now. Why were you out last night? I mean, you had this big important thing this morning, but you were at a strip club the night before? How does that make sense?” 

“Trust me, I didn’t want to be there,” Sammy groans.  

He pauses before really answering. He’s been ignoring his life’s issues for some time now, wanted to let the official day of his divorce go by without any fanfare. And just because that didn’t happen, doesn’t mean he’s suddenly enthusiastic about thinking about the failure of his marriage, and his crazy ex wife. But...the longer he takes to answer, the more soft your eyes grow towards him. The more he can look into them and feel like you’re not somebody who’d run away from his shit. Not with the life you’re living. 

“I got divorced,” he says, voice so quiet you almost miss it. “It was, um, finalized legally yesterday, and...my buddies wanted to take me out for it. They’d been planning it for weeks and I couldn’t get out of it.” 

His expression falls to his hands, which start nervously folding up his napkin into little squares. You watch him for a moment, the sadness in his eyes, and you can’t help but run a comforting hand up his arm, to rest on his shoulder. You half expect him to flinch away, but he leans into it instead.  

“Would it be too much for me to ask what happened? Like with your wife?” you ask carefully. 

His neck does that twitching thing you noticed yesterday, nose scrunching for just a second. “We, um, we were just really different, that’s all. Wanted different things. We’d been together since we were really young, back when I was just some dumb stoner skater L.A. kid.” 

“You were a stoner?” you ask, face cracking into a smile. “I would have never guessed you were a bad boy.” 

“Hm,” Sammy smirks. “No that bad, just...directionless. Got in trouble a few times, few small misdemeanors here and there. Tammi...she fell in love with that guy. And I think she always resented me when I actually grew up. She never grew up.” 

“What do you mean?” you ask, rubbing out a tension knot that you could feel form on his shoulder. 

He lets out a deep sigh. “Short version? She’s artsy, always following these whims. I pay for an expensive camera and photography lessons, she gets high one day, the camera gets stolen because she gets high out of her mind with some guy she met at a skate park. Then even though she said she would make up for it, not too long later she reveals she’s in love with her photography instructor.” 

“Jesus.” 

Sammy grimaces. “Yeah. But I mean, I was mad about the cheating for a while, but we’re just not compatible. She never asked me about my cases, she was always complaining and whining about finding herself, and I was dealing with real shit, and she...she never asked what I was going through. It’s like...I was dealing with murder and gangs and rape and violence at work, and then I couldn’t even come home to unwind because of all her shit.” 

“I’m so sorry you went through all that,” you say softly, reaching down to hold his hand again. 

“Sorry for unloading all that on you,” he sighs.  

“It’s okay,” you assure him. “I mean, you know like, my biggest secret, the biggest baggage in my life. I don’t mind hearing yours.” 

He starts to smile, to shake his head, but his expression is quickly replaced with a thousand yard stare. “Yeah. Yeah there’s something else, you should probably know. Um, when we were together, before she told me about the cheating, we were, um, trying to start a family. And then, after the cheating, she told me she was pregnant.” 

Your hands freeze. “You have a kid?” 

He nods his head. “Took the DNA test and everything. He’s all mine.” 

Your expression softens. “What’s his name?” 

“Nate, named him after my old partner who um, died in the line of duty. He's my whole world, Tammi gets him half the time.” 

“My dad left us when I was in middle school,” you confess, without even thinking, the words just came out. Sammy’s head snaps up and he looks you in the eye, a connection of understanding passing between you two. You feel a bit like a stereotype, the stripper with an absent father, but he’s not looking at you with any sort of pity. No, it‘s pure need, a hint of sadness and understanding. You think you might need him too.  

Your hand runs through his curls, just as soft as you thought they’d be, and his eyes close as a shaky breath releases from his lips. “How do you feel about cheap wine?” 

“I can’t tell the difference between cheap or not cheap,” he says.  

The warmth of your body leaves him, and he almost lets out a whine at the loss. Thankfully, you’re back soon, two glasses of red wine in hand. You give him one, but instead of sitting back down, you nod your head to the door on the other side of the room, the one he assumes leads to your bedroom. You reach out a hand for him to take, and you give it a tug to signal for him to stand up. 

Hesitantly, he lets himself be led to that door, mouth dropped open as he tries to consider what this is leading to. 

“Wait, wait, wait, I know we’ve been doing all this back and forth and flirting and shit, but we don’t have to jump into this. We just met, you’ve been through a lot—" 

“I’m a big girl, Sammy,” you say, repeating your words from earlier. “I know what I want.”  

You round the corner into the room, even more messy than the living room, with a few spare clothes scattered around the room. There’s a bedside table on either side of the unmade bed, and off to the side is a rack with sparkly, skimpy outfits of varying colors and themes; your outfits for work, Sammy assumes. What really catches his eyes, as he takes a long look around, is the silver pole mounted in the corner. You catch him staring, can see the slight mix of arousal and shock in his eyes. 

“Hmm, oh yeah, I almost forgot about that,” you tease, taking a sip from your glass. “Last night when I got home, I was thinking about getting a little practice in with you. You know? As that reward for catching those guys.” 

His gaze quickly meets yours again, an adorable look of excitement filling his expression. You sit on the end of the bed and pull him down next to you. 

“But then you were late, and I realized I actually don’t need to practice because, well, I think you know I’m already very good,” you say, blinking up at him innocently. 

“Oh you’re just not fair,” Sammy says breathlessly.  

“You said I could punish you how I see fit, and maybe I think your punishment should be that you don’t get another dance from me?” 

“Ever?” He asks, and he’s only halfway joking, but the way you’ve proven to be an expert tease, he wouldn’t be surprised.  

You shrug, downing the rest of your drink, licking the remnants off your lips. You don’t miss the way his eyes follow every movement of your tongue. “Probably not banned forever. I like you too much.” 

He smiles into his glass, slowly sipping the wine, savoring the chance to take you in more. The blush on your cheeks is even more pronounced than before, and it somehow makes you look innocent. He knows you’re far from it. 

You cross your legs and lean back a little, swirling a finger over the rim of your empty glass. “Are you even allowed to be here with me?” 

“Definitely not,” Sammy states. 

“Then why are you here?” you ask, hoping the answer is something more than just, I needed some post-divorce pussy and you’re the hot young thing that said yes. 

And Sammy doesn’t hold back on his answer, doesn’t hesitate this time when he says, “Because I haven’t felt this pull to someone in a long fucking time and I don’t want to let it slip away.” 

Something in your chest skips, electricity surging up your spine and into your head, and your lips twitch upwards. Wordlessly, you take his now empty glasses from his hand, walk over to the bedside to place them both down, feeling his eyes on you the whole time. Again, without saying a word, you walk back around, this time stopping right in front of him, and he looks up at you with those needy, dark eyes you remember from that night, filled with want and awe. 

You slip onto his lap, legs on either side of his, as your hands run up his chest and to the back of his neck. Tonight, there’s no pause in his touch. He doesn’t wait for you to place his hands for him, they go right to your sides, sliding up under your sweater to get to your soft, warm skin. “What are you doing, Baby?” 

Your voice is barely above a whisper, as you lean in so close your noses touch. “Giving you a different reward.” 

There’s only just a tiny moment of hesitation, the realization that you’re about to kiss him, for real, hitting you, and you bite your lip. His eyes flash right to the movement, and he brings a hand to your cheek, thumbing over your bottom lip to release it from your teeth. Then, more gentle than you were expecting, he leans in, pressing his lips to yours.  

All apprehension leaves your body as you melt into the kiss, body molding to his warmth. You whimper into it as he slips his tongue into your mouth, moaning at the taste. Your hips start to roll, a nice little rhythm as his hands wander down your sides, fingers pressing deep in their path, like he wants to memorize every curve and divot of your body. 

You can feel him get hard under you, and it only spurs your movements on, and you know you must be dripping in your panties. Sammy’s hands slide back under your sweater, pushing the fabric off, but not really making a move to take it off. It takes every ounce of restrain he has to not tear your clothes to shreds, slam you down on the bed, and fuck you until you’re seeing stars. 

But he doesn’t want the night to end too fast, doesn’t want to just make you feel used, no he wants to savor it. It’s been so long since he’s felt wanted like this. 

He pulls you in close, hands grabbing under your thighs as he lifts you up, smiling into the kiss as you let out a small, surprised squeal, and he stands right up. You pause the kiss for a moment, eyes wide and body shaking with excitement as you look down to see his strong arms flexing when he lifts you. When you look back at him, it’s with a deep, desperate hunger in your eyes. 

“God that’s so hot,” you whimper, as Sammy just smirks and turns you both, carefully laying you back down on the bed. Your legs open to him, body resting back on your elbows as you look up, skirt riding up your thighs, already hot and disheveled.  

Sammy stands up, pulling his own shirt off as he goes, and your eyes go almost comically wide at the sight of him. His body is like something sculpted from marble, hard lines of muscle leading your eyes on paths you want your tongue to trace. His chest is flushed a slight shade of pink, and he’s covered in freckles. You want to kiss every single one of them.  

“You like what you see, Baby?” He asks, teasing you. 

And if you weren’t so desperate for him, you’d probably roll your eyes, but instead you enthusiastically nod your head, fingers trailing up his hard stomach. “Definitely.” 

You pout as he stops you with his own hands, but then he gives you a small nod, eyes flashing down to your sweater. “Take it off for me.” 

Your cunt pulses at his commanding tone, the roughness of his voice, and you feel the jolt move like lightning up your spine. You smile as you slowly pull the material off your body, revealing your bare tits, nipples hard peaks, and chest heaving from the deep breaths you’re taking.  

Sammy runs a hand through your hair, trailing his fingers down your neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake. You lean into his touch, staring into his eyes as you take each other in.  

“You’re absolutely sure?” he asks, mind racing to the last night, the way you’d been grabbing him and taking charge of his touch, but now docile and letting him lead.  

You let out a giggle, grabbing onto the beltloops of his pants to roughly yank him towards you. “You asking me over and over again is really hot, you know? Only makes me want you more. Yeah Officer Bryant, I want you bad. Lemme reward you for keeping me safe.” 

Sammy’s neck twitches as he fights the instinct to look away, to come to his senses and deny both of you what you want. He’s not supposed to be doing this, he’s so not supposed to be here, and he’s certainly not supposed to be letting you unbuckle his belt.  

But the clinking sound of the buckle and the hum of his zipper sends hums of arousal through his body, and he’s sure you can feel his dick twitch under your hands. You lean in to kiss his lower tummy, and he lets out the long breath he didn’t even realize he was holding, mouth dropping open at the feeling of your soft lips on his skin.  

You’re looking up at him with dark, excited eyes, as you take his cock out. You keep full contact as you kiss the leaking head, lick a stripe up his shaft, moaning at the taste.  

“Oh fuck, Baby,” Sammy moans, steadying a hand on your shoulder, but making no move to stop you. 

