Chris Evans

It is not a new realisation that creeps up on you the fateful Saturday afternoon; but it hits you with a fresh blissful intensity nevertheless.

It’s one of those lovely moments you and Steve got up to sharing lately, precious time in precious company, yet spent each wrapped in your own pastime. It’s a sweet kind of intimacy, comfortable and comforting, even in your relatively new love: being together, breathing the same air, mostly in silence, this time in one of the Avengers’ garages providing a surprising sanctuary on a warm weekend.

You, every now and then sharing a sentence you just read, one you particularly liked or simply made you laugh or think of him or you two together; him, working on his bike, hands smudged with a streak of grease here and there:

And therein lies the problem.

You’re reading, comfy on one of the armchairs which is there just for occasions like this.

Steve is working on his bike, crouched of laid or bend, arms bare to avoid smudging a sleeve.

You’re failing your task spectacularly.

Steve, on the other hand, is excellent; he truly is wonderful at working with his hands.

It’s been a while since you shared a line you enjoyed.

Steve’s not complaining. He is distracting though.

Your gaze, instead of focusing on the page to feed your mind with vivid images and new thoughts born out of the story, keeps wandering to him, the solid lines of his muscle, the tendons and veins on his forearms, his dextrous fingers.

Steve hasn’t noticed. Maybe. Or maybe he’s just being too polite. Or he’s too pleased to point it out.

You catch yourself blatantly staring. Your eyes and mind zero on one single thought, on one single object.

Steve’s hands.

The skin on his palms is roughened by battle and hard work, his knuckles a constellation of little scars scattered across, for not even his enhanced healing can keep up with how often he splits, or bruises, or breaks them when fighting for a better, safer world. His skin is scraped from where he reaches for the world that would fit with the idea of how things should be through the thorny paths of reality, over and over again, for he wants to believe and wants to do his part.

They are hands of a man who fights every day.

They are hands of a man who has taken lives.

They are hands of a man who has protected millions more and inspired others to do the same.

The touch of those hands is the most tender you have ever felt, soft even where the skin is hard, flesh warm and pliant where it meets your skin, fingers careful and meticulous where they hold a pencil or a brush to capture the beauty he sees all around him instead of choosing to only see the pain and wrongdoings; delicate, dextrous and decadent where they play your body to create symphonies of gasps and moans and keens of his name.

His grip is strong, palms broad, made for as much violence as for cradling; long fingers of an artist praying to his muse. A few visible veins rise, trailing up his forearms and enormous arms, the vulnerable paths you sometimes trace with your fingers and can now only think of tasting on your tongue, inhaling the aroma of his skin and salt of the sheen layer of sweat you know he can work when making love to you.

You’ve forgotten to breathe, throat and core tight and burning, memories and not-so-shy manifestation of your desires filling your head, fingers digging into the cover of the book you’ve long forgotten to pay attention to.

The vein running over the thumb edge of Steve’s hand shifts under your gaze, hypnotizing and alluring, making you lick your lips.

The warm, amused and slightly concerned voice sounds from a terrible distance – criminal distance, you deem, once you realize where it’s coming from, who it’s coming from – as it calls your name, clearly not for the first time.

You blink, the ghost of a taste of Steve’s skin lingering on your tongue, the corners of your lips rising on instinct.

“Hm?”

His eyes, however tinged with concern, are just as beautiful, but they inspire softer thoughts rather than sinful ones. You try to focus on those, trying to clear your head, drowning in the lovely sea of blue with a drop of green instead, breath not quite restoring as he rises to his full height; another criminal distraction.

He can hoist you up, you already know as much— the wonderful heights, literal and figurative, he’s made you reach with your back pressed against the wall, one hand squeezing your thigh, the other cradling your face to lick his name off of your mouth-

“You okay, honey?” he asks, sweet.

You blink again, not quite innocent, shifting in your seat.

“Yes, of course. You done?”

He instinctively wipes his hands on a nearby rag, not catching the smudge on his forearm and you ache do to it for him.

“Almost… you zoned out on me, more than usual. Are you really feeling alright? Have you drank enough water today?”

I have, and yet I’m feeling thirsty. Parched, in fact, but not for water. Hand me some?

You gulp, tearing your gaze away from the way one of his thumbs rubs over the other over the cloth with a herculean effort, met with the brilliant blue full of light and genuine, innocent care again.

Tell me, his soft smile coaxes, the wish to know your thoughts to contemplate them or stock them away for later as sincere as maddeningly attractive.

Your lips part with an inhale and a shaky exhale, your heart pounding as you consider whether to answer his wordless plea and answer truthfully.

You lose the battle before it can even start.

“I… I like your hands,” you confess, your own hands fiddling with the cover of your book, something you’d scratch anyone’s eyes out for if you saw them do so. It’s soothing though, especially as it gives your eyes something to look at, heat flushing your face at your admission.

Somehow, admitting it out loud feels more compromising than some of the positions Steve’s lovely hands has arranged you into and there have been quite a few.

“Oh?” he hums curiously, and you can feel his gaze tracing your face like a caress, looking for any further explanation. “Uhm… thank you,” he adds when none comes.

It’s just after one breath, one of his and one of yours, when you cave easily; because you know Steve won’t think less of you, or so you say so to yourself.

“I-“ you sigh, releasing the air slowly, eyes slipping shut. “I really… like your hands.”

Steve understands at the speed of one realisation per ten beats of your frantic heart.

“…oh.”

When you dare to look at him, there’s a faint blush in his cheek, the tips of his ears turning an adorable pink, his smile a little shy, gaze downcast.

“Good to know,” he says and you know he means it even as he turns back to his work.

You finally breathe even as you can hear the wheels of his mind turning madly while he’s tightening whichever things needs tightening on his bike.

Steve acts at the speed of a one heart-stopping action per your mind getting nearly settled from overthinking your confession.

He wipes his hands decisively and properly this time, already stalking to you as he tosses the rag somewhere you couldn’t care to look.

His skin still smells roughly of grease, but it’s his touch all your senses plunge into, broad palms cradling your face most deliberately, thumb brushing over your cheekbone, fingertips caressing behind your ear, tipping your head up just slightly for the perfect angle to kiss you wholeheartedly and--- your brain is melting and words stop making sense.

Steve turns your body into a something pliant, eager and entirely his, one kiss at a time, breaks for air a lot more necessary than needed. It’s impossible to not be hyperaware of the brush and press of his fingers which seem more generous than usual, tingly heat spreading through your skin and veins all the way into your heart and lower stomach.

When you head spins enough for you to worry you might lose balance where you’re sitting, he retreats, brushes his nose over yours with a smile you taste and feel rather than see, one of his hands moving to your hip to steady you instead and the circle he draws there is a bit short of soothing and all the more sinfully warm.

“Careful, honey. Can’t have you falling.”

You can hear the unspoken cheeky ‘for me’ but you forgive him, because he too sounds a little breathy and at least half as affected as you are and as he goes back to fixing his bike, he offers the perfect view of his hands at work again.

For a moment, you watch unabashedly, knowing that trying to read is an entirely lost cause.

Then, when you can’t bear the smug broadness of Steve’s shoulders and puffed out chest, you hide the heat radiating off your face, burning especially where his hands have cradled your cheeks and jaw and hip, behind the book completely.

You don’t have the faintest idea what you’ve been reading about and what you’re reading now, or whether the book is even in English.

You think Steve knows as much.

You bet he also knows he’s ruining your underwear one pair at a time by being himself and pulling stunts like this.

You’re hundred percent sure that the loveable bastard is proud of it too.

You love him anyway.

“Love you,” he says as if he can read your nearly empty mind and all you can do, when you remember how words work, is to have the same fall from your kiss-swollen lips.

He doesn’t mention it.

He doesn’t call you out, doesn’t make fun of you – because of course he doesn’t— but you can tell he’s thinking about it sometimes when his gaze gets absent as you lie on his chest on the couch, snuggled into him like he’s your favourite blanket, your hands toying with his, his fingers toying with yours.

The wheels are still loud in his head, but they are but background noise drowned out in his soft love and quiet smiles and little inside jokes whose number is increasing as the light and yet suffocating overwhelming sensation of love keeps expanding in your chest.

You almost think he has forgotten at times. Which is a ridiculous notion not only because of his eidetic memory.

You might not have one of those yourself, but having been embarrassed and swept off your feet by a dizzying kiss all the same after your confession, you do remember that exactly two weeks have passed when it culminates at last.

You’re spending a quiet date night in, cooking and baking, delighting in making something together and seeing the tangible outcome of your efforts.

Enjoying making things with your hands.

And you have noticed, thank you very much, how dexterous Steve’s hands are, cutting the vegetables, his knife skills tremendous.

You have noticed too, how expertly his hands are kneading the dough, fingers digging in with gentle vigour, the tendons on his forearms working, veins rising before the dough does, the muscles on his arms straining just enough to highlight their alluring outlines.

If you could draw, you’d draw an entire set of studies on Steve’s hands and arms, alas you cannot and so you simply appreciate the sight all the more for it, attention diverted from the task at hand.

Steve’s had a content smile playing on his lips all evening, but when he leaves the dough to rise, washing his hands and turning to you only to catch you staring where his hands has been drying a moment ago, stray droplets of water lingering along the most prominent veins, long fingers slipping between the folds of the washcloth and the towel… you would swear one corner of his lips rises higher.

Two of those fingers slip under your chin like they were made to do exactly that for the entirety of your lives, tilting your head back just a fraction, kissing you on the mouth like the secret and most essential ingredient for the dough to rise is love.

There’s quite a lot of time before the dough is ready, flashes through your mind as your hands rise to Steve’s shoulders, the contrast of his warm skin and solid muscle and the soft pliant fabric of his t-shirt is divine and maddening; the way his large hand sprawls over your hip in a gentle but swift response is mostly the former, but you’re losing your mind anyway.

