Moonlit Fics

"Ah. Truly a shame."

You could tell Caius didn't quite care about what you were saying and, in fact, was doubting whether he had even been listening to you. Sure, he was there, but if anything, you felt as if he was looking through you, and that was not helpful. It irked you, but then again it wasn't as if Caius' stubborn, precarious disposition made him amiable or willing to apply himself to conversations he found unnecessary.

"Are you even listening to me?" "Hm?"

You stomped, as Caius leaned back in his seat, one leg thrown over the other, elbows prompted into the edges of his throne. The frustration he saw in you caused the faintest pleased, sadistic smile to form on his lips, to even earn a soft huff from him. You, however, found nothing amusing about this situation. About the fact you were telling him it was your birthday and his mind was clearly on something else.

"Even Aro and Marcus cared enough to understand this is important, but you of all pe-... vampires, won't. This is ridiculous. You know, I would've understood if Aro would've made a fuss when I asked him if he could leave us alone for today." You sighed, feeling your blood boiling. "You know it's my birthday."

Caius eyed you; despite the lazy uninterested demeanour he was presenting, he was in fact keenly observing your heated rush of accusations thrown at him. His tongue traced the inside of his lower row of teeth, a soothing gesture as he employed self-control. He was hot-headed, and he knew how feeble you were, how easily he could harm you had he allowed himself to play around with you properly. So his best way of entertaining himself was through angering you, so he could draw all of your strength out against him as a playful challenge.

"Irrelevant..." Caius sighed, leaning his head on his hand. "What is another year to one's existence?"

Then he grinned. Mockingly.

"Ah. That is right. To you, mortal, another year is... well... very relevant." "Yeah? You know what, if you're going to be acting like this, I might've as well stayed with the Romanian coven. At least they cared."

The vampire lifted his hips slightly, readjusting himself on his throne, uncrossing his legs and shoving himself up. The very mention of that sect was enough to break through his attitude. To truly anger him. He dashed over to you, towering over you, his eyes piercingly red as he glared. One hand had swiftly coiled its cold undead fingers around your neck, nostrils flared, lip twitching as he lifted you off the ground with ease, head cocked to the side.

"Unless you desire this to be the last of your years, I advise you not to speak of those imbeciles again in the presence of the Volturi." He employed his entire self-control in not snapping you like a twig, firstly because he had grown fond of you and disposing of you would've been regrettable and second of all because that was not the way of his name. He was a Volturi; thus his hot-headed behaviour shouldn't have threatened his principles. "And yet they cared."

Caius's lip twitched again.

"Meek mortal, you don't know a thing about caring. They celebrated your mortality. What is care in that? It's hypocritical and a mockery. For the immortal to cherish one who should die within the blink of an eye to them. What is a year to us?"

You brought your hands to the hand on your neck, trying to peel his grip off, but to no avail. If Caius didn't want to let go, he wouldn't. "You speak as if it aches you to know I'm keeping my mortality."

Caius hissed and brought you to his throne, forcing you to sit on it. His grip released from your neck.

"I have no care for your decision. I am not Aro. I don't understand why he should see you as an asset. I was against you from the very day he brought you here."

Caius wasn't lying, but neither was he telling the whole truth. It was true that he disliked the idea of having a mortal in his presence, but then when Aro proposed that they'd turn you and use your knowledge of the Romanian coven to their benefit, he became interested. At first, due to the sheer ruthlessness of the idea, but then, as you spent more and more time with them, there was something he began to feel. Maybe more, slightly more than his desire for sadistic destruction of what was left of the Romanian coven. Aro could always invoke that the rules had been broken when the Romanian coven had you in their care, thus motivating their attack.

But no.

Caius pushed down all sorts of affection that grew past that. You were a mortal, beautiful in your own way, yet until you'd accept being turned, he refused to see you as anything other than what you were. A tool.

At least that's what he told himself.

That's what he incessantly repeated to himself as he saw your affection for him grow. When his own desire to be around you increased. When he began to eagerly await the passing of those two years you had asked for before he was allowed to turn you.

One completed today.

One was left. One until Caius would not feel the gnawing anger at his own craving for you.

"You're lying." "Are you accusing the Volturi of lying?" "No. I am accusing you, Caius, of lying. I know you care about me, even if you're making a fuss about it."

Caius pinned you down, his hands on the armrests of the throne, trapping you between himself and the cold surface of the seat.

"Silence." "No, you have no power over me. I am not a vampire, and you're not allowed to hurt humans unless they pose some threat which... currently I don't."

Caius hissed.

"If you truly found me so despicable, why is it you weren't against my idea to tell Aro and Marcus to give us one day together?"

Caius would've blushed had he blood in him or circulation. Since he didn't... he became whiter.

"Amusement." "Stop lying to yourself. Centuries around this earth and you've no clue how to voice what you feel."

Caius gripped the armrests so tightly he nearly snapped them to splinters.

"Sile-"

But despite asking for silence, he had been the silenced one as your lips roughly pressed on his, hand gripping him by the lacy white adornment around his neck and tugging him in. Your strength was obviously not even close to being enough to make him budge. He leaned in willingly to deepen the kiss, driven by a dangerous mix of fierce lust and anger, that desire to dominate you and make you see he was right when all this was doing was proving him painfully wrong by the second.

Your hand went to his nape, buried in his blond hair, while he had to keep his hands on the throne to prevent himself from hurting you with the excess of his eagerness. He knew he'd have no self-control had he gone further. Caius anticipated that if he let himself go, giving in to that lust of the flesh which he forbade himself, you'd not escape alive. His hands were tearing the throne to splinters with ease; had he touched you, your bones would not endure it. And he had no desire to force himself into gentleness when you seduced him so.

"Seducer."

Caius groaned over your lips, pulling away for merely a moment.

"Mortal with gifts... I should now know why the brutes fought so fiercely to keep you within their protection. No... you're never returning to them." He forced another kiss, needier than the one before. "Another year and I will not have to refrain from this... Another year and I will not have to be merciful. I will be ruthless. As ruthless as you had been, making me crave you until I became plagued with your image."

Caius was just about to force yet another kiss on your eager lips, with your hand still clinging to his nape, when he stopped at once, his hearing able to catch on a sound. A sound which implied your privacy had been compromised.

"My Caius, my dear, that was a spectacle! Why, this sweet little girl wouldn't have me, and Marcus admire the show! Although I must say, it was quite tasteless to mention those brutes of a coven, but surely we can forgive that, isn't that so, Marcus? I am sure Caius is more than happy to let go of it... if you would finally permit him to change you?"

Caius and Marcus both turned to Aro in surprise, but he remained as cheerful as ever, his strange mischievous smile not leaving his face.

"Why are you so surprised? Especially you, my dear Caius. You always insist that we find a way to convince this pretty mortal to join us faster." Aro frowned for a moment. "Well... it's true you... weren't always so fond of the idea of allowing just anyone to join us. Wonderful! It must mean you're finally warming up to how pleasant it would be to have a new face around."

Caius shot a gaze to you, to see how you felt about the truth revealed to you by Aro, then turned to him, a sort of anxiety in his words.

"Why would you tell this to the mortal..." "Oh, silence, dear. Do not pretend as if this mortal, as you so crassly refer to her, doesn't mean a lot to you." "She does not. She is but a prisoner we took from the coven of brutes before we decimated them."

Aro furrowed his brow, glancing over to one of his servants who came at once and restrained you, painfully so, making you wince. Caius jumped, his eyes darting from Aro to you and Marcus and back to Aro, confusion overtaking him.

"What is this for? Have her released at once. She is being harmed." "But why should I do that? I wrongly believed, it seems, that she is dear to you and offered her... benefits, but, well, since I have been so utterly mistaken, I see no reason why we should keep her here no more."

Aro was about to gesture to his servant when Caius grabbed his wrist to stop him.

"You will not do so."

Aro laughed, lightly, tearing his arm away from Caius' grip. He glanced at his servant, who released you at once.

"No. Of course not, my silly boy; I merely had to prove your foolish lack of understanding of your feelings to that dear girl. Oh, poor thing, she might've started to believe she truly meant nothing to you had I not done that."

Caius frowned, cocking his head, much to Aro's ease and Marcus' lack of care over the situation. Aro then came to you, while you were still pushing yourself up to your feet. You glared at him for having put on this show at your expense, but he replied with that condescending smile.

"Ah... don't frown, dearest. Wrinkles won't look pretty when Caius turns you immortal." He clapped his hands together, turning to Caius. "Alas, another exact 12 months from now. I am thrilled... oh, truly thrilled."

Caius came over, and despite himself, helped you up, shooting a glance to Aro before returning his attention to you.

"That is for the mortal to decide." "Caius! I insist you call her by name." "I will not." Caius's stubbornness was grounded merely in a desire to rebel against Aro for having done this whole act.

He had nothing against calling you by name... with other humans, indeed he had been reluctant but... you were dif- no. Not until you became a vampire yourself would he allow affections to grow.

"Not until she makes the choice... will she ever decide to make it."

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"Papa sa-... Hey? Sleepyhead? My little sleepyhead, what's wrong?"

Henry's easy tone had grown concerned within seconds; the lilt gone from his voice and replaced with a raspier sound echoing from his chest as he stopped to kneel by you. He sensed something was wrong; he felt there was a shift in the way you behaved about a minute ago, but at first, he brushed it off. He didn't think much of that small change, but now he saw it had escalated.

The concern was genuine, as was your body's reaction, which he observed take place. Henry took your hands in his upon seeing the panicked disorientation in your eyes. He had you sit down, your back against one of the rainbow walls in the playroom. It felt cold, sterile against your back, even through the fabric of your shirt. It grounded you, but only for a second before your limbs went tingly, the hot sensation in them replaced by a chill, so confusing it was that you couldn't discern what temperature you felt. Were you hot, cold? Nothing was clear, nothing but the increasing thud of your heart as it rampaged against your ribcage, the sound echoing within you, resonating with every cell of your being until everything you could focus on was the rapid clash of your heart and the maddening ringing it caused in your chest and ears at once.

It was frightening and confusing. Everything felt hot and cold at once, burning, freezing and disorientating. It was daunting. It felt as if there was no escape from this feeling. As if there was only an impending doom, an end. And it was creeping in closer. Your lips got dry, your heaving was causing your chest to rise painfully; teeth clenching as you felt the panic worsening, all within seconds.

"Look at me..."

Henry spoke. For a moment, his tone, soft, encouraging yet laced with concern, barely registered in your ears. Your ears were overcome with the maddening ringing that muffled all around you, but even so, the vague tone broke through the haze. His words hardly made sense at first; they were a jumble of sounds that bore a resemblance to a language which you felt you knew but couldn't understand at this time. Your heartbeat, increasing by the moment, made the room feel threatening, smaller, the walls closing in.

But Henry didn't give in.

"Sweetheart? Sweetheart."

Your mind was fighting against you, as if trying actively to conceal the meaning of the sounds Henry was producing. Your eyes searched for him, but he knew from the frightened, lost glint that you needed him. His hands tightened their hold on yours, his thumbs stroking the back of your hands in a soothing motion. The rhythm was meant to ground you, to give you a sensory impulse to focus on other than the rubble that was crashing your mind.

"Sweetheart. Sweetheart? Hey..."

This time, for a figment, the word was clear enough that you knew its meaning. Its intent. Your eyes focused on Henry, that distant, frightened gaze finding its anchor in him. That was all he needed. One second to connect, to feel you. Henry caught it and smiled. A soft, encouraging smile, lips arched ever so slightly as his hands continued to caress yours. His concern would have scared you more, so he tried to seem calm.

"That's it, sleepyhead. Good... good. You're with me now, hm?"

You swallowed hard. The panic hadn't subsided, but at the very least, you could focus on Henry now.

"It's just you and me. My... you're breathing so quickly, sweetheart. That's not good. Here..."

Henry took your hand to his chest, gently holding it there as he breathed in slowly, nodding to you.

"Try to follow me, sleepyhead. Focus. I know you can do it. It seems tough now, no? But you're such an extraordinary little thing, I'm sure you can follow, hm? Let's try..."

He took in a deep breath, holding it. Then Henry exhaled really slowly.

Henry noticed you trying your best, saw the flush in your cheeks, felt the rapid thud of your pulse. He knew how hard it must be to ground yourself, but he wasn't going to let go.

"Very well, sweetheart... Let's do that again, hm? One more time..."

Henry repeated the gesture. Another deep, profound breath, which he held before exhaling deeply, slowly. You followed as much as you could, and even though you had repeated this a few times. Your breathing was arguably better, your ears were still ringing and that uncomfortable fright was still eerily looming around you. Henry didn't budge in his attempt to comfort you. Not for a second.

He continued steadily to help your breathing even out, as that would give him an easier time with the rest of your senses. Only after your breathing relaxed and your heart ceased some of its relentless race, did he allow your hand to leave his chest. But he didn't let go of it entirely, only allowed it to come down and rest.

Henry suspected how tense your muscles would be after this, how painful and achy and dreadfully horrible the aftermath would be. And still you weren't even there yet.

"You know, sweetheart, it's okay to be scared. Frightened. But I am here... and when I'm here, I can make sure you're safe... even from this," Henry whispered, one hand holding yours, the other stroking your temple for a moment, then seeking to brush your hair aside. "May I?"

Henry knew not to push any boundaries when you were feeling like this, so it was only after you nodded that he carefully freed your face from the wild strand of hair that covered it.

"Good... mhm. That's better. Do you feel better?"

You nodded, jaw clenched and sore.

"I would like that better if I got to hear that pretty voice of yours, sleepyhead." He smiled, trying to be as warm and helpful as he could. "No? Hm... that's alright too. How about a little game so I can hear you? Just between the two of us. Without Papa ruining our fun again."

Henry took his hand to your cheek, hand lingering above it until you nodded, agreeing to give him permission to hold it.

"It's a silly game. Tell me... three things that you can see. Hm?"

You knew what he was doing, but it was helpful nonetheless. Your eyes scanned the room behind him, around yourself, then, with a heavy swallow, you tried to part your lips to speak.

"I see... you."

"Oh, sweetheart," Henry chuckled, "I'm a hard one to miss." He grinned, and that sunny smile made you blush and, for a moment, smile too. "And? What else?"

"The rainbow." "Good, good. That's amazing, sweetheart. One more?"