You spit in your hand and wrap it around his dick, giving it a quick tug before you envelope the head with your warm mouth. You watch as Sammy bites his lip, fighting back moans as you lower yourself, taking him almost all the way down, until you feel a strain in your throat. He shouldn’t find the soft choking sounds as hot as he does. 

“Take your time, Honey,” he whispers. 

But you take it as a challenge. This isn’t your first rodeo with a hook up, you know how to make a man fall apart, you’ve done it plenty of times. Sammy...the way he makes you feel, the fluttering he gives your heart...you want more than anything to make him feel good. This isn’t some drunk college guy who won’t call you the next day, this is a real man. A real man whose been so respectful of you, of your job, and so gentle with your body, he deserves to feel good. 

You sit up straighter and lick your lips before taking him back down again. He can’t contain soft moans now, the wet, tight warmth of your throat welcoming him in. “Oh, fuck, that’s it, that’s a good girl.” 

The phrase sends a thrill up your spine and you moan around his length, sucking him down and contracting your throat around him. You feel a pulse between your legs, you want him to know how wet he’s made you. You want to take him in every way possible, let him use you up and mark you up.  

Maybe he’ll come in your mouth, make you swallow every drop and check, tell you what a good girl you are when you reveal a clean tongue. Maybe he'll pull out and come on your tits, pull your hair back to not miss a single inch, mark you as his. 

He releases soft swears, over and over, mixed with your name and repeats of baby, honey, fuck, that’s it. You get lost in it all, take him all the way down until your nose is to his stomach, and the grunt he lets out is almost animalistic, hand flying to your hair to hold you there for a moment. 

“Shit, shit, shit, wait,” he continues to groan, almost pained as he pulls you off of him, eyes flashing with need at the line of spit that connects your tongue to his cock.  

“Come on,” you whine, voice rough and raw. “Lemme finish it, Sammy.” 

“Jesus,” he says with a breathy laugh. “Baby, I’m gonna be honest, I don’t know how many rounds I've got in me, and I can’t let it finish there.” 

You raise a brow with a mischievous smile. “Oh no? Where did you want to finish?” You take one of his hands, press it against your breast. “Here?” 

“Honey—” 

You tug him down with force, making him kneel on the bed as you bring his hand down to your thigh. “Or maybe here?” 

And Sammy doesn’t know how he got so lucky. You slide his hand up your thigh, to your panties that have been completely soaked through. “Fuck.” 

“Or here?” 

Maybe he’s never had it this good. He was with Tammi for so long, during his stoner days, and he knows he’s had good sex, but he’s never felt like this. It’s never been this raw and thrilling and heart wrenching. It’s never felt like a desperation that would kill him if it went unfulfilled. 

He wants to do it right. He wants to feel every second of it. He wants to make sure he can keep you after. 

His fingers start to rub against your clothes folds, the wetness leaving a residue on the tips. He sucks in a breath, every single fiber of being screaming at him to devour you. 

“You got a condom, Baby?” 

A bright smile cracks over your features and you nod, rolling over on all fours to crawl up the bed to get at the bedside. Sammy takes off the rest of his clothes as he gets a nice little view up your skirt, eyes honing in on the white lace panties that have gone almost transluscent, the trail of slick that drips down your thighs.  

Just as you’re pulling a condom from the drawer, you feel his hands on your hips, gripping you tight enough to bruise as he forcefully pulls you back, crawling up the bed to lay his body over yours at the same time. He grabs your face and turns it towards you, and you giggle into the searing hot kiss he lays into you. You feel his hands yank your skirt down, tearing it off your body before carelessly throwing it somewhere in the room.  

“Oh, Baby, you’re just dripping for me, huh?” Sammy teases, slipping a hand between your bodies, to the wet patch on the front of your panties.  

“Y-yeah, since last night really, couldn’t stop thinking about you,” you confess, knuckles white as you hold the condom in one hand, and the sheets tight in the other. 

Sammy lets out a sad, sympathetic sound. “Poor thing, been all pent up since yesterday? You liked giving me that dance, huh? Wish you’d given me another one today, is that it?” 

“Nope, still banned,” you say with what little strength you have. You can’t help but tease him, can’t quite let him get what he wants, even though you’re dying to give it to him. “But I’d love for you to fuck me.” 

Sammy hums, ripping himself regretfully off your body. “Yeah me too. Turn over for me, Baby.” 

You do as you’re told, once again on your back with your legs spread, weight rested on your elbows. You lick your lips as you look up at him wantonly. He takes you in, soft skin shining from sweat under the lights, glowing and tense, little shakes here and there from the anticipation. 

You expect him to take the condom from your hand, maybe make you put it on him, throw your legs over his shoulders and go to town. But his attention moves downward, trailing his fingers to the waistband of your panties, as he shuffles his body down the bed. A spike of pleasure pulses in your cunt again, as his expression quickly turns to absolute hungry need.  

His mind is racing, wordlessly relieving you from the final layer that shields him from what he wants most. The pussy he dreamed of last night, that he wished he been bold enough to stuff full of his fingers when he had you on his lap, fuck you with them to the rhythm of that one song’s beat. 

But he doesn’t have to live with regret, not when he’s got you now. 

Sammy lowers himself down, pressing soft kisses to the inside of your thighs, ears perking up at the sound of soft, surprised hitches in your breath. He follows a line down your skin, to where every demon in his mind wants him to reach most, your perfect, pretty, wet pussy, glistening and twitching just for him. 

A soft hum comes from him as goes for it, diving in and licking a stripe up your slit, eyes rolling back at the taste. You sigh, mouth dropped open as you feel his tongue dip inside, licking and sucking at your clit, humming and swallowing every drop that gushes from you. 

“Oh, god,” you moan, head falling back, body rocking up into him, hips canting into his awaiting mouth. You’re not used to a man giving like this, not used to a man hypnotized and lost in you, devouring you. “Oh, S-Sammy, that’s--fuck—that's so...” 

Words get lost on your tongue when you feel him start to press a finger inside you, curling up to the sensitive part of your cunt, electrifying you from the inside.  

“Taste so good, Baby, could stay down here all night,” he whines into you, pressing a second finger in, moving them at a steady pace as his tongue circles your clit. He moans and hums into you, eating like a man starved for weeks, fucking you faster with his fingers when your breathy whines turn into louder cries of pleasure. “Love the way you sound, love how soaked you are for me, could die happy drowning in it.” 

“Fuck,” you moan, hand flying to his curls. No, never has a man taken you like this, loved it this much, been happy to make you feel this good. “C-can’t die, need to fuck me, Sammy—shit, fingers feel so good!” 

He smiles into your cunt, entering a third finger to add to the pleasure. He takes note of every minute reaction from you, every little jerk of your hips and thighs that tells him he’s making you feel good. He tucks the info away from later, so he can come back and make sure you love it every time. He hopes to god there is another time. 

“Want you to come like this first, Honey, wanna feel you come in my mouth,” he says, picking up the pace on his fingers. You respond with just a long whine, hips rolling onto his tongue like you wanna ride it. Maybe next time he’ll have you sit on his face. Why do a lap dance when you can sit your pretty pussy down on him and use him for your own needs? 

Your moans start to pick up in volume, as he fucks you with his fingers and his tongue, losing himself in it, focus solely on taking you there. You whimper and whine, little tears forming at the corners of your eyes from the desperation. “P-please, wanna come, oh god, I’m gonna come, don’t stop, Sammy, please don’t stop!” 

And he can’t help himself when he starts to roll his own hips on the bed, cock leaking and hard as a fucking rock. If this is how you sound with just his fingers and his mouth, he can’t wait to hear what delicious sounds he’ll get from fucking you for real.  

His thumb joins his tongue in circling your clit, fingers no longer fucking in and out but moving in a come-hither motion over that spot deep inside you. His other hand reaches up, removing your hand from his hair and threading your fingers together, squeezing tight to ground you in some way, keep focused on only him. 

He feels your thighs lock up suddenly, and as you let out a particularly long moan, a cry of his name, your body tenses up and slick gushes into his mouth, as your pussy clenches around his fingers. “F-fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck I-I'm—Sammy!” 

A high-pitched squeal releases from you, as your back arches and he helps you ride through it on his hand, waiting until your legs start to shake before slowing his movements to a stop. “That was beautiful, Baby.” 

Your chest heaves, and you twitch as you start to come down. He doesn’t seem real. You swear it’s never been this good. And that makes you feel giddy, it makes you feel a little deliriously happy. You start to laugh at yourself, at him, at the pleasurable hums that flow through your body. You run a hand down your face. “Fuck, that was... I thought I was supposed to be rewarding you.” 

“Trust me baby, that was rewarding me,” Sammy says, barely holding himself together. He crawls up between your stunned legs, kicking them open more with his thighs. He connects your lips with a heated, biting kiss, grabbing your hands and pinning them above your head. “Lemme have the rest, lemme fuck you good.” 

“Yes,” you whine into his mouth, slipping the condom into his fingers. “Want you to.” 

“Good girl,” he says, moving his lips to your neck, kissing a trail down to your collarbone as he sits up. Sammy rips the packet open with his teeth, and it’s then that he notices the unfallen tears still lining your eyes. He makes it his mission to make them fall. “You’re so beautiful, Honey. Gonna make you feel so good.” 

And maybe it’s been quite a while since anyone has really touched you at all, so the first push of his thick cock filling you makes you wince. Your hands fly to his chest, nails scratching his pecs lightly, not to make him stop, but to hold on and anchor yourself to something, anything. 

“S-Sammy, oh my god,” you moan, in harmony to one he lets out at the feeling of your warm pussy welcoming him in. “So fucking full, s-so good.” 

And he loves the sound of his name on your lips. Loves the way your body molds to him, fitting him like you were made for him. He lays over you, planting his hands on either side of your head, watching every micro expression from slight discomfort to pleasure form on your features.  

How did he get so lucky? 

"Sammy,” your voice breaks him out of his train of thought, high and needy, eyes pleading. You twitch under him, body held down by his, control put completely in his hands. “Please.” 

And he smirks to himself, all the fight and teasing you’d had, all that talk, just for you to lose it the second he’s inside you. The first roll of his hips, and your eyes roll back in your head, bottom lip bitten between your teeth. It’s a beautiful sight. 

“I’ll give you what you need, Honey,” he whispers, body now moving at a steady pace. He wants to take it slow for now, wants to build up till you’re desperate and begging him to fuck you properly. “Feel so good, Baby.” 

Your fingers make a trail to his back, holding him tight and pulling him down, so the heat of your bodies meets in the middle. You want to feel him everywhere, want to register only him and his touch and his weight and dick in your mind. 

His lips meet the skin of your neck in a wet kiss, as one hand traces down the side of your body, still memorizing in his touch. He thinks about the way he’d had you last night, writhing in his lap, leading his hands to places no other man was allowed to touch in that room. How many times had they tried to break that rule? How many of those stupid, idiotic, horny perverts thought they’d get to have you like this? 