Several frantic beats of your heart and Steve’s lips gently slanting over yours and you barely bother to remember there is a dough, not caring for the logically terrifying power he holds over you when he cradles your face and kisses you more.

Deeper.

Softer.

Sharing a meaningful secret you’ve revealed and rewarding it tenfold, as you’re soon about to find out.

“Do you trust me?” he whispers to your lips, tone so serious it almost feels out of place in your blissfully domestic bubble, and yet so right at the same time.

With what? is the logical question that should have followed suit.

With all I am, is the only words making sense in lieu of asking.

“Yes.”

You seal your fate; Steve seals your promise with another kiss, dripping of gratitude and excitement.

Steve is careful with you, always has been.

You both fell as hard and fast, so you’ve been careful not to rush or otherwise mess it up; you work hard on communication, because you both had enough misunderstandings and miscommunications in the past and are dealing with those every day in your respective jobs.

Your yes is thus a little foolish and a little outlandish in that sense – but it the most truthful answer you can give.

Especially because Steve has been paying so much attention.

To the faintest hints of you being uncomfortable.

To you being hurt.

Or, Lord help him, to you being hurt by him, even if on accident.

He’s careful with his strength, incredibly mindful always, but he’s all the more careful with how he can hurt you as a person, not just a supersoldier.

You never not notice so; and so when you said yes, you meant it.

You always mean it.

You mean it now and your heart is racing when he gently pushes you to walk backwards to his bedroom, the coil of arousal having been stirring in your belly all night tightening, sending a fragment of rational thought through.

Steve knows all too well what he has been doing all night; because he has not forgotten in the slightest.

When his hands explore slower than usual, lingering like burning marks over your skin – and you wish he had dipped them in paint so he could leave true imprints of his touch, not only for your heart to remember and your body to be blessed, but for both of you to see the wonderful prove of his touches – when his fingers trace the lines and curves of your body and the hems of your clothes indulgently before you discard it, you feel in every minute contact how much he does so both for himself and you.

And it flickers in your mind, as long as logic can when his fingertips and palms and lips drive you mad with their slowly intent and most definitely sweet torture, that the whole evening has been nothing a carefully thought-through foreplay.

And damn has he been playing; but never with your heart.

Never with your trust.

When his lips part from yours with a wet pop, skin blazing with gentle fire, his pupils are blown as much as you imagine yours are; when the soft rope comes out with a quiet May I?, his gaze once again making sure you are on board, you might be surprised, but entirely willing.

It wouldn’t not the first time you’re at the mercy of Steve’s generous and teasing loving, hands tied to the headboard, but he has never used rope before. The material is not as silky smooth as the scarves he has used before and the rope’s length is stirring as much curiosity as arousal deep in your core; but as Steve cradles the back of your hand and guides you to feel the surprisingly unrough strings, you already know that whatever his plan is, he will try his damnest not to cause as much as the littlest pain.

You do gulp when he lays the rope on the bed, and with all but your panties left on, asks you to kneel on the bed sideways to the mirror.

Again, it is not entirely unheard of; Steve loves art and looks for beauty all around him and you have, much to your surprise, quite enjoyed seeing his body with yours, as unreal and all to perfect his is on its own; it warmed your chest and had your head spin to see and feel what being with you does to him, what you make him feel. How much he wants and needs.

Today feels different nevertheless.

His hands roam, tender and lingering, as does his gaze, long enough to have your skin flush and your breathing, already quick, hasten and turn thready, only for your nerves to be soothed by his lips and love.

By God, the way he looks at you erases all the worries the second they threaten to spurt.

Air catches in your lungs when the red rope – like a string of fate, you think with a shaky smile – is laid over your shoulders, Steve’s gaze flickering to yours.

“Is this alright, love?”

Do you still trust me?

You do.

It takes you a moment to find your voice as you have a faint notion of what is coming form in your mind and you find yourself stunned, almost feeling silly when you realize just how natural it seems for Steve to think of trying this.

Steve with his eye for all beautiful things and hands meant to create masterpieces.

Artistic bondage.

And when his fingers slip under your chin when you finally breathe a soft yes, clear enough to his liking, he turns your head towards the mirror.

Heat spreads all over your skin and seeps deep into your muscles and very bones, along with the loveliest of warmth, because it finally all fits together.

Because not only will you see the outcome of Steve’s talented hands’ labour, but you will have the privilege of watching him and feeling him create something wonderful; on your body, no less.

You meet his gaze in the mirror and find him observing your reaction carefully, seemingly more vulnerable and with skin more flushed than yours.

It’s not enough.

You turn to face him with an encouraging and the softest of smiles, your eyes a little glassy; whether from bliss already taking over or from being touched by how thoughtful he was, neither of you could tell and yet you both could. It was both.

“I love you. I trust you. Thank you,” you whisper, earning a small smile, a fraction unsure.

“Don’t thank me yet. I did not practice much.”

“I trust you,” you repeat and watch his chest, still clad in the grey t-shirt, expand with a generous breath.

“I love you too. The second anything hurts, if I pull too tight-“

“I will tell you,” you reassure him, reaching for his face to pull him for a kiss, gratitude and excitement, and perhaps, now knowing what’s coming, a side of cheeky and teasing since you face the very master of the art of that. “How do you want me?”

His irises flash dangerously, speaking volumes of rather general ‘a lot’ as he gives you a deliberately slow onceover, but he kisses you again to taste the small smirk in the corner of your mouth---and mirrors it

“Put your wrists slightly above your lower back, love, however feels the most comfortable… they will stay for a while.”

You do so.

He is not wrong.

He also has been very right thinking you’d love this; that you’d love seeing him do this.

You’re quick to avert your gaze from his when he gets into work, eyes trailing to the mirror when he ties knots on your back or too high on your chest for you to see directly. Your lips part as you marvel at the not all that quick but all the more precise, neat, and careful set of knots scattered over your torso, appearing one after the other, forgetting to breathe in as Steve’s fingers move with more and more ease.

Where the thin rope hangs lose, the pads of his fingers trace their lines; where a new knot appears, he presses with his thumb gently, tendons in his forearm moving in a hypnotic dance, a subtle question of whether the tightness is alright.

You’re not sure you’d be able to tell; your body and your mind alike are floating, your chest feels full enough to burst with every flutter of your heart, your underwear a lost cause as you are near damn sure you are soaking down your thighs.

Steve’s hands are a gift to turn pliant for, your body like clay for him to mould; the muse and artistic medium at once, his gaze and words caressing you as much as his hands and mouth.

Beautiful.

So good for me.

Comfortable, love?

Not too tight?

Precious.

Thank you for letting me do this, honey.

Thank you for being mine.

I’m yours, too.

I swear.

I swear you take my breath away.

All the praise and soft words in midst of sharp focus on his artwork and you, the two blending together in his eyes and consequently, yours.

When he’s done and finally sheds his clothes too, you barely have the time and headspace to admire the work when he kneels behind you and all your gaze is drawn to are his hands, one carefully tangled in the ropes on your front, while the other slipping over your belly to your ruined panties, one clever tug ruining them beyond saving if there any has been a chance in the first place.

The sight is divine.

His touch to your slick skin trailing where you need him the most is electrifying and blissful, heaven and hell aligned so perfectly you feel a sob threatening to spill.

You ride the wave of ecstasy before you know it, Steve’s sweetly sinful lips on your ear.

So fuckin’ gorgeous falling apart on my fingers.

So goddamn perfect at my mercy.

And at his mercy you are and he takes the opportunity and makes the most of it.

Yes, your hands get in a way a bit, grasping at every brush of his heaving abs pressed to your back when he enters you and fills you over and over again, easily despite his impressive length for he’s been preparing you for hours to no end, starting the moment you walked through the door, seducing your mind and body alike like never before.

Like no man before; the idea they could ever compare would have been laughable had you been able to laugh, had your breath not been stolen and punched out of you with every measured and powerful thrust growing sloppy after your third peak, on your knees, on your front, pressed to the mattress with no escape and feeling golden all over.

When Steve buries himself deep inside you, barely keeping on his elbows as his whole body sheaths yours, you catch a glimpse of his hands on you and the ropes and it occurs to you that one of the most beautiful things his hands can be is possessive, needy and all over you. The rope digs into your skin a bit at times, but it’s where Steve’s gripped you that you feel the most, a flicker of delight there might be an imprint or two after all even without paint.

You both pant and struggle to catch your breath as even his last minute thrusts cease, a few moments of Steve fighting not to crush you before you succeed in rolling you over in collective effort; boneless in post-orgasmic bliss, as clearly as you are, he still presses as close as possible, his lips, wet and sloppy and loving, peppering your skin with kisses and gentle, loving words.

Love you.

Thank you for trusting me.

You’re so perfect.

He moves with a curse on his lips to release you from your binds as soon as you hiss at a cramp in your arm; you miss his warmth so much you whimper and mutter for him not to leave. The supersoldier part of him comes in quite handy that moment, as he easily manipulates you on top of him just enough for you to find momentary relief even without untying you.

It is a relief to your muscles though when he finally cuts the binds in a few places, favouring freeing you quickly and efficiently rather than preserving the masterpiece of rope over your body.

You’d felt sorrier for it, hadn’t he muttered that the true work of art was unharmed, he hoped, and if you wanted to, he’d create another one some time. You nearly give yourself a whiplash with how fast you try to nod, earning an unfairly adorable laugh, with his eyes crinkling almost boyishly.

He looks at you, a mess himself, sweaty hair sticking to his forehead, skin beautiful flushed and irises blown, and what you read in his face is nothing but love, undiluted safe for the little cheekiness you adore.

“You still like my hands then, I take it?”

You think about trying to scold him for downright fishing when the answer is obvious, but given how much he had humoured you, playing so thoughtfully into your kinks (and knots), you simply smile.

“Yes, Steve. I love them… and I love you.”

