J has been planning this for a while. A “triple header”, he keeps calling it. It has a lot of moving parts and a lot of people that need to be on the same page. You understand why he’s busy. It doesn’t make it any less frustrating to sit across from him and have 0 attention from him whatsoever.

The dim glow of the fluorescent lights, the humming accompanied. It would drive anyone mad after a while. This has been his life- your life- for quite some years. Passing the time is no easy feat. J is giving a freshly-revised run down of the plans, his goons are clinging to every word, as are you. Your interest has much more to do with how the words tumble from his marred lips. He slows his speech to think and nobody dares interrupt to fill in the obvious blanks. He’s the boss here, through and through.

You idly fidget with the armrest of the only soft chair in this room. Only the best for his baby, even if the “best” is relative to the worst conditions possible. Pulling the threads slowly, running your fingertips over the seams. You’re almost bored enough to count the stitches. J still holds your attention as now he’s removed his tie completely, smoothly wrapping it around his knuckles to make a tidy coil to set on the table next to him. He tilts his chin upward on his left side, cracking his neck and his eyes shift to you for a moment. He stares you down from the top of his nose, pressing his lips together and squinting like he’s trying to see what you’re up to. Not that there’s anything to be up to.

J returns to the schematics in front of him, running his middle finger over a small section, studying the layout. His tongue juts out for a split second, swiping from the middle of his top lip to the right corner of his mouth, staying there for a moment while he thinks. He’s too pretty for his own good, you think. Surely other people can spot the sensuality.

It’s getting much harder to distract yourself. Not from the boredom, but from J. From every little movement he does, every glance you receive from him. You’re in thin leggings and a light sweater but you’re burning up in this dingy, void, concrete room. Tugging lightly at the sweater for a bit of a breeze, you continue to watch J. He’s getting more frantic now. His plans are getting pushed back by new information and problems arising. There’s not enough manpower here, “we can’t be in two places at once, boss…”, the timing is off, blah blah blah. You scoot your chair under the table, far enough to drape a leg over one arm of the chair and not have it be noticed.

The goons are busy, J is busy, the room is simultaneously too bright and too dim. The only thing you can focus on comfortably is J. Your mind wanders to the previous night. A whisky and wine fueled frenzy between you and J. There’s fingerprints spattered across your hips and thighs, though not visible at this moment. You press on one you recall the location of. It almost feels like his hands again. You breathe deeply and sigh. It’s not loud enough to catch anyone’s attention, it seems.

J started this meeting still in his suit. A terrible choice given his first move when he’s stressed is to remove articles of clothing. His suit jacket is laid on the back of his chair, his tie is gone, still sat next to him on the table. He’s got suspenders today, but they are off his shoulders and dangling around his hips and legs. There’s very little difference between what he looks like right now and what a businessman at the top of a skyscraper at that very moment looks like. Except maybe the makeup. But who knows, truly.

You’re definitely wet at this point. There’s no question. Your senses have been bombarded with nothing but J. The smell of a discarded cigar wraps your throat. The sound of his tongue clicking in contemplation. The sight of him. It’s not entirely your fault for fantasizing about him.

You decide it’s only fair if you have to sit in on these meetings that you get to have a little fun too. A little entertainment. Starting by repositioning, you extend your one leg still draped on the arm of the chair ever so slightly. Your other leg swings out to the opposite side with your foot on the floor, spreading your legs as far as possible under these conditions. Glancing around to make sure nobody has noticed your odd maneuvers, to your relief they’re all still focused on J. And J is always more focused on something else besides you in these meetings. You rest your cheek on your hand lazily and casually place your other hand over your clothed pussy. Your eyes dart around briefly to take note of everyone’s awareness. Nobody can tell.

Now’s the time where J is telling individual goons their specific roles. None of them have real names it’s more of a game to guess who J is referencing. He might call them out by their clothing, maybe their hair. They never know until he does it and by God they had better catch on quick when he does. He’s pointing around the room but still staring at his blueprints and journal full of notes.