Morons. Assholes who probably thought that because you were getting paid to dance for them, they stood a chance, that you were some slut giving it out at will.  

But Sammy knows the truth, he knows that you’re a good girl. You’re his good girl. That’s how he wants to make you feel, like you’re something precious, something sacred. 

He picks up the pace on his hips, slamming into you harder, faster, with purpose, to make you feel it when he’s gone. Tomorrow when you’re in class, he wants you to feel it. When you go to work, dance in those tiny outfits and show your body to other men, he wants you to feel him. 

Your lips part, tiny moans of pleasure punched out of you each time his cock hits your cervix, nails making moon shaped indents in his back. “Fuck, fuck, oh right there.” 

“Yeah? That good Baby?” 

“Y-yeah,” you whimper. “Faster, please, make me take it.” 

You’re like something out of his wildest dreams. He grabs your hips hard, he hopes there are bruises in the shape of his hands for your customers to see, to seethe with jealousy over, and he fucks into you faster. You clench around him, drip and pulse, pussy holding him in like a vice, and he’s thanking whatever force in the universe that exists that he hasn’t come yet.  

“So fucking tight, Baby, when was the last time you were fucked like this?” Sammy asks, tongue licking up your neck, biting behind your ear. 

It earns a high pitched whine from you, and a gush of wetness from your cunt. “Fuck, it’s—” Truthfully, it’s never been like this. But the words get lost in your throat, stuck inside the moans and whines you can’t stop yourself from making. “J-just don’t stop, fuck, please.” 

“Not going anywhere, Baby, wanna feel you come on my cock,” Sammy moans. 

Suddenly, with a show of strength that makes your pussy clench hard, and your eyes fly open, he pulls you all the way up. He sits back on his knees, with your body held on his, legs wrapped around him, bouncing on his cock.  

You meet his movements, rolling your hips like you’re dancing for him, like you did when you sat in his lap last night. You kiss him, biting and messy and wet, moans caught into his mouth. The new angle makes his cock hit something deep, something that sends shocks of pleasure up your spine. You feel a little faint, a little lost in it, brain going a little fuzzy with it. 

“So good, Baby, love having you like this,” Sammy says, voice rough, like he’s holding back. “Next time, you’re gonna ride me proper. Want to see you bounce on my cock, use it, use me until you come so hard you’ll let me fuck you stupid. Want you drunk on it—shit, Baby, need to feel you come on me.” 

“Oh god, want that so bad,” you whimper in response. “Wanna be yours, Sammy.” 

“Yeah? Only let me touch you like this?” 

You nod quickly, kissing him deeply, “Yes, only you.” 

“Yeah?” He asks, breathy, happy, brain losing all its wiring. He leans back a little, fucking up into you, enjoying the view of you moaning, your tits bouncing, mouth dropped open, eyes blown out dark and wide. 

Then it happens. He reaches a hand between you, two fingers circling your clit again, and your breath hitches until nothing comes out. And he sees those tears that have been stuck start to fall as you cry out, almost in a scream, completely consumed by pleasure. 

“Oh fuck, Sammy, I'm gonna come, please tell me I can, let me, make me,” You desperately beg, almost nonsensical.  

“Yeah, yeah, come on, fall apart for me,” he says, watching in awe.  

To push you over that final edge, his face falls forward, lips wrapping around one of your hardened nipples, and he moans around it, tongue swirling the swollen nub as he bites down and sucks. His eyes never leave your face, one of your hands flies to his hair, tugging at the short curls, hard.  

He pushes you back on the bed, fucking into you, fast, hard, rubbing at your clit, switching to his mouth to your other tit, every single movement focused on making you come, like he might die if he doesn’t get it from you. 

And as you start to feel him stutter, can tell he’s seconds away from losing his control, your body tenses up again, pussy pulsing and gushing again, you scratch down his back, hard. Angry, red lines are left on his glistening, freckled skin. 

You scream his name this time, as he fucks you through it, and you feel the heat burst in you, pushing you over that edge for the second time tonight. “Yes, yes, yes, oh god, yes, Sammy!” 

And he lets out an almost pathetic whine, releasing your nipple from his mouth, “Ah, ah, ah—honey,” his hips fuck into you hard, helping you ride through as he reaches his own peak. “Baby, good girl, feel so good, gonna, fuck, I’m gonna—” 

You feel his cock pulse in you, feel the moment he thrusts his hips hard, one final time, filling you deep with his cock as he shoots his load into the condom. He groans your name, leaning up again to kiss you as his hips give a few more, small, twitchy, pathetic hits.  

You feel every molecule of you vibrate, as you both still. You sit in the pleasure together, limbs wrapping even harder around each other, like you’re trying to melt into one.  

His next kiss is with a satisfied smile. He teases you with his tongue, both of your heads a little loopy, and he brushes the sweaty hair off your face. You sigh into the kiss, breathing deep around it. You don’t want him to leave your body.  

The coming down takes a bit. When the pleasure finally subsides, and you can feel life come back into your bones, sense start to ooze back into your brain, you’re only left with this light, lovely feeling of calm.  

But he can’t stay there forever. You wince as he pulls out, and he takes a short moment to tie up and toss the condom to the little bin next to your bed. But he comes right back to you. Sammy moves to rest his cheek to your chest, his hands rub up and down your sides, comfortingly, letting you know he’s still here, still making every touch for you. 

The silence isn’t tense. It’s spiritually relaxed.  

But Sammy is the one to break it. 

“You’d be a sexy librarian.” 

You let out a tired, pained giggle. You push his face back, find him red and smirking as you look down at him with an amused shake of your head. “I can’t be a regular one?” 

“Oh, Baby you wouldn’t have a choice. You’d be a librarian who is just also sexy. All the boys would be trying to hook up with you between the stacks, in the dark corners.” 

“Well, I believe that’s public indecency, so I’d have to just call you to arrest them.” 

“Absolutely, can’t have them corrupting my good girl,” he says, nuzzling his nose to yours. 

My good girl. Is that what you are? His? 

You’d felt pretty confident in what he wanted up until now. But a horrible, ugly voice shows up in your mind, telling you that he just got all he wanted. That last night you left him with blue balls and he got to see that through. The sweet talk now doesn’t have to mean anything. 

He can tell something is bothering you, the frown on your face making it evident. Sammy reaches down to pick up one of your hands, brings it to his mouth to kiss each knuckle, while he thinks of a way to approach asking what’s going on in your head. 

“Are you—" 

“I need—” 

You both stop, laugh lightly, and he gives you a nod to speak first.  

“I need a second, um, just wanna clean up,” you say nervously. 

And you regretfully peel yourself out of bed, walking over to your bathroom to take care of what you need.  

Sammy rolls over, watches you go, heart hammering in his chest. He feels like a robot as he gets up, goes to the end of the bed to get his boxers back on. Fuck, did he mess this all up already? You had a good time, he knows that, did he come on too strong? Was it the shit about making you dance for him? He was too possessive. Calling you his? You just met. He’s not even supposed to be here. Who knows how much shit he’d be in if anyone found out. Losing his job and a chance with you at the same time... 

“Do you have to work in the morning?” 

Your voice comes out soft, as you stand in the doorway of your bathroom, now dressed in tiny shorts and an oversized t-shirt. Your hair still looks mussed. He can see little marks he left on your neck. He’s knows that if he was to lift up that shirt, there would be handprints on your hips. Good. 

“Yes,” he says, deflated. “They’ll, umm, they’ll probably be calling you in too. Gotta make the identification if they didn’t confess.” 

You nod, crossing your arms over your chest. “So...you can’t stay?” 

And it’s the sadness in those words that give him pause. “You...you want me too?” 

After a beat, you nod your head. “Yes...I really fucking want you to stay.” 

A little muscle in Sammy’s cheek twitches, as his lip quirks up into a smile. “Yeah?” 

“Please.” 

He sits back down on the bed. “Well...I guess I can be late tomorrow.” 

Your expression perks up. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah, Baby, come here,” he says as he slides up the bed and holds out his hand. As soon as you take it, he yanks you down, body connecting with his again. It just feels right.  

You two settle under the sheet, Sammy on his back and you laid against his strong chest. “I guess I shouldn't tell everyone about this, right?” 

“Oh, definitely not,” Sammy chuckles. “Not if you want to do it again.” 

You hum happily. Maybe it should bother you, to be treated like a little secret, but you understand. You’re pretty good at keeping secrets in the name of your happiness. “Well, I mean they’ll recognize me from last night anyway. Won’t they?” 

“Nah, trust me they were too drunk. My partner didn’t even realize you were our witness without your glasses.” 

“But you did.” 

Sammy smirks, pulling you closer into his arms. “Yeah, cause I'd been thinking about you all day.” 

You turn up to give him one last, giddy kiss, hand to his cheek. You whisper to him, beg him one last time to stay through the night. 

How could he ever say no to you? 

It happened right after the first classes of the day let out, around 8:35am. Three guys burst into the library, donned in masks and vests; guns prominently displayed on holsters at their waists, screaming at one of the guys on the football team. You, along with the other students, ducked under desks when the guys had grabbed him, threw him on one of the desks, beat him, and took everything valuable he had on his person, from his laptop to his wallet.  

You could hear their voices clearly when they yelled that he was “running out of time” and something else you assumed was about him owing them money. Their faces were covered, but you noted the clothes they were wearing as they ran out when campus security finally came in. 

This is everything you recounted to the cute police officer who’d responded to the call. Him and his partner were the first on the scene, checking the other students to make sure they were all okay, sadly just barely too late to chase after the robbers. Since you were the closest to the door, he went to get your account first. 

“And you’re sure you didn’t see any of their faces?” He asks.  

And you almost don’t hear the question, too distracted by the flex of his muscular arms. Truth be told, you don’t know how you’ve been able to say anything at all; mind laser focused on his face, speckled with cute freckles, adorably crooked front teeth, and thoughtful brown eyes. Your own wandered up to the view of dark red curls, that looked soft enough to run your hands through. You bit your lip, face heating up, and you blink a few times when he tips his head, bringing your focus back to his eyes. 

He’s got a slightly amused smirk on his face when he asks again, “You sure you didn’t see their faces.” 

His voice his delightfully raspy. You clear your throat. “Oh, um, no I’m so sorry, Officer...” 

“Bryant.” 

“Right, Bryant,” you sigh as you adjust your glasses, and you feel a little silly getting so flustered like this. You deal with all kinds of men all the time at work. From creeps to decently good-looking businessmen to annoying frat guys, all drooling over you, drunk and sweaty and touchy, you know how to handle them. Maybe it’s that he came running in like some kind of knight on a horse, a first sign of safety after a jarringly traumatic morning, but something about this man.....he makes you feel warm all over. “They were all wearing masks. I mean, they all had on white shirts with, like, purple hats and things, but I couldn’t tell you anything else.” 

