Years. Fucking years he was gone, vanished like smoke, and the second you finally started piecing yourself back together, he showed up at your door with that same damn cigar between clenched teeth and (cruel) blue eyes that always saw too much.

“Missed this tight cunt,” he grunts, voice rough as honeyed gravel, beard scraping your neck as he bites down, sucking a fresh mark into your skin. “Knew you’d still open up for me.”

You whimper, fingers digging into his shoulders, half pushing him away and half pulling him closer. He feels it, chuckles low, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours as he grinds deeper, the fat head of his cock kissing that spot that makes your vision spark white.

“Shh, easy love,” he murmurs, all honey and smoke, the manipulative bastard. One big hand slides up to cup your jaw, thumb pressing into your bottom lip to keep your mouth open for him, dirty fingers pushing down onto your slick tongue. “Don’t fight it. You were never good at pretending you didn’t need this.” and you hear the need me go unsaid, implied.

He pulls out almost all the way, just the tip stretching your slick hole, then slams back in hard enough to punch the air from your lungs. “Look at you. Already creaming on my cock again. Bet no one else could make you this wet, could they?”

His pace picks up, heavy balls slapping against you with every thrust, the wet obscene sound of it filling the room alongside your desperate gasps. He’s watching your face the whole time- hungry, possessive, a little mean.