You take great care in slipping your hand into your leggings, careful not to make it look like, well, like you’re sticking your hand in your pants. Once your freezing hand makes contact with your bare clit, it’s over. There’s no turning back now, your body wouldn’t allow it. You inhale sharply at the temperature difference, reveling in it. Temperature play isn’t new to either you or J. You start with slow, firm circles. Collecting your mess to help you glide over your clit. Your poker face is strong, it has to be this time. The desperation has seeped into every nerve ending and they will not let you forget that.

One goon happens to glance over in a moment of pondering and notices you look sort of flushed. But he quickly averts his gaze because it’s none of his business in the first place. J keeps rambling. It’s getting louder as more confident, long standing guys bounce ideas off of J and naturally the conversations get more intense. The room is a low drone of 20+ people chattering and arguing. You take the opportunity to ramp up your actions. You slip two fingers in your pussy and curl them to your liking over and over. It’s not nearly enough to satisfy you but it does feel nice. You keep watching J as he pours himself over his work. His hair falls in his face as he leans further over the table. He shifts one leg forward and the suspenders lay perfectly over his strong thigh that you long to be straddling. You let your eyes slip shut, hoping it just looks like you’ve fallen asleep in the chair. You speed up your fingers and angle your hand so you can circle your clit with your thumb. You sigh through your nose and try extra hard not to furrow your brow.

After a few minutes of the loud talking and you touching yourself, you slow down and take a break. Just leaving your hand in your leggings and breathing. J is giving a final rundown of the plan, any remaining kinks can be worked out without the entire group present.

“This isn’t…monetary so there’s no cuts to be made. Any profits are mine to keep because I say so, and- don’t stop. I didn’t tell you to stop.”

J has one hand perched on the table on its fingertips and the other sits at his side, resting on his leg. The goons stare at him, waiting for an explanation. For all they know this is still part of their briefing. Your eyes shoot open, immediately to be caught by his staring directly at you, something he hasn’t done for most of the night. You don’t speak or react.

“I’m not dumb, sweetie, I could smell you the moment you got wet. Nobody else in here could fill the room like that.” J’s lips curl into a taught smile, scrunching his nose and narrowing his eyes in a demeaning expression that dropped as quickly as it came.

“Out. Everybody out.” J says calmly. The rooms occupants file out quietly but quickly. You make a move to get out of the chair.

“AHT. Not you. Sit down.” J says through gritted teeth. You sink back into the chair sheepishly.

J swaggers over to you with one hand in his pocket and the other twirling a pen.

“Bunny, bunny, bunnyyyy.” He sing-songs his way down the table.

“You’re so funnyyyy.” He sings again once he’s standing over you. J leans down next to your face. You’re frozen in his presence. It’s suffocating.

“Awww you look nervous,” J feigns a concerned expression which is broken by a creeping grin spreading across his face, “Sweets? Do I not give you enough attention?” He asks with a small nod and a saccharine tone.

You scoot the chair back a little and close your legs, keeping eye contact with J. He points at you with the pen, then points at another chair nearby, a much smaller folding chair. It looks uncomfortable. You glance at the chair and back at him before raising yourself from your seat and timidly making your way to the new one, closer to the head of the table where J once commanded. You cast your eyes to the floor, still embarrassed by what J had said in front of everyone.

“Hurry u-p.” J chastises and pats your bottom twice to move you along. You scurry to the chair and sit down. Keeping your back straight and your feet planted. Posture is presentation, and presentation is everything. J taught you that. J breathes a heavy sigh and paces a half circle behind you, only ever letting you see him in your peripheral. He stops directly behind the chair, places his hands on your shoulders, and crouches. The leather of his shoes squeaking and the stretch of his pants fabric echoing in the ever silent warehouse. You can hear the jingle of a wallet chain and the swish of his suspenders scraping the floor. He runs rough fingers over your sides, gripping your waist and hips for a few moments.

“Don’t move.” J warns. He reaches out for the tie sitting on the table in front of you. You don’t dare turn your head to watch but you take note of him tying the fabric into a loop.

