Mr. Kennedy (Oneshot) | Leon Kennedy
Pairings — Leon/Reader | Dilf Leon! | “_ _” = Y/N
summary: you’ve worked for the Kennedies for a year already. you’ve always had a crush on Mr. Kennedy, but he never looked your way. until he did, and didn’t stop there.
warnings: car sex, cheating, infidelity, age gap!, babysitter!reader, fingering!, public, angsty, oral f! receiving, public!sex, rushed ending lol
authors note: watching re9 gameplay while writing this hehe hope yall enjoy
© starkissedbaby 2026. please do not repost, modify, or translate.
"Bye Darla!" You bid goodbye to your middle aged co-worker, who was hastily wiping down one of her tables that had just left. Her sandy shaded ponytail swings as she whips her head around to meet your smile—and flashes one herself. "Do you need me to do anything else before I clock out?"
Waving her hand, the woman you've grown to adore over the past three years, waves her hand as usual and says, "Go on and get how 'fore I change my mind and make scrub clean the stove!" Of course, a playful smirk played on her lips, hinting it was only a tease.
Laughing, but also knowing she was serious about her threat, you wave at her once more and glance at the vintage neon sign that read Timmy's that radiated a neon rouge hue. Proceeding to leave the sixties themed diner, bell ringing upon your exit, you don't waste any time in unlocking your bike from the chain, gently placing the box of cookies into the basket, and pedaling onto your night job.
One handing the bike handle for a moment, you quickly scroll through your playlist and blast the song you've kept on repeat for the past few hours. Plugging in only one earphone, because safety first, all the strands flew away from your face as you cut a corner and arrive onto a street covered in rust and burnt orange colored leaves.
At around this time, when things became too much, you'd simply elude in the tranquil gloomy weather of Portland and somehow come out feeling elated and serene. There was something about the way the golden brown trees danced, and how they naturally sweetened the wind with their earthy and citrusy aroma. Combined with the misty, chilled air that pricked the tiniest needles into your face, you almost wished you could just bike forever to feel this way forever.
Once you arrive to the Kennedy residence, a massive Victorian-styled town home with cherry shaded added features—such as the two round towers that caged the center of the mansion together, as well as the the running trim, and the turned spandrels. Everything down to the pentagon shaped windows, and the obsidian black paint that covered its exterior walls—the Kennedy residence was more than just a house.
The first time you'd arrived on your first day, repping your thrifted overalls and cheap bike you scavenged at some random Walmart, you almost turned your prideful behind right around; intimidated. But after working here five times a week for the past year that's gone by, you can safely say when approaching this place, the nerves have definitely died down.
But they were still there.
The Kennedies were a sweet family. And Layka was the coolest eight year-old you'd ever countered. She loved hosting a mean game of Candy-Land, conducting an entire theatrical play with her dolls, and having you watch her the new moves she'd been taught at her dance school.
At most times, it hardly even felt like you were working. Usually with kids, one would grow lethargic and drained with children's tendencies to always speak their mind, without a filter, and embody the definition of an insipid spoiled brat. Most people assumed Layla fell into that category when you told them how wealthy her family had been.
But in all honestly, the only Kennedy heir was the exact opposite. Her munificent countenance, paired with a naturally sanguine personality, Layka was nothing but a pleasure to be around. And to be entirely honest, you found her pretty hilarious at times.
Speaking of Layka, you spot her as your fingers finish chaining up the bike to one of the old rusted pipes that stuck out in one corner.
"_ _!" As usual, always after your weekends off, the dirty-blonde haired kid wearing a glittery baby pink Hannah Montana dancing set, hugs your legs with elation. The circulation in your limbs slowly dissipate as Layka grins, and looks up with the largest pair of blue eyes you'd ever seen.
She jumps up and down. "Did you bring them? Did you?"
"Hey little critter," You poke her nose, and she giggles, warming your heart. "You looking for—these?" Holding out the white box from behind you, with a slight grease stained at the bottom and the aroma of basked sweets filling your senses, you watch Layka's face submerge in excitement and reach out for the box.
A grin the size of Texas adorns her pink cheeks, movements blurred from how fast she'd been aiming to open the box. However, her mother, has different plans, plucking the box from Layla's hands and gives it back to me. "Thank you _ _. You're so thoughtful."
You're hit with a plethora of lavish and expensive perfume when the raven-haired woman raises her perfectly done brows at her daughter. "...but you know you can't eat sugar before practice. And why is that Kia?"
Her know it all tone forces Layka to roll her eyes. You bite back a grin, finding the entire interaction adorable. "It makes me crash. I know, mom."
"You can have as many as you want after, baby." Her lips form a pout as Ada lightly kisses her cheek with her signature red-painted lips, and affectionately runs her long-matte black nails through Layka's hair. "I'll be back on Friday. That's a long time aways from now, so give me the biggest hug ever okay?"
Layka nods, and wraps her arms around Miss Wong's neck, which had been layered in fine golden necklaces that shimmered in contrast to her lilac skin.
You watch as Ada squeezes her daughter, savoring in the feeling of holding her, then proceeds to pull back.
Her dark eyes find mine. "_ _, I left the planner on the marbled counter with the mirror. And there's leftover pasta one of the maids made—and there's more than enough for you if you're hungry." She reassures with a faint smile.
Miss Wong definitely intimidates you still to this day, but she's give you no reason to. Without a doubt she was always so inviting and transparent; two things you always looked for in an employer.
"Thank you Miss Wong. Have a safe flight."
"I'd fire my pilot if I didn't," The woman smirks, blows an air-kiss to Layka once more, and retreats to her glossy-coal shaded Porsche of the year. "Bye girls."
"I love you too, Kai." You both wave as the two of you watch Miss Wong's butterfly doors mechanically lift upward, something that still amazed you to this day. The business woman pulls on her sunglasses as she situates herself. With one flare of the engine, the car shook before taking off, engine sporadically humming from the movements.
Apparently Miss Wong kept her last name because she wanted to continue upholding the lineage in her father's honor. And get this, she used to work in the same field as Mr. Kennedy, her husband, who were both Specialized Agents that worked directly under the president himself—in the counter bio-terrorism department under the F.B.I. In all honesty, you had to google what that all meant.
Basically, Miss Wong and Mr. Kennedy handled the most hazardously dangerous biological warfare threats, and were essentially partners, which is how they met. Eventually they got married a few years later. But after an almost fatal accident where Miss Wong got shot dangerously close to the heart—she had to ultimately retire fighting bad guys and became one of the executives for the management team instead.
A lot more travel, same pay, less risk. Most of her work is done in the headquarters. I'd choose that any day.
Layka hands you the Mercedes keys that her mom let me drive, since you didn't have a car. But it was strictly only for either buying groceries, taking Layka to and from dance, or picking her up from school. Anything else had be ran through with Miss Wong. "Thanks critter," You take her monster-high themed dance bag from her shoulder and carry it, and pop open the trunk.
"You excited for practice today?"
The enthusiastic little girl nods as you gently place her bag inside, shut the trunk, and open the back door for her. "I'm more excited about the cookies after," She claps her hands, earning a shake of your head as you couldn't help but smile. "I'm going to eat the entire box as soon as class is over. Like, every crumb."
You lean on the car door as she puts on her seat belt. "For some reason, I wholeheartedly believe you."
Layka hums and fixes her skin-tight sleeves. Shutting the door, you climb into the drivers side, and adjust the mirrors, opac colored leather cool against the bare skin of your thighs. You'd forgotten to change out of your skirt from Timmy's—but it was too late. "Alrighty. Who's ready?"
"I'm ready!" Layka calls out from the back seat, her two pigtails swaying as she jumps. "I'm ready! I'm ready! I'm readyyyy!" She continues to sing, successfully pulling out a few chuckles from you as you press the button that starts the ignition. You mimic the sound of a train whistle, salute to her in the rearview, and begin your drive to town.
"Next stop, Miss Talliburry's school of dance!"
Dramatically hitting her Barbie with yours, Layka mimics a high-pitched mean girl, wiggling the doll to make her head shake. "I am the prom-queen for the next two years. And you? You're just the janitor!" She shouts, mechanically getting the blonde doll's arms to slap my finger-haired one. "Take that janitor!"
Layka and you had been sprawled out on the black and white tiled stairs of the foyer, beside the grand staircase that spiraled for an eternity. As usual, you'd been stationed right where the front door was, courtesy to Layka who always couldn't wait to see her father come home.
"You want to fight?" You retaliate in a nasally snobby tone, getting into character. "Because I'll have you know I have a black-belt in tick—"
The knob jingles, the heftily structured door revealing Mr. Kennedy in his usual ruggedness.
Layka jumps to her feet, saucers for eyes as she sprints to her father, no longer caring about the dolls and dropping them on the floor. "Daddy!"
The little one pounces into the six-foot man's brown leather-clad arms, following by him spinning her around. You understood her excitement—he hadn't been home in two weeks. Unbeknownst to the fact that you were smiling at the sight, you staid quiet as Mr. Kennedy smooths down her hair and shuts his eyes.
"I missed you so much Goose," He calls her by his nickname for her and inhales sharply. Kissing her forehead, he then sets her down, and kneels onto one knee. "Now tell me—how was practice today? You learn anything new?"
Jumping up and down, she then pushes her heels off the ground and spins elegantly. "Look at that. I bet you put all those other girls to shame don't you?" When she nods in response and giggles, he tucks her hair behind her ears. "That's my little girl. Always leaving everyone else in the dust."
You couldn't help but notice the exhaustion written all over his features that he seems to expertly mask. There's no doubt that his job was demanding. Apparently he had to fight not only regular people, but infected ones. You couldn't image how horrifying and draining it was to deal with all of that, and then come home pretending everything was okay.
In the entire year you've known Mr. Kennedy; he had spoken less than ten words to you. But you couldn't lie if you said you didn't steal a few glances towards the man. He was almost two hundred pounds of pure muscle, with steely eyes that sent delicious shivers down your spine, and big burly hands with veins that protruded through them.
Mr. Kennedy was a T-bone steak, and you were absolutely starving.