The smug jerk, the tender bastard, the wicked gentleman of yours grins briefly before his expression softens and he cradles your face carefully as you lay there, lifts your head like precious porcelain, and kisses you like he’s inviting the muses through your lips for the next time he’s already vowed to bring upon you.

“And I love you. More than anything.”

S.R. masterlist  // Complete masterlist 

Hello dear reader, thank you for reading!

It's been a while, again. I am aware I was supposed to work on other fics, but this one just jumped out out of nowhere (*cough cough* the nowhere being seeing a tumblr post about Steve's hands at the funny cosmic alignment *cough*). I hope you will enjoy reading nevertheless. I'm always happy to hear from you as interaction is love - but please, this was my first time writing referencing shibari, so forgive me any misconceptions and missteps.

I hope that as May blooms into June, life is being kind to you.

Ivy greets you as you pass by her pulling weeds from her garden. You wave, one hand still on your walker, and say good morning.  You continue on, leaning into the metal frame as you roll the wheels over the cracks.

You turn onto the main street and focus on the wooden sign jutting out from the center. You noticed a few weeks ago when it went up. The banner announcing the grand opening has since been disposed of. You avoided the furour of the exciting premier, knowing you would only get jostled, even lost, in the chaos.

Now you feel good enough to make it down. Not without real purpose. You desperately need to do a shop after procrastinating for far too long. 

You pause and wait for Len to pass in his dusty white truck. He gives a beep and a wave. Sometimes, he’ll drive you back home if he catches you on the way. He’s one of the nice ones; one of those who see you. Then there are those who pretend they don’t.

You cross and push your wheels over the curb. You can feel the inflammation in your hips already. You make slow progress along the crooked sidewalk. It dips at points and in places the grass along the edge is higher than the pavement.

You slow as you get close to the bakery and admire the handpainted calligraphy on the sign; Brooklyn’s Best Bakery. You stop in front of the windows and look at the baskets of buns and rolls on display. You can smell it all as the door opens after a customer.

You press on as a couple approaches. The man holds the door for the woman and follows her through. You try to catch the door after them and it hits your walker and knocks you back. The bell jangles above.

You wrench your walker away and let the door close. It’s not the first time it’s happened. You thought they would’ve seen you hurrying to get in after them. Of course, you can’t expect everyone to hold the door but you weren’t that far behind.

You angle and open the door, using your back to keep it open. You push on it and pull your walker close, turning it through the door. You grunt as you lift the wheels over the high step that leads inside.

As you roll through, the door swings shut and spurs you forward. You hit a shelf with the wheel and steady yourself. You check to make sure you didn’t knock anything over.

To your surprise and disappointment, there’s a line. Oh well, you have to wait. Other people exist too.

You join the line and turn your walker to sit on the seat, your bag dangling from the handle. You rub your hips and lean to the side. The last x-ray showed degeneration at the base of your spine and in your tailbone, a little in your hips.

“Excuse me,” a deep voice comes through.

You sit up but can’t see past the couple in front of you. The woman points to the croissants in the display as the man’s hand rests on her lower back. He doesn’t seem to be listening as he reads the chalkboard sign above the counter.

“‘Scuse me,” the same voice grits and several bodies shuffle apart in the queue. “Hey, you.”

You blink and look over, startled. You peek back, thinking maybe you didn’t see the mess you made after all.

 You twist back as a man approaches in an apron. The red fabric is dusted with flour and other ingredients. He’s tall, his shoulders broad, and a dark beard trims his jaw. He wears a short sleeve shirt over a tank top, exposing tattoos on his chest and arms.

“You,” he points at the man ahead of you. “That wasn’t very polite.”

“Huh?” The man ahead of you snorts. You think his name is Donny or… Dustin?

“You dropped the door on another customer.” The man crosses his arms.

“Who?” Wait, his name is Devin, replies hotly.

“This lady right here,” the man in the apron points at you. “I’m sure you saw her.”

“Dude, I didn’t see her–.”

“How do you know you didn’t drop it on her if you didn’t see her?” The man’s forearms bulge.

“It was an accident.”

“So now you did see her?”

“No. I… look, uh,” Devin turns. “I’m sorry, really.” As he looks down at you, you stand, feeling smaller than ever. “I didn’t see you and if the door hit you–”

“It did.” The aproned man insists.

“I didn’t see you and I’m sorry I hit you with the door.” Devin scoffs and looks at the man. “Happy?”

“Not really,” the man retorts. “Get your food and get out.”

Devin huffs again and shakes his head. He mumbles as the woman beside him shifts away.

“Excuse me?” The man in the apron drops his arms. “You wanna say something, make sure I can hear you.”

“I said you’re a fucking tight ass.” Devin retorts.

“Common decency is being a tight ass? Well then, you can just go.” The man grabs Devin by his hoodie and drags him between a set of shelves.

There isn’t much of a struggle as the cafe employee is much stronger, even if he’s not as heavy as Devin’s rounder build. He shoves the door open and hurls Devin through. He claps his hands then turns back.

“You’re more than welcome to stay and order,” he says to the woman as he approaches. “And whatever you’re getting,” the man stops by you. “It’s on the house.”

“What? No. It’s… okay.” You babble dumbly, surprised at being addressed.

“Not okay. Not in my joint.” He sneers.

“Um, okay, uh, thank you, sir. You really didn’t have to–”

“I did,” he says and offers his hand. “Steve Rogers. It’s my place, my rules.”

You lean back on your walker, keeping your hand on one side and shake his hand. He squeezes and you nearly dissemble in his grip. You stare up at him, wide-eyed, and utter your name out of courtesy.

His cheek dimples as he nods. “Pretty. I’m almost finished a batch of strawberry turnovers. That’s my recommendation.” He lets go.

“Um. May I get… a strawberry turnover, please?” You ask, too edgy to read the menu.

“Of course. Anything else?” The cashier asks. You know her. She works at the grocery too. Or did.

“No thanks. I appreciate it.” You take out your change purse.

“Don’t charge her,” the owner calls through as he brings out a tray of pastries and slides it into the display. “Comped.”

“Thank you,” you eke out. You put a tip in the jar instead.

“If you want to find a table, we can bring it to you.” He offers.

“Oh, it’s…” you swallow. “Okay.”

You don’t want to draw any more attention. You look around and find a table by the window. You stare at the chair. The wooden seat won’t be good for your tailbone.

You let go of your walker and grab the chair. It’s heavier than you expect. You drag it and it scrapes on the floor loudly. You keep your head down, straining to lift the feet off the wood.

“I got you,” a voice grits and someone approaches. It’s him. Steve. The owner.

“Sorry I… don’t want my walker to be in the way.” You let go as he takes the chair and moves it to another table.

“All good,” he assures you.

You roll your walker around and grip the handles as you sit, locking the brakes. You nod and thank him under your breath. You can’t look at him. You’re too embarrassed. You should’ve got the pastry to go.

“If you need anything else, let them know at the counter.” He says.

“You’re too nice,” you stare at the table.

He leaves and you fidget restlessly. You’re used to the sideways glances and kids pointing, asking loudly what’s wrong with you. You’re too young to be like this. You know that, they really don’t need to remind you.

You move your purse onto the table and take out your little notebook. You go over the grocery list you made before you left your place. Shoot, you didn’t write down oats. You used the last ones this morning.

Steps approach and the scent of freshly warmed pastry kisses your nose. You look up as Steve sets down a scalloped saucer with a gooey turnover drizzled in lacy icing. You smile and close your notebook.

“Oh, thanks. That’s sweet.” You murmur. “It smells… looks delicious.”

“Not a problem. You’ll let me know if it’s too sweet.” He says.

“Um, I’m sure it’s good.” You frame the dish with your fingers. “Thank you.”

“Enjoy.” He claps his hands together and backs up.

You shrink down and examine the dessert. You peel apart the warm pastry and nibble on it. You get some of the filling on the next bite and your cheeks pinch. It’s better than the danishes you get on clearance at the shop.

You eat slowly as you dare to look around. You always liked baking but it was hard for you to stand too long in the kitchen. You always kept to quick and easy meals. Anything you could leave in the rice cooker or just boil water to add. Sandwiches and soup were the best.

You hold up your sticky finger and lick your lips. You sit up as you sense someone coming close. It’s Steve. Again. He puts down some napkins.

“Thank you,” you say.

"How did you like it?" He asks.

"It was good."

He sets down something else. The paper bag crinkles as a peak of crust shows through the little plastic window in the bag.

“Saw it on your list,” he says. “Sourdough. But if you prefer rye…”

“That’s… too much. I couldn’t.” You wipe your fingers, your hand shaking a moment. “Really, I’m on my way to the grocery shop.”

“One less thing on your list.” He insists. “Really, I don’t mind.”

You crumple up the napkin and sit back on the walker. You zip up your purse and hang it on the handle. You push yourself to your feet and release the brakes.

“I do. I appreciate the turnover but that’s already too much. I’m okay.” You assure him. “It was nice of you to step in earlier but… thank you. Just thank you.”

You slide your walker out from behind the table and reach for the plate and napkin. He swipes it up first. “I’ll take care of it.” He says.

You thank him one last time. You angle around and make your way across the bakery. As you near the door, he brushes by you and gets there first. He holds the door open.

You brace yourself as you let the wheels off the ledge. As you pass, he reaches to put the loaf on the seat of your walker. You gasp as you step down and pause. You look at him.

“I said no.” You insist.

“Take it.” He insists. “My treat.”

You stare at him. Even if he wasn’t standing on the ledge, he’d be huge. You wilt and purse your lips.

“Thank you.” Once again.

"Just this one thing. Please." You clasp your hands hopefully

He sighs and flips the page.

"No. I won't make you any promises. Not since you broke yours." He clucks and furrows his brow, turning the page back. "You're distracting me."

"I was scared. And I apologised. So many times--"

"Keep pushing me and see if it goes better than last time." He snaps the book shut and grips it so tight his knuckles go white.

"But... It's my little sister."