“You know, you’re worth way more alive than dead.” This is J’s way of saying, ‘trust me, I’m not going to kill you.’ J stands upright and dangles the looped tie in front of your face, like a dog catcher trying to trap a feral hound. You see he’s made a slip knot to make the loop. The tie smells like him, it’s your bait to override your instincts and get you to put your neck through, you think. It’s not even intentional, the sway he has over you. He’s intoxicating in all the ways you’d been warned about in men.

“Easyyyyy does it…”, J slides the slack fabric over your head, careful to not catch your hair between it and your skin. Slowly he starts pulling the loose end. Your skin prickles with fear and anticipation as the sound of the cloth cinching becomes deafening. It feels like forever and you still haven’t felt the tie get snug. That’s when J leans next to your face, his nose pressed to your temple, his lips grazing your ear,

“Deep breath.” You have about 2 seconds to gasp before he yanks the end of the tie up and back. You instinctively grab for the constraint around your throat and garble. J loosens the tie slightly, but leaves it snug to your skin. He fishes in his pocket for a second and walks around to your front, still holding the loose end of the tie in one hand. His other now holds a small pocket knife. He flicks it open and places it between his teeth so he can reach down and bat your legs open. Placing himself between them he grabs the knife again and slips it flat against your stomach down into the waistband of your leggings. He pulls away from your skin and twists the knife so the bite of the blade can tear the fabric. Once he has a decent enough slit he sets the knife on the table behind him.

“You didn’t flinch.” J notes. He looks back up at your face, though still looking down at you from his towering position.

“It’s what’s best for me.” You reply. Knowing that’s what J wants to hear. He likes subtle reminders that the version of you before him is entirely his doing.

J hums and refocuses on the torn leggings.

“Rip them the rest of the way off.” J orders. He never has to be too stern with you. Or with anyone. He’s established himself as the boss, and a powerful man doesn’t have to yell to get his point across.

You blindly pat your lap for the fabric so you can comply. Keeping eye contact with J, you pull the flap until you hear stitches popping, reaching your other hand to pull the remaining fabric in the opposite direction. J drops his gaze from yours to watch you expose yourself to him. His grip on the tie tightens involuntarily and you can feel the pressure getting greater. Whining quietly you rip the leggings until your whole lap is bare.

“Hmmm, no panties?” J asks as he takes in the sight. He seems a little surprised, raising his brows for a moment before setting his face back the way it was.

“Alrighty, doll, continue.” J says as he moves back behind the chair again. You falter a moment but catch on quick, moving your hand between your legs to continue your previous antics. J tightens the tie once again, limiting the amount of air you can draw in. You moan, the sensations heightened by the fuzzy feeling in your head from lack of oxygen.

“Thaaaat’s it, bunny. Give me a show.” J praises.

“It’s not enough, J, I can’t- EUAGH-,” the tie is impossibly tight now.

“Not enough?! I kick out all my men just to play with you and you tell me it’s not enough?” J knows exactly what you mean. He didn’t have to stop the meeting just to play with you. Oh, but he did, though, didn’t he? This is much more fun than arguing with degenerates. J knows your own hand is not enough. If it were, he’d have just sent you somewhere else to deal with it. He wants his fun, too. J comes back around to your front again, but this time he straddles one of your legs. He then lifts the leg that’s between yours and places his shoe-clad foot over your hand and crushes it to your core. You yelp and whimper a little, stopping the movements he had just told you to start.

“Move your hand.” J says coldly and releases some pressure from your hand. You do, hesitantly. The gritty sole of his shoe firmly presses down on your pussy as replacement. You gasp into a moan and thrust your hips wildly up into the new sensation.

J snorts a laugh and looks at you with slight disbelief. Shaking his head and clicking his tongue.

“This is a lot, bunny. You’re lucky I condition these shoes, or else you’d be paying a price for ruining them right now,” J would never make you pay for anything. Not with money, anyway. You’re still humping his shoe with fervor, you’re sweating from the effort and still fighting the fabric around your neck, choking you.

“Sir-“ you grunt out, “wait, sir, I’m really close.” You warn him. He doesn’t make a move.