Older men always captured your eye, and it's because they excited you in a weird way. The thrill that it was wrong, the fantasy that they've lived through so much more than you. But also, being good at almost everything—especially in the bedroom.
You wondered how he looked in a circumstance like that. Eyes flying to his thick biceps, you gulp, mind going blank and forgetting that they could see you. "_ _, why are you staring at dad's arms?" The little girl asks with genuine confusion, unknown to the fact that she just slapped you into reality and embarrassed the hell out of you all at once.
Mr. Kennedy's smokey blue hues meet yours. Cheeks flushing and burning, your nose and red probably turning into a bright red—you look away and clear your throat. "I should get going before it gets too late. I have work early in the morning."Standing, wishing the floor could open up beneath you and swallow you whole, you felt Mr. Kennedy's eyes burn onto your figure.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Layka-bean." You ruffle her hair, and she nods, still holding onto her dad's hand. Nodding to Mr. Kennedy, you gather enough courage to look up at him—just to notice he was already staring at you. God, how could someone be that good looking?
Your voice wavers. "Goodnight Mr. Kennedy."
But then the unthinkable happens.
"I don't see a car out there," Mr. Kennedy begins in his usual raspy voice. "Do you take the bus?" Now that you realize it, Miss Wong was the one here at night usually, who you reassured a thousand times you didn't need a ride. In all honestly, Mr. Kennedy was hardly home most of the time, his work having him travel from Washington to Oregon constantly. So it didn't surprise you that he was unaware, but it did shock you that he even noticed.
You shake your head. "I only have a bike. Student loans are a pain in the butt." You kept your tone chirpy to seem like you weren't shaking under his piercing gaze.
His thick brows furrow. "Nonsense. I can take—"
"No really. I prefer my bike." You reassure. "But thank you Mr. Kennedy. I appreciate your offer."
His face tenses but he nods.
"Okay. Get home safe, Miss _ _."
Politely smiling, you nod and thank him again. Your had shakes as you close the door behind you, your back falling against it. For some reason, you felt dizzy, mind whirling around as your heart raced in your chest. Talking to a Greek god like Mr. Kennedy left your body in palpitations.
Mr. Kennedy had been asleep in his bedroom since you arrived. Layka also told you that when Mr. Kennedy usually returned home, he'd sleep for almost two days straight like he drank an entire bottle of NyQuil. It made sense—you were sure he had to use hand to hand combat repeatedly in his line of work and had to always be on his feet.
But that didn't stop Layka and you from having an eventful evening.
Of course, it began with a round of Just Dance. It was a no brainer that Layka won—since she played it almost every single day and always knew the next step. Then you played hide and seek for about an hour, which was harder than anticipated, considering how vast the mansion was and the fact that it contained twenty guest rooms. Luckily, Layka wasn't creative with her hiding spaces, and always seemed to conceal herself in the same places.
The little girl tried to invite her father down for dinner, but when the maid checked on him, she told her that he was still sleeping. You didn't miss the disappointed pout on Layka's face, tugging at your heart strings—so to distract her, you proposed ice cream for dessert. With all the toppings they could find in the kitchen.
After inhaling two chicken drumsticks, a bowl of mashed potatoes, and cotton candy ice cream with sprinkles, hot fudge, peanut butter, and at least a hundred gummy bears; Layka was out like a light. Carrying her from the couch up into her bedroom, you tucked her in, kissed her forehead, and wished her sweet dream.
Her room was the exact reflection of the amiable child. On one of the hot pink cheetah print walls, the entire space had been dedicated to all the awards in school and trophies she received in her short life. Another wall consisted of pictures with her parents, her friends, and there was even one of her and you at her eighth birthday this year. One of her front teeth had been missing in the photo, side hugging you while holding the massive teddy bear stuffed animal you got her.
The same one she had propped up on her coral colored fuzzy lounge couch.
Miss Wong and Mr. Kennedy were lucky to have a daughter like her. Sometimes you wished she was yours, and couldn't wait for your ow family someday.
Smiling at her one more time, you gently let the door click behind you, and retreat back down the endlessly tiring staircase. The maid Wendy had went home for the night, and you hated leaving dirty dishes in the sink, so you flick on the faucet and lather them all with soap. A figure reveals themselves from the entrance of the kitchen in my peripheral. "Shit. I didn't—think you were still here." His voice was rough from sleep and it went straight to your core.
He's married. You needed to stop this sick fantasy you had over him.
Looking up, you take in the sight of Mr. Kennedy only wearing a pair of sweatpants that hung dangerously loosely below his hips. In shock from how delicious he looked, the glass in your hand slips from your soapy palm, shattering in the sink.
Trying to not focus in on the sexiest pair of built rock hard set of abs you'd ever seen, you keep your eyes on the sink. "Dammit. I'm so sorry Mr. Kennedy." You apologize, stuttering and aimlessly fumbling with the sharp broken pieces. A sudden pain forced you to jerk, blood seamlessly pouring from the part of your palm you just slit open.
God, you were so embarrassed.
"I think you're the jumpiest person I've ever encountered." Mr. Kennedy gruffs and stalks over, and switches on the faucet. "Hold out your hand and clean off the blood. I'll throw away the pieces and fetch you a bandaid and some anti-septic."
Doing what he says, the water stings the cut and you hiss. "You alright? That's a nasty lookin' cut."
He hands you a cloth and you quietly thank him.
You always managed to make yourself look like an absolute mindless idiot around him. And the thing was—it only happened with Mr. Kennedy. Not with your old crushes, ex-boyfriends, or even the hot neighbor you fantasized over when you were sixteen. None of them made you feel as flustered as he did and it infuriated you.
Mr. Kennedy then exits the kitchen, and of course you watch in awe his wide back muscles flex. Under the yellow hued light, his sun-kissed skin was softy and dewy like the fresh clouds of mist that coat the air after it rains during the summer. Shortly after a few minutes, he returns, unfortunately now wearing a black-t shirt that was a size too small for him.
You might've preferred this more. Holy shit. Mouth watering, your eyes run up and down his figure as he hands you the first-aid kit. "Looks like you're gonna need stitches, and I happen to know how to do them." Looking at him wide-eyed, cheeks pale, you blink.
"You want to give me stitches right now?"
"It'll save you a trip to the hospital, and I have numbing cream. You won't feel anything."
It was insanely attractive how Mr. Kennedy could say something and sound so confident and capable while doing so. Getting lost in his usually stormy eyes, that seemed to clear up a bit, you find yourself nodding without fully comprehending what you were getting yourself into.
Mr. Kennedy expertly dips the needle under the flesh of your arm. Trying to distract yourself from the fact that you were only a few inches away from him, you initiate conversation. "Layka missed you at dinner and seemed sad. But I managed to cheer her up with some sweets."
"I had a rough mission this weekend. Didn't sleep for over forty-eight hours." He mutters, narrowing his eyes on your wound to ensure he's seeing properly. "A few of my comrades got hurt. It was a mess they weren't prepared for. But I always am." His voice dims when he talks about his experience, and you feel guilty for reminding him of it.
"You're like a superhero to her..you know?"
The corners of his lips twitch almost into a smile before his face recovers, and pulls his usual stoic expression. "She used to call me Captain Da-Da when she was three. Don't know where I went wrong."
You laugh in response, careful to not move yourself as he continues. "Seeing her so big messes me up. One minute she's a toddler, and the next, she's asking me if she can start dance class and hang out with her friends."
"At least she still thinks boys are gross." You add, and now he finally chuckles; a deep rumbling sound that came from the depths of his chest. You wanted to hear it again, addicted to the rare sound.
Silence fills the space between you for a few seconds.
"I don't understand how I can't feel anything." You think aloud, feeling more comfortable all of a sudden. "And how do you have lidocaine just lying around. Isn't that stuff only supposed to be in hospitals?"
Leon's focused grey-blue hues remain focused on the needle and thread being sutured into your palm. "I'm only going through the epidermis, the first layer with no nerves. And as for the Lido, I happen to need it quite often while I'm out there doing what I do."
"Have you ever sutured yourself without it?"
"The Lido? One time—yeah. Half my calf had been sliced up and I had my kit but no meds. Worse moment of my life," His thick lashes fluttered as he spoke. "But that was the night I met Ada. Apparently she'd been watching me for some time that day. Saw me got my ass handed to me once or twice, and still decided to marry me. Thats how I knew she was the one."
"Don't you mean—is?" The older man raises a brow salt and pepper brow. "She is the one...not was. That's what you meant right?"
His face flashes as he pauses his movements. Without looking up at you, his jaw clenches. "That's what I meant." The words are curt, his tone tightened and dry, as he spends the rest of the time quietly finishing up the stitches. They were beautifully done, but that being said, you could tell Mr. Kennedy was used to suturing in the dark.
Mr. Kennedy begins putting away all the supplies, and placing all the used needles into a bowl of water. Once everything is settled, you two stand, and you thank him for the hundredth time. "Thank you again...Mr. Kennedy. You're a lifesaver. I'm pretty sure you saved me hours at the ER."
Beneath the silvery glossy moonlight, his tan skin radiated as if it'd been alit itself. Paired with the dark shadows of the night, darkening the crevices of his stone-edged features, Mr. Kennedy looked like the embodiment of the statue of Lexica. A certain look played in his eyes that you couldn't pin point as his tall, lean figure towers over yours. You swore from here, you could smell the delectable mixture of his signature cologne and his own scent.
He rubs the back of his neck, veins evident on his bicep from the action. His eyelids were lower, meaning he was still tired even after sleeping all day. You wondered what the hell he had to do at work. "Tomorrow Layka and I are spending the day at the beach, so you don't have to come. Consider it an off day to heal."
You nod, "Thanks. I hope you two have fun, Mr. Kennedy." Holding up your wrist, you smile as he shoves his hands into his pockets, "And thanks again for stitching me up. I feel good as new." Turning around, you wave, "Have a goodnight!"
Mr. Kennedy calls from behind. "Stay away from glass, _ _."
Smiling ear to ear at the fact that he said your name, you bite your lip and try not to scream from excitement.