"Let the little bitch take care of herself. I married you, not her."

"Don't call her tha--"

The book flies past your head so fast, you feel the air blow by. You whimper as he fumes through his nose. You cower and turn to pick it up, smoothing the bent pages.

“Gloria!” Curtis yells into the flower shop. “Gloria San…” he stops the moment the older woman walks into the shop front. Looking at the man up and down with a scowl. Curtis’ stance switches a bit, before he looks up at the ceiling with a sigh.

“I need a bouquet,” Gloria squeals. Throwing her head back with so much glee. The wrinkles in her eyes gather towards the corners as she hops from foot to foot. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“It is a very big deal, Curtis. You don’t date. You definitely aren’t romantic with flowers, and when my husband asked you why you never buy them, you told him you were waiting on that girl. Is it ‘that girl’?” Her brow lifts in a question, and Curtis runs his hand down his face.

“Yes.”

“The day has finally come!” She starts to walk around the store, pulling different stems of flowers. “I knew it would. I had faith she would come back to you, and you could tell her that you have been so in love with her, and too chicken shit to say anything.”

“It’s not like that,” Gloria throws her head back, releasing a belly laugh. “This is serious.”

“I’m aware. You’re picky. You have only settled for chasing tail because you were so concerned about this woman coming back into your life to carry your babies.”

“She doesn’t have to have babies.”

“No, she needs to have your babies, there’s a difference. Does she have kids?” Curtis shakes his head no. “How long have you been in love with this girl?”

“A lot longer than I should have,” Gloria stops, and turns towards him. Resting a hand on his cheek, smiling longingly at him. “It’s always been unrequited.”

“If it was unrerquited, she wouldn’t have kissed you.”

“Shouldn’t have happened, we were drinking,” Gloria rolls her eyes before continuing her mission. “And it was nice. But it was too much, too soon, and…”

“Now you’ve got her alone in your house, and you’re about ready to explode,” Gloria looks back at Curtis with a cheeky smile, and his face falls. “You’ve been celibate for how long?”

“Not important,” no one needed to know that small detail. Because no one truly understands exactly how much he has just wanted you. And no one else has ever compared, and then he got tired of trying.

“Too long!” She shouts, and carries her bundle of flowers to her work station. “You’ve spent a decade pining after this girl who was verbally abused by her mother, and has never really had anyone in her corner. I know how much you’ve wanted this.”

“But she doesn’t,” Curtis gives her an awkward smile, but keeps his eyes on her wrinkled hands building the most perfect bouquet of flowers, and it’s still not more beautiful than you. “We’ve been thrust into this weird situation.”

“Thrust is an odd choice of words.”

“Mind out of the gutter, you dirty ole bitty,” Gloria gives a scraggly chuckle, and finishes wrapping up the bouquet. “I don’t think she knows her worth, and I know I have done a shitty job so far with my tough love.”

“Curtis,” his deep blue eyes finally looks into someone that has oddly been like a mother to him. Her husband was an old ranch hand, and he often invited Curtis to their house for dinner. Tried setting him up with a few of her daughters, until he confided in her.

“You are being a bit hard headed because you don’t want to be hurt. But let your walls down, and show her the real you that’s not so hardened from lonely isolation and working on a ranch,” Curtis would love to give Gloria a deadpanned look. Pretend that this isn’t bothering him as much as it actually is. “And if it doesn’t work out.”

“I lose everything.”

“Then it wasn’t meant to be.”

“Yeah,” he says, laying some money on the counter, “I’m not letting that happen. I may be a simple man, but that woman — she was always meant to be with me. Fuck the ranch. It’s only her that matters,” he nods his head towards Gloria, and heads back to his truck.

“That’s my boy,” she sighs. Curtis isn’t a lot of things. He’s not fancy, he’s not over the top. But what he is, is a kind hardworking man. He will give you the world, and all he asks is for your heart and loyalty. He won’t leave you. He doesn’t want to give up the ranch and his life, but he would. For you.

There’s very little that he wouldn’t do for you. Hell, he’s going to take you dancing, something he doesn’t do. But you love it. He’s gotten all dressed up, cleaned up his beard, wearing cologne, and his nice boots for you. He would change everything about him if it would make you happy.

The good thing is he doesn’t think you want him to be changed. He thinks you rather like his rugged and dirty self. But you definitely need to see that not only does he clean up nicely, but that you deserve to be seen all dolled up with him. Someone that you are proud of. And although he gets a pang of jealousy when other men look at you, there’s also this sense of pride.

He saw the look on Yancy’s face when he was carrying you out of the bar. That look of desperate longing, that he couldn’t have you. Wondering if you were going to fuck him or not. He wouldn’t take advantage of you like that. When the inevitable happens, both of you will be stone cold sober. The two of you will worship the other. Just as it was intended.

And he’s going to take his time. He’s going to memorize every dip and curve of your body while he paints you with his tongue and lips. He is going to make you realize that every inch of your perfect body is beautiful and worthy of complete devotion, and almost obsession. And it’s getting harder and harder to turn you down for sex. Until he sees you completely enthralled by him, or if the mood actually strikes right, he won’t allow it. Nope.

He won’t allow you to debase yourself just in order to forget harsh words from your mom. He won’t let you use his body to fill a void left by feeling unloved, and less than. Your mother should have never been a mother, especially not a mother to a girl. That woman was jealous of the fact that you could smile, and it would make people do your bidding. She’s angry that her dad doted on you and Austin.

Generations of less than perfect parenting. Curtis is stopping the cycle. He’d love kids with you, all you had to do is ask. But until you realize that you are perfect as you are, kids will not even be entertained.

But he can see it. Waking up with you asleep on his chest, while the pitter patter of little feet walk across the floors upstairs. He’ll make sure the boys treat their mama with respect, and the little girls can be just as tough and rumble as the boys. He sees those little hands slipping underneath the door.

He even sees all their faces. Three, naturally. Two strapping young lads, and his little princess. Your sidekick. He chuckles, knowing that thinking this far into your futures when you’re not even included in his plans is a bad idea. Bad luck, he’s sure. But he just wants to shower you with so much love that you have always deserved. He wants to drown you in attention and adoration.

“It’s just the first date,” he tells himself. It’s not even an orthodox way of getting to this first date. But the thought of it still made you smile. He knows that you are excited, and you want it just as much as he does.

You’re bored. Groaning, you lean your head back on the couch. Where is he? He said the two of you would leave at five o’clock, and it’s 4:55, and he’s not here. He’s going to be late. It’s just like a man to promise you something, and not show up.

You look down at your phone, disappointed that you thought that he could be different. At the end of the day what mattered to him was clearly just the ranch. Not you. Not your feelings. It’s humiliating that nobody ever sees you past something you could do for them.

Your blink rapidly, trying to stop the impending tears from falling. You won’t cry for a man. You won’t allow a man to ever have that much control over you. Never allow them to see you down. When Curtis inevitably turns up, you’ll ignore him. This doesn’t affect you.

It doesn’t. It means nothing. You sniffle. It’s allergies. It’s being back in this God forsaken place. All it does is bring up all this unwanted emotional baggage that you don’t want to deal with. It’s not Curtis that has you feeling like shit. No. It’s your mom. Fuck her. And fuck Curtis, too.

You’ll resort to just fucking him. At least you can get something out of this. You’ve waited long enough. And then — you’ll just walk away. Fuck this ranch, too. Fuck. It. All.

You sit up straight, wiping at your under eyes when someone knocks on the door. They knock again, but louder. “Curtis isn’t here. You can go away.”

“Red!” You look back down at your phone again. Five on the dot. “Red, you wanna answer the door?”

You sling the door wide open, planning to glare at him, and then you just stop. You allow your eyes to look up and down his body. He’s wearing good jeans, and even a nice button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up his arm, and showing off the few tattoos he has smattered on his forearms.

“Why are your eyes red?” He looks good. He smells good. Oddly expensive considering how Curtis normally smells like sunshine, sweat, hay, and horses. Extremely masculine, and not as disgusting as one might think. He cleans up nice. Even a pretty watch.

“Red?” You glance up at him. “Your eyes.”

“I just sneezed,” his brow furrows, and his head tilts. Looking a bit dog-like.

“I,” Curtis fidgets, and you finally stop gawking at him, noticing the beautiful bouquet of flowers in his hands. Now your eyes are watery for different reasons. “I b-brough you f-flowers,” he takes a deep breath, and hands them to you awkwardly. “Baby, don’t cry.”

Immediately he steps through the door, crowding you with his manliness, and actual tears break through your lashes. Every part about him overstimulates you. His scent, his height, the way his good boots quickly click on the floor, the way his calloused hands brush over your cheek as he brushes away the tears. And that word. Baby.

You’ve been touched over and over again. Women in college with you called you disgusting names because of the men that have touched you. But it’s in this moment that you realize that you’re still touch starved. Starved for a gentle touch, and soft voice to ease you out of your head. You don’t have to tell Curtis your deep rooted issues. He just knows. He’s lived it.

“Baby,” his Adam’s apple bobs as he gulps. This manly man is being so gentle with you that it hurts. You fear if you enjoy this too much that he will be taken away from you, and you want him more than you have ever wanted anything. Those walls that you spent years building, he is destroying with one goddamn word.

“Red.”

“S-s-stop. Hold,” he starts to retreat, but you grab his hand, keeping it softly on your face. “I thought — I thought you weren’t coming.”

“I wanted to pick you up,” dammit. You will not cry in front of this man. “I just feel we were skipping over some good parts here. The man coming to pick the woman up from her house. I didn’t want to just leave the house like we’re some established couple.”

“And you brought me flowers,” Curtis tries to hide the grin that is threatening to pull his lips completely up. Damn this hot as fuck man that has a sweet soul. “I was talking myself out of how you don’t mean anything to me.”

“Yeah?” He says, that grin fading quickly. His eyes look down in a true sadness. He cares what you think of him. “What did you determine?”