“Would you recognize their voices if you heard them again? That can still be helpful.” 

“Oh, yeah, for sure! I-I don’t think I'd be able to get that out of my head...” Your voice kind of trails off as your expression falls into a frown. 

He tips his head again, frowning when it takes a little longer for you to shake out of whatever dark thoughts have formed. He reaches out a hand to comfort you but thinks better of it. It wouldn’t be professional to touch you like that. Maybe if you were some grandma or mother, crying and barely able to stand, but you’re...fuck you’re pretty, and young, and he’s been distracted by the way you bite your lip, and bat your long lashes behind your glasses the whole time. Your skin looks so soft; he’s been dying to touch it, which is why he can’t.  

“Hey, you okay?” He asks, voice dropped low with concern. 

You shake out of it, putting on a light smile. “Oh, yeah, just shaken up I guess.” 

“That’s understandable, but you’re being very brave coming forward like this.” 

You shrug. “I’ve dealt with worse.” You watch as his brows raise and eyes widen just slightly. “Oh, I mean, nothing really like that, but I have a job that comes with umm...well it has its own risks.” 

“Oh? What do you—” 

“Yo Sammy!” His partner cuts in from across the room. “I think we got a lead over here!” 

“Alright, I got one too!” He shouts back, before turning back to you. “Sorry, gotta follow up on that. You’ve been very helpful, if you can think of anything else,” he digs into his pocket and pulls out a little white card. “Just give me a call, what was your name again?” 

You give him your name a quick nod as a goodbye, carefully cradling the card in your hand as you watch him head to his partner.  

Officer Samuel Bryant, Police Detective Second Class 

Even though he doesn’t really need anything else from you, Sammy finds it hard to walk away. If there is some sort of god or higher being, you’ll find an excuse to call him, if only so he can have a reason to see you again. He knows you’ll be a good witness, will probably even need to come in to do a line up if they bring anyone in, but you reaching out on your own...well it would make him feel better for thinking about you this way. 

“Hey man,” Ben nods to him as Sammy approaches, and they take a second to watch as the victim is rolled away on a stretcher. “Okay, get this, apparently our guy has been doing some sports betting with buddies from the old neighborhood, not football but the other school sports, and he’s in deep. Looks like any goodwill from old friendships is running out.” 

“He told you all that?” 

“Yeah, but when I asked for names, he shut up, guess that’s as far as he’s willing to snitch.” 

“Well, I got good intel from the other witness—" 

“The pretty one? She was making eyes at you,” Ben says with a smirk. 

Sammy rolls his eyes. “She just went through something traumatic.” 

“Yeah, but she’s hot and she was checking you out. Remember that conversation about the next Mrs. Bryant?” 

“Would you stop it, this isn’t the place for that,” Sammy snaps. “Anyway, she saw what they were wearing, purple, so we at least know what gang is behind it. And she heard their voices pretty clearly, so if we get them in a line up she can identify them that way.” 

“Great now we just gotta figure out some names. And hopefully before tonight.” 

Sammy groans. “Fuck, are you guys still dragging me to that?” 

“Hell yeah man, we need to celebrate that divorce being final. The only way it should be done.” 

+ 

The Painted Moon Club isn’t in the worst part of the valley, nor is it the sleaziest place the guys could have picked to celebrate his official divorce, but Sammy still could have done without this particular kind of party.  

The music is loud, the girls are pretty and nice (because they have to be), and the drinks are strong, but Sammy still sulks in the center seat of his group. Dewey is making a huge scene, as per usual, throwing bills around at the two dancers in front of him, and the other guys all laugh, but Sammy...his mind hasn’t left the case.  

They were able to track down the guys, and an opp was set up in the morning to bring them in all at once. Which is exactly why he’d rather just be home sleeping, not throwing his hard-earned money around at girls who’d probably rather be anywhere else too. 

He’s about to tell the guys as much, when the music switches, and a new spotlight appears out of the corner of his eye, announcing a new girl on the stage to the left. The slight spectacle manages to catch his attention just in time for him to be met with the glittery, angelic sight of...you. 

Looking extremely, completely different from the shy student in glasses this morning, but there is no mistaking those eyes, those lips, that smile, though it seems more forced right now. You’re in a very small, very revealing, red sparkly cowgirl costume, with tiny shorts, red boots, a cropped jacket, and complete with a red and pink cowgirl hat.  

He can feel his heart start to race and his chest grows tight at he watches you move, gracefully, sexy, swaying your hips to the beat of the song, rocking around the silver pole in the middle of the stage. He doesn’t think he blinks even once. 

And the guys notice that too, because it’s not too long before he hears them start to hoot and holler over his staring. 

“Oh Sammy boy! You like that one?” Dewey’s voice calls over the loud music, face widened in a lewd smile. “Wanna get a private room big boy?” 

“Shut up!” Sammy shouts, quickly turning his attention back to you. 

Now he feels like he should definitely leave. Sure, it’s only been a few hours, but he’d wanted you to call him, and now he feels like he’s intruded on your life, on some secret that he has no business sharing. But fuck you look good, like really good, like you stepped right out of one of his dreams.  

“Hey man, we can get you a private room!” Ben says, slapping Sammy on the back. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to recognize you from this morning, because Sammy is sure if he did, he’d already be making a million and one jokes about it. Sammy doesn’t want to humiliate you, not just because they need your trust for testimony. “No, absolutely not, I’m just gonna get going—" 

“No no no no no!” Dewey shouts, leaping over the other guys to hold Sammy in his place. “You are going to have some goddamn fun, and you are going to get a little—" 

“Fuck off man, I said I don’t want—” 

“Too late!” Andy cackles as he claps his hands, a stack of bills in the hand of the dancer who’d been on his lap for the last two songs. “Krysta here says Bambi will meet you in room 4 as soon as her dance is done!” 

Sammy furiously shakes his head, fighting to stay in his seat as the guys now try to yank him into the room. “Fuck, guys I said no!” 

“Shut it! You’re doing it, Andy already paid,” Dewey pouts, mockingly batting his lashes. “Now follow the nice lady!” 

Sammy stumbles on his way over, straightening up as Krysta offers a steady hand. He takes it cautiously and she flashes him a smile. “Don’t worry Sugar, Bambi is real nice.” 

Yeah, I know, is all he can think as she leads him across the floor. He’s gently pushed into the room, a small space with a singular stage and pole, a booth on one end and a lounge chair on the other. The light is low, the colors changing and sparkling off a ball hanging from the ceiling. It makes him feel a little skeevy, can only imagine the kinds of men that have sat in this room, getting a private show from you. “Listen, I’m really—" 

The door slams behind Krysta, and Sammy is left on his own, hands in his pockets as he stands awkwardly in the middle of the room. The sound of the muffled music and cheers from behind the door the only noise in the room. Your song is still playing, there’s still time for him to just sneak out, wait for your call, and get the bad guys in the morning. That’s a much better idea. 

He’s about to enact his plan, feet moving to the door, when it suddenly opens, and he’s met with the sight of you, eyes wide, stumbling from the surprise of being so close. “Oh my god, Officer Bryant?” 

“Yeah, sorry I-I didn’t pay for this,” Sammy says, throwing his hands up as he backs up a couple feet. “I was just gonna go, but you can keep the money—" 

“It’s okay! I’m just surprised to see you all the way out here,” you assure him, closing the door behind you. Truthfully, it’s a relief to see him rather than any other gross man. So much better than waiting to think of an excuse to call him about this morning. He looked good then, but fuck he looks so fucking good now in tight jeans, and a leather jacket. “It’s nice to see you.” 

“Is it?”  

You break into a smile. It’s so cute how polite he’s trying to be. “Yeah, I get a break from the creeps.” 

“I feel kinda like a creep being here with you, you’re a good girl and I—" 

“Oh please,” You say, playfully rolling your eyes. You guide him into the lone seat, gently pushing on his chest until he sits down. “If I was any of those other girls, and you hadn’t met me as a regular girl today, you wouldn’t feel that bad about it.” 

“That’s not true.” 

“Oh it isn’t?” 

And he goes to open his mouth, to deny it again, but then he really thinks about it. Maybe he’s not into shit like this, maybe he wouldn’t have enjoyed any other girl so much, but you’re right. He’s bothered by the fact that a nice girl, a student at university, is in a place like this. “Okay, yeah. Yeah you’re right. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay, it’s nice that you feel that way,” you say, turning to start a song, flipping through the longer options, anything to stay in here with him. “I’ll still give you your dance.” 

“You don’t have to,” Sammy says, but he makes no move to stand up from the chair, heart racing a mile a minute, so loud in his ears he’s sure you can hear it too. 

“Did you catch those guys from today?” 

“We will. We know who they are, and we have a whole big operation planned to get them first thing in the morning.” 

“Then you deserve a reward Officer Bryant,” you say with a wink.  

“Just Sammy, please,” he practically begs. If he’s going to get a lapdance from you, the last thing he needs is to hear you repeat Officer Bryant. He’d come in two seconds. 

You lick your lips and bite down another giddy smile. “Okay, Sammy.” 

He loves the way it sounds on your lips. 

You press play on the music, some song by The Weeknd starts playing, and you start to sway your hips, pushing Sammy back in his seat. His hands go right to the armrests; knuckles white from how much pressure he puts to stop himself from grabbing you instead. His eyes go wide, almost blacked out from arousal, and he bites his lower lip as you lower yourself onto his lap, face to face. 

“Fuck,” he sighs, watching breathlessly as your hands brush up your sides to your chest, and you start to untie the little strap that holds your cropped jacket closed. You roll your body to the beat of the music, as you slowly pull the top open, revealing your breasts in probably the tiniest, sparkly red bikini top Sammy has ever seen, it barely covers your nipples. His filter erases entirely, an almost dopey smile forming on his face as he says, “God, you’re so pretty.” 

You let out another giggle, “You’re cute.” 

He lets you guide his body up, so you can slowly, softly push his jacket over his shoulders, and your body shudders when you feel the hard muscle underneath. The uniform had covered it up earlier but you just knew he was packing more than a gun under it.  

The jacket is left on the ground, and he watches the slight flash of excitement as your eyes rake over his arms. He smirks, he knew all those extra workouts would be worth it for more than just the job.  

“More than cute,” you say under your breath, but he hears it.  

Your eyes meet, as you slide off his lap and turn around, bending down and pushing your ass out, then with practiced ease, you tear off the tiny shorts as you raise back up, round ass on display in the skimpiest G-string. The look on his face is like a dog that’s been starved in a cage for days. You’ve seen it before, many times, on the usual men who you have to pretend to like it from. 

There’s no pretending here, not with him. 