As soon as you got back home, your roommate Jackie had been awake strumming on her acoustic guitar. Tossing your bag onto your bed, you then collapse on hers, right beside where she sat criss-cross. "Hi Milo," You say to the tuxedo cat sat at the end of the blanket, who purrs as you give him head scratches. "—You trying to write another song?"
"Key word; Trying." Jackie groans out, running a frustrated hand through her teal curls. "Battle of the Bands is this Friday and I still have no idea if I want the guys to play something new or one of my old pieces."
"Anything you write is great," You reassure, putting a hand on her shoulder. You then sit up, "Play me which song you're thinking. I'll tell you the truth."
"Fine." She snatches your arm and gapes at the intricately sewed stitches that ran across my palm. "But first—what the hell happened to you? Did you jerk off a bag of razor blades?"
You fake a thoughtful look. "Close..but not quite." Knowing Jackie was going to kill you with degrading teasing, you rush out the rest.
"IbrokeaglassafterMr.Kennedywalkedintothekitchenshirtless."
But somehow, being the freak Jackie was, she understood everything. A cackle breaks the atmosphere in the dorm room, Milo jumping off the bed to waddle over to his water bowl, probably to escape the noise. Nonetheless, you glare at her as she tries to catch her breath. "God you're hilarious. You so would do that."
Wiping the tears from her eyes, you raise your brows at her, and she swallows loudly. "Okay okay. My bad." A snort leaves her. "So you're telling me you did it right in front of him? Did he take you to the hospital?"
Her hazel eyes bulge into the size of saucers. "You're telling me he did that himself?" She looks to the side. "Jesus—can that man get even hotter?"
"I know right!" You agree, leaning back against the wall, and dig your face into your hands. "There should be a limit or something. I was trying to not explode the entire time he stitched me up."
She throws me a suggestive smirk. "So—how did you thank him?" She mimics her hand into a jerking off motion. You toss her a brow, disturbed.
"And? You're not." Adjusting the guitar in her hands, she leans back and takes a hefty bite of the burrito she randomly pulls out from behind her. Pieces of rice and meat spill and it grosses you out, which is why she's not allowed to eat on your bed. With a mouthful, she continues. "You're young and single. You don't owe anyone anything, including his wife who's never even there anyway."
"Miss Wong is actually always there. He's not," You correct. "And besides, I could lose my job."
"Isn't it just part-time anyway?"
You roll your eyes, "Miss Wong isn't someone I'd want to mess with. Trust me."
"Whatever," Jackie grumbles. "You wanna hear the song or what?" She rubs her hands together. Nodding, you try not to think about what your roommate suggested. You knew cheating was wrong and you were entirely against it. Besides, Mr. Kennedy loved Miss Wong.
You remember earlier, when he said she was the one, as in past tense.
Shaking your head, you focus on your roommate's strumming of the guitar, Mr. Kennedy finally flying from your mind.
You'd be lying if you said you did much on your off day yesterday.
After working your usual day-shift at the diner, you stopped for some coffee on the ride back to your apartment just to crash into a deep sleep thirty minutes later. Not wanting to waste the night at least, you put on one of your favorite face masks, then went out to the bar with Jackie and her partner, Russell. The highlight of the night was definitely watching Jackie belting the words to Its All Coming Back to Me over by Celine Dion during karaoke.
Russell had to carry a plastered Jackie off the stage a few minutes later when she began tearing up and attempting to explain how Wuthering Heights by Kate Bush was somehow correlated. A night with Jackie meant madness was expected. It was humorous how last night went from watching your shit-faced roommate sing, to now watching Layka perform one of her dances to Selena Gomez.
"Selena says no one's perfect, but I exist."
Those were her words, not yours. Iconic honestly.
Layka expressed how much fun she had with her father yesterday, tripping over her own words, as she explained how they walked by the water, built sandcastles, and got dinner after at a fancy pizza restaurant. Her eyes were belated and shining with happiness, which was contagious, leaving a smile on your face as well.
Mr. Kennedy, to both of your surprises, spent the duration of the time with you two. And here he was now, clapping as Layka finishes her dance and curtsies, her grin showing off her missing teeth. "That was amazing!" You cup your mouth, clapping as well. "I wish I could dance like you, Layka-Bean."
"I can teach you!" Her little legs hurry over to you, and grab your hands, forcing you to stand. Putting her hands above her head, she spins like a classic ballerina, "Copy me! Copy me!"
You laugh, and do what she says. But then you get her to gently shove her to the plush carpet and begin ticking her sides. "Like this?" You question, and she hiccups as she giggles loudly. Once she begins pleading for mercy, face Turing red, you finally relent and grin as she catches her breath.
"No fair! I didn't ask for a tickle war."
You wink, "Well you got one anyway, little critter." She huffs, a smile on her lips, as she runs to her father. What made your breath hitch, was the fact that Mr. Kennedy had his dark eyes on you, as if he'd been studying everything you did up until the current moment. Your smile fades as his state pulls you in, and his face seems to relax for a moment.
"Daddy! Can _ _ spend the night?"
At her words, his jaw clenches.
"No," He answers for you without glancing at your face. "I'm sure _ _ needs to get home. You aren't the only person she needs to take care of."
Trying your best to not get offended at how quickly he rejected the proposal, you stand and grab your bag from the counter. "Don't worry Layka. I'll be back tomorrow." You promise, and she nods, a pout forming on her cute little face.
"Get ready for bed," Mr. Kennedy tells her, smoothing her crazed hair down. "Wendy will get you changed and tuck you in. Go on, sweetheart."
Layka waves at you, before zooming up the stairs, making an airplane engine sound as she spreads her arms into wings. Holding back a chuckle, you then offer a polite smile to your boss. "Have a goodnight, sir." You bid and begin walking towards the door.
But when you open the door, it's revealed to be pouring outside, trees swaying with mist spewing from the leaves. Standing in the doorway, your mouth drops, knowing there was no way you were going to make it home in this storm. Pulling out your phone, you click on the uber app.
You did live across town.
The words in your throat die out. Mr. Kennedy had on a black leather jacket this time, that matched perfectly with his dark washed jeans. The keys to his Chevrolet Tahoe bag in between his rugged fingers. Looking up at him as if he had just asked you to kill someone, you stutter, "You're taking me home?"
"Why do you think I asked Wendy to stay later?"
A warm heat surges throughout your body as an amused expression crosses his face. It was obvious he knew the effect he had on you. "Thank you so much." You cough out, chest rising as he steps towards you to widen the door. "Are you sure-"
"Ada will have me castrated if she finds out I let you bike in the rain," He pushes with a stern tone that makes it hard to say no. "Now come on. That your bike?"
You thank the lord you left it unlocked as Mr. Kennedy lifts it like it's nothing, and carries it out into the rain. You follow and climb into the truck, wet clothes sticking to your skin as you slam the heavy truck door shut. In the rearview, you watch Mr. Kennedy put your bike into the bed of his truck, and come around before climbing into the drivers seat.
You almost had an orgasm from just looking at him.
His sand-shaded hair had been stuck to his face, making him ten times more hotter than he already was. Droplets of rain got caught on the skin of his chest, and you bite your lip as he twists on the ignition. The scent of wet earth and his cologne that makes you feral, wafts into your senses and you almost clench your thighs from the proximity.
Catching your stare, Mr. Kennedy raises his brow, and you look away in hopes he didn't notice you drooling.
Country-rock music plays lowly after driving for about five minutes. The rain trickled against the windows as you guided him to where you lived. The heater blasted throughout the vehicle, but you didn't need it, already feeling heated over the fact that you were alone with Mr. Kennedy. "Go straight for like five miles, then turn left on Shadview."
"Damn," he grunts, eyes on the street ahead of him. "You bike all that way? Your parents haven't gotten you a car yet?" At the mention of your parents, your shoulders stiffen, but luckily Mr. Kennedy doesn't notice. And if he did, he didn't say anything.
"They're both dead." You don't elaborate.
You twist the ring on your finger, and he notices. "That a promise ring or something?" He changes the subject, and you're thankful.
"It's a purity ring. My father gave it to me before—it happened." The older man nods, jaw flexing tightly, unsure of what else to say. You find yourself in an odd state of consolation, and add quietly. "They died in a car accident. It was snowing and they couldn't see." Unsure of why you told Mr. Kennedy that, you look down at your Jean-clad lap. "Sorry. It feel weirds to talk about it."
"It's not," His steely eyes avert to yours briefly, and he offers a reassuring half-smile. And then, just as quickly as he looked at you, his eyes went back to the road. "Death is..something I've grown accustomed to the past fifteen years. And the one thing I learned—is that it's good to talk about the things you keep built up inside. Otherwise they'll rot, and others will notice; in the things you do, how you speak, how you act. Then you're trapped."
His words enlighten you, lifting the heavy set of nerves on your chest. "I never thought about it like that." In a way, perspective was life, and if you believed in something too firmly—it could consume you if you're not careful.
"So is giving valuable optimistic life advice part of the job requirement?"
"So what exactly do you do at work?" You ask, curiosity getting the best of you. That, and you've always genuinely wondered what horrifying things he had to encounter. Mr. Kennedy grips the steering wheel a little harder, as if the question bothered him. "Sorry. I don't know why I asked that."
"It's classified is all."
Jesus. One moment you're in flying colors, and now you find yourself at the bottom of the pit, trying to claw yourself a way out. "I pretty much kill bad guys. And a lot of the time, they're the worst of the worst." You nod, not sure what to say. Mr. Kennedy notices and attempts to put more effort into the conversation, and it lifts the weird mood you get in.
"Ada told me you're in college. What year?"
"Earth science," You shrug, knowing he probably thought it was stupid and useless. "I've always loved trees and nature I guess. Jackie thinks it's a waste of a degree."
He turns the corner. "Jackie?"
"My roommate. She's an electrical engineering major."
"Makes sense," He hisses through his teeth and shakes his head. "Those are usually the most brutal. You two close?"
"I guess so. It's expected after living together for three years. But I have to say—I think I'll miss her after graduation next year."
Your conversations comes to an end as he pulls into the driveway that lead into the front of your dorm building. Unbuckling the seatbelt, you pause, as he shifts the gear into park. You don’t expect him to get out, and grab your bike from the back.