“How much that it actually would hurt me if you didn’t show up,” he peeks back up at you. “I think I care too much about you. About — what you think when it comes to me,” Curtis’ tongue dips out of his mouth, and he pulls his bottom lip in. Biting on the tender flesh. He reaches over to set the beautiful flowers on the counter before he places a hand on the wall and over your head.

You feel so small looking up at him. Mouth agape and trying to catch your breath. He’s so close. His eyes drift down your body, lingering on your chest before he looks all the way down. Appreciating every inch of you, especially the parts you have exposed. His hand that isn’t planted on the wall above you goes to your hip, and he pulls you closer to him, and you whimper. It is completely involuntary, but it makes Curtis pitch his hips forward.

He rights himself by putting a foot in between your own. He bends his knee slightly, and it is almost right at your core. You’re going to suffocate before the night is over. “I think an awful lot about you, baby,” you squeak at that pet name again, and his lips perk up on the side. Cheeky bastard. He knows what that name is doing to you.

“Think about me how?”

“This a pure first date.”

You have visions of the most lewd and salacious ways that he could be thinking about you. The curious part of you wants to know everything. How does he envision you? Does he touch himself when he has those thoughts?

“How are you thinking about me right now?” He clicks his tongue against his teeth. Tsking you. “Be explicit,” you look up at him through your lashes. And you are dying to know everything.

Curtis groans, looking down at his leg, and then back to you. Feeling like that’s a cue, you squat down, touching your core against his thick muscular thigh. The sound that releases from his throat sounds like a man starving for touch, even more than you are. “Don’t start. We got dinner reservations.”

“Then tell me.”

Bending over, he puts his mouth right at the shell of your ear. His voice is pained and whispered, “I briefly,” he breathes, pulling back enough to see you slowly grind over his thigh, "Envisioned you just like this. So desperate for me that you make yourself get off on my thigh.”

“Then what?” you know that you are playing with fire, and you don’t care.

“After you come on my leg, I throw you over my shoulder, and take us to that damn couch, so I can fuck into you, and then watch you bounce on my cock. As good as fucking from behind feels, I never want to take my eyes off you. I just want to stare at you enjoying yourself.”

“Curtis.”

“Baby, if we don’t leave now, I’ll have you sore for a week,” he clears his throat before standing up straight. Putting both his hands on your hip. “And you deserve to be treated like a queen. Don’t pout. I’m not going to fuck you…yet.”

And yet is a promise you will just have to deal with for now. No matter how much it aches. He gives you an easy wink before grabbing onto your hand, “You ready for our first date?”

“Yeah,” you’ve been ready for many years.

You had not expected for Curtis to bring you to the town dance hall. It had few updates since you left, but it is still lively on the dance floor, and the food is yummy. Most people didn’t come for the food, so there are very few tables hence the reason for reservations. The majority of the people came for the live music and good times.

Curtis is clearly reluctant to dance. Choosing to watch you frolic around with a girl you got along with in high school even if you weren’t friends. Your mom didn’t approve of her family. Her mother still works in housekeeping, and her father is a ranch hand. She grew up to be a teacher, and already a mother of two, and happily divorced, and happily remarried. Cheyenne was always nice to you, and didn’t even hesitate to start dancing with you.

It didn’t hurt that her new husband Cliff and Curtis worked at the ranch together. You’re hoping Cliff is the reason that you and Chey are dancing, and not you and Curtis. He did look like he needed to have a conversation with Cliff, and you just wanted to move to the music.

There’s freedom on the dance floor. Even more freedom when you realize you’re not obligated to go anywhere, but back home with Curtis. You giggle to yourself realizing just how wonderful this feels, even if Curtis is somewhat bailing on your date. It’s fine. And Chey has a lot more energy than you.

“I’m going to go get a drink,” you scream into her ear. She gives you a nod, “Then I’m going to bring Curtis out here.”

“That man doesn’t dance,” for all she knows, Curtis and you are just friends. Business partners. Acquaintances. “He seriously doesn’t dance for anyone.”

“Is that so?” You eye her up before turning around, heading to the table that occupies Curtis and Cliff. The tables are pushed back from the speakers, and have the ability to not have the music so loud. Getting over to the table, and you saddle on up in between Curtis’ spread legs. Playfully you put your hands on his thighs.

The way he looks up at you knocks the air right out of your lungs. His hands touch you at your knees, and they skim up your sides, not stopping until they get to your hips. “Oh,” Chey exclaims before crashing into her husband’s lap. “So it’s like that.”

“Red, what cha doing?”

“I’m thirsty,” he removes one hand to reach over to your beer, and hands it to you. You take a long pull from the cup before handing it back to him. Smiling so sweetly.

“What else do you want, darling?" That word does not sound as sweet, but it’s also not making him look quite as gone for you. Maybe it’s a safe nickname in public. “I know you didn’t just plant yourself in between my legs for a drink of cheap beer. What do you need, baby?”

You can hear Cheyenne giggling, but you don’t know if it's at the show in front of her, or the fact Cliff is kissing behind her ear. “You brought me here, and you’re not going to dance?”

“I don’t dance.”

“Not even for me,” you pout playfully, but he roughly pulls you into him. Putting his mouth behind your ear, and he inhales you.

“The next slow song, I’ll…” his voice stops as a slow country song starts playing. “Okay, let’s head out to the dance floor, baby,” you look over at Chey whose mouth is wide open as Curtis leads you out onto the floor. Yet another time of Curtis claiming you, and also proving that you’re different from any other woman he’s ever had at his side.

He’s doing things he doesn’t normally do. He’s showing you off, instead of hiding behind closed doors. He wants the world to know who you belong to. And it doesn’t feel so bad having him drag you out onto the dance floor. Dodging the different people slowing down, and pulling in close to one another.

Curtis twirls you around, before wrapping you tight against his body. His arm firmly around your back. Definitely too close to dance. But close enough to hear him, and feel his breath. Watching his pretty smile in the flashing lights. Physically close, but it’s the intimacy that is striking you harder.

“You dragged me out here, and you’re not going to talk?” His mouth is right next to your ear, and the rumble of his voice goes right to your core.

“I’m just enjoying the view,” smiling up at him, you stop rocking back and forth to stand on your tippy toes. Kissing him right beside his mouth. You move too quickly away from him, but catch his movement to chase your mouth. It’s not all in your head, no matter how much you try to convince yourself it is. You don’t want to think about how things you like disappear. You want to enjoy this, no matter how short it could be.

“So you still think I’m sexy?”

“I think you’re sexier,” Curtis has the biggest smirk as he grips onto your hips tighter. He digs his fingers into your soft curves, pulling you more into him. “I feel like you’re trying to consume me.”

“There’s a guy behind you,” he sighs, letting the two of you drift in a different direction, “I don’t like him staring at your ass.”

“Curtis, people stare at asses.”

“Not yours,” the grip of his hands soften, and slide lower. Too low, and they cup your buttcheeks. “Nobody needs to be staring at you like they want to eat you.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because you’re mine,” your brow cocks up immediately. “Only I get to stare at your ass like that. Does this make you uncomfortable?” You shake your head no. The last thing you want is for him to remove his hands off you. This feral idea that he is claiming you, yet again, in front of other men that only see you as a piece of meat just makes you feel weak in the knees.

“I’m such a caveman.”

“Just don’t tell me what to do,” you give him a warning. “I don’t mind you — claiming me. Don’t make it toxic. But I want people to know. Even if it’s not real,” that voice of doubt will forever haunt you. You don’t want to let it win, or even let it control you.

Curtis’ eyes roam over your face as he brings his mouth closer to your neck. He lets his pillowy soft lips tickle your neck. He ghosts his lips over your skin, peppering open mouth kisses on your sensitive column. “It’s very real, Red.”

He jerks you flush against him, and you whimper as his bulging hard on presses against your stomach. “I’m not giving you sex tonight. I’m gonna make you work for my body.”

“Asshole,” you giggle, trying to worm your hand down his stomach, but he grabs ahold of you.

“But I am going to worship you when we get home,” your eyes close at the sound of that. “I want to kiss every inch of your skin. Every dip and curve. I want to pick you up and throw you on the bed, and peel these painted on jeans off your legs, strip your shirt and bra off, and then rip those panties off you. And then,” he presses his forehead against yours, and he inhales deeply. Memorizing the way your heat alters that sweet florally perfume.

“Then?” you gulp, staring up at him.

“I’m going to place my head between your thighs, and I’m going to make you come over and over again on my mouth,” you chuckle, shaking your head. “You doubt me?”

“Nobody has ever made me come from oral,” something flashes in Curtis’ eyes, and he glances down at his watch. “But I’ve gotten very good at faking orgasms.”

“Mmm,” Curtis growls, and is immediately turning. He leads you through the throng of people. Slightly pushing anyone out of the way as he trudges to wherever he’s going.

“Where are we going?”

“Home,” butterflies. You’ve never had a place that felt like home. A place that you wanted to go to feel safe and secure.

“Why?” You giggle, trying to slow him down. He gives a wave over to Cliff and Chey. Thankfully, all you brought was yourself, and your ID. “Curtis!” He doesn’t stop when he makes it through the door. And apparently your legs aren’t going fast enough for him, and he scoops you up. Placing your belly on his shoulder as he carries you through the parking lot.

He doesn’t grunt, or make any sounds with your added weight. This is a man. He is all muscle and hard lines. Each hard piece of him was carved with grueling work. He’s used to tossing things around, and now it’s going to be you. “Curtis?”

He places you into the seat of the truck before he jogs to the other side. Throwing the truck into gear, and he backs out of his spot too easily. God, a hot man knowing how to control a vehicle is ridiculously sexy. The fact he’s on a race to get you home just to feast on you makes you swish around. Pressing your thighs closer together.

“Don’t you ever fake an orgasm with me, okay?”

“Okay.”