You glanced around yourself, but didn't manage to see anything that caught your attention quite like his badge.

"Your badge."

Henry grinned again, his thumb caressing your cheek.

"You've done so well, sleepyhead. So well." His other hand came to stroke your other cheek, and your eyes closed as he did, the feeling warm and comforting, making you lean into him.

Henry felt your body relax little by little until you became mellow and tired, worn out as you rested against him. His arms kept you safe around him, then his eyes caught the time for a second. He sighed. Soon, the other orderlies would come, or even Papa, and if they'd see you like this, they'd run you to the nurse and maybe hurt you more.

Henry used the opportunity to help you lean on him, his arms scooping you up. Holding you in his chest. That was... risky. Papa didn't like it when Henry did that, but the orderly didn't seem to mind this time, as he kept you up and began to walk with you outside the playroom. He would take you away to rest, and if Papa found out... he'd think of an excuse then. Better than to let him have you.

"Let me take you back to bed, hm? I'll stay with you until you feel all better... We don't want those other mean orderlies to show up and take you away and tell Papa about this, hm?"

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“Nell?” He called toward the opening of the tent. No answer. “Nellie?!” He called a little louder, scrambling up toward the outside.

He threw back the canvas overhang, hastily scanning the surrounding area for her. All that was outside were the remains of last night’s fire and the horses and wagon. Suddenly, movement stirred behind him from outside. He sprung upward out of the tent, spinning around and drawing the pistol holstered to his hip out of habit. Nellie quietly appeared from the brush, climbing over one of the rocks with a small woven basket in her hand.

“Caleb Sykes, you better not be pointing that thing at me.” She quipped as she paused, unphased by being met with his gun.

Caleb sighed in relief, relaxing his weapon. “I thought you was someone else.”

“Who else would I be?” She asked, chuckling.

“Well, I don’t know. I woke up and you weren’t here. I thought someone had come and stolen ya.” He tucked the pistol back in its holster.

Nellie scoffed. “You don’t think I would have put up a fight?”

“Yeah…” Caleb sniffled. “Yeah, you woulda certainly caused a ruckus with that mouth of yours.” He noticed her basket. “What’s that there?”

She approached, holding out the basket. “Huckleberries.” She smiled. “I was up with the sunrise, so I figured I’d make use of the time. I was surprised to find any if I’m honest, it’s awful late in the season.”

“Hmm, well they must’ve been waitin’ just for you.” He grinned, reaching for one and popping it in his mouth.

Nellie smiled. “Ma used to make the best huckleberry pie. I thought maybe I could try my own hand at it for her… but something tells me they may not make it back home.” She raised her eyebrows, glancing down at Caleb’s hand grabbing a few more.

“Well, I got to keep my strength up, don’t I?” He smirked. “Come on, let’s get going. We should be getting to Virginia City by afternoon.”

The two took down their camp, making sure to remove all traces of their stay to not draw attention to their movement. Their route would risk hostile indigenous warriors, outlaws, and robbers, so covering their tracks as they went was important to not attract followers. They would set off continuing down the long-developed trail connecting their home in Bannack to Virginia City. Established a few years prior, it was paramount for the mining industry, connecting several mining camps and new settlements across southwestern Montana.

They soon rolled upon the city as the sun began its transition to the west. Coming up over the mountains that surrounded the town, a main road opened in front of them, leading down to the sprawling buildings and bustling area just up ahead. Alongside them as they approached was the massive Alder Gulch, the very site that drove the gold mining boom to the town. Nellie could see the miners working throughout the gulch as they passed; men dabbing the sweat from their brows with rags and covered in dirt. The road widened rapidly into the thoroughfare of downtown, where facades of buildings towered over the residents and workers milling about.

Caleb yielded their wagon in front of a small, simple wooden building that read “Dry Goods”. At the front were two doors. One directly under the sign, which led into the store, and another just to the left, with no markings.

“You sure this is it?” Nellie asked, searching the façade for any indication of boarding being an option.

“Junior said this is the place that had rooms last time he rode through.” Caleb shrugged. “You go in and ask after a bed for the night, I’ll hitch up the horses.” He swung his legs over the side of the wagon.

Nellie carefully descended from the wagon, stretching and wiggling her legs after sitting on the hard wooden surface for so long. She watched Caleb lead the horses down the road to a nearby stable before opening the door to the small grocery. A bell tinkled above her as the door opened and closed with her entrance. The smell of dusty fabric and burning lanterns permeated the room, coming from the displays of hats and spools of cloth as well as various ornate and simple lanterns for purchase. Nellie quietly scoffed, noting how much of a fire hazard this was.

“Just a moment!” A man’s voice called from the back room.

“No rush!” She called back, pulling the hem of a skirt hanging from a pole on display.

Footsteps quickly approached. “Yes, hello, what can I do for you, miss?”

Nellie turned around to see a short, stout man standing behind the counter. He wore spectacles, just big enough to cover his eyes in circumference. His sleeves were haphazardly rolled up to his elbows,

“Oh, I was told that there are rooms for the night here? Is that right?” She asked, looking around and growing more embarrassed for asking this shop hand by the second.

“Well, it appears that it’s your lucky day, miss. The Weston Hotel is just the next door over. We’ve got one room left. There’s only four of ‘em.” He smirked.

“My… well, lucky indeed.” She smiled.

“Just you looking to stay?”

“Oh, my husband and I. We’re just here for the night.”

The man nodded, turning to remove a key hanging from a hook on the wall. “Room and board’s five dollars.”

Nellie’s eyebrows rose. “Five dollars?! Just for the night?”

The man sighed, leaning his forearms on the counter. “Miss, this is Virginia City, the new capital. And we’re surrounded by gold. You ought to be grateful there’s even a room left for you to spend five dollars on.”

“I… I suppose you’re right.” She sighed, reaching for her purse tied to her skirt apron. As she dug around, she pulled out five silver dollars. “Best that I’m paying you and not my husband.” She chuckled as she handed him the money. Caleb would have surely threatened him into a lower price, but the shop clerk seemed nice enough and didn’t need to be subjected to that.

He slid the key over the counter toward her. “You’ll be in room three, the doors are numbered. A drink and a meal’s included over at Young American Eating House just a few buildings down. Give them this ticket and they’ll fix you up.” He stamped a piece of paper on the counter and handed it over. “My name’s Wilson, should you have any questions or problems.”

“Nellie.” She smiled and bowed slightly before turning to exit through the jingly door.

She could see Caleb walking up the street towards her, carrying some of their belongings. Behind him, people crossed the street and walked along the buildings. They were mostly women and children, assumedly the wives and children of the miners working up in the gulch. The workday would soon be done, filling the streets and saloons with thirsty diggers.

“So, we got a bed?” Caleb asked once he had gotten closer.

Nellie waved the key. “The last room. They only have four here, would you believe it?”

“How much for the night?” He asked, stopping in front of her, glancing over through the glass in the door.

“I took care of it.” She shrugged, sparing the shop keeper from Caleb’s wrath. “We have a ticket for food and drink a few places down. Let’s get our things settled and head on over, huh? Maybe see that new brewery Junior mentioned?”

Caleb nodded. He let Nellie take the lead, bringing him to the second door on the building. Inside, there was only a short, plain hallway. Bare, save for a dark blue tattered carpet runner and a few flame sconces on the wall illuminating the space. The doors for each room lined the hallway, numbered just as Wilson said. Nellie inserted the key into the lock on the door with a ‘3’ drawn on in white paint.

The room itself was just as simple as the hallway. There were no windows or anything decorating the walls. The only furniture was a double bed in the center of the small room, a short table and chair beside the door, with a gas lantern set atop. There were two hooks on the other side of the door for hats and coats. The bedding, at least, appeared freshly cleaned and well-made; likely thanks to the dry goods store attached to the rooms providing it. Nellie scoffed in disbelief that this cost five whole dollars. Nonetheless, it was warm and more comfortable than the ground.

The pair set their belongings down in their room before swiftly exiting once again to visit the eatery Wilson had directed them to. The Young American Eating House was only five buildings down from their room, across from a very lively horse and livestock auction business. Inside the establishment, there were a few tables and a long bar counter without much décor on the inside, save for a few mining tools and hats on some shelves, left behind by workers and passersby.

“You go on and sit at a table, I’ll get some drinks and see about supper.” Caleb craned his neck off toward a corner table that was unoccupied. “Let me see that ticket from the hotel.”

Nellie handed him the slip of paper from her apron and went to claim the seats. Caleb soon came to join her, setting down two glasses of brandy. He set his hat down on the table, leaning back and stretching out his legs. It was nice being out with him on this trip, just the two of them. Back home, someone was always around or going out with them, whether it was Mama Sykes or the brothers. The Sykes clan rarely went their separate ways, aside from James, of course.

Their meal was brought to their table in good time. A hearty stew of venison and potatoes with carrots and turnips, with a side of warm, crusty biscuits. It was a welcome switch from their lackluster campfire rabbit skewers the night before. The two were mostly silent as they enjoyed their food and sipped their brandy, taking notice as the room filled with dirt-coated miners coming in from the gulch. The volume swelled to a constant chatter as the men multiplied, getting more rowdy with each drink they sucked down. Nellie noticed Caleb’s empty glass as he sat back again in his chair.

“I’ll go see about another round.” She smiled, taking both their glasses.

“I knew I married the right woman.” He smirked.

She rolled her eyes at him playfully, turning to maneuver through the growing sea of frontier men. Reaching the bar, a young man leaned against the counter, waiting to be tended to while the barkeep dealt with multiple people at the opposite end of the bar. He glanced at her as she appeared next to him, them both exchanging polite smiles. A silence followed before the young man turned to her.

“I ain’t seen you around here before.” He looked her up and down with a glint in his eye that gave Nellie a shiver up her spine. “What’s your name, doll?”

Nellie shifted on her feet. “I’m Nellie.”

“Nellie…” He leaned in closer. “Pretty name for a pretty girl.”

She chuckled. “Mister, I’m married, and trust me, you don’t want to meet my husband like this.”

The man leaned in even closer, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Now why do we need to involve your husband?” He smirked.

“Don’t you touch me.” Nellie growled, shoving the man off of her.

“You better listen to her.” Caleb’s voice boomed from behind them.

The man scoffed. “And what if I d-“

Before the man could finish his question, Caleb’s large hands grabbed either of his shoulders, pulling him away from Nellie and the bar counter. There was a brief struggle between the men, until Caleb tightened his grip, brought the man closer to his chest, and sharply threw his knee into his opponent’s abdomen.

“Caleb!” Nellie shrieked. “Caleb, stop it!” She reached for him, trying to pull him back.

He took no notice, straightening the man up right. He cocked his fist, quickly and forcefully driving it into the man’s nose, sending him spinning around and landing doubled over against the bar. Glasses clinked and shattered as he made contact with them on top of the counter, which cut through the collective gasps and shouting from other patrons and the bartender. Caleb grabbed the disoriented man by the back of his collar, pulling him toward him and shoving him to the ground.

“Caleb! That’s enough, he’s had enough!” Nellie yelled, clamoring at his shoulders.

By this point, multiple other men in the room came between them, helping Nellie to rip Caleb away. He breathed heavily, snarling and brows furrowed. The bartender angrily stomped toward him from behind the bar.

He pointed a finger in Caleb’s face. “You get out of my establishment, you understand? Get him out of here.” He grumbled to the burly men holding Caleb.

“I can walk out on my own.” Caleb spat, shaking himself free of their grip. He glared as he slowly turned and stomped toward the door.

Nellie gave a sympathetic look to the patrons and bartender before following after him. The short walk back to their accommodation was filled with Caleb switching between muttering and shouting about the lousy brandy and worthless townsfolk. People stared at them as they walked, their attention caught by the scene he was making. He threw the door to the rooms open, the knob banging against the wall. Nellie let them into their room, Caleb furiously pacing past her into the space still muttering about the unsavory types at the saloon. She sighed, closing the door with a harsh thud. It grabbed Caleb’s attention, him pausing in his rant.

“You gonna do this everywhere we stop? Get us banned from every saloon east of Bannack?” She leaned against the door.

“No, Nellie, he was way too handsy on you.” He put his hands on his hips. “You know that.”

“And you know I can handle my damn self just fine. If I couldn’t, I’d call for you.”

Caleb huffed, rubbing the scruff on his chin. “Well, I ain’t saying sorry.”

There was a brief pause. Caleb sat on the edge of the bed with a grunt as the load was taken off his legs. Nellie stared at him. She knew he was just protective, even if she could handle herself. He was a violent and unreasonable man, but he took care of her and she knew that. With a sigh, she pushed herself off the door.

“I guess I can’t pretend it ain’t at least a little flattering…” She gently sat down beside him.

A light snort came from his nose, accompanied by a smirk. He looked sideways at her. “You’re mine, is all. And you know I don’t like sharing what’s mine.”

“You don’t need to worry, I’m not going anywhere else. I married ya, didn’t I?” They both shared a smile. His hand gently found her thigh, the warmth seeping through the fabric of her skirt. “And you better not be thinking about looking elsewhere neither, now that we’re married. You’ll learn real quick how them bullets in that colt of yours taste, I promise you that.” She smirked, patting his hand before she stood up.

"Art thou done?"

Kit's hand found the nape of your neck, confidently rubbing the skin with the pad of his thumb, making you arch slightly and turn your head to him. He snickered, the massage continuing as he hovered over your back, glancing down at the barren sheet of paper before you. His brow furrowed, but his hand remained on your nape, his nails tracing little patterns now, coaxing you to close your eyes and submit to the treatment.

"Hast thou not begun?" "I have, Master Marlowe, yet inspiration is a wanton muse, and is passing hard to seize." "Thou speakest true…"

Kit felt the disappointment in your voice over your lack of writing. He knew better than anyone that dreadful disappointment when no words felt right and combining them in lines felt like a kind of sorcery one didn't possess. Forcing oneself would do no good in enhancing your writing, so he got a soft grip on your nape. It was time to look for inspiration elsewhere.

"Rise, rise… no more of this. I require thee for another matter." "But Master Marlowe, I had not yet-" "No more of that. Our patrons may bide another day… I must school thee… a lesson."

Kit grinned, pulling you up by your nape confidently. Once up, he released it and draped his lanky arm over your shoulder, smirking at you as he pulled you with him outside of the chambers. Inspiration, you had to learn, might come upon you, but sometimes you had to go looking for it.