“I know.” J informs you gently. He’s enamored with your mindset. You do so well with him it’s almost like he molded you from scratch.

Staring up at him with wet, pleading eyes. Your face red, hair stuck to you with sweat. You’re begging him silently to give you just a little more.

J stares blankly back at you. If it weren’t for the extremely obvious bulge in his pants, pulsing every few seconds, he would come off bored. Like he would rather be anywhere else. But you know him better than that.

“You can do it without my help.” J replies. You whine for real this time. A desperate whine to plead with him. It never works to whine to J but you insist on trying it every time. This time, however, he gives you a little something extra. J reaches down with his free hand and flips up your sweater to expose your breast. He pinches your nipple with his thumb on top, pressing down into the knuckle of his pointer finger. You groan and roll your hips into his shoe, hard. He releases the harsh pinch and continues rubbing the pad of his thumb over the bud. Your hips stutter and seem to get stuck in a raised position. Your body can’t decide if it wants more. You can’t control the urges, you’re at his mercy. J takes the opportunity to press the toe of his shoe harder into your clit. He pulls the tie a bit tighter, giving you the perfect buzz in your head to match your body.

“J- J….oh my God-,”

“I’m flattered.”

“I think I’m gonna cum-“ you couldn’t even count a single beat before your orgasm crashes over you. J keeps the tie firm, watching you seize up in a silent scream. There’s a subtle trickle sound on the chair followed by a short gush. He looks down to see his shoe is glistening and there’s a liquid dripping over the edge of the chair.

“Oh, bunny…what am I ever going to do with yoooou,” J hums. He removes his foot from the chair and loosens the tie around your neck for the last time. He slips it off over your head, sets it behind him on the table, and leans back against the edge of it. Eyeing you in your afterglow.

You catch your breath and peek up at J. He’s watching you, making sure you’re actually getting your breath back.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t hold it.” You apologize for the mess you made on the chair and floor.

“That’s not what you think it is, bunny.” J chuckles and turns to put away his plans, “You’re not the first gal to surprise herself with me.” He finishes packing things up and looks at you. Your face fallen because you never like to hear about his previous escapades. J walks over and grips your face between his fingers.

“Hey….” You don’t respond and avert your gaze, “hey, I was kidding.” J rolls his eyes and ruffles your hair.

“I’m hungry.” You tell him.

“Hi, hungry, I’m Jack.” You don’t laugh, you’re too tired.

“Bored?” He barked rhetorically. His arms are caged in front of his chest. Tangled and taught. The fitted dress shirt he’s steadily unraveled for comfort is protesting the stretch of his muscled form beneath it. The top buttons have been separated and the cuffs have been rolled up just below his elbows. He’s definitely not in the mood for games. Your mind is at his mercy, though, it can’t help but to meander through its wildest fantasies.

You jump when he breaks his long-stood silence. Taking in his appearance as it comes to you. His eyes are smudged with remnants of makeup he had put on God knows how long ago. The white paint only clings to the edges of his face. At his jawline and temples. The signature red of his lips settled into the lines of his scarring, the only evidence it was there in the first place. He’s completely disheveled. You know him well enough to know that this is J unhinged. Not what the public sees. So curated and meticulous. Right now he’s a frenzy of ideas and feelings he’ll never address. Completely mad.

“It’s rude to stare, ya know.”

“My fault.” You shoot back blankly.

His brow twitches upwards and he shakes his head as if to shake himself to the reality that you just copped a tone with him.

“Try again, sweets.”

You weigh the outcomes of your next move. You could sheepishly apologize. Roll over in submission and bask in any affections he decides to share with you. Or…

“What’s taking you so long, J? I thought you said one and done earlier.”

His jaw clenched. Questioning his abilities was a no-no for anyone who wanted to keep their limbs or life.

“Loo-k, bunny,” he gestures to his plans in front of him and returning his attention to them, “no, really…come look.” His hand absently reaches out to receive yours. Letting your left hand lead you to your fate, you take your place next to him. Bare feet burning against the freezing floor of the storage room, the dim glow of orange street lights shine through the high windows. It’s a dark, sinister place. A burrow of sorts.

