“tender is the flesh—”

You can hear him coming towards you, closing the distance between you as you close the oven door and stand back up right. You hum, “Is that so?”

“It is.” His tone sounded all too amused, you feel his hands on your hips, rough fingertips touched lightly before you feel his palms smooth over you, coming around the front of you as he asked, “You wear this just for me?”

You smiled coyly, you looked over your shoulder with a scoff, it was light hearted, joking as you teased him, “No way, you feel the temperature out there? It’s just really hot today.” 

“Yeah, just really hot. No other reason?” He was pulling you closer, your back to his chest, you felt his warm breath on your neck, his lips ghosting along the side of your throat and you were already melting. You couldn’t help it, he affected you so thoroughly. 

You were weak against him. 

You somehow manage to get out a soft confirmation, parroting what he said because it was easier than coming up with new words yourself in your current state, starting to become excited, feeling him touching you, “No other reason.” 

He huffed out a laugh, teeth grazed sensitive skin, “You seem distracted sweetheart.”

“Me? No wayyyy-” You ended up drawing it out with a moan because his hand finally slipped under the apron you were wearing. That apron was the only thing you were wearing, not a stitch of clothing besides that and his hand cupped your cunt that was already slicking up. 

"Such a bad liar. If this is just about comfort-" Two of his fingers slipped inside of you, breathing right into your ear, "-why are you so wet?”

Your head tips back with a moan, resting on his shoulder as he starts to move, rocking his fingers in and out, his other hand is palming one of your tits through the thin material of the apron. He finds one of your nipples easily and pinches it, rolls it between his fingers and it makes your hips jerk forward involuntarily, basically humping his fucking hand, grinding your clit on his palm. Your hands reach back, fingers hook in the belt loops of his pants and you pull him closer, making him press against your bare and exposed ass, he was as hard as you were wet. You moan in a nearly pornographic fashion from the spike of pleasure and the feeling of him and all bets were off. 

He pulls his fingers out of you and turns you around roughly, shoving you against the counter, your hands gripping his shirt, pulling him and kissing, filthy and with tongue and it was his turn to melt. He groaned into your mouth as he kissed you back, his hands roaming, groping your body as you did the same. Fingers under the hem of his shirt, feeling him, you got greedy then. It didn’t stay easy, taking handfuls, desperate to feel more of him. 

You heard it. 

The knife being pulled from the block nearby and then feeling the cold steel hooking in one of the straps of the apron. You gasped into his mouth, pulling back, the look in his eyes was dark, full of heat and a hint of playfulness that was so very him. He didn’t look away, his gaze locked with yours as he moved the knife, he cut the strap easily and nicked your skin in the process. You hissed through your teeth and the stab of pain. “Awe, poor baby.”

He teased you. “Hurts?” He asked as he traced the small cut with the tip of the knife. You nodded and he clicked his tongue once before turning the knife around and digging the handle of the knife into the weeping wound. 

More blood welled up around the knife handle and you whimpered from the pain, his thigh slotted between your legs and you ground down on him immediately. “Filthy.”

He chastised before leaning down and licking up the thin line of blood that had dripped down the curve of your chest. You arched up closer, your hand on the back of his head, fingers raking through his hair and the knife was brought up, he cut the other side and another cut happened, larger, deeper. 

Tears started to well up and he threw the knife aside on the counter with a clatter, his hands came up and tugged the top of the apron down, fully exposing your top half. He paid ample attention. Licking up the spilled blood between biting and sucking on your nipples as you rode his thigh.

He encouraged you, a twisted grin on his lips as you rocked against him, “Yeah, work it out baby. Hump all you need to, just like the needy fucking bitch in heat I love.” 

Instead of embarrassed or ashamed you felt emboldened and ground harder with a loud moan. When he felt you soak through the fabric he was on his knees, head under the apron, tasting you. It was rough, no compassion shown, it was about him, not about you. 

The act of eating out is one that could be seen as submissive, especially when the person giving is on their knees but he made it seem like a wholly dominant act that he was doing because he wanted to. And fuck did he want to, the urge and craving to taste you was too much, he loved how wrecked he could make you with a few passes of his tongue and one of your legs over his shoulder.

When you cried out his name when gripping the counter so hard your knuckles ached he got up again, he grabbed you by the torn apron still tied around your waist, pulled you to the table and threw you over it. 

You heard his belt and zipper and you begged, “Hurry, please, Fred, fuck-”

In response his hand came down hard on your ass and you yelped. “Patience.” 

He admonished and you whined, head tipping forward, your forehead rested on the hardwood and it was like he purposefully made you wait longer just because you begged. Hands on your hips and he filled you quickly. You let out a loud moan at the sudden burn and stretch, you loved how much he could fill you, and how rough he could be initially with it. He let out a long and low groan as he slid inside of you. Blunt nails bit into the skin of your hips as he began to move, the first pull halfway out before slamming back in making a shared sharp intake of air fill the space around you. 

He needed this, to take out all the shit he had been through today, your body was the perfect little punching bag for him to relieve all his stress. “God this cunt-” 

He groaned and you moaned in kind, “Yeah?”

“S’ perfect, so fucking wet and tight-” He drove the point home with an extra hard thrust that had your hands scrambling on the table top for purchase. “Don’t stop, please!”