Hopping out yourself, the rain mercifully pouring down onto you, you shout as you thank him again. Mr. Kennedy nods, and sets the bike on the ground. His face was lathered in mini droplets, as he stares down at you, both of you completely drenched. Despite the bitter cold water hitting you at a moderate rate, you couldn’t help but warm up at the way his cloudy eyes ran down your features.
“You should get inside,” He advises, standing still.
You nod, blinking quickly through the droplets in your eyes. Giving him one last grateful smile, you turn on your heels and walk with your bike to the entrance.
Mr. Kennedy stays until you close the door behind you.
The sound of a guitar playing rings into the chaotic, beer stained air of the small pub that agreed to host Battle of the bands. In effort to spice up the decor, a disco light the size of a dinner table rotated around, adding a plethora of colors to the dimly lit atmosphere. Everyone by now had been plastered, and you were halfway there, a little high as well from the joint you smoked with Jackie and Russell.
Their band was the final act, and had been almost finished with their set. It consisted of four members. Jackie, the singer. Russell, her boot friend, otherwise known as the drummer. Richie, lead bassist—a lanky blonde kid who died the ends of his hair with a bucket of ink. Apparently he'd been blasted on anti-depressants and just wanted to feel something again.
But hey—it worked. He got a chemical burn on his scalp, which technically did cause him pain.
And lastly, but at all least in your eyes.
Theodore. The guitarist—your personal favorite member, who'd been spending the entire night eyeing you down.
He wasn't like any of the other vapid, conceited artists that you've encountered. Every conversation you've had with him, has been not only amusing, but enlightening. Talking to him felt as fluid as water, and the chemistry was definitely there.
However, there was no spark, nor any sort excitement. He was too sweet—and tried too hard to emulate whatever you said. Whether it be about the weather, or your music taste; he agreed with you nonetheless. Like a lost little puppy seeking guidance from you. Not to mention, he was only nineteen, and that alone explained why he was so impressionable.
Either he wanted to get laid, just thought you were hot, or genuinely liked you. Or all the above.
Taking another sip of your lemon drop, you catch Jackie's angsty expression as she gripped the microphone, passionately singing the lyrics. Their mellifluous music had grown on you over the years, smoothly calculated and not messy and boisterous. In all honestly, you knew the band was going to make it big over the years. It was just a matter of when at this point.
Holding your drink up to her, you smile up at Jackie, and simultaneously feel your phone vibrate. Miss Wong's contact is displayed across the screen.
Holding up a finger up to Jackie, you mouth one second right when they finish their set. Claps and cheers erupt as she's too distracted to see you. Hurrying over outside, away from the noise, you clear your throat and try to stabilize your mind. Picking up the call, you try your best to sound as sober as possible. "Miss Wong—hey. Have you landed yet? How was your flight?"
Way to suffocate her with questions, _ _. Damn your stupidly drunken mind.
Her tone sounded frantic. Not used to hearing her in that way, you slightly sober up a bit more and straighten yourself. "Is everything okay? What happened?"
She releases an exasperated breath on the other end of the receiver. "It's Layka. She has a fever, and Leon got called in. He won't be here until the morning and my flight got delayed." Your stomach drops as the situation unfolds in front of you. "Wendy volunteered to stay home with her, but Layka she won't stop asking for you.“
"Of course," You don't even hesitate, your mind now consumed with worry for Layka. "Don't worry Miss Wong. I'll be at your house in less than an hour. I promise Layka will be okay."
Relief flooded her voice. "Thank you, _ _. You've always been such a help." Guilt consumes you as you remember all the sexual thoughts you had about her husband. Jesus-what the hell was genuinely wrong with you? "I'll see you tomorrow night. Thanks again. Text me how she's doing later."
"You got it." As soon as the phone call ends, Jackie and the band trail out, one by one.
She catches the sheer worry on your face, her blue tinted brows furrowing. "Hey dude—everything good?"
"The little girl you babysit?" Russell remembers, shaggy hair covering his eyes, a beer in his hand and a drumstick in the other.
You nod, glancing at the uber prices on your phone. "She has a fever and Miss Wong's flight got delayed. She wants me to go over there there right now but I have don't my bike."
"I could take you in my car," Theodore kindly offers, and you swear you see a halo form at the top of his head. What an angel. You agree to his offer, and tell everyone they did great, before leaving with the drummer kid who seemed excited to have alone time with you.
He lights a cigarette and twists the keys into his older Honda Civic. "You mind if I smoke?" When you give him the okay, he lights it with a dinosaur lighter, and you would've laughed if you weren't worried sick about an eight year old in the moment.
The drive was uneventful. He kept trying to intimate conversation, but you kept dazing off, conjuring up every possible fatal conclusion that Layka could've faced. Fevers could progress within the span of hours if not treated correctly, but you were also confident in the fact that Wendy was fully capable of caring for the child until you arrived.
Hell, the Venezuelan woman was probably more qualified than you for this situation.
Theodore made about a million comments about how huge the Kennedy Residence was once you two pulled up. In all honesty, it was adorable how he was so enamored by the luxurious beauty of what made the Kennedies who they were. Since you'd been around the family so often, you often forget how much it was a privilege to even be working for them, and that they were truly more important than you'd ever be. You wished you had been born into this type of fortune, just like Layka did.
But if any kid deserved to have everything they wanted, it was her.
Kissing Theo's cheek as a form of gratitude, you knock on his hood as he tosses you a smile and drives off.
Rushing towards the entrance, the knob turns, and you expect to see the short tiny maid that went right up to your waist. But instead, Mr. Kennedy appears behind the thick polished wooden door, and his appearance kicks out all the wind from your chest.
"Mr. Kennedy? I thought—"
His naturally silvery blue eyes had been rimmed with red around the waterline, like he'd been rubbing them to stay awake. "I came home early." Dirty blonde strands messily falling messily over his eyes, probably too worn out to style it, and you almost push them back away from his face. "Thank you for coming. I'm sorry Ada called you this late. Layka's asleep right now."
"Oh. That's great." It comes out in a thankful breath. Your worry eases at his reassurance, your shoulders untensing.
Dark hues fleet up and down your figure, and you remember what you're wearing, and feel like it's nothing at all. A skin tight black dress with black combat boots. You usually never wore something this revealing to your babysitting gig because you liked to be comfortable. That, and being around Layka dressed inappropriately is gross to you.
But right now, the way Mr. Kennedy had been eyeing you down was anything but gross. He'd never seen you in anything like this before.
"Was that your boyfriend who dropped you off?"
You thought you misheard him. His eyes were now thinned, expression hardened, and in all honestly it intimidated the hell out of you.
“…I don’t like him like that.”
Your heart speeds up as your palms grow slick with sweat. What was he playing at? He shouldn't have been worried about that when he's married. A flare of obvious anger had conquered his face, but he doesn't say anything else, tightening his jaw and breathing heavily through his nose. Mr. Kennedy looks away.
"It's none of my business."
"Would you like to spend the night, or have me take you home?"
You didn't expect him to ask that.
Staying the night sounded like the preferable option. You wanted to see Layka in the morning, and wouldn't be coming in tomorrow anyway since you usually had the weekends off. But you didn't want to intrude. "I don't want to overstep-"
"You're not if I'm offering."
Hesitantly, you nod, and let Mr. Kennedy show you to the guest room that was nicer than your dorm by a tend fold. You throw your bag on the dresser, admiring the room that reminded you of an eloquently luxurious hotel. You thank him for his help, he aims to leave, until you call his name. "Mr. Kennedy—do you think I can see her?"
His brows slowly pin together, forehead creasing.
"I know she's asleep but...I don't think I can without...seeing her for myself."
He thinks for a moment, a muscle in his jaw quivering, then nods.
His sharp nose points to the side as he turns. You walk side by side and can't help but feel so small compared to his hefty build. The ground shook from the power of his boots as he approaches Layka's door, and opens it quietly. Stepping inside with light footsteps, your heart calms at the sight.
The eight year old you'd grown to love had been sleeping soundly, intertwined in her baby pink bed covers. The sight brought you immediate comfort as a small smile spreads onto your lips. Mr. Kennedy stays at the door, and you notice him staring at the sight of you two. Cheeks and nose turning pink, you decide to retreat from the little girl's room and wait outside. Leon shuts the door behind him.
"Thanks for letting me see her."
He nods. He did that a lot.
Mr. Kennedy's unrelenting gaze trails down to your dress once again, words dying in his throat. You'd never seen Mr. Kennedy make this face before. It was a mixture of a desire and curiosity expression that suited him perfectly. His eyelids hung dangerously low at you as if he could see right what you were wearing.
To admit it invigorated you was wrong. Clearly you were attracted to him, but you weren't certain he reciprocated his feelings. If anything, you figured he just found you physically appealing. And while you returned that idea, by a ten fold—Mr. Kennedy's appearance isn't what entirely drew you to him. That was only a brief reasoning that contributed to your state of limerence.
The way he carried himself, always sure and confident in himself, including everything he does, you really admired those attributes. Considering what questionable labor he has to conduct during his works, you knew that Mr. Kennedy's certainty in himself stemmed from saving his own life tons of times.
But it was also how he always tried to reassure others, and advise them. He was the definition of selfless.
"I won't be here in the morning. But Ada should be."
"How long will you be gone?"
You didn't mean to ask that, but the words grew a spirit of their own and fought to leave the captivity of your mouth. He visibly pauses over your question, blinking down at you. "For a few days. Two weeks at most."
Your chest settles. "Sorry. You just—usually disappear for a while for work. It's nice having you around." His eyes don't move from yours as you continue, word committing at this point. "I mean that's what Layka said. And I can see why. I love the dynamic you two have. It reminds me of the one I had with my dad." Your tone dampens, and Mr. Kennedy notices.
"When did your parents pass away?"
Your eyes drop to the floor. "Four years ago." And then a hard breath escapes you. "Sometimes, when I'm really overwhelmed, I'll leave voicemails to them and just vent." Mr. Kennedy's lip twitch into a full smile, and you almost stop talking, captivated by the breathtaking expression. "...I like to think they listen to them. It's free too, unlike therapy."