He continues pointing out bits and pieces of the floor plans and scribbles laid on the rickety desk.

“If I lead us through this way, there’s security cameras. Normally I’d just avoid them but if you’ll notice-,” he pushes two fingers to your cheek, shoving your face away from where it’s angled to look at him, “-ah, nooo blind spots.” He gives you a pointed look.

“J, you know I-,”

“Aht, hush. You know I’m responsible for these men. And whatever happens to them. They don’t die unless I tell them to. Got i-t?”

Well, now he’s just being rude. You feel defiance bubbling up rather than tamping down like usual.

“No offense, J, but I thought after all these years you’d be a bit more efficient.” Your emphasis on “all” implying his age is noteworthy was not lost on him.

“Doll..,” he trails off, tracing the outline of your relatively small hand splayed on his important work. He thinks for a moment he should really put his foot down and tell you to go wait somewhere- and sit pretty. He does need this done ASAP. Otherwise he will be improvising the whole deal and that always ends in more collateral damage. He also thinks he needs a break.

“Doll, you have no idea what you’re talking about. And I can prove that.”

“Okay.”

J flips through his notebook. A couple pages back and forth while he searches for his next task.

“Aha,” his chest rumbles against your backside where J has insisted you lean into him, “-what would my options be here?” He emphasizes his final word by pointing a calloused middle finger at a pile of chicken scratch. You stare, feigning deep thought. You have no idea what any of it means.

“Well…?” J presses. Knowing you have little to no clue what the words on the page are let alone what they could be referencing. He knows this so deeply he’s willing to risk you actually having an answer for him.

“You bring more ammo.” You say smugly. It’s a shot in the dark but hopefully a reasonable one. The accomplished feeling is fleeting as J throws his chin to the sky, cackling away. Your face turns red and your vision blurs and pricks with tears. You look away, casting your gaze to a bland gray wall to will the tightness in your chest away.

“You’re so entertaining, bunny. The perfect comic relief. Maybe I should get you a- uh, little jester costume, hm?” He grins, tucking a rogue section of hair that laid against your cheek behind your ear, “Then you can be a pain in the ass. Jester’s privilege, ya know.”

J bites back his urge to push you to the floor, bruise your knees on the dirty concrete and make you grovel. He’s torn between this urge and his curiosity. Curious to know how wound up he can get you without even hinting at sex.

“You have a lot of nerve, pigeon. Who is it that always needs help? Is it me?”

You shake your head slowly. Your gaze still glued to the wall.

“Then pray tell..how dare you?” His tone has shifted. You’ve sealed your fate on this one. He’s a runaway train and it’s headed straight for you and your cocky behavior.

“J I just wanted attention. I was bored, please, I’m sorry for questioning your plans.” You look him in the eye with your apology. You’re in for it regardless, but a saccharine apology might make him a little happier.

J leans back in the old office chair. The leather squeaking quietly while he adjusts himself casually. You’re nervous for his next move. He keeps it that way.

“Hop on my desk, bunny.” He calmly orders while collecting his work into a neat pile to the right of him. You take less than an instant to comply. You’re crawling up onto his desk before you can worry about why he asked. J watches you with his temple rested lazily against two fingers on his left, while he rolls his pointer finger in a lazy circle to silently tell you to keep it moving.

“Face me…mm.” His praise is limited to positive-sounding hums. He’s not quite ready to say you’re good. Definitely not a good girl.

J unceremoniously reaches his right hand under your slip, pulling it up just enough to peek at what’s underneath.

You’re bare.

“Ohhh what have we here, hm? Not even a little lace, huh?” J teases you while you’re fully exposed to his stare. He’s amusedly inspecting your pussy like it’s an artifact. Your blush is almost painfully hot. Averting your eyes to rest on the pile of papers and books next to the two of you to ease the embarrassment. J takes notice and follows your line of sight.

“Look at me.” He grumbles through a tensed mouth. You don’t.