"…A tavern?" "Why, yes, no fitter place to study the humours of man," Kit smiled slyly, hand patting your back as he helped you in.

All heads turned to Marlowe. He was Kit Marlowe, and he had a reputation for both his writing and his deeds, which made a few men snicker. Marlowe didn't care, his facade of confidence preceding him as he leaned over the counter asking for drinks for himself and you. Having been ignored, the men returned to their deeds, leaving you and Marlowe to enjoy your time alone. With your drink in hand and Marlowe puffing at his pipe, the opioids making him loose, he arched his finger out, pointing at a man in the tavern.

"Knowest thou who that lad is?" "No." "Nor I."

You snickered, occupied with your drink. Marlowe grinned, offering you his pipe. When you glanced curiously at it but didn't take it, he cocked his head to the side and put it to your lips, having you puff once.

"We shall discover what man he be… and what he can do."

You caughed at the hazelnutty, slightly bitter roasted sensation the opium left on your tongue and nostrils as Marlowe crossed his legs, eyes locked on the lad who, perhaps sensing the eyes on him, had turned to face the two of you.

Marlowe grinned, leaning into your ear.

"When inspiration cometh not from otherwhere… thou shalt learn to seek it in the flesh."

Almost concerned, you turned to Marlowe, and upon seeing the flustered touch on your cheeks, he laughed.

"O, fret not, my most precious. This time, I will join in the revels. To guide thee, as befitteth a Master and his prentice," teased Marlowe, with a playful grin, giving your cheek a cheerful pinch. "I hope thy body is apt to receive the lesson… to be inspired."

. . .

The phone rang twice before Henry answered.

Y/N was already in bed, the dorm room dim and quiet around her, the cord of the rotary phone stretched across the blanket and looped once around her wrist. Nancy was out doing some investigative journalism, which meant she didn’t have to keep her voice down for anyone but herself and even that was becoming difficult.

When Henry picked up, his voice came low and even.

“Yes?”

Y/N smiled instantly. “Hi.”

There was a pause.

Not a long one. Just long enough for him to recognize her, and for the silence to change shape.

“You’re awake,” he said.

“So are you.”

“I was working.”

Y/N shifted onto her side, cheek pressed into the pillow. “That sounds tragic.”

Henry’s voice stayed calm, but she could hear the attention in it now. “And you called to improve my evening?”

“Maybe.”

Another pause.

Then, quieter: “What do you want?”

The question should have sounded simple.

It didn’t.

Y/N felt the warmth spread through her all over again. “You.”

Henry exhaled slowly through his nose, and she pictured him exactly, one hand at his jaw, eyes lowered, trying not to sound as affected as he suddenly was.

“That’s not specific enough.”

“It should be.”

“It isn’t.”

Y/N smiled to herself and let the silence stretch just a little, because teasing him from a distance had its own kind of danger to it.

Henry was the one who broke first.

“What are you wearing?”

She bit her lip. “One of your shirts.”

A beat.

“The one that you never asked for back.”

Henry was quiet for just long enough to make her pulse jump.

“I know which one,” he said.

Something in the way he said it, like he could see it without seeing her at all, made her close her eyes.

“…And what are you doing in it?” he asked.

Y/N let out a quiet breath. “Lying here.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the beginning of one.”

His silence turned heavier.

She could hear the faint shift of him on the other end, chair moving, fabric rustling, maybe him sitting down, maybe leaning back, maybe already deciding this wasn’t going to remain a normal phone call for much longer.

When he spoke again, his tone had changed.

Not softer.

Lower. More deliberate.

“Then finish the answer.”

Y/N’s fingers tightened around the phone cord. “You’re bossy on the phone.”

“You called me for a reason.”

That sent a little thrill through her.

She rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, breathing slower on purpose, because she knew he could hear more than she meant him to.

“I was trying to sleep,” she said.

“And?”

“And I couldn’t.”

“Why?”

She smiled faintly. “You know why.”

“No,” Henry said, and the lie in it was almost insulting. “I want to hear you say it.”

That did something to her.

Not just the words, the control in them. The quiet expectation. The way he always seemed to know exactly how to make her tell the truth when she wanted to hide inside teasing.

Y/N swallowed. “Because I kept thinking about you.”

Henry didn’t speak.

But she heard the change in his breathing.

She turned her head into the pillow and lowered her voice. “About your hands. About your mouth. About the way you look at me when you already know what you’re going to do.”

Henry’s answer came rougher now. “Y/N.”

Her name in his mouth did exactly what it always did.

“You asked,” she whispered.

“Yes,” he said. “I did.”

A pause.

Then, low and steady, “Keep talking.”

Y/N shut her eyes, letting the dark of the room make her braver. “You’re in my head.”

“That sounds like your problem.”

She smiled. “You like when it’s my problem.”

Henry’s voice dropped another inch. “I like when you stop pretending you called me for conversation.”

Her breath hitched.

He knew her too well.

Y/N shifted under the blanket, the phone pressed closer to her ear now. “Maybe I wanted both.”

“You don’t want conversation.”

“No?”

“No.”

His certainty made heat move through her in a slow wave.

“What do I want, then?” she murmured.

Henry was quiet for a beat.

When he answered, his voice was so controlled it almost hurt.

“You want me paying attention to you.”

The words landed hot and immediate.

Y/N didn’t deny it.

Henry let the silence fill for a moment, then continued, more quietly, “You want me thinking about you in that shirt. In that bed. Like I’m there.”

Her throat went dry.

“Yes,” she admitted.

There was the faintest sound from him, something like approval, something darker.

“Good,” he said.

Y/N pressed her lips together, trying not to let him hear too much too quickly.

Henry didn’t miss the effort.

“Don’t go quiet on me now.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

His voice was too calm. Too precise. It made her feel pinned even through a phone line.

“I’m listening,” she said.

“No,” Henry murmured. “You’re waiting.”

That made her stomach tighten.

He knew exactly where he had her.

Y/N’s voice came out softer. “For what?”

And when Henry answered, it was with that same low, dangerous patience that always made her feel like the rest of the room had disappeared.

“For me to tell you what to do.”

Y/N’s breath caught.

The line went still between them, the dorm room around her disappearing into darkness and quiet, every nerve in her body suddenly tuned to the sound of his voice.

She heard him exhale, slow, deliberate, like he was savoring the admission.

“Good,” he said.

The word hung in the air between them, heavy and possessive.

Y/N’s hand drifted lower, grazing her stomach through the thin cotton of her shirt. She didn’t pull it away. Not yet.

She heard something shift on his end, the creak of leather, maybe his chair. He was settling in. Taking his time.

“You kept my shirt.”

“You knew I would.”

His laugh was quiet, dark. “I did.”

Y/N’s fingers found the hem of her shorts. She toyed with the elastic but didn’t push inside.

“What els.” Henry said. It wasn’t a question.

“What else what?”

“What else are you wearing?”

She bit her lip. “Nothing.”

His breath changed. A fraction of a second longer before he answered.

“Then your hand is already there, isn’t it?”

She didn’t answer. Her fingers slipped under the waistband, past her underwear, finding herself slick and ready. She inhaled sharply.

“Y/N.”

His voice was a command now. Low. Controlled. Like he was holding something back.

“You’re touching yourself.”

“Yes.”

“Because I told you to.”

Yes, she thought. But she didn’t say it. She wanted him to push.

He did.

“I want to hear it.”

Her hips rolled into her own hand, a soft sound escaping her lips.

“The way you sound when you think of me,” he continued, the words measured, each one placed like a step closer. “The way you sound when you’re close. When you’re desperate. When you’re about to come apart for me, and I’m not even there.”

She whimpered.

“That’s it.”

Her fingers moved faster, circles tightening. Her thighs fell open under the blanket.

“Henry—”

“Say my name again,” he cut in, rougher now. “Say it when you’re right there.”

The pressure built low and hot. Her breathing turned ragged, the phone slipped from her grasp but immediately pressed it hard against her ear.

“I’m—I’m close.”

“I know.”

His voice was silk over gravel. Quiet. Absolute.

“I want you to come when I tell you. Not before.”

She cried out softly, her hand faltering.

“You’re going to wait for me.”

“Henry, I—”

“You can.”

He waited. The silence was unbearable. Perfect.

Then, softer, almost tender, “You want to be good for me, don’t you?”

She nodded into the dark, not trusting her voice.

“Then listen.”

Her hand stilled, pressed between her legs, trembling. She could feel herself pulsing, aching.

He let the silence stretch. Long enough that she thought she might break.

Then:

“Now.”

She moved her hand again and came undone.

Her back arched off the bed, a broken moan spilling into the receiver. Her hips rocked against her own palm as the waves rolled through her, hot and endless, his name falling from her lips like a prayer.

He didn’t speak until her breathing started to slow.

When he did, his voice was quiet. Satisfied. Dark.

“Good girl.”

She lay there, spent, the phone still pressed to her ear, the line humming between them.

For a few seconds, neither of them said anything. The quiet after felt almost louder than the call itself, her pulse still hard in her throat, the room dim and close around her, the blanket twisted at her legs.

Then Henry exhaled softly on the other end.

“Drink some water,” he murmured.

Y/N smiled weakly into the dark. “Bossy.”

“Yes.”

She could hear him moving now, faint rustle, a drawer maybe, the creak of a chair. Like he was trying to put himself back together, and failing a little.

Y/N turned onto her side, tucking the phone closer against her cheek. “You sound far away.”

“I’m here.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Henry was quiet for a beat.

Then, lower, “I know.”

Y/N closed her eyes. The warmth in her body hadn’t gone anywhere, but now there was something else with it, restlessness, the strange hollow ache of having him in her ear and not in reach.

She swallowed. “I wish you were here.”

That landed.

She heard it in the pause. In the way the silence on his end changed shape again.

When he spoke, his voice was more controlled than before, which only meant she’d gotten to him. “Y/N.”

“I know,” she said softly. “I know.”

“No,” Henry said. “You don’t.”

Her brows lifted a little, but before she could answer, the line shifted, movement, keys, something metallic.

Y/N sat up slightly. “What are you doing?”

Nothing.

Then: “Put on your coat.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Your coat,” he repeated, calm and unmistakably serious. “Put it on.”

Y/N pushed herself up further in bed, suddenly awake in a completely different way. “Henry.”

“Now.”

Her heart kicked. “Are you—”

“Yes.”

The single word hit hard.

Y/N swung her legs over the side of the bed so fast the phone cord pulled taut. “You’re coming here?”

“I’m outside in ten minutes if traffic behaves,” he said. Then, drier: “Fifteen if Boston insists on being Boston.”

A smile broke across her face before she could help it. “You came for me.”

Henry was quiet just long enough to make it feel like an admission.

“I tried not to,” he said finally.

That made her chest tighten.

Y/N stood, still tangled up in the aftermath of the call and now in a rush of adrenaline on top of it. She scrambled for clothes, one hand still holding the receiver to her ear. “You’re insane.”

“Yes,” Henry said. “Get dressed.”

She laughed under her breath, breathless and disbelieving and already moving too fast. “I thought you were being responsible.”

“I was,” he said. “Briefly.”

Y/N found her sweater, then her jeans, then dropped one of her shoes and nearly tripped trying to step into the other.

Henry heard it. “Careful.”

“I’m fine.”

“I don’t believe you.”

She grinned, dragging her fingers through her hair and reaching for her coat. “You really couldn’t stay away.”

“No.”

The honesty of it stopped her for half a second.

Then Henry added, lower now, “Not after hearing you like that.”

Y/N went still.

Her hand tightened on the coat sleeve. “Henry.”

“Come outside when I get there,” he said. “Don’t make me come up.”

That made her laugh again. “You absolutely sound like you’d do it.”

“I would.”

She bit her lip, too pleased with him, too affected by the picture of it.

“All right,” she said softly. “I’ll be ready.”

The line went quiet for one moment more, neither of them quite hanging up.

Then Henry said, voice rougher now, stripped down to truth again, “I want you in my arms, not on a phone line.”

That did it.

Y/N closed her eyes for one second and smiled helplessly into the dark. “Then come get me.”

He hung up first.

The line clicked dead.

Y/N stood there in the silence of her dorm room, the receiver still in her hand, heart racing all over again for a completely different reason.

Then she moved.

Fast.

She went to the bathroom, got dressed properly this time, fixed her hair just enough to look like she hadn’t just spent the last half hour ruined in bed by his voice, failed to hide the glow in her face entirely, and pulled on her coat with shaking hands.

. . . 

The night air hit cold and sharp when she stepped outside.

Henry’s car was idling at the curb, headlights low, engine running. He was behind the wheel, one hand at the top of it, the other already reaching across to unlock the passenger side the second he saw her.

Y/N got in and shut the door, breathless from hurrying and from him.

For one second they just looked at each other.

Henry’s tie was gone. His hair was slightly out of place, like he’d run his hand through it too many times. He looked exactly like a man who had tried to act rational and lost.

Y/N smiled first. “Hi.”

Henry looked at her like he’d been imagining this drive the entire way there.

Then he reached over, caught the side of her face in his hand, and kissed her, only pulling away to drive away.

The drive to his apartment was too quiet to be casual.

Not awkward. Just loaded.

Y/N sat in the passenger seat with her coat pulled around her, one hand curled loosely in her lap, the other resting near the window where the city lights flashed gold and blurred past. Henry drove with both hands on the wheel at first, posture controlled, eyes fixed ahead in that deliberate way he had when he was trying not to say too much.

Which only made it worse.

Y/N glanced at him once.

Then again.

His jaw was tight. His tie was gone. The top button of his shirt was undone, and the silence around him felt less like calm and more like discipline stretched thin.

She smiled faintly. “You really couldn’t stay away.”

Henry didn’t look at her. “Don’t.”

Y/N’s smile deepened. “It’s true.”

His grip tightened slightly on the wheel. “Y/N.”

She let the silence sit for a beat, pleased with herself, then turned a little more toward him in her seat. “I mean, I knew you wanted to.”

That got a glance.

Quick. Sharp. Enough.

“You knew nothing,” he said.

Y/N lifted her brows. “No?”

“No.”

But the lie didn’t land. Not with the way his voice had roughened around the edges.

Y/N looked out the window again, smiling to herself. “Mm.”