You saunter back over to him, dropping to your knees and raking your hands up his thighs. He’s hard under his jeans, another thing you’d usually try to ignore, but with him it excites you. You can feel your own core tighten and heat, and you know if you’d straddle his thigh he’d leave with a wet patch. You find it hard to care. 

~*“Girl I’m so glad we’re acquainted...”*~ 

The Weeknd’s voice cuts through the tension between you two, melodic and sensual, speaking for both of your darkest thoughts in this moment. You notice Sammy’s hands are white knuckling the armrests again, and as you raise back up, you run your own from his thighs, up his chest (where you’re pretty sure you can feel his heart pounding out of the skin), and down those strong shoulders, arms, to his hands.  

Without doing much thinking, you pry them up, and bring them to your waist. It causes a load of tension to fill his whole body. You try to bypass his apprehension by straddling him again, bringing your face in close to his as you roll your hips right onto his lap, eyes closing almost involuntarily at how good it feels. 

He chokes out a breath, his own eyes shutting and his neck twitches, hands stiffening tight to your skin. “Wait, wait,” his voice a barely there, breathy whisper. It’s so hot how much he’s clearly holding back. “Y-you sure? Aren’t we not supposed to touch?” 

You bring your lips in close to his ear, voice airy and light, sighing to him, “You’re my knight in shining armor, you get to touch.” 

“Ha,” he stutters, last semblances of control on the verge of being abandoned. “So, if I was any other guy you hadn’t met today, you wouldn’t let me touch you?” 

“Absolutely not, you’re a special case.”  

You turn on his lap, your back laying almost flat to his front, as you guide his hands over your sides to the rhythm of the song. His fingers feel rough, not surprising for his job, but the way he holds you is gentle, like you’re something precious. His breath is hot on your ear, and you start to hear subtle, almost silent moans. It sends a thrill up your spine. 

He lets himself get lost in the movement of your body, lets you move his hands to where you want, takes in your scent, your soft skin, the way he can almost feel your hands shake with excitement. It’s electric. 

Then, your hands start to move his up again, and he realizes what your new destination is, and he remembers where you are, why you’re in this position in the first place. 

“Hold on,” he says regretfully. “Aren’t there cameras in rooms like this?” If security catches me touching you, I don’t wanna get my ass kicked.” 

You giggle again. “No cameras. There are hidden distress buttons for us to call security in if we need. You can touch me all you want.” 

“Fuck,” he moans, burying his face in your neck as you bring his hands up to your breasts, pressing down until he gives you a pleasurable pressure.  

You let your own whimper out. It’s been a while, admittedly, since someone has touched you like this. The way he obviously wants you bad, the protective energy in it, it’s thrilling. You want him bad too. 

You know the song is going to wind down soon, and you don’t know what possesses you, but something primal is in control of your mind as you reach behind, between your bodies, and rub down on his dick over his jeans. 

“Oh fuck, baby,” he mindlessly groans. Control gone. He kisses your neck, moaning into it as your hand rubs at him, his own hips jerk up into the feeling. “Shit, what are you doing to me?” 

Goosebumps start to form under the layer of sweat on your skin. Your heart tightens as your cunt twitches. You need him bad. You want to feel him come so bad. You want to bring his fingers down and feel them fill you up. Let him know how much you want him by how wet he’s made you. 

But. Then again. 

His job isn’t done yet.  

Tonight, this wonderful surprise, isn’t the end of it. 

Why waste an opportunity to be the tease you secretly get a thrill out of being? 

As the song winds down, your movements get faster, his kisses and moans on your neck lose rhythm, and you know he’s close. 

With the final moments of the song, right when you’re pretty sure he’s there, you suddenly stop, removing yourself from him entirely with salacious laugh.  

“Actually—” 

“Oh baby, no,” Sammy says, needy and whiny. 

“Sorry Officer Bryant—” 

“Shit you don’t know what that does to me,” he groans, chest heaving as he’s tries to catch his breath. 

“I was just thinking, maybe I’ll wait till you catch those guys before I give you the full reward.” 

“Tease,” he says, without a hint of anger. If anything, he sounds more turned on than before. “Baby I’ll call you as soon as they’re in cuffs.” Then he blinks, starts to stutter again, “N-not that I have your number, or that you need to give it to me or anything, just saying you know—" 

You cut him off with a laugh. “You got another card, Officer Bryant? I misplaced the one from this morning.” 

You’re lying, it’s safely tucked in your wallet. You were just too nervous and chickenshit to make up a reason to contact him. 

He fumbles a bit to get his wallet out, but he manages to fish another one out for you. His knees visibly start to buckle when he watches you tuck it into your bikini, his name sticking right by your hardened nipple. 

“I’ll text you as soon as I’m back in the greenroom,” you say. You bend down to pick up his jacket, and help him put it back on, thoughtlessly straightening out his shirt. Okay you wanted to feel his hard chest one more time. “What time are you supposed to go get them?” 

“About 7am, if everything goes well they’ll be booked by 8.” 

“Then I better hear from you at 8:15 to tell me you earned your prize,” You stand straight up, hands on your hips. 

“Looking forward to that, Baby.” He’s still on the seat, looking up at you with a mix of hunger and awe, still hard, face flushed. “If I’m late feel free to punish how you see fit.” 

“Now isn’t that exciting,” you tease, reaching a hand out to help him up. He stands directly in front of you, inches away, eyes flashing to your lips, and that moment of everything aligning, the heavens screaming to make a move comes. The urge to kiss him arrives. But you shake it out of you, stepping back. It will be so much better to wait. 

He can’t seem to move yet. His eyes trace all around your features, like he’s trying to memorize them from this close. A small muscle in his cheek twitches, and his voice goes a little shy as he asks, “So, those glasses today, were they like your Clark Kent disguise?” 

“They’re real glasses!” You exclaim, playfully shoving his shoulder. “I need them for reading.” 

“I liked them, they were cute.” 

You blush and stand back, giving him room to leave. You know it’s not the last you’ll see of him, but there’s still a heaviness in your chest watching him go. 

And then that little urge takes over again, and you decide to let a little part of it win. 

“Wait!”  

You grab him by the shoulder, and he starts to turn to meet you, when you reach for his face. You plant a kiss on his cheek, pressing down hard, so that when you pull back there’s a perfect, red lipstick stain in the middle of his face. 

“Feel free to tell your boys how well your dance went,” you whisper in his ear. “I know I enjoyed the ride.” 

Sammy smirks. “More where that came from Darlin’.” 

You finally let him go. 

He leaves that little room, heart full, with the biggest smile on his face. He’s met with teasing cheers and claps on the back from his buddies, too giddy inside to let their jokes get to him. He just takes his seat with them, picks up his beer to finish it off, and wait out until they’ve had enough. 

His phone vibrates in his pocket, a text from an unknown number. 

{😘💋💃 rmbr 8:15, or else 😉} 

He smiles at his phone, looking over his shoulder to see if he can catch one last look at you, but you’re nowhere in sight. 

“Hey Sammyyyyyyyy!” Dewey’s voice interrupts Sammy’s thoughts. He turns back to see his friend holding up his glass. “Happy divorce my brothah!” 

Sammy tips his own bottle and takes a long swig. Happy divorce indeed. 

Your skin was slick with sweat despite the chill, and your eyes—those sweet eyes that usually held so much warmth, so much life—were glassy, trying to focus but failing to land on anything. 

Then, a light flickered inside. The lock scraped, and the door swung open to reveal Jack Abbott, still half-dressed in a worn pullover over his undershirt, his grey hair mussed from sleep that had clearly been interrupted. 

"What the hell happened?" He asked, eyes going worried. 

Joel didn't answer. 

He just moved, carrying you past Jack and down the narrow hallway that led to the small clinic room Jack kept in his home. 

The space was clean but lived-in: a metal examination chair in the center, shelves lined with bottles and worn medical texts, a couch, a single lamp casting a warm, yellow glow over the worn wooden floor. 

Jack Abbott arrived in Jackson a little over two years after Joel did. 

He had been traveling with a small group before, acting as their medic, but the constant moving wore him down. 

Jackson was the first place in years that felt safe enough to stop, so he stayed when Maria asked him if he wanted to, while the others moved on. 

Within a few months, he turned one of the unused small houses near the edge of town into two spaces: a tiny clinic in the front and a small living area for himself in the back.

People started calling it Abbott's clinic.

Joel met him after a patrol accident left him with a deep cut. 

Jack stitched him up with quiet, steady confidence, and Joel respected him immediately. 

He didn't ask too many questions, no bullshit, no small talk. Over time, Joel kept ending up at Jack's door, Jack kept patching him, and a quiet, practical friendship formed between them.

So when Joel set you down on his examination chair he knew you were in good hands. 

His hands stayed on you, steady, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt. 

Jack followed close behind, already pulling out a pair of latex gloves from a box on the counter. 

The snap of rubber against his wrists was sharp in the quiet room. He moved to your other side, his eyes scanning you with the practiced efficiency of someone who had seen too many emergencies in too many late hours. 

"Joel." He said it firmly, not a question. Then softer, more insistent. "Joel. Talk to me. What happened?"

Joel dragged a hand down his face, the stubble rough against his palm. 

"We—" He stopped. Swallowed. And then started again, his voice lower. "We weren't supposed to be there."

Jack's eyebrows shot up. "Where?"

"The old storage yard. Past the perimeter."

The silence stretched for one beat, two, three and Joel could see the thoughts racing behind those dark eyes—the implications, the danger, the sheer stupidity of it. 

Jack let out a slow breath, his jaw tightening. "You two were past the forbidden perimeter?"

Joel nodded once, feeling guilty, miserable.

"She saw…" He let out a frustrated huff, shaking his head. "Hell, I don't know. Rabbits or somethin'. Wanted a closer look."

His voice cracked on the last words—with frustration, with...with anger at himself, at the moment of weakness that had led him to agree, to let you wander just a little too far, just a little too deep into the overgrown brush beyond the safe zone. 

You had smiled at him. God—that sweet, hopeful smile that made it impossible to say no. And now you were here, burning up and it was all his fault.

"She breathed in this cloud of…dust. Pollen. Somethin'."

Jack only stared at him, open mouth, gaze caught somewhere between disbelief and the cold calm of a man processing information. 

He opened his mouth, then closed it. Then, very quietly, he said: "Joel."

"It ain't important right now," Joel snapped, the words cutting through the air like a blade. But the edge softened almost immediately as his eyes flicked back to you, and his voice dropped to something quieter, more fragile. "Just—just fix her, alright?"

Jack held his gaze for a long moment. Then he nodded, once, and turned his full attention to you. 

He leaned in, his movements careful, deliberate, as he reached for a small penlight from besides him. "Alright, sweetheart. Let's take a look at you."

He leaned closer, bringing the penlight up to your eyes. But your head lolled slightly, and you squirmed on the chair, a low, restless sound escaping your throat. Jack paused, his hand hovering near your jaw.