Every-time you spoke about your parents, a ball of dread twisted in your abdomen. The world would tilt off its axis, and the very memory of their death would almost set off a full blown panic attack. But right now, you felt nothing but a weight being lifted off your shoulders. "They're not only listening in that moment. Your parents will always there for you, _ _. Even if you can't see them."
His words warmed your heart. You smile appreciatively at him and his lips part to speak again. "On my first day as a cop, I encountered a little girl who reminded me of Layka. We were in a hot zone...where this illness had broken out and forced people to go crazy and eat one another. The entire city had been wiped out by this virus."
And then Mr. Kennedy pauses his words and thinks about the intensity of his next ones. His fists ball at his sides, as he recalls what happened, memories flashing in his traumatized eyes that had fallen to the floor. "She ended up being infected, and I had to shoot her."
Disgust was laced in his strained voice as the next words come out lowly.
"I still have nightmares about it."
His eyes meet your horrified ones.
"You asked me the other night, in the car, what I did for work. And I blew you off like an asshole." Mr. Kennedy steps forward, standing dangerously close to your figure, the familiar scent of musk and cologne entering your senses. "Well to answer your question, I kill infected monsters to stop outbreaks that can disrupt the entire world and ultimately wipe it out in less than three days."
Finding this all incredibly unrealistic, you do the sensible thing and laugh. "...You're kidding right?" You figured he was joking, but when he doesn't shift the serious look etched onto his sharp features, your smile slips and is replaced by a disturbed expression.
"...You're saying there's viruses that can make..people eat people?"
"Sometimes each other. Depends on the intelligence level."
So he was serious about this? For a living, he fought..
"...Zombies?" You thought those things were fictional and only in the movies. "I thought those things were just in the movies?"
Mr. Kennedy's observes your reaction. "Now obviously you can't tell anyone this. And I mean that."
"I won't tell anyone." You promise with a dutiful nod, still trying to wrap your head around everything that's been said. "..It's just hard to imagine. So you fight zombies? What's that like?"
"Vile, and disgusting." Mr. Kennedy grunts, face morphing into revulsion. "Rotting flesh isn't the best smell in the world." Yeah, you couldn't imagine all the repugnant scenes he had to face. But you also couldn't fathom how horrifying it must've been.
And the fact that he had to kill an infected child. That must've damaged Mr. Kennedy in ways no one could imagine. "I'm sorry you had to go through that." You're sure that little girl would've understood. "Why did you tell me that story anyway?"
"I guess I just needed to say it out loud. It feels unreal after a while, like it never happened. The nightmares are the only proof of it happening."
His words bring a smile to your lips. "A wise man once told me that I should knit bottle up my emotions, otherwise they'd turn rotten."
At that, Mr. Kennedy cracks a hint of a smile, and chuckles. "What a wise guy indeed." His dark blue eyes proceed to bore into yours, causing you to almost drown beneath the surface of them, growing careless about whether the water was too deep at this point. In this moment, Mr. Kennedy seemed so reachable.
You yearned to cup his rough, scruffy beard. To tell him that everything was going to be okay. As odd as it sounded, you felt the need to protect him, and console him from the heartache he'd experienced. An unwavering glimmer from the moonlight highlights half of his face, and for the first time, you see emerald specks in the center of his cerulean hues.
Your heart strings tug imagining a much younger version of him, crying and scared. Not knowing what was going on or if he was going to survive.
Mr. Kennedy tears his eyes from yours and pulls out the phone. "It's Ada."
Ada was the one who had the privilege to comfort him, not you. You couldn't explain why, but the realization makes you feel sick.
His eyes flash, and he doesn't say anything. You don't give him time and walk away. A depleted feeling sank into your stomach.
You couldn't help but wonder, in another life, if you were one of the victims Mr. Kennedy saved—what could've transpired? You two could've fallen in love, gotten married. But unfortunately , you were stuck in this life. And in this one, you were the babysitter, and Miss Wong was the wife.
And that's just the way it was.
The next morning, you made sure to wake up extra early, so that Miss Wong didn't get ahold of what you were wearing last night. Something told you she wouldn't appreciate wearing that sort of attire around her husband.
The weekend had went by eerily slow, and you usually didn't care this much about going back to work. Being employed by the Kennedies had never been as eventful as now, especially between Mr. Kennedy and you. But something in you was hesitant on facing Miss Wong—but it's not like she could read your mind and magically know that you find yourself daydreaming about her husband almost every hour of the day.
A part of you still wouldn't put it past her. Miss Wong also had a doctorate in Phycology, so she was most likely very capable of knowing how people felt just by their mannerisms and body language. Hiding anything from her was nearly impossible in this case.
On Monday, she calls you into the kitchen while you're playing Candy Land with Layka, who was thankfully feeling much more rejuvenated and looked ten times healthier than on Friday.
Immediately, terror broke inside you. Every step towards her felt like you were moments closer to death. Anxiety pulsed throughout your entire figure as you enter the room, and see Miss Wong sipping a glass of wine, pointedly glaring at the cherry liquid that matched the lipstick on her lips. Even doing something so minimal, left her effortlessly gorgeous.
Jealousy blooms in your chest. "Miss Wong—you wanted to see me?"
Her short dark hair shines under the light as her eyes flicker over to me. "_ _." Not wearing her usual smile, the odd behavior strikes fear into you. She knows you want her husband.
You were going to get fired, or maybe even blacklisted from working in this entire town. Her father was the mayor for Christ sake. But then again, you didn't do anything with the man. Just ogle him until your eyes almost fell off, but that's it.
She swishes the wine in the glass. "Sit down please. We need to talk." Her tone was void of anything except solemn and you're dripping sweat at this point. Sliding into the barstool in front of her, as rigid as a board, you try your best to not break eye contact. "I'm going to be fully transparent with you."
Nodding, having no courage to speak, you await for her next words, tapping your leg against the floor. Taking one more hefty sip of her wine, Miss Wong then slams it onto the counter and presses her lips together. "I need you to take Layka to the movies tomorrow night and keep her busy."
You could've done a black flip from how relieved you were.
Throat opening against, cool air hits the back of your throat as you sigh out. "Of course, Miss Wong. Anything I can do to help."
A tightened smile appears on her perfectly symmetrical face.
"I had a miscarriage last night. I suppose I've been working myself too hard." After a few moments, she continues. "And I'm going to tell Mr. Kennedy tomorrow night when he comes back home. That's why."
Baffled, you stumble your words. "...You were pregnant?" Your throat dries as an immense wave of suffocating guilt fills you to the brim. "I'm.... so sorry. I had no idea."
"We were going to keep the pregnancy a surprise until three months passed. I went on this work trip to clear my schedule for the next few months, and to focus on the baby shower." She folds one leg over the other, her toned tanned and smooth legs poking out of her slitted long-sleeved elegant black dress. "But now here we are. Jesus, I need a cigarette."
Here you were, shamelessly checking out her husband, while she was fighting for their babies life. You felt cheap which disgusted you. Hoe could you have been so selfish?
And on top of that, Mr. Kennedy was looking at you too. Those private talks were building something and you had no idea what it was. But it was nothing compared to the passionate connection he shared with Miss Wong—who he will in fact choose if things go south.
Lately you'd been having dreams about him.
Even during the day, you'd catch yourself reminiscing and over thinking every moment you two shared. Wishing it would've been longer, and ended a different way. But then, you couldn't help but feel guilty and sick afterward from how wrong it was, especially since Miss Wong had been nothing but generous to you since you began working for her.
"Don't feel sad. This isn't your burden to carry." She musters up a genuinely sad smile, and reaches for another sip of her wine for support. "Thank you for going out of your way for Layka by the way. We all ready appreciate you, including Leon. He told me how you cut your wrist. Are you okay?"
"Oh—yeah I'm fine," A nervous laugh fills the air. "Thank you Miss Wong. It's been a pleasure working for your family. And once again...I'm so sorry about what happened."
Standing up from her seat, she taps on your shoulder. "Thank you, hun. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some work to do upstairs." She announces, and sways her hips as she walks out the room, leaving you feeling absolutely empty inside.
One week ago, Miss Wong told you that she had a miscarriage.
Since then, things have been off.
When Mr. Kennedy returned, you hardly met his gaze anymore. You were too ashamed. It was obvious he was affected by the news of the baby, and you wished you could talk to him about it. Like how you talked about your parents, or when Mr. Kennedy had admitted what happened with the little girl he encountered on his first day of training.
Things that lurked in the depths of your mind that you felt comfortable enough to confide with him. And he felt the same way. You know he did. But you were setting yourself up for heartbreak if you assumed he'd choose you over Miss Wong. And even if by some miraculous reason he does, it wouldn't feel as rewarding as you'd expect.
You saw the love in her eyes when she'd talk about Mr. Kennedy. You didn't want to be the reason the shine in her eyes vanished.
You needed to stop thinking about Mr. Kennedy.
A cold tremor constantly kept shaking your figure as you got ready for work. But when you arrived, the air was different. Layka was still the same adorable bean as always, but Mr. Kennedy didn't once come down once. When bedtime came around, after tucking Layka in and wishing her the sweetest of dreams, you don't expect Mr. Kennedy to be waiting for you outside the door.
"Mr. Kennedy." Your heart almost exploded in your chest, your body heating up. He'd been looking at the ground with both hands in his pockets. As you approach, he meets your gaze, and something flashes across his face. His entire vibe had been shifted.
You blink. "Is everything okay?" It must've had something to do with the miscarriage. You couldn't imagine how much pain he must've been experiencing. "Is it about what Miss Wong told me?"
His jaw muscles flex as he blinks quickly, looking away. "No. Not that. I came to this conclusion myself."
"Conclusion?" You could her the blood pumping in your veins, completely lost at this point. He doesn't look at you, his jaw clenched so tightly you wondered if his teeth would get crushed. A war flared in his eyes.
"I think it'd be better if we let you go, _ _."
You were baffled. Did he really just say that?
Let you go? Did you hear that correctly?