Henry exhaled slowly through his nose and said nothing else for the rest of the drive.

That silence followed them all the way to his building.

He parked, killed the engine, and for one second neither of them moved.

Then Henry got out first.

By the time Y/N reached the apartment door, he already had the key in the lock. He let her step inside before him, his hand briefly at the small of her back, and then he followed her in and shut the door behind them.

The click of the lock sounded louder than it should have.

Y/N turned.

Henry was still near the door, coat not yet off, eyes already on her.

For a moment he didn’t move.

He just looked at her—really looked at her—like he was taking in the fact that she was here now, in his apartment, in front of him instead of on the other end of a phone line.

Then he crossed the distance between them.

Not fast.

Deliberately.

His hands came to her coat first, fingers working at the buttons with maddening calm. He slid it from her shoulders himself, slow enough to make her pulse jump with every inch of fabric he peeled away.

When the coat hit the chair beside them, he looked at her again.

Y/N tried a smile. “Hi.”

Henry’s expression didn’t change.

His hand came up to her jaw, thumb resting just beneath it, and his voice dropped low.

“Tell me why I’m here.”

The question landed hot and immediate.

Y/N held his gaze, her heart already beating too fast. “Because I called.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

She swallowed. “Because you wanted to come.”

Henry’s eyes narrowed slightly. “No.”

He stepped closer.

Y/N felt her back brush the wall.

Henry’s hand stayed at her jaw, steady and warm, keeping her attention exactly where he wanted it. “What did you think was going to happen,” he asked quietly, “when you called me sounding like that?”

Y/N’s breath caught.

“You knew what you were doing,” he continued.

His voice was still controlled. That made it worse.

Y/N tried to keep her expression innocent and failed immediately. “Maybe.”

Henry’s thumb moved once along her jaw. “Maybe.”

She looked up at him through her lashes. “I wanted you.”

Something in his face shifted.

Not much. Just enough.

Y/N’s pulse jumped harder. “I wanted you to come get me.”

Henry held her gaze for one heavy second.

Then his other hand came to her waist, firm and certain.

“That,” he murmured, “is a better answer.”

Y/N’s fingers curled lightly into the front of his shirt. “Were you expecting something else.”

“I was expecting,” Henry said, voice lower now, “to stay home.”

She smiled faintly. “And how did that go.”

Henry’s jaw flexed. “Poorly.”

That made her laugh once, soft and breathless.

His eyes dropped to her mouth.

“You called me,” he said, “and expected me to sleep afterward.”

It wasn’t really a question.

Y/N’s lips parted. “I hoped you wouldn’t.”

The words broke something.

Henry kissed her.

Not gently. Not immediately.

At first it was controlled—his mouth firm against hers, his hand at her waist tightening as if he were still trying to make a point, still trying to keep the whole thing inside the boundaries he’d set for himself.

Then Y/N kissed him back like she’d been waiting all night for him to stop pretending.

Her hands went into his hair. His control slipped.

The kiss deepened fast.

Henry backed her fully against the wall, his body close now, one hand sliding from her jaw to the back of her neck, the other still anchored at her waist. Y/N made a soft sound against his mouth, and he answered it by kissing her harder, all that tension from the drive and the phone call and the waiting finally catching fire.

He broke from her mouth only long enough to kiss along her cheek, her jaw, the side of her neck, his breath rougher now against her skin.

“You have any idea,” he murmured there, “what that drive was like.”

Y/N’s fingers tightened in his hair. “I can imagine.”

Henry’s hand at her waist flexed. “No.”

That sent a shiver straight through her.

She tilted her head back against the wall, giving him more room, and smiled despite the way her pulse was racing. “You should tell me, then.”

Henry lifted his head just enough to look at her.

His eyes were dark now. Focused. Entirely past pretending he was unaffected.

“You sounded,” he said slowly, “like you were in my bed already.”

Y/N’s breath caught.

“And I was supposed to stay home,” he continued, “and act like hearing you like that wasn’t going to follow me all night.”

She looked at him for one suspended second, all teasing suddenly sharpened into something warmer.

Then she touched his face, softer now. “You came.”

“Yes,” Henry said.

Just that.

No apology. No excuse.

Y/N smiled, small and helpless and too pleased with him. “Good.”

Henry kissed her again before she could say anything else.

And this time, there was nothing controlled left in it at all.

His mouth claimed hers without restraint, hungry, desperate, the kind of kiss that said he'd been holding back for far too long. Y/N melted into it, her back pressed against the wall, her fingers twisted in his hair, pulling him closer. His hands roamed her body, sliding down her sides, gripping her hips, lifting her slightly so she could wrap her legs around his waist.

He carried her the few steps across the room. The couch met her back, its faded gold upholstery impossibly soft against overheated skin. Henry followed her down, his body covering hers, his mouth already back on her throat.

The kiss turned into a trail of open-mouthed presses down her neck, across her collarbone. He tugged at the collar of her shirt, buttons scattering as he tore it open. She gasped, laughing breathlessly.

"I liked that shirt."

"I'll buy you another." His mouth found her breast through the lace of her bra, tongue wetting the fabric, circling her nipple until it peaked hard. She arched into him, and he reached behind her to unhook the clasp, freeing her breasts. He took one in his mouth immediately, sucking hard, flicking his tongue across the sensitive tip.

Y/N's head fell back, a moan spilling from her lips. "Henry—"

He switched to the other breast, giving it the same attention, his hand sliding down her stomach, over the waistband of her jeans. He palmed her through the denim, pressing against her cunt, feeling the heat through the fabric.

"Already so wet for me," he murmured against her skin. "I can feel it through these."

But instead of pulling her jeans down, he lingered. His hand stayed on her mound, pressing rhythmically, grinding his palm against her through the denim. She bucked into his touch, desperate for more friction.

Henry lifted his head, looking down at her. His eyes were dark, hungry. He lowered himself, pressing his chest against hers, the length of his body covering her. His hips settled between her thighs, and he began to roll against her, slow, deliberate thrusts of his pelvis against her cunt, still clothed but the pressure electric.

He kissed along her collarbone, her sternum, the valley between her breasts. His mouth was hot, worshipful, trailing down her ribs, her stomach, leaving a path of wet kisses and gentle nips. She shivered, her fingers tangled in his hair.

"You're beautiful," he breathed against her navel. "Every inch of you."

He rocked against her harder, his cock straining against his trousers, grinding into the juncture of her thighs. She could feel him through both layers of fabric, hot and thick, and she lifted her hips to meet him. The couch creaked beneath them.

Henry kissed his way back up her body, his mouth never leaving her skin, her hipbone, the curve of her waist, the underside of her breast. His hands roamed, gripping her thighs, her ass, pulling her tighter against him as he continued to hump against her.

"Tell me what you want," he murmured against her lips.

"You," she breathed. "Inside me."

He sat up, his chest heaving, and looked down at her. Without a word, he stood, unbuckling his belt, unzipping his trousers. His cock sprung free, thick, flushed, glistening with pre-cum.

"Turn around," he said, voice commanding but low. "Over the arm of the couch. I want to watch you take me."

Y/N turned onto her knees, leaning against the arm of the vintage couch. Its soft fabric was cool beneath trembling skin, the warm lamplight painting everything gold. She looked back over her shoulder, meeting his gaze.

Henry stepped closer, guiding his cock through her folds, collecting her wetness. He teased her clit with the head, making her shiver, and then he notched himself at her entrance.

He pushed in, slow, inch by inch, letting her feel every ridge, every throb of his length. She clenched around him, a low moan escaping her lips.

When he was fully seated, he stilled, letting her adjust. His hands gripped her hips, fingers digging into her flesh.

"God," he breathed. "You feel—"

He didn't finish. He pulled out slowly, then thrust back in, a deep, rolling motion that sent a shockwave through her. She pressed her face into the couch, muffling her cry. He set a rhythm, long, deep strokes that filled her completely, each one hitting that perfect spot inside her.

"You like that?" His voice was strained, losing control. "You like being fucked on my couch like this?"

"Yes—fuck, Henry, yes—"

He reached around, his fingers finding her clit, rubbing in tight circles as he pounded into her. The dual sensation was maddening. She could feel herself climbing toward another peak, her inner walls fluttering around him.

"I can feel you tightening," he said, his breath ragged. "You're going to come again, aren't you?"

"Yes—please—"

"Come for me, sweetheart." His thumb pressed harder on her clit, his thrusts speeding up. "I want to feel you come around my cock."

She did. The orgasm hit her like a wave, crashing through her, her cries filling the room as she pulsed around him. Henry groaned, his hips slamming into her twice more before he followed, spilling deep inside her with a guttural sound that was almost a growl. He pulsed, hot and thick, filling her, and she felt every spasm of his release.

He collapsed over her, his chest pressing against her back, his breath hot on her neck. For a long moment, neither of them moved. The only sounds were their ragged breathing and the soft creak of the couch.

Finally, Henry shifted, pulling out slowly. He turned her gently, helping her lie back on the couch, and he stretched out beside her, pulling her against his chest. His hand traced lazy patterns on her hip.

"You're going to be the death of me," he murmured into her hair.

She smiled, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "Good."

Henry’s mouth brushed her hair, and Y/N could feel the smile there before she saw it.

“Men have died for less,” he murmured.

She laughed softly against his jaw, still warm and boneless, the couch holding both of them in that loose, heavy quiet that came after everything else had burned itself out. His chest rose and fell steadily beneath her cheek. His hand kept tracing those lazy shapes against her hip like he couldn’t quite stop touching her now that he’d started.

The apartment had gone still around them.

The lamp in the corner cast a soft pool of light over the room, leaving the rest in shadow. Outside, Boston kept moving somewhere beyond the windows, but in here everything had narrowed down to warmth, skin, breath, and the quiet satisfaction settling between them.

Y/N closed her eyes for a second. “You say that like it’s a complaint.”

Henry’s fingers paused at her hip, then resumed. “It is not a complaint.”

She tipped her face up to look at him. His hair was a mess now, his shirt open, the severe edges of him softened into something almost unfairly beautiful. She smiled, small and sleepy.

“You came to get me,” she said, like she was still marveling at it still.

Henry’s gaze lowered to hers. “Yes.”

“You really couldn’t stay away?”

His mouth twitched. “No.”

That simple honesty warmed her again in a place that had nothing to do with the sex.

Y/N traced one fingertip lightly over the open edge of his shirt. “I like when you lose control.”

Henry’s hand tightened slightly at her hip. “I don’t.”

She raised her brows. “Liar.”

He looked down at her for a long second, then leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead instead of arguing.

Y/N smiled into his chest, pleased with herself.

For a little while, neither of them spoke. Henry just held her there, stretched beside her on the couch, his body loose in a way it almost never was anywhere else. She could feel how tired he was under the afterglow of everything, not exhausted in a bad way, just unguarded. Worn down into softness.

His hand drifted higher, then back down, a slow, absent rhythm.

“You should stay here tonight,” he said quietly.

Y/N tilted her head. “Is that an order?”

“It’s a suggestion.”

“It sounds like an order.”

Henry’s mouth brushed the top of her head. “Then take it as one.”

She laughed softly. “Bossy.”

“Yes.”

Y/N shifted a little closer, tangling her leg more fully with his. “I don’t think Nancy’s expecting me back anyway.”

“No?”

“She’s probably already decided I’m with you and is judging me from across campus when she comes back to an empty room.”

Henry’s hand stilled once at that, then moved again. “She would be right.”

Y/N smiled. “She usually is.”

Henry huffed a quiet breath that might have been a laugh.

Then the silence came back, gentler this time. Y/N could feel herself starting to drift, not into sleep exactly, but into that soft, floating place where everything felt pleasantly far away and his body beneath hers felt like the safest surface in the world.

After a moment, she murmured, “You know what I like about this?”

Henry’s voice was low. “What?”

“You after.”

His hand paused again, just briefly.

Y/N lifted her head enough to look at him. “Not that you before isn’t nice,” she added, smiling faintly. “But this version of you.” Her fingers traced lightly along his collarbone. “The one that gets quiet and keeps touching me like you’re checking I’m still here.”

Henry’s gaze held hers, and something in it shifted, deeper, more vulnerable than he usually let it get.

“I know you’re here,” he said.

Y/N’s smile softened. “You still check.”

He looked at her for one long moment before glancing away, just enough to betray that she’d hit something true.

Then, with his thumb brushing once along her side, he murmured, “Maybe I like knowing.”

That made her chest ache in a way she didn’t have a witty answer for.

So she just leaned up and kissed him—slow, easy, nothing like before. Henry answered it the same way, one hand sliding to the back of her waist to keep her close.

When the kiss ended, Y/N stayed there, forehead resting lightly against his.

“Okay,” she whispered. “I’ll stay.”

Henry’s eyes stayed on hers. “Good.”

She smiled. “You’re very smug for someone who said I’d be the death of him.”

“You said ‘good.’”

“I meant it affectionately.”

“That does not improve it.”

Y/N laughed, and Henry finally did too, quiet and brief, but real.

Then he tightened his arm around her and shifted just enough to pull the throw blanket down from the back of the couch over both of them, because even completely undone, apparently he was still Henry enough to think ahead.

Y/N tucked herself against him more fully, cheek back to his chest, listening to the steadier rhythm of his breathing.

Henry’s hand kept moving at her hip for a while after that, slow and absent, the room wrapped in the kind of silence that only came after they’d worn each other out thoroughly enough to stop pretending they weren’t addicted to this.

Y/N stayed curled against him, listening to his breathing, half-lost in the warmth of his chest and the steady rise and fall beneath her cheek.

Then, after a long quiet moment, she said into his shirt, “I kind of feel like doing it again.”

Henry didn’t miss a beat.

“Nymphomaniac.”

Y/N smiled instantly, lifting her head to look at him. “That is entirely your fault.”

His mouth twitched. “Of course it is. It’s an Addiction.”

Y/N smiled instantly, lifting her head to look at him. “You call it an addiction…”

His mouth twitched. “What would you call it?”

“A healthy relationship.”

Henry gave her a look.

Y/N smiled wider, propping her chin on his chest. “It is. You know, statistically speaking, many relationships fail often due a lack of sex. We’re ahead of it. When we’re frustrated or angry, we just…fuck the emotions away.”

That got a brief, helpless laugh out of him before he could stop it.