"Easy now. I need you to hold still for just a second, okay?" He tilted his head, meeting your gaze from behind the flashlight. "C'mon. Look at me."

Your eyes—glassy, unfocused, pupils blown wide—drifted toward him. 

Jack clicked on the penlight, shining it first into your left eye, then your right, watching the way your pupils reacted—or failed to react. His brow furrowed. He hummed low in his throat, a sound that made Joel's stomach clench.

He clicked off the penlight, put it back into his place, and straightened up. He met Joel's gaze, his expression thoughtful.

"Pupils are dilated and sluggish. Could be a neuroactive toxin," he said, his voice carrying the weight of professional assessment. "Some kind of alkaloid, maybe. That targets the central nervous system." He paused, then added, almost to himself, "But her skin is flushed, and her pulse is tachycardic. Heart rate's way up. Could be pyrexia, but…" He trailed off, then turned back to you, his voice gentle again. "How did this flower look? Can you tell me anything about it?"

Your lips parted. "Trans…translucent. Purple."

Jack's eyes sharpened suddenly. 

He turned away, crossing to the cluttered desk in the corner where a worn leather notebook sat among scattered papers. He opened it and the silence stretched while he flipped through it. 

"Damn it," Jack muttered under his breath.

Joel stiffened. "What?"

Jack didn't look up. He kept turning pages, his finger tracing lines of cramped handwriting. "I've seen mentions of this before. Not many though, just scattered reports from patrol medics out west. And a couple of passing mentions in some old pre-outbreak botany notes I found in the library archive." He stopped on a page, reading it intently. Then he let out a slow breath and turned to face Joel.

"Reports of what?" Joel pressed, his voice tight.

Jack hesitated. It was a hesitation that Joel had never seen on him before.

He set the notebook down and crossed his arms, his gaze flickering between you and Joel.

"A mutated flower. Causes fever, disorientation, elevated pulse…and some....sexual changes." 

Joels head snapped up. "It ain't the time for jokes, Abbott." 

But Jack didn't flinch. "I'm not joking. That's what the reports called it. I told you—it causes fever, disorientation, elevated pulse." He paused, letting the words settle. "The body's been flooded with a compound that mimics extreme sexual arousal. It's not toxic on its own, but if left untreated, the fever and heart strain can cause complications."

Joel stared at him and when he turned back to you, he saw the way your fingers curled and uncurled against the metal and the way a soft, breathy sound escaped your lips as you shifted restlessly on the chair.

"Complications," Joel repeated, his voice hollow. "What kind of complications?"

Jack moved closer, his expression softening as he looked at you. He reached out, pressing the back of his hand gently against your forehead, feeling the fever that radiated off you in waves.

"If we don't address the underlying arousal-based symptoms, the body will keep ramping up. Heart rate spikes. Temperature climbs. Eventually, the system burns out." He pulled his hand away, his voice dropping lower. "The only effective treatment recorded in those reports is…direct physical release. Sexual stimulation to completion, multiple times, until the compound is flushed from the system."

He held up a hand as Joel opened his mouth, ready to protest. "Look, I know how it sounds. But I've seen enough strange things in this world to know that nature doesn't care about what sounds reasonable."

Joel turned away, his hand dragging through his hair, frustration in his face.

"So what are you tellin' me? That I gotta—" He couldn't even finish the sentence.

"I'm telling you that she needs care, Joel. And that care is going to involve intimacy. Whether that's with you, or with me helping her through it medically, or both—that's up to you. But she can't wait much longer." Jack's voice was calm, steady, the voice of a man doing his job. The room fell silent again. The only sounds were your labored breathing and the faint ticking of a clock somewhere deeper in the house.

Joel then turned back, his eyes meeting yours. He saw the fear in them—and something else, something raw and needy that he didn't know how to name.

And suddenly—

"Please," you whined, the word thick and broken. "Please…need…need something."

Your body was a furnace, burning from the inside out. Every nerve ending felt raw, exposed, screaming for relief. The fabric of your shirt clung to your skin, damp with sweat, and it felt like a cage. Your hands moved before your mind could catch up—grabbing at the hem, tugging, pulling.

Joel's eyes widened. "Hey, hey—hold on—"

But you couldn't hold on anymore.

You were beyond reason, beyond shame. You squirmed against the chair, your movements jerky and frantic, yanking your shirt over your head and tossing it aside.

Joel caught your wrists gently, trying to slow you down, but you twisted out of his grip, your fingers fumbling with the button of your jeans, the zipper, pushing them down your hips with a desperate, whimpering sound that tore at Joel's chest.

"Honey—" Joel started, his voice cracking.

But Jack held up a hand, his expression calm but intent. "Let her. The compound is driving her body to seek release. Fighting it will only make it worse, Joel."

Joel's hands fell to his sides. He watched, helpless, as you rid yourself of the last of your clothing, tossing jeans and panties to the floor until you were bare on the examination chair, your skin flushed and slick with sweat, your chest heaving with every ragged breath.

Your legs fell open without thought, your hips rolling against the cold metal, searching for friction that wasn't there.

"Need…please…I need something…" Your voice was a broken loop, tears starting to stream down your cheeks.

Joel's throat tightened. He looked at Jack.

When Jack met his gaze, there was no judgment in those dark eyes—only the weight of a man who understood the gravity of the situation. Jack's hand paused over your body, as he turned to Joel, his expression asking a silent question.

May I?

Joel stared at him for a long, breathless moment. Then he nodded, his voice low and rough. "Do what ya gotta do. I trust you."

Jack's shoulders relaxed a fraction and he moved to the foot of the chair, positioning himself between your spread legs. 

"I ain't no gynaecologist," Jack said, his voice carrying a hint of dry humour. "But I need to see if it's really the flower we're talking about. The reports mentioned specific physical changes."

Joel clenched his jaw, stepping closer and placing his hands on your shoulders, holding you steady as you squirmed beneath him. You looked up at him, your eyes glassy and wet, and you whimpered.

"Please…let him…"

Joel let out a shaky breath. He looked at Jack and gave a short, sharp nod.

Jack leaned in. His gloved fingers found your thighs, then he gently parted your labia with precision. 

He murmured to himself, cataloging observations as he worked. "Labia swollen. Significant engorgement. Vulvar tissue appears hyperemic, engorged with blood flow consistent with severe vasocongestion." 

You gasped as his thumb accidentally brushed against the hood of your clit, a jolt of electricity shooting through your core. Your hips bucked involuntarily, a desperate, wordless sound escaping your lips.

"Easy," Jack murmured, more to himself than to you. 

He shifted his grip, using his thumb and forefinger to part the inner folds, exposing your entrance. It was gaping, red, and glistening with a clear, almost viscous fluid that had already pooled on the chair beneath you.

Joel's hands tightened on your shoulders, his knuckles almost white. 

He trusted Jack—hell, he was the only man in this godforsaken place he trusted you with. But he still couldn't help the way he felt. A little too protective. Maybe even jealous.

"Her insides feel swollen," Jack said. He pressed two fingers—index and middle—against your opening, testing the resistance. The muscles fluttered and clenched, straining against the intrusion before it even begun. "Loss of tone in the pelvic floor muscles. Usually, there's some natural tension, but here…it's like her body is actively pulling things in."

And then he pressed inside.

The latex-covered fingertips breached you with a wet, slick sound that echoed in the small room.

You cried out—not in pain, but in need that tore through every nerve ending. Your back arched off the chair, your head thrown back, Joel's name falling from your lips in a desperate, ragged moan.

"Oh, fuck—!"

Jack didn't move. He held his fingers still, buried to the second knuckle, his eyes fixed on your face, watching your reaction with clinical detachment even as his body betrayed a slight tension.

"She's extremely sensitive. The internal tissues are swollen and hot—probably a few degrees above normal body temperature. The flower is causing nerve hypersensitivity."

Your hips bucked again, grinding against Jack's hand, seeking more. Every bit of shame leaving your body.

But the pressure of his fingers inside you was maddening—not enough, never enough. You whimpered, a high, thin sound that turned into a gasping sob as Jack slowly began to withdraw his fingers, dragging them along your inner walls.

And then, suddenly, an orgasm hit you without warning. 

It crashed through you like a wave, sudden and violent, pulling a strangled scream from your throat. Your entire body clenched, your inner muscles spasmed around Jack's retreating fingers, and a gush of fluid flooded out of you, soaking his gloved hand and dripping onto the chair in thick, sticky ropes.

Jack pulled his hand back, his fingers coated in the warm, translucent fluid. He held them up, examining the consistency with narrowed eyes.

Joel could only stare, his mouth hanging open. 

His gaze flicked from your flushed, trembling body to Jack's dripping fingers, and then back to your face, where tears and sweat had mingled in a mask of desperate relief and craving.

"Did she just…?" Joel's voice was hoarse, cautious. 

Jack nodded slowly, wiping his fingers on a clean cloth. "Ejaculate. Yeah. That's…that's exactly what that was. The flower causes her body to reach climax extremely quickly—and just as quickly, the need returns. It's like the release doesn't satisfy anything; it only opens the door for more."

You were already squirming again, your hips rolling against the empty air, your breath coming in sharp, frantic pants. "Please…more…need more…"

Jack set the cloth aside and picked up the blood pressure cuff, wrapping it around your upper arm. 

He pumped it up, watching the gauge as the numbers climbed. 

"This is an unusual procedure," he said, his voice flat. "Her body will need release. Repeatedly. And even then, the effects might last for hours—until the compound works its way out of her system."

Joel ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the grey strands in frustration. "Jesus Christ. Is there any medicine? Anything you can give her to stop this? To slow it down?"

Jack shook his head, the blood pressure cuff hissing as he released the pressure. "No. This is all about managing symptoms. The fever, the blood pressure, the dehydration. The only thing that treats the root cause is—" He paused, glancing at Joel. "—well, you know..."

He pulled off his gloves with a snap, tossing them into a bin. Then he grabbed a fresh pair, pulling them on with practiced efficiency. 

"I could now let you two go," Jack said, turning to face Joel fully. "Let you handle this on your own. Just fuck like goddamn rabbits for the next few hours. But her blood pressure is 160 over 110. That's stroke territory if we're not careful. And her fever is also still climbing."

You whimpered on the chair, your hand reaching out blindly. "Please…Joel…I need…"

Joel caught your hand, pressing it to his chest. "S'okey, honey. I'm right here. Don't be scared." He leaned down, pressing another kiss to your damp forehead, his voice softening to a trembling murmur. "I got you. I ain't goin' nowhere."

He turned to Jack, his eyes hard and resolute. "I'll do it. You keep her fever and blood pressure in line. I trust you."

Jack nodded. 

He pulled the chair behind your head, positioning himself so he could put cool towels on your forehead and monitor the equipment. 

"I'll keep the cold packs on her neck and forehead, monitor her vitals. You handle the rest."