J stands suddenly, completely covering you in his shadow. He grabs the side of your head by your hair, abandoning your outerwear to clap his right hand to your jaw and ear.

“LOOK at ME.” He roars, eyes blazing.

You yelp, totally unable to ignore the pang of arousal you felt now. Casting your wide eyes upwards, daring to meet his. His right hand goes back between your thighs, pushing them open as it goes.

“I needed a break anyway. I need a little release. Can my bunny come out to play?”

You shudder and nod.

“Tsk..”

“Yes sir, sorry sir.” You corrected your lack of answer.

J swallows and hums, still raking his eyes over you.

“Be good, now.” He implores, although halfheartedly. He knows as well as you do that the defiance is gone. You’re pliant.

J takes his time brushing rough digits on the most sensitive areas on you. Your lower stomach twitches when he lightly runs his pinky across it. Your legs jerk when he pinches your inner thighs. Hips bucking when he spreads his two first fingers to drag them along your outer pussy, down to the cleft of your ass.

Finally, J settles himself back in his chair and uses his left hand to spread you open, grabbing your thigh and making his thumb do the work of holding you open. He steadily, albeit gently, pushes his middle finger into your wet heat. You gasp and swallow a moan. There’s nobody around, but there’s no sense in theatrics. J isn’t really doing this for you anymore, judging by his focus.

“I clout you, you soak yourself…what sense does that make?” He grins, never taking his eyes off of your pussy. “You’re not cumming, by the way.” J states calmly.

“What?!” Nearly raising your voice to him, you protest his declaration.

“‘Whaaat??!’” J mocks. “Whaddya mean ‘what’, you’ve been nothing but a brat.” He’s moved on to two fingers and a firm hold on your hip with his left hand.

“J I said I was sorry.” You reasoned. It didn’t get you far, J stops what he’s doing and gives you the signal to get on your knees as he’s standing back up. He unbuckles his leather belt, opting to take it out of the loops and set it on the desk behind you. You’re knelt between him and the solid wood behind you (and in front of you…you suppose). He unzips and maneuvers his length out of his boxers. He uses his thumb to bob it just in front of your face, smirking lewdly and jutting his hips forward.

“Opeeeen.” J sing-songs. He’s almost giddy about what’s about to happen. You open your mouth slacking your jaw and letting your tongue loll just past your lips. His large hand held the back of your head, guiding you to his cock.

“There we goooo…” his shaft slides steadily into your waiting mouth. He doesn’t stop until your nose is crushed to his crotch and your mouth is obscenely full.

“Breeeeeathe, bunny…through your nose,” J pushes the back of your head and grinds your face into his body, shoving his cock impossibly deeper into your throat. He pulls you back by your hair, off of his dick, leaving it slick with viscous spit you produced in your struggle.

“Good girl, you know exactly what you’re supposed to do…you just need a little encouragement, huh? Yeah?” J chastises you. Poking fun at the simplicity of your dynamic. It doesn’t take anything more than a firm correction from J for you to slip into your assigned role.

J grows bored of sliding his cock over your lips. He takes a moment to look over the red blotches and spit spattered across your face before standing straight again, tucking himself back, and pulling you by your arm to stand back up. J looks around the room. You follow his eyes, hoping to catch on to his plan. Once he realizes he does not want to fuck you here he looks back down at you for a moment and suddenly reaches for your middle. You gasp in surprise but don’t refuse. J tosses you over his shoulder, adjusting you to get the right balance, and heads up some stairs towards the living space you shared.

“I’m too stressed out by that work to focus on fucking you.” J explains as he keeps a swift pace to the bedroom. You pass the kitchen area. You pass a lounge room with a tv and four goons staring intently at it. Only one takes any notice of you and J and he clearly is more concerned about J being angry than you with little to no clothing. He looks away quickly.

You reach the bedroom and he flicks on a lamp by the door. It casts a calm glow on the whole room. J leans forward to let you flop onto the bed from where you were perched on his shoulder.