Was he implying that he wanted to fire you? You wanted to ask him if he was joking, but judging by the lack of humor on his face, you knew he was telling the truth. And that's when the hurt flooded in. Your jaw had been on the ground for a few minutes.
You were wounded and mortified.
Mr. Kennedy finally looks at you. Guilt flashes on his face for a moment, but it quickly recovers, his voice eerily stable. "Don't take this personally. I just don't think you're a right fit anymore." More blows to the face. He visibly gulps and looks down, frowning at the ground like it punched him in the face.
"I'm sorry. I know Layka and you are close." Oh god. She was going to be devastated. Not only were you losing your job, but one of your best friends. A new wave of despair hits you and it becomes too much. Tears prickled in your eyes as your shoulders sink. "But you're a bright girl. You'll find a new job. I'm sure of it."
You couldn't be here anymore. "I understand. I'm sorry." Voice shaking, you sniffle. Mr. Kennedy quickly faces you and sees the devastated look on your face, his stone feature significantly softening.
His tone was gentle. "_ _—"
You cut him off, not wanting him to see you breakdown. "Thanks for the opportunity." Your voice breaks as you rush down the stairs, eager to just get out there. Mr. Kennedy calls your name, but you couldn't handle being around him in this state. He crushed your heart and it was your fault for letting him.
Your legs felt like jelly as you storm out and grab your bike. Hot tears run down your cheeks as you finally let out everything, sobbing and hysterically crying as your feet pedaled you to your college dorm. The wind dried the sticky tears onto your cheeks, but new ones just covered them anyway.
Why would he fire you? You thought—he enjoyed your company?
You should be thankful. This solved your problem of receiving Miss Wong's wrath. But you only felt waves and waves of unrelenting hurt that suffocated you. It was indescribable, how angry yet attacked you felt. Was it all really one-sided? Had you really just been delusional this entire time?
The lingering looks, the close proximity, telling things to one another that you'd never told anyone else. Was that all just—in your mind?
You didn't need to know him for ten years to know that. Five minutes alone with him was more than enough. His words to you were immeasurable, which is why it hurt so much. He was the one who was firing you.
Mr. Kennedy didn't want you around anymore.
A fresh set of tears blind your vision as the sky cracks with lightning. A thunderous boom captures the wind, and almost a few seconds later, it begins trickling rain—then slowly escalated into a a heavy pour. You still had ten miles to go, but at this point you didn't care, pedaling faster in hopes to beat the storm.
But then a particularly harsh wind shakes your bike, rain painfully poking at your eyes. Your tire must've ran into a hard rock, because the next thing you know, you're flying off your bike and tumbling across the grass.
Your arm stings as you wince out, curled into a ball. You'd skidded across a bunch of small rocks that cut up your elbow. Holding your hands up to shield yourself from the rain, face sopping wet, you cough out and try to find the will to get up.
A familiar black Tahoe truck pulls up, and jerks into a parking position. The sound of a car door slamming reaches your ears as you spot Mr. Kennedy run after you. "_ _ are you hurt?" His hair and lashes are drenched as he helps you up. "You should've never left with the weather like this."
"If you say you're fine, I'm going to be pissed! Now get inside, now." He growls over the rain, and guides you to the truck. You use his hand as leverage to step onto the high seats of the vehicle. Mr. Kennedy grabs your bike and puts it on his truck bed, just like last time, then hurries back into the drivers side.
You look out the window, but he doesn't start the car. It's silent for about a minute, and you're sure he can hear you're not so subtle breathing. You were freezing.
The heater turns on a second layer.
"Can you look at me, _ _?"
You do what he says and you don't know why.
You probably looked like a mess. Sniffling still, you don't have the courage to keep eye contact and look away.
His eyes study your face. "I never meant to hurt you." It leaves him almost like a breath, and it reaches your heart and forces it to tighten.
His face looked burdened with an internal conflict. He shook his head.
"I don't know. I thought maybe it was the only way."
You hear your breathing quicken. "...Only way to what?"
The rain consistently pours against the windows, little taps sounding, as the atmosphere grows more and more thick in here. Mr. Kennedy's eyes squint down at you. There was no light in the car, except for the faint sliver of moonlight, but you still could make out his face.
Your mind buzzes with questions as he inhales sharply.
"I can't stop thinking about you." It's so quiet you almost miss it.
The air changed. It became breathable again. And something flips inside of you. Desire flares in his eyes, and in that moment, he looked so vulnerable.
He wanted you just as badly as you wanted him.
This changed everything. You didn’t imagine it at all.
Your heart throbs in your ears. An indescribable feeling takes over you. Your body acts on its own, and closes the gap between you two. Mr. Kennedy's scent of cologne and mint surrounds you. His lips harden, not kissing you back.
You pull away, eyes widening up at him. "I don't know why I just did that." You blurt out, and reach to the door handle. "I'm so sorry.“ You ruined everything.
His fingers find your chin, Mr. Kennedy lifting himself off his seat to capture your lips into his.
It was gentle at first, like you were testing the waters. His lips were addictingly soft and curious. But then Mr. Kennedy releases a hard breath, as if he had no more patience, deepening the kiss. All control was lost.
As soon as his tongue glides over yours, electrical sparks of lust, need, and madness fire up your lower abdomen. Any sensible thought had cleared from your mind, every action focused on what you wanted and nothing else.
Greedily grabbing Mr. Kennedy's hair, his hand finds your back and pushes you against him. Your entire body wasn't only warm—it was searing. And it was acting in pure instinct and pent up frustration. He'd been hovering above you at this point, resting you back onto the seat, hand on your cheek as you two continue to messily assert dominance over the kiss.
This was wrong, but it felt too good for you to care right now. You just needed to keep feeling him, no matter which part of his body it was.
Not pulling away, a large hand grips your inner thigh, and slides its way up your sweats. You gasp against him, but curl your fingers into the fabric of his t-shirt, a heavier wave of cologne hitting you and adding to your arousal.
Pecking the corner of your lips once more, his lips move onto suck harshly at the sweet spot of your neck. Afterward, his teeth nibble at the sensitive skin, causing your hips to jerk in pleasure from the sudden action. You think you hear him snicker, but aren't sure, eyes shut in bliss.
There was a hectic atmosphere to this. Mr. Kennedy's fingers hastily dive beneath the waistbands of your sweats, his urgency igniting a fire between your legs. Your hand that's gripping his shirt, moves back to his hair, tugging on it as you kiss him with everything you have.
Mr. Kennedy doesn't tease you over your underwear. His fingers dip under the damp fabric, and you gasp. You weren't even sure what was going on at this point—hazy with lust. The only thing on your mind right now, was letting Mr. Kennedy do whatever the hell he wanted, as long as he was touching you.
You feel him smirk against the flesh of your throat, where he'd been kissing, sucking, and biting at. His two fingers rub your bundle of nerves, sparks of ecstasy shooting throughout your core. Your back arches from the contact, not used to being touched like this, and you're sure he guessed it too.
Mr. Kennedy growls against your skin at the whine you release, and quickens his speed on your nub. After a few seconds, they rough pads of his fingertips prod at your entrance, and both of your hands land on his chest to pus him back.
His eyes turned into coals, and were so low you almost thought they were closed. No one had ever looked at you with so much appetite. "Please," You plead as his fingers don't stop working on your clit, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. He takes the hint, and watches you closely as he slides a finger with ease into your slick hole.
The world shatters around you.
"Look at me," He gruffs quietly. "Be a big girl for me and look at who’s making you cry.”
Using all of your might, you force your eyes onto his, the pleasure almost blinding. Mr. Kennedy smirks, a pleased look on his faces since you obeyed him. Your gummy walks close in around his long digits perfectly as they rubbed deliciously against them. An untamable heat begins to build in your stomach and you race to catch it, moans and cries falling from your lips in a chaotic mantra.
And then he pulls them out, not looking away, and sucks them into his mouth. He hums.
You look up at him with teary eyes, the sight almost causing you to come undone. As soon as his fingers are shoved back inside, he rams them at an unrelenting speed, crazy eyed. "Need you to see you fall apart," His tone sounded primal—like he was an animal of a sort. His movements were calculated, thumb rubbing at my nub as the other continued to stretch you out.
"Leon." His lips smash onto yours, and you kiss back desperate for your release. You taste yourself on his lips, a slightly salty tangy hint.
"Call me Leon when you come."
Your mind goes blank as a violent moan tears from your throat, devoured by Mr. Kennedy who doesn't slow his pace. “Leon!” Your core erupts with an immeasurable sensation of electric pleasure as you tightly grip onto the older man, like he was the only thing that could ground you down from your high. You'd never experienced an orgasm like this before.
Triumph shined in his eyes as one of his hands stroked the side of your head, calming you back to down to earth.
Twitching from sensitivity, your breathing shakes as you defeatedly beg him to stop in a broken whisper. Pecking your lip one more time, he then decides to be merciful and retracts his fingers from your sweats.
You stare up at him, catching your breath, and realize you're entirely fucked. You were whipped.
Mr. Kennedy was still hungry judging by the look on his face. The windshield behind him was foggy and your cheeks flush. It stopped raining a while ago.
But then his phone rings.
Your heart stops when Ada’s drop-dead gorgeous contact photo pops up on the smart screen titled with a heart.
Mr. Kennedy's face drops, catching your horrified gaze and rushes to turn the console off. The screen fades to black. "I'm so sorry. One second."
Realization floods through you.
A mistake. This was a mistake. Suddenly you felt masked and exposed.
Fishing it out of his pocket, he shifts to sit in his seat, and clears his throat. "Hello?” He turns his head away. “Is everything okay? Slow down.” Not wanting to hear him talk to his wife after what just happened, you quietly open his truck door, and get out.
You weren't sure why but tears shined in your eyes.
After a few long hard minutes, Mr. Kennedy comes out, and shuts the door. The ignition had been switched off. He comes around the front and releases a sigh. “Ada is home.” You look at him with raised brows as he avoids eye contact. “Let me take you home. It’s late.”
Just one moment ago, he’d been knuckles deep into you, and now he couldn’t even look at you.