Joel let out a long, shaky breath. He shrugged off his jacket, tossing it onto the nearby counter. He moved between your legs, his boots scraping against the worn linoleum.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, looking down at the mess you've had made. 

Your pussy was a complete wreck; swollen, red, glistening with a mix of your own fluids and the lingering evidence of your climax. Your clit stood out, big and glossy, twice its usual size. Your hole gaped, soft and open, the muscles twitching with unfulfilled need. 

Joel had never seen you like that. Not even when he fucked you countless times the night before. 

Jack's voice came from behind your head, quiet and steady. "I know. That's the flower."

Joel looked at your face—your tear-streaked cheeks, your parted lips, your eyes glassy and fixed on him with desperate, animal hunger. He placed his rough, calloused hands on your inner thighs, spreading you wider.

"You'll be fine, babygirl," he whispered, more to himself than to you. "I'll take care of you."

Joel's jaw tightened, his gaze flicked anywhere but towards Jack as he unzipped himself and wrapped a calloused hand around his own cock. 

He stroked himself slowly at first, trying to will himself hard despite the awkward weight of another man's eyes in the room. Embarrassment flushed his neck, but the sight of you—needy, swollen, and waiting—pushed him forwards. 

He needed to do this for you, his sweet girl, no matter how strange it felt with his old friend watching.

Joel lined himself up, the thick head of his cock nudging against your entrance before he pushed inside in one steady thrust.

A high-pitched moan tore from your throat, your hips bucking up to meet him as your walls fluttered and sucked him deeper.

"Continue," Jack said quietly, nodding once, his voice calm and measured.

Joel grunted, hips snapping forward. 

The wet, splashing sounds of your soaked pussy filled the small clinic room with every thrust, obscene and loud. 

He punched into you harder, the head of his cock dragging against that sweet, sensitive spot inside while your cunt milked him greedily, rhythmic pulses drawing him in.

"You need to talk to her the way you guys always do it, Joel," Jack instructed, still monitoring your pulse. "Keep her grounded."

Joel's eyebrows furrowed, but he nodded, voice rough. "D-does that feel good, honey?" He drove deeper, breath hitching. "Prettiest cunt all fuckin' swollen. Look at you, takin' me so good."

You whined, the praise sending fresh heat through you. 

Jack suppressed a smirk, trying to focus instead on the steady thrum beneath his fingers. "Pulse is elevated but stable," he murmured. "Pupils are still dilated."

And without warning, another orgasm crashed over you. 

This time, your thighs fell further apart as a raw cry teared from your throat, back arching off of the examination chair. Your cunt clamped down, once, twice, then opened. A hot, gushing stream bursted hard, pushing Joel's cock out and making a splashing sound in the quiet room. 

"Joel—"

Joel's breath hitched as your cries echoed off of the walls, his eyes widening when the hot flood gushed against his groin.

"Fuck," he muttered, almost to himself. His eyes landed on Jack's calm ones, and a wave of embarrassment hit him. He was standing there like this was nothing, like the whole scene wasn't awkward as hell, and Joel just couldn't decide if that made it better or worse.

Jack nodded, his eyes landing on your clenching tummy. "Normal reaction."

Joel cursed again, gripping his slick cock and thrusting back inside your still-quivering pussy. 

"Wanted to see those bunnies, huh?" he rasped, tsking with his tongue as he set a punishing rhythm. "Now look at what happened to you." 

Each thrust made your squelching cunt echo wetly around him.

Jack's gaze sharpened as he noticed drool slipping from the corner of your mouth. "Hm. Another autonomic response; excessive salivation," he noted, and glanced at Joel mid-thrust. "Mind if I help keep her calm?"

Joel nodded without breaking his rhythm. He didn't care anymore. He just wanted you to feel better.

"Easy now. Breathe for me." Jack slid two latex-gloved fingers past your lips. "I'm just gonna help you." 

And you immediately sucked them in, tongue swirling, a broken whimper escaping around them. "Please, doctor…"

Jack's breath got caught in his throat, his own cock twitching to life, growing visibly against his pants even though he was trying to he professional. 

"S'okay, sweetheart." he soothed, fingers gentle but firm in your mouth.

You sucked on them with desperate, whining pulls, saliva coating the gloves. 

Joel shook his head, voice strained. "God damn flowers."

"I know," Jack replied, eyes flicking down to where Joel's cock disappeared into your soaked cunt. "Reports were way worse. It's like heat for humans—constant need until the cycle breaks."

Joel kept thrusting, the filthy wet sounds growing louder, his thumb finding your sensitive clit, giving only gentle, light rubs. You moaned around Jack's fingers, whimpered, your body arching from the stool as another orgasm ripped through you.

He buried himself deep, grunting as he came too, hot pulses of cum flooding your cunt while your walls clenched around him.

Jack's free hand stroked your hair. "You're doing so well," he whispered. "That's it. Let it all out."

Joel slowly pulled out, watching thick ropes of his release trickle down from your swollen pussy. He tucked himself back in, thinking that would be enough. 

But the needy ache in your core hadn't faded. Your hips still rocked, eyes glassy, silently begging for more. Your cunt started clenching again, desperate to be stuffed. 

Jack pulled his fingers out of your mouth, taking his gloves off. 

"She's…she's still not done," he said, his voice softer now, laced with an uncertainty that wasn't there before. 

He swallowed. "The flower's effects are cumulative. She's had three orgasms so far, but the pollen load was significant." 

Jack's fingers trailed down your cheek, your jaw, until they rested on your collarbone. "Your heart rate's still high." He glanced at Joel. "Can you hold her steady? I need to examine her cervix again."

Joel nodded, his hand moving to cradle your head. He leaned over you, his face inches from yours, his breath was warm against your cheek, pressing a kiss on your nose. "You hear that, baby? Doctor Abbott's gonna take a look. Just breathe, okay?"

Jack pulled on a fresh pair of gloves, the snap of latex loud in the quiet. 

He positioned himself between your legs again, his fingers gentle as he parted your slick folds. 

Your cunt was still a swollen, pink mess—puffy and raw, dripping with Joel's cum and your own release. 

Jack's brows furrowed deeper, his tongue wetting his lips. "No tearing. But she's inflamed. The tissue is still pretty engorged." He pressed two fingers just inside your entrance, and you gasped, your hips bucking. "Still sensitive. Very sensitive."

Joel watched, his eyes dark, the grip on your hand tightening. "What do we need to do?"

Jack withdrew his fingers slowly. "I think…I think she needs stimulation again. But maybe a different angle. She's been stimulated vaginally. The flower's compounds are absorbed through the mucous membranes, so oral stimulation might also help" He looked at Joel, and for the first time, a faint blush colored his cheeks. "I could…only if that's okay with you, I could use my mouth. On her. It's the gentlest way. Fingers or a toy might be too rough with the swelling."

Joel's eyebrows rised. He didn't say anything for a long moment, just stared at Jack with a mixture of surprise and unsureness. But he trusted him. "You're the doctor." 

Jack's answer was a shaky breath. 

He knelt down, his prosthetic clicking softly as he positioned himself between your spread thighs. He looked up at Joel, eyes wide, his voice was barely above a whisper. "I won't do something that you don't want."

"You won't," Joel said, and there's a quiet certainty in his voice. "You're good at what you do. And you care. That's all that matters."

Jack leaned in, his lips brushing the inside of your thigh first, a soft, hesitant kiss. He started murmuring to you, his words muffled against your skin. "It's okay, sweetheart. Just relax. Let me help you." 

He trailed his mouth up, leaving a wet path, until he reached your pussy. 

He hesitated at first, his breath hot against your swollen folds, and then his tongue darted out, flicking tentatively over your clit.

You cried out, a sharp, high sound, your hips jerking. 

Joel shushed you, his hand stroking your hair. "Easy, easy, honey. Let him work."

Jack's tongue moved in slow, careful circles, his eyes closed, his whole being focused on the task. He was so gentle—so so gentle it almost hurt. He let his tongue flatten, just barely, dragging the softest, wettest line from the bottom of your slit all the way up to the hood of your swollen clit.

When he reached the nub, he didn't flick or circle. 

Instead, he parted his lips just enough to take the tiny bud between them, not sucking, not even really holding—just resting it there, letting his breath ghost over it. He knew you were sensitive so he gave it a single, featherlight pulse of his tongue, like a heartbeat, before releasing it just as gently.

He pulled back for a moment, looking at Joel. "She's still very wet. The pollen keeps secreting fluids. That's good—it means her body is actively metabolizing." 

He pressed another kiss onto your inner thigh, his hand coming up to cup your mound, his thumb rubbing soft circles. "You're doing so well. Just a little more, okay? I'll make it good."

Joel watched, his breath coming heavier. He was hard again, his cock pressing against his jeans. 

He didn't touch himself, though. He just held you, his eyes locked on Jack's mouth as it worked over you, his own throat tight with something that feels like gratitude and jealousy all tangled together.

"I got her, Joel," Jack said between gentle strokes of his tongue, his voice strained. "She's responding. Clenching. She's—" He broke off as you moaned, your body beginning to tremble again. "She's close. Another one."

Joel leaned down, his lips brushing your ear. "Let go, baby. Let Jack take care of you. You can do it."

Your orgasm build, slow and deep, and when it finally broke; it's was a rolling, shuddering wave that pulled a desperate sob from your chest. 

He didn't stop, his tongue gentling through the aftershocks, drawing out every last tremor until you're limp, your body sagging into the chair.

"Good, yeah, that's real good," Jack pulled back, wiping his chin with his hand while looking at the fluids you released. "She did well." 

You breathed out, already feeling your cunt spasm again, in need of another release. 

Jack checked your fever and your blood pressure again, letting out a soft breath, turning to face Joel. His voice was low and gentle, unhurried. "It's still not stabilizing the way I'd like. Her heart rate's come down which is good. But her blood pressure's still sitting high, and her temperature's not dropping."

Joel's grip on your hand tightened. "God dammit. What else can we do?" He asked. "You said oral would help." 

Jack nodded slowly. "It did help. It brought her some relief. But the pollen is trapped in her pelvic tissue now. To fully clear it, she needs a stronger parasympathetic response. I think at this point, oral alone won't reach that deep."

He paused, thinking. 

"There's another option," he said, looking at Joel first, then down at you. "It's a bit more...involved. But I think it would work. I've read it in the reports."

Joel's brows furrowed. "Just tell me."

"Dual stimulation. It could trigger a more complete autonomic response. Simultaneous penetration of the vaginal and anal canals would increase overall parasympathetic activation, potentially clearing the pollen from deeper tissue through intensified contractions and fluid release."

He held up a hand, reassuring. "I know it sounds like a lot. But i've read enough of them in the reports."

Joel looked at you, then back at Jack. His voice was rough but not angry. "You mean, hell—both of us? At the same time?"