“You will not hurt my feelings. But I want you to always be satisfied. If you don’t enjoy something, fine. But I need you to know. I really enjoy eating pussy.”

“Great. Tell me exactly whose pussy have you been eating?”

He rolls his eyes, and turns to scowl at you. “None for a very long time. And I’m starving. So you’re going to lay on your back, and let me have fun.”

“Sounds like a plan to me. I take it we’re not taking things slow.”

“We’re taking my dick slow. But I need you to realize just how desperate I am for you. How much I have been envisioning the taste of your cunt. And I hope that you have stayed hydrated today,” his tongue clicks simultaneously with a wink, and he looks back out the window.

“Did you just…?”

“Yes, Red. I did a clicking wink with you.”

“Why should I have stayed hydrated,” he looks towards you, and you look damn near adorable worrying away at your lip. You nervously look out your side of the window, and he stops the car in the middle of the road. “Are you crazy?”

“C’mere,” Curtis’ hand slaps on your thigh before he drags you across the bench seat, and right next to him. “You’re too far away from me.”

“You’re needy.”

“Sure am. Needy for you,” your mouth opens, and it closes quickly. “You better keep that closed when you’re right beside me. And yeah, it’s because you’re too close, and it makes me wonder what my dick will look like between your pretty lips.”

“We can.”

“Nope. This is about worshiping you. But don’t tempt me,” you settle back, making yourself comfortable. It feels nice with his added warmth. It could be the hottest day in the year, and you think you’d still be trying to get closer to him. “Did you ever miss it here?”

Curtis’ voice sounds raw, terrified to hear your answer. It’s not even one you have to think too hard about, “No,” his breath shutters, and his body seems to deflate, “It was only you that I missed.”

“You don’t have to butter me up. I’ll still eat you.”

“I’m not. I think it’s safe to say you and I have always had an odd connection. Some of us were just too scared to do anything because he was afraid of what his best friend would think if you started fucking his little sister.”

“I’d do more than just fuck you.”

“Oh yeah?” You lean to the side, and kiss his neck. Feeling a rumble rattle through his body, you smile as you sit back on the seat. “And just what else would you do with me?”

“Own you. Consume every ounce of your soul and pleasure. I will bring tears to your eyes as we make love for the first time. And I’ll devour you,” home. It can’t get here fast enough. You’re left twitching and moving around in your seat. You can’t say anything to that. You’ve never made love. Never did anything, but fucked. And it felt good. It just never lasted.

His right hand rests on your leg, but makes work moving up and down your supple skin. A torturous countdown of how many seconds it takes to get home. Up. One. Down. Two. Up. Three. Down. Four. Up. Five. Down. Six. It’s all you can do to stay sane. All these promises, and all his control, while you’re melting in this seat. But this is something you could grow used to.

Something that you could grow old with. And that terrifies you. If you let him in, you give him the power that you have refused to give anyone else. Simply put, you allow him to hurt you, to break you completely down into nothing. The power to destroy what little resolve that you have left.

But the thought of not experiencing someone truly loving you terrifies you more. So if you’re going to give him you, you’re going to fully dive right into this moment, and with this man. Giving him the ability to do what you have always wanted from him. What you’ve always craved and needed. You’re going to let him destroy you in pleasure and hopefully love. Not an obligation or a duty to keep something in the family, but because it’s what he wants to do.

His truck comes to a slow roll into the driveway, and without even another word, he slings it into park, and hops out of the truck. You think for only a split second he’s changed his mind until his hands reach in to find your body, and he drags you out of his truck. An arm under your legs, while the other supports your back, he carries you bridal style into the house, while you’re left to roam his chest with your hand.

Even if tonight is all that you get, you’ve had him.

Curtis kicks the door close, and his stride quickens. Carrying you all the way to the bedroom before tossing you onto the bed. He toes off his boots, and reaches behind him to pull off his shirt. His gaze sets on you while he pulls his belt undone, and before you can even think, you try and get this stupid dress off you.

“Uh uh,” he tsks. Yanking his pants down, he stalks to the bed. “I enjoy opening my own presents, Red. C’mere. Scoot your ass to the edge of the bed,” gulping, you follow instructions, too eager. “There’s my good girl,” your eyes glaze over as you stare up at him owlishly. His hands reach towards you, and pulls one worn out boot off before the other. Throwing them both carelessly in the room.

Those thick calloused hands rub over your thighs before his lips attach to your skin. Curtis keeps his eyes directly on you as he kisses his way up your legs. Alternating between each leg painfully slowly before he drags your dress up. His eyes leave yours, and he looks between your spread thighs. Licking his lips at the prettiest pair of itty bitty panties he’s ever seen.

He doesn’t have to wonder if you want this. Your thighs are soaked with your arousal, and your cunt is pulsing through that sheer thong. “You’re already shivering,” instead of your nickname, he whispers your real name. He fully plants himself on his knees before he lifts you up to a sitting position, and attacks your mouth with his own.

This kiss is full of tension. A kiss that you have fought for, for days. He can’t even contain his own neediness as he licks along your lips, and you grant him the access to taste your tongue. He swirls his tongue around yours, and sucks on the muscle. Keeping you just occupied enough for him to reach to the bottom of your dress, and he pulls away long enough to rip the confinement off, and then he’s back.

His hips thrust into air, needing a form of friction that he’s denying himself, and only to pleasure you. To make sure that you realize that you’re first in this equation. That there is nothing that he won’t do to ensure that you are pleasured. His hands grope and prod at your ample chest, and he pulls away from your mouth to kiss and nip along your neck. Chest heaving you reach a hand to his swollen cock, but he flicks you away.

You can appreciate his need to pleasure you, but you want to feel. You want to know that he’s just as turned on as you. Reaching behind your body, he uses one hand to undo your bra, and he slings into the floor. Leaning back, he admires you. His own chest rising and falling with so much heat that you know you’re not imagining things.

“Fuck, look at you, Red. All for me. This is all for me, right?”

“Y-y-yeah,” he leans forward, using himself to lean you back into the bed before he kisses down your body. He sucks a nipple into his mouth, while his hand tweaks the other, and too quickly he continues his course down your body. You rarely let men go down on you. You don’t want them looking too long at your body, but with Curtis, you can’t even think straight. You don’t have a thought in your mind, but wanting his mouth firmly planted on your heat.

He doesn’t stop to remove your panties, no, he desperately kisses over the ruined sheer fabric. Like he couldn’t wait the few seconds it would take to remove the thong. Like he would die without knowing what you taste like. His tongue flattens over your core, and your back arches off the bed.

God, you want him on your bare flesh. You need him there. Need him to suck on your clit, and fuck you with his fingers. You. Need. Him. “Curtis,” he chuckles, and the vibrations make your toes clench. “Stop playing around.”

“Such a needy little thing. You gonna be my sweet little slut?”

“Yes!” At this moment, there is nothing you wouldn’t do for him. “Please just touch me.”

You miss him taking a deep inhale before slowly letting the air out of his lungs. You miss him biting at his lip because the second that his fingers touch that thin material at your hips, your eyes close softly. He isn’t playing. In your moment of thankful pleasure, you don’t see his blue eyes go soft as he peels you out of those panties. You don’t see his breathing stutter as he stares at you naked in his bed. Spread open, and begging for him.

You could never know the years he has spent dreaming of there being a time that you would be in his bed. Pleasuring you, pleasuring him, pleasuring each other. But more importantly, loving. He is one that never thought he was good enough for you, and it’s why he stayed away. You deserved some rich man that would spoil you. But maybe his love is enough for you. That you didn’t require all these materialistic things that your mother wanted for you. That you solely just wanted him.

And he’s tired of pretending that you aren’t everything that he’s ever wanted. Sassy attitude that doesn’t take shit from no one. A woman that claims she doesn’t need love, but gets all soft when he mentions it. Someone that claims that sex is only for pleasure, when he’s barely touched you, and you are putty in his hands. Curves that need to be openly touched. Worshiped. Not only are you perfect, but so is your body. Everything about you is his biggest fantasy.

And now you’re spread out before him like a meal he has always wanted. “Eyes on me, sweetheart,” you’re anything but sweet. But you sure do obey him without any questions. Wrecked before he’s even begun. He lifts up your legs, and rests them on his shoulders. Curtis’ dips lower between your spread legs, giving you not much to look at but his eyes that are blown wide with lust, and a predatory grin that a wolf would be envious of.

He licks one stripe through your slit, and you swear you could come undone from that alone. “Mmm,” he licks his lips, letting you see all of him before leaning forward, and devouring you. He licks, nips, and sucks at your bundle of nerves with no decorum. The noises he makes loudly and proudly, just like a man starved. Like a man that hasn’t had anything to drink in months, and his only survival is your juices.

Your body thanks him in kind. Leaking onto the bed, and he just slurps up every drop of honey that your body gives him. Your body meets his every move as it rocks up over and over again. Such a pretty sight. Curtis wears your thighs like earmuffs all the while he has some crazed look on his face at just how delectable you taste. You could drown him, and suffocate him, and he would die from the taste of your pussy every day of the year.

This is how he wants to spend his life, worshiping at the altar of your delicious cunt. Everyday he needs to taste you. Every day he needs to know that your body gets completely soaked just thinking about his mouth on you. You let out a shrill scream when he pushes three fingers into you. Not even hesitating for your body to adjust to the thick intrusion because you can handle it. Your walls are slicked up and accommodate him perfectly.

You writhe and pick up your own pace, not even realizing that he has stilled. He just kitten licks and sucks on your swollen clit. You do the rest of the work, fucking yourself on his fingers. Both of you are just as desperate for the other, and this is the moment that every single wall has been shattered, and you both know just how much you have needed the other.

Nothing has ever been so perfect. Nothing has ever made him feel more complete than that sounds coming off your kiss swollen lips. Bucking your hips in a need to get off more than you ever had before. Your tits bounce with every move you make, and his free hand cups one, and pinches the nipple. Your walls flutter around his fingers, and he smirks at your comment earlier. He’s about to get you off on his mouth, when nobody else ever has. And not just getting you off, you are dying for release.