“You make us sound deeply dysfunctional.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed in playful offense. “I make us sound efficient.”

His hand slid once at her waist. “No.”

“Yes.”

Henry looked down at her with that dry, maddening expression of his, one hand still resting low on her waist. “No,” he repeated. “We both have class tomorrow.”

Y/N’s brows lifted. “That didn’t sound convincing.”

“It was not meant to sound convincing,” he said. “It was meant to be practical.” He brushed a thumb once against her side. “We both have class tomorrow.”

Y/N let out a dramatic sigh and sat up, letting the blanket fall a little as she pulled away from him. “Fine.”

Henry watched her immediately.

Y/N swung one leg off the couch and stood, stretching with a little too much theatrical disappointment. “I guess I’ll just have to get myself off. Rude.”

Henry went still.

Y/N barely made it two steps.

His hand caught her wrist and tugged.

She let out a soft surprised sound as he pulled her back down onto the couch, half over him, and before she could get another teasing word out, his mouth was on hers.

The kiss was immediate and heated, all the patience from a second ago gone like it had never existed. Y/N laughed once against his mouth, smug, delighted, and Henry answered by kissing her harder, one hand sliding to the back of her neck, the other finding her waist and holding her there.

“Practical,” she murmured breathlessly, just barely pulling back.

Henry’s eyes were dark when he looked at her.

“Quiet,” he said.

Then he shifted, moving over her with unmistakable intent.

. . .

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"Hey, Skiff?"

It was early in the nightfall, a tranquil summer one that was just right for a little stargazing. Watching the luminaries while out on the sea could never feel better than it was when Skiff took you, slightly away from the harbour, just out of the noise of the docks, into the serene, calm sea that this night had to offer. You lay back, hands crossed over your chest, observing the small dots of light that peckered the clear night sky.

"Since we are out here alone.... I am curious. You know, when I look at the stars, I always think of my biggest dreams. What about you, Skiff? You never told me what your biggest dream was..."

Your friend made a humming noise, thinking for a little before giving you a reply. It was quite hard for him to tell; after all, he never really thought much about it. He loved what he did, and dreaming for more wasn't his thing. Yet, when you asked, he seemed to remember something.

"Skiff wants... oh. Skiff hasn't thought of that. Hm... No. No, that's a lie. Skiff has sometimes dreamed of something. But... it is... a lot. Skiff can't say... You'll think Skiff is ungrateful and he isn't! Skiff loves to be a railboat. To be on the shore and sea but..."

"But?"

"But Skiff heard people talk about pirates once! And how dreadfully terrifying they were on the big ships that kept them safe... and... And Skiff dreamed of that! Skiff dreamed of being a big great ship that can protect everyone and take them to see the vast sea on lots of adventures!"

You chuckled, standing up, no longer looking at the stars but checking on Skiff, who was trying to peek up at you.

"Oh Skiff... but, even now... How can you say I'd think you're ungrateful? All you want is to make others happy!"

Your boat buddy squeaked, replying in a very enthusiastic tone. Vibrant, eager, just as you would expect from a tiny boat with big dreams.

"But it would also make Skiff happy! Skiff would see Mermaids! And treasure... but... Skiff heard there'd be bad, bad quarrels and other ships would come and throw these heavy iron balls and hurt you. My pretty hull would be cracked and... and I'd risk hurting everyone! I'd sink and... and Skiff- no. No. This is why Skiff stopped dreaming about that. Too dangerous... Being a big ship is dangerous."

The silence fell. Skiff was right, and you weren't sure what else to tell Skiff. There were big boats now too. Big ships that took people on cruises but... You couldn't see your Skiff friend anywhere else but here.

With the friends at the docks.

"So... what is your dream now, Skiff?"

Skiff was quiet, unlike his usual vibrance, and yet, all of a sudden, a spark returned to his voice and he replied excitedly.

"Oh, Skiff knows. The biggest dream Skiff has is to be a big big ship but for the tiny little people who want to see the harbour!"

NOTE: I am unhinged, this is completely random and ooc, but it was for the giggles. LMAO

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"Ay, girl. Cut it out. I told ya' to keep that mouth shut when I'm speakin'!"

Junior Sykes could be more ruthless than Caleb when someone got on his nerves. The years of experience made him a more frightening presence than Caleb, since a single barked command from him silenced you. Caleb was stubborn and flammable in his manner, but easily put out, like a fire would. Junior, however, was steady... determined to have things his way, even if the exterior was one of a calmer, more calculated man. That only made Junior a bigger threat.

This is how things were going to be from now on, right? That was how the Sykes were, and there was hardly anything you could do about it now. God knows your father won't find you here, and even if you went back, then what? You'd be a disgrace, and he'll sooner kick you out than let you come back defiled and with a bad name.

You hoped you'd not regret it.

You hoped that when you ran away with Caleb, you did it to save yourself. To avoid a fate of servile obedience to a man, but you ended up worse. Or maybe it wasn't worse... Maybe no matter where you would've gone and what path you would've chosen, maybe it was meant to be this way.

You stared at Caleb, hurt, disappointed.

You learned to shut up. Not in front of Caleb, but in front of his family. He could be hotheaded, and there were undoubtedly arguments between you, but they were short-lived, if even pathetic, looking back on them. But God, his family would make this an example of why Caleb was a fool to bring you and why you've been from the start set to ruin their son. You tried to keep your arguments away from them. However, Caleb's temperament led to some erupting in front of Junior and their parents.

Those were the worst.

When it was Caleb and you, the argument would get heated, and then the heat would move into the bedroom, where all issues were resolved as quickly as they started. The swiftest way to get to a man, to Caleb, was through his pants. So most arguments, if you could even call them so, neither of you remembered by the next day.

Mrs and Mr Sykes and Junior couldn't know that.

And even if they did, they wouldn't care.

An argument was a chance to scrutinise you both, to have you both shamed for being unlike what they expected. With you, perhaps you could understand why they'd treat you so. You put their family in danger; you were a stranger that Caleb took on a whim. Not up to their standards, but their treatment of Caleb was ruthless. Far worse than yours, if you were to take into account that these were his closest ones.

"Haven't once been wrong, ay, brother? Told ya' not to bring this one into our home and ya didn't listen. You never God damn listen."

Caleb turned sharply to Junior. He was boiling. The frustration had reached a limit. He was done, so very done with his parents and Junior always barging into his life. Caleb knew himself fully capable of handling his sweetheart. Why were all these people treating him like he had to be an example of how not to be? Why couldn't they for once keep to their own fucking business? Why couldn't anyone other than you believe in him?

Caleb's stern gaze as he turned to Junior gave you chills. You were so used to his volatile crashes that now, when he was so calm, you felt there was worse to come. And you weren't the only, since all the ruckus fell into silence as his parents turned to watch Caleb with the same uneasiness.

Caleb took a step closer to Junior, looking up at him. He didn't flinch, didn't turn away even as Junior faced him. He was imposing, but Caleb didn't seem phased.

"Hell, I told ya' not to tell my girl what to do. Don't interrupt ma' girl when she's speakin', and God forbid ya' tell her to keep her mouth shut. But look at that, brother," he nearly spat that last word, every muscle in his face tense, even his neck's veins showing from how hard he was restraining himself.

Then, before you could react, before even Junior could react, Caleb's hands were in his brother's collar, shoving him roughly into the wall. The gesture was so unexpected that for a brief second Junior didn't react, finding himself pinned against the cabin's wall. But it was only a brief second, one in which Caleb let all his frustrations spill over.

His fist landed in Junior's face, one clear hit.

Junior grunted, stunned for a moment, enough to give Caleb the time to hit him a second time.

"I ain't a God damn speaker like ya', brother. Didn't think of a sermon, guess this does it too, ay?"

You watched in horror and turned to his parents. You were hopeful that they would do something. Mr Sykes scoffed; to him, it hardly mattered. If his oldest couldn't defend himself, he was worthless. If he could defend himself and win, it was Junior's job to administer the punishment on Caleb. When a man started a fight, he'd end it, so whichever the course of this fight, it was none of his business.

As for the mother, she was shocked. But the cause didn't lie in any of her sons, but in you.

As Caleb was about to strike Junior a third time, he heard a sound that made him stagger.

A slap.

His heart sank.

Caleb prayed in that moment that it hadn't been his father who struck you, and good thing it hadn't been him, or your head would've spun a full round before coming to a stop, that harsh was that man's hand. It had been his mother.

"It is ya' fault my sons are fighting! Look what ya've done!"

He let go of Junior and dashed to your side, getting in his mother's face. Caleb wouldn't hit her. He knew better than to lay a hand on a woman.

"Oh ya' barkin' hag, it ain't the girl's doing that none of ya' stay out of my God damn li-"

A blunt whack brought the silence again.

Caleb staggered, clutching his head, nearly dropping to his knees.

Junior had recovered, and before any of you could see him, he had fetched a bottle and smashed it over Caleb's head to stun him. When you watched Junior, you saw a red trickle of blood from his nose, dripping down his lip to his jaw. But his eyes were stern, and he seemed as if he couldn't feel any pain from the punch he got. You tried to say something, but you knew that if you made a single sound, you'd be done for.

Junior shot you a look, cold, so cold that it made your head drop, unable to face him. His mother and father were watching, this time without saying anything. The older brother was in charge of Caleb's fate. He had always been.

He kicked Caleb again, this time with his foot, before hunching down to grasp him by the vest, dragging him outside and tossing him in the muddy ground. Caleb remained curled, clutching his own head as Junior went and retrieved his hat and gun and shoved them on the ground by the man's side.

Junior stared at you, and you knew to follow him. If you wouldn't, you'd be thrown out as unceremoniously as Caleb and his things had been. You rushed outside to Caleb's side, and Junior stood in the doorway, wiping his bloody nose with a displeased grunt upon seeing the blood.

"That ungrateful bastard taught ya' to ride, hadn't he?" Junior mouthed, sternly, "Ya' take him and ya'self outta' here before I hunt ya' both down. And I don't wanna see him set foot anywhere here until he's learned to respect us."

Caleb lifted his head from the ground, watching Junior. The hatred in his eyes made you want to tell him to be careful, else he'd have a worse fate.

But Junior saw it and scoffed.

"Watch it. Ya', my brother," Junior licked the few droplets of blood that lingered on his lip, which had avoided the sleeve wipe. "I ain't gonna do ya' more than this. But I can't promise the same about ya' girl. She ain't nothing to the Sykes, and trust me, brother. If I weren't a merciful man, she would've been long gone."

Caleb swallowed. You could see him hold back.

You tried to help him stand, but he refused help, pushing himself up. A hand still holding his head. You could see droplets of blood staining his palm and knew you'd have to help him out, but it was best to leave first.

"I ain't a coward. I ain't afraid to make ya' pay for threatening ma' girl."

"No, brother, ya' just a fool," Junior laughed, leaning into the doorframe. "Been a fool when ya' brought her here. Ya' knew the Sykes won't let a stranger in."

There was a lot Caleb Sykes wanted to tell his brother, but the sun was beginning to hide behind the line of trees, and he knew he'd better leave before it got too dark. If he begged, he'd be let in again. But he wouldn't apologise, he wouldn't beg, not after what they had done to you and him today.

Perhaps Junior was counting on that.

Perhaps he was counting on Caleb humiliating himself and coming back to the Sykes so their lives could go back to the way they were. You thought so too; after all, it was madness to leave.

And yet you forgot the most important of things... his stubbornness.

Caleb's free hand came to your shoulder, and he pulled you into his chest, so you couldn't see the look he gave Junior, the parting look.

"The Sykes' home had never been big enough for the both of us." "Caleb, don't ya' start..."

Caleb squeezed you slightly into his chest. Almost to ground himself. Although you weren't sure if he was doing this for himself or for you. Or both. He licked his lips as he stared at Junior.

"Let Ma and Pa keep their good son, and think me dead," He scoffed, turned his head away and spat on the ground, while you clutched to his chest, feeling the weight of his words, "They never had room for a second son."

Perhaps Junior would've said something.

But he didn't.

And Caleb wouldn't hear it anyway.

"Come on, girl. We ain't stayin' here no more," and with that, he took you along to his horse. "Was about time I took ya' some better place."

"Ah, son of a bi-," Caleb grasped the end of a table, burying his fingers into the wooden margin, "This shit hurts more than the God damn bottle."

"It wouldn't hurt if ya' stood still. I am tryina' check how bad it is..."

Patching him up was a tough job. He was refusing all help, and the only way to prove to him that it was for the best was to set dinner before him. To get him distracted. Perhaps his pants weren't the only way to get him to comply; perhaps his stomach was too. So with dinner before him, you could finally try to check how bad the wound in his head was... bad enough, you realised, you had to hold something to it. But you weren't good with this stuff, and Caleb was no better.

In the end, his pain relief was simple.

Adding a bottle of liquor next to his chicken.

"So what now? They ain't gonna let us stay here long," you asked, looking around at the makeshift home you were in.

An old friend of the Sykes had housed Caleb, unaware of what occurred between him and the family. By the time he'd find out, you'd be long gone. He only told the man he'd gotten it rough with another man and needed to stay the night, and that worked. You were surprised anyone was on good terms with the Sykes. It proved helpful.

"Hell, girlie. I ain't done here...," Caleb raised his head to look at you, then lowered it back to his food. "Ya' don't think we can make a run back to ya' daddy and tell him I saved ya'? Maybe he'll be nice enough to let us stay and marry ya' to me for ma' good deeds."

You shot him a glance, a very clear, no.

"Worth a shot," Caleb laughed, before wincing slightly at the sharp pain at the back of his head. "Don't worry, girlie... I ain't the man to give up easily. I'll find us something. I ain't proud of ma' family, but I be a Sykes to death and ya' be ma' girl. That makes ya' a Sykes to me! And a real Sykes protects his girl."

You turned away, worried, but Caleb pulled you into his lap, smiling through the pain in his head.

"Hell, if I ain't praising the day I made the choice to come back for ya'... God, girl, I ain't gonna let anything happen to ya' so don't worry and eat something too, will ya'? Else I'll have it all, and ya'll go to bed without a bite."

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"I'll be damned, girl."

Caleb Sykes pushed himself up on his elbow, his eyes fixed on your stomach. He was lying on his side, his head on your shoulder, his hand resting on your tummy, when he felt something. Something that made him shoot up faster than the sound of a gun being fired.