The wind blew away the hair from your face. “Was this a mistake?”
His jaw tenses, his body stiffening. He doesn’t reassure you.
“Please just get in the car.”
Your heart clenches as you take the hint, feeling disgusting and used. Mr. Kennedy didn’t say anything else. Without another word, you climb into the car, and he shuts it for you. The entire ride home consisted of nothing but an uncomfortable silence that slowly ate away at you, as well as stolen glances from one another. His brows had been furrowed in deep thought, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles. By the time you arrived to your dorms, you just wanted to storm out the car and never see him again.
But apparently, Mr. Kennedy was finally feeling chatty.
“I’m sorry for taking advantage of you.” He begins and pauses. “I take full responsibly for what I did.”His tone was riddled with guilt and you hated it. “How are you feeling?”
“Like a whore.” You face him, and his face grows visibly upset. “I feel dirty Mr. Kennedy. I just did a horrible thing with a married man.” You don’t call him by his first name, because you’re not allowed to. It tasted sinful on your tongue.
His lips part, but then close, his nostrils flaring. At his reluctance to speak, you scoff, and open the door. “Great talk. Thanks for the ride.” You hiss out, hoping he’d stop you, but he didn’t. You walk away and slam the door with a heavy heart, more tears springing at your eyes.
You messed up. None of this was supposed to go down like this.
How did it all go so wrong so fast?
You called out of both jobs the next day.
You needed to soak in your sorrow within your own solitude.
Having only a piece of Mr. Kennedy didn't satisfy you enough. You were greedy, and needed all of him to yourself and no one else. But that was impossible, because he belonged to someone else far before he even met you. But that daunting fact still didn't stop you from reminiscing the steamy moments you shared with him, even in your dreams.
He'd become the plague that infiltrated every crevice of your mind. And you didn't know what could cure it.
Nothing sexual in your life had amounted to the amount of bliss you felt in the car with Mr. Kennedy. It was intimate, and in a weird way, it even felt like he cared about you for a few minutes. Even if it was only in the heat of the moment. It was better than him not noticing you at all.
You didn't think you would ever come like that again. So at least you got to experience a mind shattering high like that.
Jackie attempted to cheer you up with boba, but you hardly even drank any. You ended up zelling her the ten bucks because you felt guilty for wasting it. You didn't realize you'd went the entire day without eating until you woke up the next morning with an aggressive appetite, a pit growing in your stomach every second that passed.
But you didn't have enough energy to grab some food before your shift at Timmy's, so you snacked on a few fries there in between your shift that Darla oh so sweetly snagged for the two of you to share. One of her many perks of being the lonely chef's crush.
You did your normal Wednesday routine at the Kennedies. Miss Wong had returned from her second trip, weight loss apparent on her slightly sunken in features. You couldn't afford to meet much of her gaze, guilt riddling you for what you did with her husband. Sinful flashbacks of Mr. Kennedy's lips on your neck, coaxing you to finish on his fingers, kept replaying in the same moments that she spoke to you.
Your mind loved to sabotage you.
You worried that you revealed yourself through your words as you spoke, but Miss Wong seemed distracted by something else. Her eyes were distant, responses short, as she lets you know she's leaving for another week to finalize the project her company had been working on. This was the most she left consecutively since you started working for them, and realized she'd probably been distracting herself since the miscarriage.
Mr. Kennedy probably used you as an outlet for his sadness too. Something to do or think about that felt better than the despair that consumed him. The same thing Miss Wong had been doing—distracting himself.
Just in a far more different way.
Whereas you on the other hand, felt your feelings for him multiply by a ten fold since the experience. You wished he saw things from your perspective, but to him, you were a cute naive college student that wasn't worth ending his marriage over. He didn't seem you as worthy, and you understood it.
You were a home wrecker. How could he respect you? You weren't even sure if you respected yourself at this point.
"I miss mommy." Layka balls her fists at each side of her plate, a glum look on her tiny features. Her food wasn't untouched, however, unlike yours, who hadn't even taken a bite. Shoveling another spoonful of mashed potatoes into her mouth, you try not to laugh at the cute action. "She works all the time like dad now. Why do adults work so much, _ _?"
"That's how they support you, Layka-Bean." You respond softly, a gentle smile forming on your lips. "Your mom loves you so much. That's why she works so hard for you. She's a superhero too." You weren't sure why you were uplifting Miss Wong so much. Perhaps out of guilt, or because she really was such an adventurous, hardworking, and unpredictable human being.
Layka gasps excitedly. "Like superwoman?" Her eyes gleamed as she wiggles in her seat.
You snap your finger, and gasp as if she just ended worked hunger. "Exactly. Your mommy is a superhero." Especially for having to deal with what she's going through.
Heavy footsteps enter the kitchen.
There's only one person who walks like they're sure of every powerful step they make. Your shoulders tense as a chair screeches. "Hi daddy!" Layka greets her father, and he responds with a small hi kiddo that sounded tightened. The air becomes thick and uncomfortable, but Layka doesn't notice.
"Dad, I heard you let _ _ spend the night when I wasn't sick." She begins, an annoyed tone in her void. "Now that I'm not sickies, can she spend the night tonight?"
Your head shoots up from your lap.
"Sorry—little critter. I can't tonight. I have—a date." The lie is the first thing you think of.
Layka perks up, "A date? Do you have a boyfriend _ _?" Her voice was laced with excitement. Your eyes slide over to Mr. Kennedy, who was looking down at his untouched plate, hand wrapped so tightly around his beer bottle you were afraid it'd break in his palm from his strength.
"No. I don't." You swallow, wishing the topic would change. You feign a smile at the little girl who's stolen your heart and stand up. "I'm finished. Are you finished kiddo?"
"Why don't you get ready for bed, Goose? I'll tuck you in." Mr. Kennedy offers, and she nods. Running past him and towards the hall, you hear her stomp up the stairs.
You wordlessly grab the dishes on the table, and take them to the sink. There was a sickening silence that brought you sadness and discomfort. You feel his eyes burn onto you as you wash your hands, dry them with the cloth, and grab your purse from the counter. "I'm off then." Without offering him a glance, you hurry towards the front door. As you open it, you hear the chair screech in the kitchen.
Mr. Kennedy calls your name.
But you shut the door behind you, rushing to unlock your bike and avoid any conversation with him. You didn't know what he wanted to say, and didn't really care. It was probably going to make you feel worse anyway.
Apparently he had other plans, because the older man who you couldn't stop thinking about, opens the door and storms after you.
Pausing your movements, you hesitantly look up at him. And just like every single time, his beauty took you by surprised and set your heart on fire. His eyes were pleading, face visibly upset. "I have to go." Him admitting it was a mistake, hurt you too much. You couldn't stand being around him knowing he used you. "Please leave me alone."
Standing, you're about to mount your bike, and he stops you by grabbing your wrist. "Just—let me tuck Layka in. Come back inside and wait at the stairs." You were about to protest, ready to yank your arm back, but Mr. Kennedy keeps a firm grip and hardens his face. "I won't take no for an answer, _ _."
You blink up at him. You couldn't say not to him, and he knew that. You give in, and follow him back into the residence. Mr. Kennedy retreats up the stairs like he says, and returns after ten minutes.
You both walk over to one of the patios in the backyard, which overlooked a garden of all the in season flowers. Jasmine, Tulips, Sunflowers, Daffodils. A complex yet ethereal blur of life that enchanted you for the first few minutes that you admired it. Mr. Kennedy lights cigarette as he leans on the marbled railing, looking out at the view.
He exhales deeply, smoke leaving his nostrils and the same lips that were on yours just this week. God, you missed them so much, and you hated yourself for it. The forbidden tang that left you drowning in bliss and warmth. "What is it you wanted to talk about?" Your voice felt small as you watch him closely.
His body turns toward you, steely eyes boring into yours.
"What I did that night...was inappropriate on my part—"
"But I wanted it," You cut him off, correcting him. "Please stop acting like I'm just some kid, okay? I've been taking care of myself throughout college and am capable of making my own decisions."
But the guilt doesn't leave his face. And it's not about your age—it's about his wife.
Your eyes narrow. "Just say the truth."
"...And what is that?" His tone tightens, his brows pulling together. Tossing his cigarette onto the floor, half unsmoked, you didn't miss the harshness in his tone.
"That it was a mistake to you because you love Miss Wong; and just used me to distract yourself from the miscarriage."
Mr. Kennedy stares at you as his chest begins to heavily rise and fall.
His nostrils flare. "You don't know what you're talking about _ _." He spits out. "What you and I did had nothing to do with my family. That was something only between us two. But it's also something that just happened in the heat of the moment, that can never happen again. You understand that right?"
So he asked you out here to basically tell you that you could never have him again? Did that really needed to be physically said?
A petty feeling overtakes you, and you fake a smile that leaned on the sassy side. "Good. Because I really do have that date tonight. Theo asked me to hang out, and I don't need whatever the hell this is to come in between that." As soon as the words leave your mouth, Mr. Kennedy's face morphs into a pissed expression, lips pressing firmly together in disdain.
His eyes flare with hot anger.
But he couldn't say anything. He was married—he had no right to.
Now the ball was in your court.
To your surprise, Mr. Kennedy stalks up to you in his black-long sleeved sweater and black slacks, ensuring there was only a few inches of space between the two of you. Waves of his delicious scent of cologne and musk make you delirious with desire.
"If you let him fuck you, I promise you won't be able to think about anyone else but me." Your jaw drops open slowly as your breathing hitches. He'd never spoken this way before. The corners of his lips twitch into a smirk at the stunned look written all over your features. "Because secretly you know that no one else can make you fall apart like I did."
The moonlight had been shining behind him, making his body glow as clouds as the wind lightly howled. The only thing you could hear, was the sounds of both of you panting. Wearing a look of pure frustration and irritation, Mr. Kennedy hungrily eyes you up and down, making your chest electricity with electrical sparks.
You hated that you wanted him so badly. Your body unbearably craved him, twitching to just close the distance between you two. Your fingers yearned to travel every rugged feature on his face, and to comb through the soft strands of his hair.