"If you're comfortable with that," Jack said, his tone still gentle, almost apologetic. "I wouldn't suggest it if I thought there was another way. But she's still suffering, Joel. I can see it in her eyes. And I don't want her fever to spike again."

Joel stared at the floor for a long moment, then looked at you. Your skin was still flushed, your eyes glassy with need, begging him to do something. You squeezed his hand weakly, a small sound escaping your throat. 

He let out a breath. "Fine. If it'll help her. But I swear to god above, Abbott, if she stays like this. Then—"

"Joel… I hear you," Jack murmured, hands half‑raised in a calming gesture. "I'm not…I'm not thrilled about this either. But I won't let anything happen to her. I promise you that."

He then knelt between your legs again, his hands resting lightly on your thighs. "I need to check if she's ready," he said. "The pollen causes natural relaxation, but I want to be sure there's no discomfort."

He pressed a thumb gently against your perineum, then traced it along the rim of your anus. 

The touch was featherlight, exploratory but uour body responded without a thought: a shiver, a soft gasp. 

Jack looked up at Joel, his expression calm.

"She's already relaxed. No prep needed." He nodded. 

Jack shifted his gaze to you. His hand remained where it was, a grounding pressure against your most intimate space. He spoke slowly, his voice a soothing murmur.

"Sweetheart, I'm going to tell you exactly what we're thinking, and you can take your time. There's no rush."

He paused, waiting for your eyes to meet his.

"Joel will be with you the way he always is—inside you, slow and gentle. And I'll be behind you, entering you here," he said, his thumb pressing just slightly inward, "in your bottom. We'll move together, very slowly, matching each other's pace. It'll feel full—intense—but it won't hurt if you're relaxed, and you are. The pollen will release, your fever will come down, and your heart will settle."

He watched your face, his eyes patient and warm.

Joel leaned down, brushing his lips against your nose. "It's your call, babygirl. I'm right here."

Your breathing hitched. The heat inside you coiled tighter, desperate. You looked up at Joel, then at Jack—his dark eyes patient, his hand steady on your body. 

You nodded, needy. 

"Yes," you whispered. "Please. I need something." 

Jack's lips curved into a faint, reassuring smile. "That's good. That's real good." He withdrew his hand slowly and looked at Joel. 

Joel's jaw tightened. He lifted your hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, slow and deliberate. Then he looked over his shoulder at Jack, and to the couch in the room. "This couch work for you? She'll be more comfortable there—pillows, somethin' to brace against."

Jack nodded, already moving. "I'll get it set up."

-

Jack cleared the sofa with efficient movements: tossing aside a pillow, spreading a clean blanket over the cushions, positioning two more pillows against the armrest. 

His hands moved with practiced precision, but there was a slight tremor in his fingers as he smoothed the fabric. 

He was trying to stay professional. It was cute, in a way; this man who had stitched up Joel's wounds and patched up Jackson's sick, now preparing a makeshift bed for something more intimate.

And you wouldn't lie if it didn't excite you. 

While Jack worked, Joel stayed with you. He cupped your face in both hands, his thumbs tracing the line of your cheekbones. 

"Hey," he murmured, tilting your chin up so you had to meet his eyes. "Look at me."

You did. His eyes so soft. Tender. The same eyes that had watched over you during patrol, that had softened when you begged him to take you to the forbidden parameter just to see those stupid, wild rabbits and play with them. 

"It's gonna be alright," he said. "You trust me?"

"Always," you breathed.

"Trust Jack?"

You glanced towards the sofa, where Jack was adjusting the last pillow. He caught your gaze and offered a small, reassuring smile—the same smile he gave before setting a broken bone, before delivering difficult news. 

Professional. Always kind and gentle. 

"Yes," you said. "I trust him."

Joel leaned in and kissed you then. Slow, thorought, a kiss that promised you stability. His lips moved against yours with a gentle pressure, his tongue brushing the seam of your mouth, tasting you. One hand slid into your hair, cradling the back of your head, while the other found the small of your back, pulling you just slightly closer.

When he broke the kiss, you were breathless. He rested his forehead against yours.

"Good girl," he whispered. "You're doing so good. Now let's get you comfortable."

Without warning, Joel slid one arm under your knees and the other behind your back, lifting you off of the exam chair as if you weighed nothing. 

You gasped, your arms instinctively winding around his neck.

Jack had positioned himself on the far end of the sofa, sitting sideways, his legs spread, a condom wrapper discarded on the side table. 

He was already hard—you could see the outline of his cock straining against his jeans, and when he shifted, the fabric pulled tight. 

"Come here," Jack said, his voice a low murmur. He patted the cushion besides him. "There we go."

Joel lowered you gently onto the sofa, your knees sinking into the plush cushion. You were facing him, your hands braced on his broad shoulders, while he sat down too. 

And behind you, you could feel the heat of Jack's body.

"Alright," Joel said, his hands sliding from your shoulders down your arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps. "He's gonna take care of you from behind. And I'll be right here." He tapped your chin, making you look at him. "Right in front of you. You need to stop, you tap my arm twice. You need a breath, you say my name. You hear?"

"Yes," you whispered.

"Good girl."

He touched you gently, his hands guiding your hips, your knees, until your back was closer to Jack and you were still facing Joel. He then  positioned you on your knees, the cushion soft beneath you, your thighs spread just enough to accommodate what was coming.

Jack's breath caught. 

His eyes roamed over you; the curve of your ass, your pretty waist, and your back. 

"You're in control," Jack said, and his voice was strained but still carrying that professional cadence, the doctor's calm. "I'm gonna put on a condom, then you can take it at your own pace." 

You heard the crinkle of a condom wrapper. Then the slick sound of him rolling it on. You looked over your shoulder, watching him position himself—knees spread, cock standing up from his body, the condom sheathing him in a thin layer of latex. 

His cock was thick, smaller than Joels, standing full and erect from a nest of dark and grey curls. His head was already a dark plum shade, slick with pre-cum bubbling on top, indicating that he was already hard all the while he examined you earlier.  

"Whenever you're ready, sweetheart." Jack said, and there was a raw edge to his voice now, the professional slip giving way to something hungrier. "Lower yourself onto me."

You reached behind you, fingers brushing his thigh. He flinched—a tiny jolt, involuntary. You saw his cock twitch, the head bobbing slightly.

"Please," you whispered. 

Jack's jaw tightened. His nostrils flared. He forced himself to nod, keeping his hands on his own knees. "It's okey. I'm right here." 

You braced one hand on the back of the sofa, the other reaching down to guide him. Your fingers found the head of his cock, slick with latex. 

You positioned it against your entrance—the tight ring of muscle that had just been stretched—and pushed back.

"There she goes." Joel murmured. 

The pressure was intense. 

A fullness that bordered on overwhelming. 

You felt every ridge, every inch as you sank onto him, your body yielding slowly, grudgingly. Jack's breath hissed through his teeth, a sharp, bitten-off sound. His knuckles were white where he gripped his own thighs, the tendons in his forearms standing out with the effort of staying still.

Joel breathed out, holding onto your waist as he guided you gently down. 

"Good," Jack managed, his voice strangled. "That's…that's perfect. You're doing so well." 

He was fully sheathed inside you then—your ass stretched around his cock, the sensation so deep it seemed to reach into your belly. You felt full, split open, but not in pain. Just…finally filled the way you needed it. 

In front of you, Joel watched your face with an intensity that made your stomach flip. His hand left your waist and stroked your thigh, a slow, grounding rhythm, his thumb tracing the crease where your leg met your hip. "You're my good girl." He whispered. 

His own cock was hard, straining against his jeans, but he made no move to touch himself. 

All his focus was on you.

"You got her?" Joel asked Jack, his voice low and gravelly.

"Yeah," Jack said, and his hands finally moved, settling on your hips. Not to guide you, not to push—just to steady. His palms were warm through the thin gown. "She's fully seated. Go ahead, Joel."

Joel's eyes never left yours. His cock thick and flushed, already slick with precum and your release from earlier. 

He shifted closer, his knees bracketing yours on the cushion, his cock pressing against your wet, waiting entrance. He didn't push in immediately. Instead, he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then your temple, then your lips—soft, lingering.

"I've got you," he murmured against your mouth. "Breathe for me. Deep and slow. I can feel you clenching already—you're so ready, baby." 

"Yes," you breathed.

He pushed in.

The sensation was indescribable—Joel's cock filling your cunt from the front, Jack's cock stretching your ass from behind. 

They were separated by only a thin wall of flesh, and you could feel every movement of each man through the other. Joel's thickness pressed against Jack's length, a constant, intimate pressure that made you gasp.

Joel groaned low in his chest, his forehead dropping to yours. "Fuck," he breathed. "There we go, honey. There we go. You feel so perfect around me." 

Behind you, Jack's grip tightened on your hips. "Jesus christ."

"I know," Joel said. "I know."

Joel stopped there, buried full, and let out a low breath against your neck. Then he looked down.

Your cunt was stretched wide around his shaft, the lips pulled apart, pink and slick with your own wetness. Below that, Jack's cock stuffed deep in your ass, making the whole patch of skin between your legs look swollen, used, full. 

He watched the way his own cock disappeared into you, how the flesh clung to him like it didn't want to let go. 

He then pressed a palm flat against your belly, rubbed slow circles just above where he's buried to calm you down.

They stayed still for a long moment—both of them buried inside you, your body stretched and full and trembling. Joel's breath was warm against your cheek. Jack's chest pressed against your back, his heart hammering against your shoulder blades.

"We're gonna move when you're ready. Slow and deep. Get your body to get used to it." Jack said behind you, gripping your waist. 

Joel huffed as a nod, giving your cheek a kiss before his hand touched your mound, spreading you to watch himself. 

Then they began to move. Small, shallow thrusts. 

At first, it's barely more than a pulse—a subtle shift of both cocks deep inside you, rocking in place. Your pussy flutters around the first, a gentle squeeze that welcomes the tiny motion. Your ass clenches around the second, holding him tight as he budges fractionally in and out.

You gasped, burying your head into his neck. 

"Shh, it's okey." he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. "You can take it, babygirl." 

His lips found your cheek, soft and lingering. He pulled you back just enough to meet your eyes—half-lidded, glassy, still lost in the haze of pleasure. His thumb traced over your cheekbone, wiping a smear of drool from the corner of your mouth.

"So damn beautiful, aren't you?"

Behind you, Jack's breathing was heavy, controlled. He was pumping inside you, careful not to be fast, his hands resting on your hips with a gentleness that belied the tension in his shoulders. 

Over your shoulder, his gaze met Joel's.

A silent conversation passed between them. A nod. 

A confirmation. We're good. She's good. Keep going.

"She is doing good," Jack murmured. 

Joel nodded, his hand sliding down your side, fingers tracing the dip of your waist, the swell of your hip. "Best girl," he said, low and warm. "Yeah, baby?"

A sound tore out of you then.