"I'll be damned if I didn't feel a kick."

You laughed.

There had been signs... for the past weeks. Numerous signs made you aware that Caleb had managed to get you pregnant again. But seeing the shock, that disbelief... It was too entertaining. There had been missed periods, but you put that on the tougher work you've been doing around the cabin. But when you began to feel ill in the mornings and to crave the most unusual of things, that made it crystal clear to you.

But you didn't tell Caleb. You didn't want to get his hopes up in case you were wrong. So you waited until a definite sign would make itself known. What else if not a kick... a kick from the little one.

The first happened when Caleb was out with your daughter to visit Junior. You were all by yourself when it happened, making you hold onto your belly and lean against the table, out of breath.

So it really was true.

You bore Caleb's second child.

After that event, it was a matter of time until you got Caleb to feel it too. You coaxed him into spending the evening in bed by your side, and, lucky for you, he was not quite bright enough to sniff out why you'd want that. Or why you insisted on his hand resting on your belly while you spoke.

But when the kick came, that made it all known to Caleb, too.

"Ya've known, girl. Ya've known and didn't tell me? You cunning-" "I wasn't completely sure. I had a hunch... I didn't want to get your hopes up." "Hell, I'll be a father again." "You already are."

Caleb rolled his eyes at your teasing comment, his hand brushing against your belly. He was waiting for another kick. He was transfixed, completely still, absorbed by the prospect of feeling his child again.

"Junior ain't gonna believe it. He'll think ya've slept around. That I couldn't possibly-" "And you'll believe Junior?" "Hell, I'd sooner burn his best hat to a crisp," said Caleb, a joky lilt in his tone.

You laughed, and Caleb grinned. You weren't sure if he was actually joking. But knowing how impulsive he could get when angered, you suspected he would really do that.

"How long until I meet him? Or her... or maybe them."

Caleb was getting greedy. Wasn't another one enough? Did he want twins?

You buried your hand in his hair, leaning to place a kiss on his forehead. The man was grateful, but his attention remained on your belly. You had a feeling he would not move until he felt another kick.

"Them? Ya' think we afford to raise more than two?" "That ain't a worry ya' should have, girl. That's the man's worry. The more kids a man's got, the better the man. Makes him work harder." "Caleb, we spoke about this. Your work ain't the safest. We need to be careful."

Caleb grunted.

He let his head rest in the crook of your neck and breathe, allowing the room to fall silent for a while.

"Ya' know I ain't happy to be wrong, girl. But we'll make ends meet, don't ya' worry. I'll find a way." "I know you will, Caleb. I know you'll never let me... us, down. You're a good man, Caleb. Despite what the other Sykes would say. Above all, you're the only one who takes care of his family as a man should."

For Caleb, this was a sensitive topic. Not that he'd ever admit. He remained quiet, massaging your belly, his hand large and slightly calloused but warm and comforting against your skin.

"Hell if I'll ever prove a father like mine. Ya' know how old Sykes is, girl. If I even try to go that path with ya' and my kids, put a bullet through my head." "Oh, Caleb... no. Don't start that..." "No, girl. I'll start that. Ya' know the kind of man my father is... I would've been better off without that man raising me. A drunk, a brawler without a damn worry about his kids. He tossed Junior and me out in the god damn snow to freeze more nights than I can count. Hell, if I ever-" "You won't. Caleb. You're not like him."

Caleb grunted and attempted to stand up when he felt it again. A slight shift right beneath his palm. A kick. Both of your heads turned to your belly, and Caleb watched breathless, his own palm.

"The babe's kicked." "He's tried to kick some sense into you, Caleb. Heard you talk nonsense and shut you up." "Think's a boy then?" "Only a boy would shut his dad up like that." "Our girl shut me up before, too, don't ya' forget." "Oh, please... You two always squad up against me."

Caleb scoffed and turned to you, kissing you hard, but just as he did, he felt another kick. He broke the kiss, and you laughed, watching the fascinated reaction on his face.

"Oh, Caleb, it ain't our first, babe. Why are you so shocked?" "No. Ya' right girl... ain't the first but... God damn if it ain't a miracle. Ya' a miracle girl... one was a struggle and now another? And ya' still willing to let me give ya' more? Ya' know the other Sykes would kill for a woman like ya'."

He stroked your belly so tenderly, almost as if he was afraid his strength might cause harm if he pressed too hard. His touches were light, tender. And he leaned away from your lips to press a kiss to your belly instead. His hair pooled forth, framing his face, hiding the kiss from your sight. But you felt it nonetheless, alongside the light itch caused by his stubble.

"I ain't getting out of my head what a god damn miracle you and my children are, girl..."

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"Don't worry... It won't hurt if you stay still..."

But it did.

A slight burning sensation dropped on your arm. It made you flinch and hiss. At first shocked, you stayed still, but then you tried to shake off the scorching drop that met your skin.

Despite your winces, Sir John didn't help. He stayed still and watched you squirm. On his face, a pleased grin formed, and as soon as it did, another burning drop hit your skin, right above the first.

"Darling, that's the whole excitement of wax... I've gone through such trouble to get this candle, and now look at you? Trying to stop me. Hm, yes. That's right," Sir John sulked at once. "Not me. You're trying to stop the feeling. Because you... You're still acting as if I'm not here. As if it's not me causing this to you. Your resilience is... unique. Foolish, yet so very enticing."

Your skin tensed, expecting another touch of the burning liquid, unsure of when it would come. Sir John had made sure you'd be blissfully unaware of what he meant to do with you, having covered your eyes. He forbade you from focusing on anything but your senses. He tried, once again, to make you acknowledge him.

"Is this too much, darling? Is a drop of wax too much? All you need to do is...," but he stopped himself. He knew you won't give in. Not from this alone, and the thought you might made him laugh softly. The sound seemed a threat. A warning that he was about to do more to you. A rush of adrenaline coursing through you, making the stinging liquid pale in comparison to what you thought he'd do next.

Maybe he should go further than he ever has before. What if he made things a little more fun?

Sir John blew out the candle and then put it aside. You heard it being placed on the nightstand and expected to hear him pick something else. Your ears perked. You braced yourself to distinguish the nature of your next punishment. But there was nothing. No leather, no silk, no heavier object. He picked nothing. There was nothing. Perhaps that should've been a relief, but it wasn't. The concern about what he was going to do was growing. There was no hint now as to his intentions.

And then you felt it, his hand latching onto your throat, thumb pressed against your windpipe. Sir John knew precisely how to press so that he would control how much you could breathe, if any. You tried to clutch his wrist in surprise, and you heard him laugh.

You broke.

Not entirely, that was true. But this was the first sign of submission. Fighting back. Had it been that easy? Choking you was all it took to make you notice him? After all he'd done to you, was this where you drew the line?

But much to his entertainment, you realised you slipped. Your hand let go of his wrist, allowing him to keep going. You knew to trust him, and so you let go, once again pretending what he did had no impact on you. Good Lord, did that make him throb. His cock had been hard all along; in fact, he could barely restrain himself when he was around you, but now? Now more than ever, he was feeling his trousers caging his excitement.

His hand kept holding your throat until he saw them.

A few tears began to form at the corners of your eyes, and in the same breath, he nearly came on himself. Those salty drops, streaming across your cheeks, made him want to claim you. To drop all teasing, all acts, to claim you until you'd scream his name.

But that wouldn't suffice.

It never sufficed in making you acknowledge him. He had to keep going.

He hovered closer, until his lips were inches from your ear, his hand loosening the grip on your throat, making you gasp.

"Darling, God knows... if you would give in already... If you would say you want me..." Sir John began to plead, "I wouldn't drop until you passed out on my cock. I'd make you feel what nobody could ever make you feel... You know it, don't you? I learnt everything about you..."

He reached down with his free hand, kneading your breast, before lightly pinching the nipple. It made you arch, to nearly break. Sir John gasped, hopeful. He was so close to staining his trousers just from watching you like this.

"Good Lord, I need you. And you need me. Only I know every dirty little kink you have. Every fetish that you'd never dare to share with the world... I know them all. I crave them all. There is no man, none, as willing as I to worship you... But for that... all you need to do is say it," his fingers twisted lightly at your nipple.

The more he pushed your boundaries, the more he could almost feel it. He could taste your defeat on his lips, nearing. Closer and closer. You had done so much for him, so many times. For once, his own desperation became a nuisance against pleasure. He didn't want you to play anymore. He wanted to win, to make you break, and then he could claim you as you had both craved for so very long.

You had given him all he wanted, had obediently served him, and now the game was up. His fingers pinched the other one, slightly harder. The few tears left lingering on your cheeks, he leaned down and licked them off you, groaning. He was hard, too hard to contain his filthy needs.

"The game is up. I've had my fill... You no longer have to fight it. Let go. Just let go..."

His hand released your nipples and latched onto your hair, under your head, holding your head almost tenderly in his palm. His other hand released your neck and took your wrist, pinning it almost reverently on the bed by your head. The swift change from the sadism of his actions to this almost loving twist confused you.

Did he mean it? This time you were inclined to believe him...

"Please, let go. Let me fuck you as you deserve it. I need you. I love you. Just say it... say you want me. Tell me to worship you as you had worshipped me. Tell me to-" "Fine! Ah fuck... please fuck me. Stop this and just fuck me."

There was a pause, a pause in which the shock of your words made him pant, his head dropping to rest against yours. He said nothing, merely caught his breath. But had your eyes been uncovered, you would've seen the smirk that was growing on his lips.

"Well, would you look at that... I finally won. So the secret to making you break had always been..."

He laughed, but you couldn't tell if he was mocking you... And perhaps not even Sir John knew whether he had lied or told you the truth in that heated confession.

"Telling you that I love you, hm?"

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"Oh, it's going to be fun, don't sulk. Come on, when have I ever lied to you?" Theo Deschamps didn't like the look you gave him. He snaked his arms around your waist from behind, his head dropping on your shoulder, almost as if he was about to beg near your ear. Beg you to give this a chance. But he didn't beg… Not right away.

"I know. I know. You're right… It's quite childish. Not the most mature thing I've done- and before you say anything, yes, Y/N. I know I throw myself… and you, in silly situations a lot. But that makes life fun, right? A bit of a thrill?"

Your friend group's voices called you over. After Theo gave you a gentle squeeze, you had given in reluctantly. Theo knew you had from the way you sighed, and immediately upon feeling the sigh, he laughed against the back of your shoulder.

"You won't regret it… Your Theo knows how to have fun."

"… I thought the wardrobe they'd use would be slightly bigger. Hey! Don't blame me… I didn't know they'd end up with 7 Minutes in Heaven. Lord, you think I'm that desperate that I'd do it in a wardrobe? No offence, but if I wanted to have sex with you, I could have done it so much easier in a bed and without a bunch of pairs of ears around us."

Theo Deschamps grumbled in an offended tone, shifting slightly to try to get into a more comfortable position. This wardrobe wasn't it for comfort; he barely had enough space to fit in completely, let alone do something with you in there. He had standards… for a fuckboyish wizard that he was.

"Hey! I told you already. I didn't know they'd be doing 7 Minutes," Theo whispered-shouted, sharing your frustration. "I thought we were doing truth or dare or something. Spin the bottle. Not this… and especially not in this wardrobe."

Theo elbowed the wooden walls of his enclosure, shifting again. This time, the way he moved had the unforeseen - quite literally, since everything was pitch black - consequence of brushing against you.

"I know. I know. I'm not trying anything. I told you, it's not my thing either. Hey! Fuck. I said it's not my thing, but it can become my thing really quick if you don't stop pressing yourself into me like that."

You committed the same error as he did. In an attempt to get into a more comfortable position, you created more friction. And Theo… Theo already struggled daily to keep his hands off you, and now he had probably the hardest time despite his reassurance that this wasn't his thing.

How were you so sure he wanted you?

That tent in his trousers pressing into you was good enough proof despite his words. Unless he had secretly snuck something in his trousers' crotch, he was definitely having a hard-on.

"Okay. Fine," Theo whispered in your ear, so the others would hopefully not hear it. "I may be enjoying this a bit… Okay. Okay. A bit… more, but don't jump at me. I should be mad not to enjoy it."

His hands gripped your hips, and he pressed you into him, rolling his hips once so you could feel how hard he already was.

"I have my girl… here. God, you already know how hard it is to keep my hands off you. I can have you now… Everyone outside knows. Expects it. Why shouldn't I? You want it too, darling."

His voice had shifted significantly from the scoff of displeasure to this gentler, needier wisp that lingered in his whisper. He kneaded your hips, rolling his into you. That initial friction made it unbearable to hold back.

"I know. I know. You are afraid the door will open, and our friends will catch us in the middle of it, hm? But that's the fun of it. I wonder how many minutes we have left… 5…?"

Theo's voice made it obvious that he had in mind to make the best of these 5 minutes, so he started to thrust his hips boldly into you, the friction mingling with the anxiety of knowing the door could open at any time, making him twitch.

"I know. I know I'll fuck up my trousers. Don't you worry… I don't care. I need you. I don't care if they shame me with it… I can't keep myself away from you. And you're encouraging it, darling… Pressing into me like that..."

Theo ground up into you, his fingers inside your trousers, seeking your clit right away. He had no time to take it easy. Not when the clock was ticking. His fingerspads began rubbing circles around your sensitive bundle while he rode up your thigh.

"Oh, don't you dare complain you want me inside you, baby. I told you to wear a skirt this time, and you turned me down. This is the best I can do with what I'm given. But don't worry, after this stupid game, I'll make up for it. Shit…"

The time was closing in. Theo could feel the shuffling outside. What did they have left? 3… 2 minutes? Fuck. He wasn't going to give in. He knew what you needed, what you craved, and his fingers continued working on you as he sought his own release, humping your thigh.

"Oh Lord, you're so fucking hot. Yes. Yes, I know I can't see shit. Doesn't mean you're not hot. I have a mental image and a contour in my arms. Fuck..."

He felt your hand grab at his arse and gasped, grinding into you more ardently, his lips kissing everywhere he could reach. Lips, cheeks, eyes, nose. He didn't know. He didn't care. He just needed you.

"I think we've got a minute. Come on, baby. Come for me, please. In my hand. Please… Yes, I know you're pissed at me for this, but please… please."