“Stri-p.” J mumbles. “I can’t do anything with these rags in the way.” He gives your clothes a once over. You make your moves quick, getting the last scrap of cloth off of you. It’s odd, essentially a prey animal bearing herself fully vulnerable to her predator.

“Mmm…so soft, bunny.” J points out. His marred hands running up your splayed legs.

“J..”

“What.”

“I need you.”

Oh, and that got him going. J grumbles and unbuttons the rest of his shirt, pulling it down his arms and tossing it aside. He starts at his pants next, unzipping them and letting them fall. He kicks them and his boxers to the side with his foot.

“Breathe, pup.” J might think it’s hilarious that you forget to breathe around him. He may find it flattering. But he does need you to be conscious for this.

A deep breath in and out through your nose and you’ve relaxed a tiny bit more. J looks you in the eyes intensely. He reaches to your neck with his right hand, placing it firmly under your chin and wrapped tightly around the sides of your throat.

“Legs up.” J commands. Your legs are tucked up to your chest a moment later. Holding the back of your thighs with your hands.

J slides his cock through your wetness, watching it coat him. He sighs. He’s holding back a little. Only because he wants to enjoy this fully.

“Jaaaay…” You pout.

“Oh, shut up.” J responds, but he’s slipping himself inside your tight heat as he says it. His jaw goes slack, every ounce of frustration melted away in an instant.

“Fuck, J, you’re big.” Your brow furrowed and your breathing labored as you tried to take what he gives you. J chuckles, more than flattered.

“But you take every inch, don’t you?,” J teases, shoving two fingers into your mouth, “you let a dirty old clown fill any hole he can reach, huh.” You whimper around his digits and close your eyes, trying to push down your embarrassment.

“Let’s get the show on the road, shall we.” J removes his hand from your mouth and starts a fast pace. His hips thrusting into yours with such force you can’t keep your breath. You’re moaning as soon as he gets going. J tightens his grip on your throat, pulling your body down to meet his like you’re nothing but a toy. Your hands idle by your head, twitching, wanting to hold on to something. Anything.

J pushes you up the bed a bit, allowing himself to kneel on it as well. He shoves your thighs back to your chest and watches his cock as it goes in and out. He’s almost surprised he can fit.

“You can’t cum like this.” J probes.

“No, I can’t.” You whine back through lewd moans.

“Ah, good.”

J begins chasing his release. Knowing his punishment is secure and his reward is barreling his way has him on top of the world. You put him on top of the world. J’s hips are stuttering and wild as he thrusts his cock as deep as he can inside of you. His breaths are at the mercy of his pleasure, only coming at brief moments. He’s staring at your face, mouth hung open, brows drawn tight. You’re a wreck. There’s spit dried across your chin and cheeks. Your eyes are welled with tears. Your lips are swollen and wet. He’s totally enamored.

“Tell me about it, bunny, tell me.” J releases your neck from his grasp allowing you full range of your own voice. You let out a long drawn out yell while he continues pummeling you with his thrusts. J is laughing and smiling. He’s in his element here.

“Open your eyes, sweets.” You comply.

“J…”

“Shhhhh.” He covers your mouth with his left hand. He grips your hip with his right. His thrusts become untimed and even rougher. He’s barreling to his finish.

“Do. Not. Cu-m.” He threatens, pulling his hand away so you can speak.

“Yes, sir.” You don’t even know why you’re replying.

J looks down, not letting you fully see his face. He groans, a guttural growling moan from deep in his chest. His hips lock at his deepest point inside you. You feel his cock throb with each wave that rocks him. You hope there’s a lot to be said for this session…

“Don’t get any of that on the bed.” J switches back to his calloused self. You nod and roll to the edge of the bed so you can scurry to the bathroom. J watches you as he puts on boxers and a plain shirt. In his after glow he does something he very rarely does. He tosses you a black t shirt from his wardrobe and turns to leave the room. Before he exits the door, he turns over his shoulder to give you a final message of the night:

“Quit being a brat, I don’t have time for this when I’m working.” J admonishes. You hear the grin from where you are stood at the bathroom sink. You smile to yourself knowing damn well this is happening again very soon.