This perfect view. This immaculate sight of your body rippling with every move of your hips. Your eyes clench close, and your mouth opens to a silent scream, pace quickening until the sound of his name tears off your lips in the most pornographic way. Your cunt holds his fingers in a vice grip as they pulse around his digits.

Your breath hasn’t even regulated before Curtis crawls up your body. He settles his weight onto you, and he thrusts into you. Boxer briefs still cover his body, but he’s just as needy to get off, and you let him take. Let him demand a release without friction. Simulating fucking has never been so hot, and then his soaked beard and mouth find yours and you kiss him with no abandon. Gripping onto his back, and scratching down his spine and you swallow every wanton moan and groan that flows off his lips.

Nothing has ever been more hot than Curtis needing something that he is refusing himself so much. You would gladly let him spear you with his cock, but all the while whatever this is, is so fucking hot. You will long for the day that you can have him, but you will never forget the day that Curtis wet humped onto your sated body. You are relaxed and willing him to just get off. Let his cum add to the mess between your legs.

“Curtis,” you whimper through the kissing. “Baby, let go,” and instantly he spews against your pussy, and you gasp as he leans back. You don’t know what passes between the two of you as you watch his mouth fall open and moans of his release fan across your face, but you want to experience this again. He is beautiful. Perfect even.

The two of you stare at each other panting, and you don’t even want to break the spell. You want to make a joke about next time just sticking it in, but you can’t. There’s an odd understanding that happens between the two of you. Too much information and feelings, and also not enough. But this moment will forever be engrained in your mind. And this bed will never be the same.

“I should, should get a washcloth to clean you.”

“I don’t want you to leave.”

“Me neither.”

“This one time — don’t,” Curtis releases a quick breath of air, but nods his head. So many unsaid words pass between you. It’s too much. Feelings are too much and racing in between you. You’ll worry about what this all means tomorrow. Or maybe it means nothing. Maybe it just means that you’re done fighting. Why fight when there is this to gain from giving up. You’ve fought too long, and this prize is too precious.

As if knowing you’ve given up, he lays his head on your chest, and you sigh. This entanglement will be the way you fall asleep. And you hope that this is the way you fall asleep every night. For the rest of your life. Entangled in him.

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @rnurse-kole @peaches1958 @seitmai

@smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989

@pandaxnienke @distractingbeth @kmm-fluv @retroquest @buckybarnesisdaddy

@munjack @shoegal73 @sunlightkent @looking10 @patzammit

@fenixstar

Next

“Girl, you better watch your back and panties around Steve Rogers,” Natasha, the bartender at the club, whispered. She didn’t want to catch Steve’s attention. He was a friend, but still her boss.

“I wouldn’t mind losing my panties around him.” You winked at her. “If you know what I mean, Nat.”

Natasha tried to talk sense into you, but you were looking at Steve again. “He’s not as sweet as he seems. Steve charms the ladies to get what he wants and drops them afterward. He’s not here for the long haul when it comes to relationships. Why don’t you look for a nice guy like Scott?”

“Scott?” You dipped your head to glance at the man sitting at the end of the bar. He wasn’t too bad to look at, had a solid job, and was nice. Natasha was right. Scott was a catch, but not the man you were yearning for. “No, he’s not it. He’s nice but…”

“You want to play with fire,” Natasha huffed while wiping the counter. “If you get burned, don’t come running to me, crying. I won’t hold your hand after he broke your heart.”

“What if he only breaks my back?” You sassed back, feeling Steve’s eyes on you. He looked at his expensive watch, frowning because your break was long over. “Shit, I think he’s mad.”

“You should go back to work and play with numbers instead of Steve’s balls,” Natasha joked, but her eyes narrowed in Steve’s direction. She knew about his habit of breaking women down to nothing, then molding them into perfect arm candies. The last thing she wanted was for him to break you too.

Steve watched you hop off the barstool to walk toward the back and get back to work. It’d be another long night. It wasn’t easy to make Steve’s business look legal. He was the leader of a criminal organization after all.

“Y/N, a word.” Steve was suddenly by your side. He slung his arm around your waist to guide you toward the back entrance.

“Uh—boss. I should head back toward my office. The numbers are waiting.” You nervously chuckled as he wouldn’t slow down. “Boss, I know I should’ve gone back to work ten minutes ago. I’m sorry I lost track of time.”

Steve didn’t say a word. He yanked you through the back door of the bar, the heavy door slamming shut behind you. You scrunched up your nose when the smell of dirt and stale beer hit your nostrils.

“Steve? Are you mad at me, boss? I told you I’m sorry…”

Steve spun you around and shoved you face-first against the rough wall. Your palms scraped the rough surface, and you squeaked at the sudden motion.

"You've been staring at me all night," Steve growled against your ear. His hand wrapped around your throat, forcing you to crane your neck. “You’re just another pathetic little slut wanting her fill.”

He roughly kicked your legs apart. One hand shoved your skirt up over your hips and ripped your panties off with one swift motion while the other worked his belt open.

You heard the zipper come down, heart racing. This was what you wanted, just not like this. Steve was rougher than expected, and you didn’t know how to feel when the thick head of his cock pressed against your bare cunt.

“Already wet,” he commented in a mocking tone. “I knew you'd be dripping for my cock like the whore you are. Remember, this is what you wanted.”

He slammed into you in one brutal thrust. You whimpered, the stretch burning, but he didn't give you time to adjust. Steve fucked you hard against the wall, hips snapping.

“You will take it,” he grunted. “That's all you’re good for. Just another tight hole for me to use.”

His fingers dug into your hips hard enough to leave marks on your body.

“Say it.”

You choked out a moan but uttered the words he wanted to hear.

“Say it louder, Y/N!”

“I’m your slut,” you gasped as he pounded deeper. “Only your slut, Steve.”

Steve laughed in your ear, his teeth tugging at your earlobe. “They all watched you make a fool out of yourself. You were walking around my bar like you deserve more than a quick fuck in a dirty alley.”

You were on the verge of tears, from the pleasurable pain, but also from the cruel reality finally setting in. Steve didn’t like you. He was using your body like he had used many before. You were no one special to him.

He reached around and rubbed your clit. Steve was a giver after all. He didn’t want the ladies to complain. ”Come on my cock, like the good whore you are. Listen to your boss.”

You whimpered his name when your high hit you. Your walls clenched around him, and he groaned, fucking you through it until his rhythm faltered. He buried himself deep and stilled his hips.

“Goddamnit, that’s a good little cunt.” He groaned in your ear, filling you up to the brim.

He pulled out, stepping away. Steve didn’t care that you couldn’t keep yourself upright. Your legs were shaking so hard that you lost your balance and ended up on the ground, cutting your leg on a shard. He tucked himself away, zipped up, and turned to leave.

“Here, clean yourself up and get back to work,” he spat, looking down at you like you were nothing but dirt. “What’s with the doe eyes? You wanted me to fuck you, remember? That’s how I treat the women I fuck. Are you happy now?”

You choked out a sob but didn’t tell him you were hurt in more than one way when he walked away, leaving you on the ground. His cum mixed with the blood seeping from the wound on your leg soaked the ground—a reminder of your downfall.

Steve was right. You wanted this. Him. All you were talking and fantasizing about was your boss, and you just paid the price for those daydreams.

Steve puffed out smoke when Sam joined him for a break. “So, Y/N is into you?” He smirked when Steve’s features darkened.

“Bucky talks too much,” Steve angrily replied. He couldn’t shake the image of you on the ground in that dirty alley for hours. It was for the best to keep you at arm’s length. “She’s just a love-sick puppy.”

“She’s a sweet one, Steve. You should leave her alone. I don’t think she’d survive you,” Sam joked, but Steve didn’t find it funny. He had already ruined you and your trust in him. There was no turning back now. His dark heart couldn’t let you in.

“Ah, are we talking about Y/N?” Bucky joined the conversation, grinning from ear to ear. He was the one riling Steve up earlier. “Did you already ask her out?”

“Shut up, James,” Steve hissed and took another sip from his drink. “You did enough tonight. I…I lost control and now…”

“Fuck,” Bucky blanched. His eyes widened, and he felt sick to his stomach. “What did you do, Steve? You didn’t kill her, right? Right…”

“Worse,” Steve grumbled under his breath. His eyes scanned the club, searching for a glimpse of you. “I ruined her.”

“Sex?” Bucky groaned. “Man, I thought you killed the sweet woman. So…was she good?” He grinned. “Did you make her cum?”

“I ruined her,” Steve repeated. He looked at Sam, seeing the judgment in the other man’s eyes. “I know, I know. You told me to leave her alone.”

“I told you not to treat her like the other women before her,” Sam chastised. “I’m not a saint, but hurting Y/N is a new low.”

Steve rose from his seat. He didn’t want to listen to his friend any longer. “I have something to take care of.”

Bucky chuckled while Sam angrily crossed his arms over his chest.

“He had to go and break the only nice woman at this club. Great,” Sam huffed and turned his attention back toward his drink. “I hope he at least puts a ring on her finger…”

“Nat, have you seen Y/N?” Steve asked after he circled the club for a second time. You weren’t at your office, the restrooms or the bar, and he slowly felt uneasy.

“Nope,” she replied, busy pouring another drink. “Not since you walked out of the back entrance with her some hours ago. It’s not my job to keep track of your employees, Steve.”

“I brought her to the hospital,” M’Baku casually said. He was about to take a break when he heard Steve talk about you.

“What? You brought her to a hospital?” Steve panted heavily. “Why? What happened?”

“Uh—I don’t know, boss.” M’Baku shrugged. “I walked out of the back entrance to smoke and found her on the ground. She was bleeding and looked like someone had attacked her.”