Theo was as close as you were. Feeling it coming, knowing, despite the playful grumpiness, you were about to reach your climax too. And you did. Before him, a few seconds before you came undone against his fingers, thighs clenching around his arm. Theo gasped, feeling your body respond to him.

"That's it, baby… that's it. Fuck… I'm going to cum too-"

TIME'S UP.

The doors flung open. Theo took his hand out of your trousers right in time, but the announcement cut him short of his own orgasm. He was certain this was a conspiracy against him. He was on the verge of it… and was cut short. The shame was there, appearing with his stranded erection in front of everyone. But he did mean it that he didn't care that much. So what if they saw he was hard? They wouldn't have been any better if they had been in his place.

He went with you, both dishevelled, to sit together while another couple was shoved into the wardrobe. As the others began to count, you turned to him, and he eyed you, both knowing this was a sign to sneak together to the bathroom to finish off what you started.

"I know, darling… I know. You were right again… but this is why I love you. You're always forgiving me for these stupid stunts I pull."

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"Hush... hush now. Can't you hear... Y/N? They are here."

001 shoved you inside one of the closets and shut the door behind you. 001 was careful that the metallic slam wouldn't alert the guards. They were patrolling, searching for you two. He was breathing in, his chest pressed against yours, raising with each breath. Slowly. Controlled. 001 was doing his best to steady. To calm his breathing, not to alert the guards.

"Where did they go?" "Fuck, Brenner's going to have our heads." "Worse..." "What can be worse?" "Do you really want to find out?"

The guards passed. They were arguing by the closet. 001 froze, holding his breath, squeezing you against him. His hand rests at the back of your head, nestling it carefully into him. A quiet gesture that made you aware that you must remain quiet.

The steps froze.

The voices stopped, almost eerily, right as they faced the closet. Then the steps resumed, nearing you. 001 squeezed you tightly, both your breaths held. 001's head leaned forward. He clutched onto you. He wanted to shield you in case the door opened.

"Come on," "...uh? Yeah... coming..."

And then the steps grew quieter... further. Further away until 001 was certain the guards were gone. You were safe. 001 let his head drop against your shoulder as he exhaled the breath he was holding, panting heavily as soon as the adrenaline wore off slightly.

"They almost got us..." "But they didn't." "That's right, sweetheart... Y/N... We were smarter."

001 smiled, but you wouldn't know. The closet was pitch black and cramped. All you could make out was the shape of 001's body pressed into yours. The man's hand lingered at the back of your head, the other at the small of your back.

"You were smarter," you corrected him. He had been the one shoving you in there.

You heard a small chuckle, a snicker coming from 001, followed by a soft shake of his head.

"No... No, sweetheart. This was luck. I had you here... I wanted to save you. If it were just me, I would've been caught. So it's thanks to you that we escaped."

He praised you.

The hand on the small of your back massaged you. Stroking in slow circular motions. Soothingly. Even though you were safe now, 001 didn't let you go. The orderly kept you close, caressing the small of your back. Despite how stressful the situation had just been, you felt comforted and safe in 001's arms. You could smell him underneath the miasma of lab disinfectant and dubious substances. Beneath it all, you felt his scent, luring you into relaxing. And he sensed it too, in the way your body so willingly nestled against his.

"We should get out..." "No... No sweetheart. We can't yet. It could be a trick to catch you... no. We must stay a bit longer..."

The way 001 said it made you suspicious.

The honeyed tone, the soft baby-talking, hinted to you that he wanted a few minutes of peace with you. So you didn't call him out on it. Why should you? The softness, the protective, if slightly possessive attitude, was endearing.

So you nodded, your own arms slithering around his torso, embracing him. A second passed... and then another... and as they did, the atmosphere grew heavy with something different, no longer the anxiety of hiding but the thrill of being together like this. How long had 001 tried to keep his hands off you? It wasn't part of his plan. Not something he had to do... this was frivolously human of him to crave. The touch of another. Yours.

But was it truly that wrong when you were the one to escape with him? To align with his cause? Where others failed to see the meaning of his plan, you did. And you risked yourself to follow him. You were as he was, another one who saw the world for what it truly was, humans for their worth.

"Can I touch you, sweetheart?"

How innocent the tone for the weight of his words. They left his lips before the meaning had fully morphed in his mind. 001 appeared as shocked to hear them as you, judging by your soft gasp.

"I am ... sorry. I shouldn't have asked..." 001 apologised rapidly, but 001's own words were cut short by a shuddered breath, a soft gasp. "Ah, sweetheart..."

He felt it.

Tantalising, the touch of your hand brushing against the crotch of his pristine white pants, coaxing him. He fell into temptation without restraint or thinking. His hips softly pressed forward into your palm.

"Y/N... This is more than I..." "Than you can take?"

Your bold taunt caused 001 to tighten the grip on your hair, blindly shoving his lips onto yours to kiss you. He wasn't going to deny himself anymore. All of those plans done together, the desire to change the world in ITS design... all done with you. There were many flaws that humans had, flaws ingrained irrevocably in the fabric of individuals. One such flaw was this insatiable, unappeasable parchedness that scrotched him each time he glanced at you.

But now you couldn't run. Even if you had tried, 001 doubted he'd let you go. Maybe, just maybe, had he been in control of himself... he might've. But the Mind Flayer gave him the strength to have what he wanted. 001 wanted you... And he would have you. Without that irking device to stop him, what could you do?

Did you even want to do anything?

No.

001 could feel you wanted this. You wanted the bliss which came with understanding the other so profoundly. So profoundly that every cell felt connected to the other.

"Than you can take."

001 returned the playful threat, backing you against the closet wall, the metallic chill hitting your back. You arched against 001's chest as he swallowed your gasps, muffling them. He kept the back of your head protected with his hand, but he no longer held you by the lower back. Instead, his hand went lower, to your arse. He squeezed it greedily, taking in as much of the flesh as he could and letting an excited, shaky breath pass his lips as he broke the kiss.

He couldn't back out now. They'd have to tear him away...

001 pushed his crotch up against yours, rolling his hips into you whilst his lips found your neck, nipping and licking at the eager hot flesh, so very alluring against the chill of the lab. He claimed your neck with his lips and teeth and tongue, soft grunts passed by your ear, making your knees weak. His hips kept rolling, causing that frivolously primal reaction to show. The growth, the tent... the erection tightly stretching the fabric of his orderly trousers.

You reached down blindly and fiddled with the buttons, guiding yourself by the rustle of the fabric. You pushed them lower, and he ground into you more desperately, kneading your arse.

"It's not enough... it will not be enough..." "What more-" "You'll see..."

His hand came to help you with your gown.

That lab gown he'd dread now seemed his best friend. It was so much easier to gain access to you, pushing up the fabric and slipping his hand to your knickers. His middle finger pressed right into the fabric, against the slit, sensing the damp material - the only barrier between you two. You had begun to stroke him, but he wasn't satisfied. Not when he could feel all of you.

"Trust me... Let this happen... We need this to happen..." "But..." "Nobody will know. You and I... and nobody else." "What if we get caught?" "I will protect you... Y/N... Didn't I tell you? Don't be afraid of them anymore. They can't hurt us."

001 had murmured those words, but his hand worked. He had angled himself, pushing himself little by little against your cunt, while you kept your knickers aside with one finger. How lewd and yet... safe. Nobody could know or see... Not even you could see the extent of your actions. Only feel his size as it rocked slowly up, pressing further and further up inside you. And then it halted.

The hand in your hair never left... the other, however, moved to your outer thigh, caressing it as he began to thrust. Slowly... almost as if rocking you.

"Thank you..." "Don't thank me. I wanted it too..." "Thank you," he insisted. "Please... continue to trust me, sweetheart. Put your trust in me... let your mind be free... Relax... Let me be inside of you."

But it was more.

More than his erection pounding into you. He was inside your mind too, trying to form a connection deeper than that of two normal, feedable humans. He wanted to tap deeper. To see, to hear... to find what made you feel good. He continued. Hips rolling against yours slightly faster, his hand holding your thigh possessively.

The pace increased, little by little. You could feel it... the pleasure was there, but more than that, you felt 001 gain control over you. Your trust. Your openness permitted the man to go further than anyone ever could. You felt your mind at ease. Devoid of thoughts, as if all memories and impressions had grown replaced by the desire to let go. To shut off... And as your mind blanked, bending to his will, so did your body.

You let go.

Whether it was you or 001 controlling this, you let go. Overcome by a wave of pleasure, the climax was beyond anything achievable with physical stimulation alone. For long moments, you felt a kind of bliss. When it was over, your body went limp from how overcome it was by it.

001 had pulled out and finished off on your thigh, but had managed to catch you before your body would give up. 001 propped you up with his chest and one arm, panting against your shoulder.

He, too, was exhausted... Blissful but exhausted. He had used his mind and body quite so intensely. So he kept you there... catching his breath alongside you, his ears perked for any noise.

No guards. How stupid... And yet how lucky for them.

"If we escape... will there be more of this?"

You asked, a soft snicker meddled with the heavy panting as your chest rose and fell, attempting to recover.

"Sweetheart... no. There is no if. We will escape," he whispered against your neck, "and once we do... yes. Yes. I promise. There will be more of this."

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One youngster was quite enough to deal with already. Caleb's child varied little from him, after all, as the saying goes, like father, like son. In this case, like daughter. The first child Caleb had was a little girl, a carbon copy of him in terms of both looks and personality. A rebellious little lady that never listened to either you or Caleb himself, which was nearly killing you, whilst making Caleb laugh his heart out. No matter how many times you tried to get the little one under control, it always led to Caleb letting her do whatever and laughing at how fiery her tiny heart was.

But he was not as concerned with taking care of the little one. Caleb was a provider and was out a lot while you had to be taking care of the little one. There were several times when you had told Caleb that he had better take care of your daughter, too, else you'd kick him out. But he always laughed and rubbed your back.

"You do mighty fine, girl. Don't let me mess her up." "She needs a father, Caleb! Come on... You can't stay out all day and come late-" "You got it, girl. That's why I wifed ya' up. Come on, give me a kiss."

And he'd pulled you in by the hip and kissed you hard before going out again.

But this time, things took a different turn.

It was late, the sun was setting, so you suspected he was out to feed the horses before coming back. You let him. How could you argue with him? You put the little one to bed. She had already eaten, and you thought to give Caleb his meal soon.

But for now, you stayed there, quietly, on the edge of the bed, watching. Tending to the little girl, making sure she was deep in sleep before you could go. Oh, she was a little menace, but one thing she couldn't fight you on was sleep. She always fell asleep right as you put her down on the bed after running about all day and begging you to ask her dad to take her riding on the horse.

She was asleep, though. Deep in sleep.

You smiled, hand stroking her cheek, then got up, but not before placing a soft kiss on her head. How you saw your Caleb in her... In this little menace of an angel.

But as you turned to the doorway, you saw Caleb.

He was there, with his arms crossed, his hat gone. He had discarded his furs and gun and was standing there. Quiet. That was unlike him, to be quiet. It spooked you to see him there, and you covered your mouth sharply to keep from squeaking and waking the little one.

You felt tension in his eyes, an intense pressure that loomed over you. It was strange, it wasn't anger or frustration, but something curious which you hadn't spotted in a long time. You felt it was similar to what you could call desire... He wanted you. And yet, there was more... More than the simple desire he held for you.

You walked over to him, trying to make it past him, but he was blocking the door.

He inhaled deeply.

Then exhaled, slowly, as if he held behind a flurry of words. A million things that ought to be said. But that was concluded with a deep shuddering grasp of your wrist as he tugged you into his body.

"One ain't enough girl, I'll give ya another."

He whispered. Not to wake your daughter, as he guided you out of the room, closing the door behind you.

"Another?" "Another baby. I'll put another in ya'. I'll be damned... Ya' want me in the house? I ain't leaving 'till I make sure ya're with child again." "Not a chance, Caleb. One's already a hassle. Love her to death, but I ain't takin' care of another." "Shut it, girl." "What about dinner? Caleb, come on, be responsible, like a father should!" "Hell, I ain't giving a damn about dinner. If I don't have ya' now I'll be mad mad, girl." "Caleb!"

Caleb grinned, scooping you up and throwing you over his shoulder, carrying you to the bedroom. He was messing with you. You sniffed that out, but you knew better - when Caleb was set on something, he would have it done. So you let him carry you, clinging to his shoulders. Trying not to laugh.

"Ain't ya my wife? That's right, girl. My wife, ain't got a word, if I say I put a baby in ya' I will. God's asked for it, for another babe."

"That's right, girl. Damn, ya'll be the death of me!"

Caleb groaned, pressing his head back against the straw pillow.

His hands were clasped roughly on your hips, keeping you steady on his lap. Each roll of your hips, each bounce on his cock, drawing feral growls from Caleb, who was, for once, letting you take charge. There had always been a silent agreement that he'd be on you, but this time you swayed him, got him under you, and now you were taking full advantage of his willingness to let you in charge.

"This ain't right, girl. Ain't right for a man like me..." "You wanted this, Caleb. Now shut it and take it." "Who ya' think ya' speakin' to, girl?" Caleb started, threatening to push himself up, but you thrust him down with your hands pressed firmly down on his chest. "Fuck, ya... minx." "Wanted another child? I'll have it on my own terms."

Caleb didn't fight you on it. He let himself drop back on the bed, with his hands on you, guiding you to ride him as he liked it. His hips thrust up into you, meeting your pace. There were soft creaks of the bed, the wooden frame too frail for the pace Caleb was often willing to set.

"I ain't likin' the tone ya' got with me, girl." "I'm your wife, Caleb. Not your toy."

You felt him twitch inside you, and saw the way his jaw tightened as he struggled to hold back. He wanted to grab you and force that baby in you on his own terms, but seeing you on him like that was a sight he was equally unwilling to give up on. So he forced himself to let you have the lead, at least for now.

"Ya' be what I want ya'. Don't get ahead of ya'self girl. Damn, ya're a fuckin' view."

As you rolled your hips, pace quickening as you chased your release, Caleb grunted, growing desperate to regain control again. His hands migrated from your hips to your ass, squeezing it and keeping you steady by it as he started thrusting roughly up into you. Taken by surprise, you dropped your head forward, trying to cling to his chest to ground yourself, but Caleb wasn't going to give you time to adapt.