Desire flashes on his face as he takes his bottom lip in between his teeth, sinking into the flesh.
Your mouth waters, wanting to taste him again. The will to turn away and not commit another sin, one that can ruin an entire family, diminished just from the feeling he gave you. How he made your heart frozen when you were apart, then thawed it with his gaze.
That was the last straw. That same state you switched into in the car with Mr. Kennedy, had taken over again, leaving you to finally dive into your primal instinct.
You accept the challenge on Mr. Kennedy's face, and throw your arms around his neck, smashing your lips onto his.
Unlike last time, the tall man pushes back instantly, slamming you against the wall of the patio. His hair smooths down the top of your head, other hand gripping your cheek as he hungrily shoves his tongue against yours, like he'd been yearning for this moment since the last time you kissed.
It was desperate, wet, and greedy. Just what you needed, from just the right man. How could something so wrong feel so incredibly good?
Your leg hitches up as an invitation, and his large hand leaves your hair to hold your thigh against the side of his, driving his hips into your core with an animal like grunt. A wave of pleasure shoots through your core from the action.
"Here," You breathe out against your boss' lips, and he pulls back, eyebrows twitching in confusion. His pupils were blown with lust as they ran all over your face. "I need you right now. Please." In this light, he looked incredible, lips slightly puffy with a few strands dreamily falling over his eyes.
Mr. Kennedy pauses, contemplating.
You thought he was going to say no and tell you to leave. That this was just another mistake. Your eyes fall as your confidence gets more and more chipped the longer he takes to respond.
This could break up a family. No—you could.
But his fingers grip your chin, forcing you to meet his intimidating gaze, and captures your lips into a reassuring gesture.
All your worries melt as his tongue comforts yours, then nips down on your bottom lip, as if he'd been anxious to eat you alive. The sudden pain sends a jolt of pleasure through your body and you let out a small whimper. Consumed in the bliss of his hands running up and down your thigh, you don't notice the experienced man unbuckle his slacks, releasing his member from the confident of the material of his boxers.
Both of his hands to then rip down your panties from the formal dress that usually reached your knees—but was now held up to your hips, exposing your entire lower half. The cool air of the winter blew past the sensitive flesh of your lower area, heightening your excitement.
Grabbing the thick, textured material of Mr. Kennedy's sweater, you grip it tightly and pull him closer to you, hazily looking up at his heavily hooded eyes. His thick head prods at your dripping folds, the sensation forcing a lude moan from your throat as you keep eye contact. You notice his hues shine as your brows screw together, gripping his wrist tightly as he continued to tease you.
And then he pushes it in. "So tight," His hand strokes your cheek, thumb then brushing across your bottom lip.
Your eyes roll into the back of your head, the delicious foreign feeling of his thick cock inside your tight walls almost making you drool. You'd only been with one other person, and that felt like nothing compared to this. You were being transcended into a heavenly dimension.
Mr. Kennedy groans lowly as you writhe in his hold, tightly holding you against him. He began thrusting his hips at a slow pace, as if he was trying to memorize what every crevice of your insides felt like.
The pleasure devoured you. "Harder," You beg him to quicken his pace, and he complies, licking and sucking on your bottom lip as his hips harshly meet yours. You plant both of your palms onto the wall behind you, attempting to meet his thrusts. You needed to feel more, if not every single inch of his length inside of you.
"Look at you," Mr. Kennedy hotly pants against your mouth. "Just riding my cock like it belongs to you. Go on then, make yourself cum."
Sucking on his thumb, he doesn't break eye contact with you, and presses it onto your nub. The feeling makes you lurch forward, wanting more, the cries dripping from your lips growing louder by the second. "Hush now." He grunts, giving you a bruising kiss to shut you up, continuing to run careful circles on your aching bundle of nerves that pulsed from his expert touch.
Your abdomen clenches as that familiar end nears. A fuzzy ball of condensed hot pleasure that threatened to explode if he kept making you feel like this. "Mr. Kennedy—"
His hand leaves your clit, and wraps around your throat, his breath fanning against your face. "What did I say?" He barks out, his tone making you even more horny, and hurdling you more towards the edge. His thrusts become brutal as he grits his teeth.
"When I'm inside you, call me Leon."
"Leon!" You sob out, pushing his chest back in attempt for him to slow down, a defeated cry bubbling from your throat. This was it. Angling his hips, he somehow moves deeper, and your babbling nonsense at this point and wrapping your legs tightly around his waist. "I'm going to...I'm going..."
Your eyes are shut at this point, but they burst open as you help from the feeling of his teeth sinking into your exposed collarbone. At the same time, his thumb returns to your clit, pressing firm circles on the sensitive bud. His warm tongue soothes the bite on your skin. "Come for me. Need to see you come."
Your vision turns white as a blinding sensation overtakes your figure. Leon pulls his head back to watch your face contort with pleasure, admiring how you fell apart for him and only him. Tremors broke throughout your figure as the world spins. "I take birth control." You breathe up at him with teary eyes, "So do it...inside of me."
His thrusts stutter, his mouth dropping open as his eyes stay on yours.
A warm feeling blooms in your stomach as his breath trembles. Slowly down his hips, Leon eventually stops, and gently pulls out. You hated the feeling of being empty, and not having his chest against yours.
After a few seconds, he places you down onto your feet. Your legs jerk, and you almost fall, grabbing his shoulders as Mr. Kennedy holds your waist. "Why won't I carry you to the guest room?" He questions, eyes still alit with an untamable hunger.
And that's when it began.
Digging your fingers into Leon's scalp, you tug at his strands as he sucks harder on your poor nub. Your other hand had been scratching and clawing at the grass beneath you, grinding your hips onto his warm a tongue that coaxed you to finish on it. Out in the garden, behind the hedge wall, no one could spot the two of you groping at one another as Leon devoured you like a starving man.
Layka had been at dance practice, and you found each other alone in the garden. One thing lead to another, and of course, here you were somehow riding his blessed tongue that did sinful tricks on your core.
His cerulean hues stay locked on yours, as they roll back, back arching into the air. Leon made sure to lick and suck at your folds, around your clit, and had two fingers thrusting into your sopping wet slit. Crude sucking noises pushed you further to the edge as your body jerks from bliss.
Leon then pulls away, smirking, "Give me a proper taste of you, princess." He cooes and pecks your inner thigh, before licking a broad flat tripe stripe up your folds. Your jaw drops, locking up in pleasure, as his lips curl around your bundle of nerves. Flicking the tip of his tongue against it, your core shatters in ecstatically, hips lifting as you came all over Leon's face.
Eagerly lapping at the juice, you twitch as he slurps happily. But he doesn't give you much time to prepare for his cock ramming into you. "Fuck!" You scream out, gripping his stiff forearms that held himself up, as he fully bottoms out into you. Leon's usually smokey eyes, were glazed over with lust, as he mercilessly pounded into you.
Pleasure forces your eyes to lower, head dizzy, the only thing on your mind was getting fucked by the man above you. "So fucking cute when you make that face. I want to see it again." His raspy words are ended by a sharp thrust that makes your face twist with pleasure, lips dropping open in a silent moan.
Throwing both of your legs over his shoulders, Leon grips your thighs and begins relentlessly drive his cock into your pussy.
His lips kiss your ankles, then puts his black t-shirt between his teeth, revealing his defined abs stiffening and contracting as he ferociously rutted into you. "You can come again. Need to feel you tighten around my cock." He purrs, and bends down, kissing you as you whined and begged for your release.
And then you're both coming at the same time, Leon widening your thighs, the pain forcing you to topple into a harder orgasm as the world ripples in your peripheral.
Throughout the course of the week, you and Leon couldn't keep your hands off one another.
Almost every single night, he took you home, and screwed your brains out in the car—parked in one of the alley ways near your dorms building. It became a routine that you grew to love. And during the day, sometimes you'd sneak into his study and fondle one another with a heavy makeout session.
And right now, he was drilling his cock inside of you, when you were meant to be riding him.
The waves crashed behind you, your palms gripping Leon's shoulders as his hips rut up into yours, until he's coming into your pussy for the hundredth time this week. And you're right with him, clenching down on his member as you scream against his hot lips.
After you two re-dressed, happy that you're at some place other than the alleyway, you decide to walk down the beach.
And then he drops a bomb.
Your feet pause, a grin growing on your lips at the news. “Are you sure?”
His fingers find your chin, and he smiles. “I don’t love her anymore.” He tells you, and it’s all you need too hear, before you’re kissing him again.
The moon is entirely hidden behind the clouds by the time you arrive to your dorms. Leon opens your car door, and lifts you onto the ground, grabbing your cheek and giving you a searing kiss. And you deepen it, unbeknownst to the fact of the woman watching you a few feet away.
You both pull away and see Miss Wong, a gun in her hand, pointed to the two of you.
Sheer fear runs through you. Leon pushes you behind him. “Ada.” His tone is strained as he puts his hands up in defense. “I know this is bad. But I need you to put the gun down. Then I can explain everything.”
Her eyes fill with tears. “How could you do this to me?!” She cries, shaking her head. “How could you fuck the babysitter after your baby died inside me? What the fuck is wrong with you?” This was horrible. Guilt slams into you as her eyes find yours.
“You little fucking slut. After how sweet I was to you—just to screw my husband behind my back!”
“Our marriage was dying Ada. You knew that. This isn’t her fault,” Leon shouts at her, his back muscles flexing from anger. “Now put the gun down and—“
“You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore.”
The gun fires, and the bullet flies through his chest.
You scream as Leon drops to his knees, clutching his lungs. Another bang erupts, and a numbing feeling grows in your stomach.
You look down in horror, and see blood pour from your abdomen.
Reaching out for Leon, you see his face significantly grow pale, eyes shut and unconscious.
No. This isn’t happening. “What did you do?” You sob out, grabbing his face, that was warm just a few seconds ago. “He’s not breathing—Oh god.”
Your vision flickers as the world begins to fade. Coughing out a metallic taste, you find Ada glaring down at you, holding the gun towards you once again.
But this time you scowl up at her, and scream out, “Go to hell bitch!”
The last thing you hear is—