He thrust up into you, licking his lips at the sight of your resolve faltering. Caleb thrived on seeing your lips part, hearing your muffled, strangled moans as you tried to keep control of yourself. To not give in yet. But he knew how to make you lose your grip. He kept thrusting into you, one hand hard on your ass, the other reaching up to the back of your head, burying his fingers in your hair. He got a hold of your hair and pushed your head down closer to his, forcing a rough kiss on you while he thrust into you with his whole strength.

You winced and tried to claw at him with your nails to make it easier, but that made him laugh. He broke the kiss, his forehead pressed into yours, his hand keeping your head there by the hair as he growled right by your lips.

"That's right, girl, sure ridin' me better than ya' ride my horse-" "Stop it, Caleb," you forced yourself to say, the waves of pleasure too intense to be able to think of anything better to say. "Ain't got to tell me what to do. Good wives keep their beaks shut, ay?" "Asshole." "That's girl, baby. Cuss at me all ya' want, but I can feel ya' takin' it good. Hell, ya' pussy's practically begging for it. God. God Damn. Come on, girl, come on. Give me a son."

With a rough jerk, he rolled you over, your back hitting the sheets with him still inside you, thrusting as roughly. But like this, he had a better angle, a better footing. His knees lodged into the mattress as he quickened his pace more, groaning with each thrust.

"Look at me, girl. That's right. Right at me. Ya' gonna have another child for me, got that? Fuck, hell better open and swallow me whole if I don't fill this house up with our kids." "God damn it, Sykes. I ain't thought I married a-" "A what, girl? A what? A man who wants to get his wife with child all the time, ay? Oh, bet I do love it, girl. I love takin' ya around with that belly showing, yeah. I love shoving it in everyone's fuckin' faces that I can do a God damn better job than they can."

You buried your face into his shoulder, his hand still in your hair, keeping your head against his. His other hand went down to your thigh, holding onto it as he thrust into you, feeling your orgasm nearing. So he pushed on, knowing what he was saying was helping you get off.

"Mhm, God, girl. I love paradin' ya in front of my brother. Love seein' him seethin' when he knows I get to have ya' whenever I want. All the fuckin' time. Ya' ain't gonna be a God damn day without child anymore, hear it? I'll make sure of that girl."

There was no way to delay it any longer, to hold back when he snapped his hips into yours, his cock making you mewl into his shoulder, in an attempt to keep it down. At least muffle yourselves so you won't wake up the house. But Caleb didn't care; he didn't let you muffle yourself. He tugged your head back by the hair, forcing you to gaze into his eyes.

"Not a chance. Ya' lookin' at me and lettin' me hear it all. Come on, girl, give it all to me. Give it all to Caleb Sykes."

As you came, squeezing him inside you, unable to hold back no longer, he too growled at the mere sight of you loose in his arms. Seeing you reach those heights due to his cock was enough to make a man mad with lust, and Caleb was but a mere man. So when he saw you like that, he held back no longer either, thrusting into you - past your orgasm, until he filled you up with his cum. But he didn't stop. He couldn't. His mind wanted nothing more than to keep going, so even as he emptied himself in you, his hips continued to roll, instinctively almost, trying to push his seed as far up into you as he could.

But he didn't think that was enough. And as he panted into your body, catching his breath, he knew he wasn't letting you off the hook for the night.

"So, Papa is right, you know that?" "What is Papa right about?"

You shot Caleb a look as you made breakfast. He was at the table with his elbow on it, watching your ass very shamelessly as you tried to get food on the table for the two of you. At your look, he smirked cockily.

"Did Papa and you talk about anything that Mama doesn't know?" "No, I heard it last night. Papa asked you for a son, and I agree. I want a brother."

You nearly dropped the plates, and Caleb, as always, did nothing helpful. He started laughing, leaning back in his chair with his arm draped lazily over its back.

"A'ight! See? She's got it right. That's a good girl. Tell Mama about it."

You wanted to break the plate over Caleb's head. But in an attempt to salvage the situation, you changed the subject to something about breakfast. The little one got distracted by it, at least for now, and after she was done eating, she went to play outside with the dogs.

But you turned to Caleb, who was still acting all cocky about it.

In fact, you had only turned to him when he was up behind you, with his arms around your waist and leaning down to kiss you. But before he could, you shoved him back playfully, hands on his chest.

"Not a chance, Caleb." "Difficult woman..." he growled playfully, plastering his hand on the table by your side. "You know, I've been thinking..." "So have I."

You rolled your eyes at the interruption, "Hard to believe that you do. Regardless, I've been thinking. Why did you want a son specifically? I mean, I know... I know men want boys because it shows how great men they are, but I hope this isn't why you keep being off the house. You must love your daughter, right?"

Caleb didn't expect that.

Of course he did.

He loved her dearly. He hadn't even considered this. Sure, a boy was usually what men wanted, but Caleb couldn't care less about how many tries it took to get a son. He wanted a boy, but it had nothing to do with how others saw him. He softened up for a moment, spooning you from behind with his head resting on your shoulder as you looked down at the plates you had to clean.

"Ain't a damn day that passes without me hatin' having to be away from my girls."

His hands went around you, resting on your belly with his head nestled securily against your neck.

"I want girls, boys. Doesn't matter to me, I'll love them all the same. I..." He took a moment, almost hurt by the fact he had to make a vulnerable confession, but he went with it, and you could hear the effort he was making to open up, "I ain't doin' an easy job, girl. One day, I may step out of that God damn door and not come back and then what, ay? What comes of ya and my girl? Who takes care of ya'? Junior? Ain't trusting him with ya', I can't."

His eyes closed, and his forehead pressed slightly against your neck. Trying to reach closer to you. To feel you grounding him, anchoring him.

"Want a son, to raise him good so if something comes of me, he can help ya' take care of the girls, a'ight? I ain't got a worry in the world that ya'd be doin' ya best. But damn, girl. Ya' know people are snakes... they'd try to use my girls and I ain't letting that happen."

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"Don't pretend it doesn't interest you, darling... don't pretend it's not on your mind... Look at me when I talk to you..."

"Darling, I know you want to hear about it. Your prudish avoidance won't stop me. I did a little digging, hm? I felt it was so unfair that you know my weak spots, but I know none of yours... I took the liberty of snooping on your phone. Oh, don't you dare try to leave; you will miss the best part. I read... the kind of things you've been exploring for. Your depraved little kinks, which I must say... had I known they were so very accessible, I would've used them against you long ago. I would have given you so much more than you yourself are aware you can take."

"See? You're aching for it... You can't pretend it doesn't turn you on. I know you want to hear about the other women I slept with, detailed descriptions of the way I claimed them. You want to know how it went, to know how I made them feel... how I made them take me for as long as I pleased."

"I can tell you... For instance, I can tell you what I did just the other night when you were out. When you so rudely left me alone, hard and desperate. I had to make amends, to find a replacement. To compensate for the absence of my sweetest plaything."

"I found her around this hotel. She couldn't care less about me, and I about her... but God, she was flawless and so willing to take me..."

"I paid her, greedy thing, and she followed me here in this very bed. I had her right here, lying down while I went down on her... But I'm rushing, aren't I? You like details, let's see..."

"I ushered her with my hand on her waist, and the moment that door shut behind us, I was latching onto her neck with kisses. Wet, desperate kisses, and I growled like a starved man as I tried to get more of her. From her waist, my hand went to her ass, and the other to the back of her head. I raked my fingers through her hair, I squeezed that ass, and I kissed her neck until I found myself above her in bed. I had her slip out of her dress, and almost tore away her panties... The bra she unclasped herself, unfortunately. She spread her legs for me, urged me to come and worship her... and you know what I did? Just that. I cralwed like a dog to her, I grabbed her ankle, and from it up her legs, I left no spot untouched."

"I swear I can still smell it, that musk of our bodies. We had to change the sheets, but you can't fully get rid of the scent of lust, can you? Take a deep breath, love. That's it... feel it, taste it... You sense it, that depravity, don't you? Oh, but I'm not done..."

"I spread her legs... but she didn't like to be ordered around, sweet thing. She placed her foot on my shoulder, had me hold back from making her feel good. How I ached to please her... I was throbbing, and she kept me back, but I made sure to make up for it once I was inside her. As much as she tried to keep me at bay, it only worked for so long, while I was preparing her to take me."

"How did I fuck her? Oh, I know you want to know this too. Of course you do, it's the best part."

"She didn't manage to keep ignoring me once I slipped inside her. I was debating for a while on how I should claim that pussy. Should I have her under me? Should I take her from behind... Maybe let her ride me? I decided no option works quite as satisfactorily as having her under me, so I could watch up close how she loved taking my dick. Once I was to the hilt in that pussy, once I started pounding into her, she wasn't able to look away anymore. She held onto me, grabbed my hair, and God, she was loud. Arching and squirming and begging that I keep fucking her. Yeah, I can still hear it... I can hear her sweet pleas..."

"I kept going, I kept going and pushed her past that edge so many times, God, it turned me on to see the way she pleaded for me to stop when her pussy was just begging to be taken properly. Oh, don't worry. She's told me before that's what she wanted... someone who will keep going even when she begs him to stop..."

"Oh? What's this? You like that? What's turning you on? Hearing how I fuck anyone I want to fuck, or is it how I fucked her? Hm? Do you want this too? Do you want me to force orgasms on you because you're so reluctant to take more than one? Oh please, darling... all you need to do is tell me."

"Ah, how you take me. Fuck, that's it, isn't it? You want me to use you, darling. You want me to fuck you because I know better, I know how much you can take, how much you deserve to take... good girls take it as many times as I want."

"I don't care how much you squirm and kick, darling. I know you want this, you want me to keep making you cum while I tell you just how good I am at fucking girls and bringing the desire out from deep within them."

"That's it... Come on, baby, fuck. You're going to cum, and you'll not avoid me this time. You'll cum, and you'll have my name on your lips... don't ignore me... please."

"You fascinate me, darling... Fuck, I won't stop trying to push your limits until I finally see you break for me."

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"How did thou find me? Silly girl, thou shouldst not have ventured thus far. 'Tis mine hour of writing and…" "He threatened me! Oh, Earl, I need thee."

Edward's brow furrowed, and he glanced suspiciously behind you before tugging you inside his room, closing the door and blocking it with his own back. His hand went to your cheek, and he grazed its softness with his thumb as he studied your features attentively. He saw it. That fear brewing behind your pupils. It caused his chest to ache. Edward wanted nothing more in that moment than to calm you down and hear the reason for your distress.

"Who hath threatened thee, dearest Y/N? What doth cause thy hasty visit?" "The man of whom I spoke… the tutor who comes to instruct thee in Greek. He did approach me this day and with harsh words did warn me that before the week's end, I must yield unto him. O! And how grave he was, good Earl. He shall not depart without me; I do fear he shall do more than hurt my honour."

Edward's body tensed, and he pulled you into his body, his hand cradling the back of your head as he had you nestle it safely against him. With his palm resting at the back of your head, he stroked your hair, hushing your distress. But as kind as he was to you, he wanted nothing more than to challenge that scoundrel to a duel and have his head.

He should have known when he first spotted it.

There was no mistake; the way his eyes gawked shamelessly at you was beyond a reasonable doubt worth all punishment. But how foolish he had been to distract himself with fencing, chess and writing, and dismiss from his mind the concerns for you. He thought in his young heart that virtue was a core trait of men. He believed that a fiend wouldn't dare seek a woman, one who so clearly was in the care of the Earl. Even as a maid, she was under his protection.

With you tucked safely against his body, Edward leaned down so his lips were by your ear. He was doing all he could to comfort you while he felt his own blood boil in his veins with a desire for revenge. Even if nothing had happened yet, the very fact that he dared to speak so to you was all that Edward needed to know.

"I shall behold his head upon a stake for it," Edward proposed, and you, fearfully clung to him. "Thou must not, good Earl. He is a man of repute, and such an untested accusation wouldst hurt thy good name." "I care but little for such things; a swine as he should have his head brought forth upon a plate."

You clung harder to him, shaking your head no, and seeing your distress, that concern for him, caused Edward to rethink his anger. He allowed himself to care for you for now, to comfort and assure you of your safety there with him, since the man, that scoundrel, would not return until the following day.

"So long as mine name be Edward, that man shall not lay a finger upon thee," He assured you, cradling your cheek into his soft palm.

Your state being as it was, he guided you down and sat you down on his bed. He placed himself by your side, with his eyes on you, so attentive that his care for you once could nearly be mistaken for love. But what Earl should love a mere maiden? Edward let his forehead rest upon yours, promising you quietly that he would have you safe and in his chambers. Whenever that brute would dare make his face seen, he would keep you there, in his sight, so if he did as little as try, he'd have his heart on the spot.

"I shall insist upon a change of instructors, but dearest Y/N, for such an offence, even with word alone, I wouldst fight to have him chastised." "Oh, Earl, thou must not…"

Each time it was the same. Edward, as he was fierce, young and vengeful, would comply, but he wished so dearly that he could display the lengths to which he would go for you. Poetry he wrote for you, but out of fear of consequence, would read it and pretend it was a request for another.

When he recited those words to you, he did it with such fierce determination that, despite the lies he told, you would know he made them for you. You were the only one on this domain who knew of his secret dwelling in the arts, who understood and treasured his talents.

And it was so that he grew as fond of you as he had. That was why he insisted upon keeping you as his staff for far longer than necessary, turning you into more of a confidant than a mere maid.

How furious he was when anyone would dare to speak ill of you in his presence, or worse, make such vile threats and advances as this foolish pig.

"I must not… but know that, should thou command me, I would have him utter the apology, kneeling and beseeching that his head remain upon his shoulders." "So fierce, oh Earl." "Y/N, sweetest, I have asked thee to cease addressing me thus. I pray thee, call me by the name bestowed upon me at birth."

You tried to speak, but when he heard, "But Earl," Edward pressed his thumb upon your lips to stop them from saying more. "No, no. No longer shall I accept this title! Call me Edward, Edward, I beg thee. For when thou call'st me Earl, I think thou dost regard me as master to a thrall." "I am thy servant…"

Edward squeezed you furiously in his embrace, shaking his head vigorously at your words. "No, not a servant. That my dearest is an offence! For thou art mine friend. And I, upon mine honour, do vow to keep thee safe from peril."

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