“Attacked. Her.” Natasha repeated. “Steve, did you leave her out there all alone?”

“How do you know she was attacked?” Steve growled, stepping closer. “Talk!”

“She was crying, bleeding, and looked like someone tugged at her clothing. I helped her up and drove her to Saint Mary’s Hospital. I wanted to call the cops, but she said no one hurt her. She slipped and fell.”

Steve didn’t listen any longer. He stormed toward the back entrance, fearing the worst.

“Mr. Rogers, please calm down. I can’t tell you anything about Ms. Y/L/N’s condition.” The doctor was breathing heavily while talking to Steve. “Please.”

Steve hesitated for only a second before he said, “Where is she? She’s my fiancée!”

“She’s still in the emergency room. We fixed her wound, and can release her any time,” the doctor stammered. He didn’t believe Steve, but he knew your boss’s reputation. The last thing he needed was to get Steve Rogers’ attention.

“Good. Bring me to her. I’m taking Y/N home.”

You were still dizzy from the pain meds they gave you when Steve carried you inside his home. He’d shown up without a word, picked you up in bridal style, and driven you straight to his place, not your apartment.

You were out cold before he even got you to the bedroom, the pain meds and exhaustion taking a toll on you. Steve laid you on your stomach to shelter your injured leg and stripped you down to your panties.

He huffed and walked out of the room, leaving you alone to clear his head. Steve had no clue why he brought you to his home and hated it.

Hours later, Steve stood in the doorway watching you sleep soundly, unaware of his presence. His cock was already hard again. He didn’t have to remember the way your walls clung to him not hours ago to get in the mood.

Steve climbed onto the bed behind you, carefully shoved your legs apart, and lined up again. You were still slick from your encounter earlier. He pushed inside in one slow thrust, groaning when your body accepted his intrusion. He started fucking you in deep strokes, one hand braced on the headboard, the other gripping your hip hard.

“Fuck, look at you,” he muttered, voice low and raspy. “Even asleep, you take my cock like a perfect little slut. You wanted this so bad you let me ruin you. Now you’re mine to use whenever I feel the need.”

He reached under you and pinched your clit, toying with it until your body twitched and a soft moan left your throat. Steve pulled out and flipped you onto your back, parting your legs.

His mouth was on your cunt before you could even open your eyes. He licked and sucked, tongue pushing in and out, then flattening over your clit.

“Steve!”

Steve growled against your pussy. “If you are in my bed, this is what happens.”

He didn’t stop before your thighs clamped around his head and you squirted all over his beard.

Steve crawled up your body, shoved your knees to your chest, and pushed back inside you. His eyes locked on yours as he fucked you roughly.

“You’re mine, Y/N,” he said. “No going back to your sweet fantasies.”

Steve woke with a groan. He was still inside your sore cunt, and already half hard. “You little vixen,” he cussed, but didn’t move. Steve nipped at your shoulder before slipping out of you.

When you finally woke up, you felt like your whole body was sore. You whined but didn’t dare to be too loud. You slipped out of bed, hoping to leave Steve’s place with what was left of your dignity. If you had any at all.

Steve watched you limp inside the kitchen, wearing the dress shirt he carelessly dropped to the ground last night. He took away your clothes, giving you no choice but to wear his shirt.

“Sit down and eat,” he said without looking at you. You sat on one of the stools at the kitchen island, glancing at Steve. He slid a plate in front of you, then poured a glass of orange juice. For a minute, you forgot how he treated you last night. You took a bite, watching him move around the kitchen like a domestic dream.

Steve had already finished his own plate and set it in the sink. He silently watched you, his eyes raking over your body. Seeing you in his clothes woke something primal in him.

He crossed the kitchen, grabbed you by the waist, and lifted you onto the kitchen island. Your plate shattered on the ground, but he didn’t care. Steve shoved your thighs apart and stepped between them, painfully hard behind his sweats.

“You’re mine to use,” he said. You barely had time to drop the fork before he yanked the shirt up and pushed inside of you. He didn’t wait. He fucked you right there on the kitchen island.

“Shit, baby. You’re still so fucking tight,” he muttered under his breath. “Even after I used your hole all night.”

He pushed you down on the kitchen island, leaning over you, one hand braced beside your head, the other wrapping around your throat.

“You’re mine,” he said, eyes locked on yours. “No other man can fuck you from now on.”

Suddenly, he kissed you. It was unexpected and breathtaking. His mouth moved against yours, tongue claiming your mouth.

Much too soon, he pulled back, looking almost surprised. He huffed and buried his face in your neck. Steve fucked you harder, until you came with a choked-out moan, walls fluttering around him. He followed a few thrusts later, groaning as he came inside you.

For a moment, he breathed into your neck, holding himself deep inside your pulsing cunt. You were still shell-shocked from the kiss when he pulled out. Steve looked at you, brows furrowed.

“Clean yourself up. You need to get back to work,” he said. “And don’t get any ideas about that kiss. It was just the heat of the moment.”

He walked out of the kitchen like nothing had happened, leaving you on the kitchen island with his cum leaking out of you.

You tried to focus on work, not the soreness in your body or the images flashing up in your mind. The rough treatment. How Steve abandoned you behind the club. And then, the kiss. It was rough and dominating, but it felt like so much more.

Steve found you in the office later that day, staring at the stack of papers on your desk. You were focused on getting the work done when he closed the door behind him and locked it without a word.

“You need a break,” he said, a question not in his words. You rose to your feet, careful to shelter your injured leg.

He walked you backward until your ass hit the edge of his desk, then lifted you onto it. Steve stepped between your thighs and pushed your skirt up. His fingertips traced the inside of your leg, careful around the fresh bandage.

You watched him push his hand inside your panties to find you already wet. Or still wet. You didn’t know at that point. It felt like your body was always ready to take Steve since your first encounter behind the club.

“You wanted me. Only me,” he muttered, almost to himself. His free hand unzipped his fly, freeing his cock. “You’re mine now to use.”

He shoved your panties aside to push inside. Slower this time, to make you feel all of him. His forehead pressed against yours as he started to fuck you in long, slow strokes. The desk started to creak under your weight, and you feared people outside could hear your coupling.

“Fuck,” he cursed. “I’m getting used to this nice little hole.”

His hand slid up your back and pressed you closer to his body. His mouth claimed yours again, softer and slower this time.

“You’re mine,” Steve murmured against your lips. “Don’t think I won’t break you even more if you look at some other guy.”

It was almost closing time, and Steve was casually walking around the club, saying goodbye to a few regulars. He was about to find you and take you with him when he heard commotion near the bar.

“Let go of me! I’m with someone.” You sounded distressed when he followed the noise. Some drunk asshole had his hand wrapped around your wrist while you tried to twist away. Your voice grew louder, telling him to back off, but the man just laughed.

Steve moved faster than M’Baku or one of the other bouncers. He grabbed the man by the collar, yanked him back, and slammed him against the bar hard enough to break his nose.

“Hands off her. She’s mine,” Steve angrily growled. “You touch her again, and I’ll break every bone in your fucking body, not just your nose.”

He dropped the man to the ground, waiting for his bouncers to take care of the trash. His eyes were already on you and your trembling hands.

“Back. Now.”

Steve didn’t wait for you to calm down. He wrapped one arm around your waist, guiding you toward the back of the club.

Inside the office, he carefully lifted you onto the desk to look you all over, checking for injuries.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice softer than usual.

You nodded, afraid your voice would tremble if you spoke. He searched your face for a second, then leaned in to press a soft kiss to your temple.

“That’s my fault,” he murmured. “That fucker thought he could touch you because I didn’t clarify you’re mine. No one else gets to touch you.”

You didn’t know if he meant what he said. Steve was like a raging storm coming over you. He destroyed you, only to pick you back up. You only knew you were his, and he wouldn’t let you go anytime soon…

“Everything okay?” He asks before you can flee up the walk to your door.

You pause and cringe. You might be reserved but you’re not rude. You back up and face him.

“Everything’s fine.” You say flatly.

“Mhm.” He puts his hand on the corner of the truck bed. “I saw you last night. Sleeping in your car. Lose your keys or something?”

You stare at him. “Or something.”

He nods and clucks. “Right, well… if you need anything.”

“I won’t. Thank you, Marshall.”

You turn again, silver stars speckling with the motion. You take a breath and steady yourself. He snorts.

You glance over your shoulder.

“My name’s Walter. Marshall’s my last name.”

“Noted,” you rasp.

You continue up the walk and pull out your keys. You turn the lock and grip the handle. You lean on the door, barely stopping it as you nearly fall inward. You enter and don’t look back as Marshall, correction, Walter, calls good night.

The lock grinds back into place and you hang your keys. You ignore the pile of mail on the floor, envelopes stuffed through your slot endlessly. There’s a stack of clothes in the chair in the front room and more hanging over the back of the couch. There’s a few wrappers from frantically eaten protein bars scattered on the table beside the lamp and another pair of shoes trips you as you lumber down the hall.

You shower. The humidity clogs your chest and makes your nose run. It does little to soothe your head. You groan and rub your temples, water slaking over your dry skin.

You sleep. Heavily but wake groggy. Your ears feel full as you dress, brush your teeth, and wrestle your hair. You leave your dirty clothes on top of the overflowing basket and rush out with a green tea and dry granola bar.

As you open your car door, balancing your phone in one hand, thermos under your arm, and keys in the other, the large black pick up pulls in beside you. You don’t acknowledge Walter as you use your knee to push your door all the way open.

“Morning, neighbour,” he grits out.

You sit in the driver’s seat and drop the thermos into the holder. “Morning.”

You close the door before he can attempt further conversation. Lloyd flies out that night. You need to make sure he isn’t roofied in his bathroom.

As you reverse, your eyes catch Walter’s as he watches. You ignore him and focus on the road as you crank the wheel. You open the top of the thermos to let the steam out and use your teeth to tear through the crinkly wrapper of the granola bar.

It’s bland and dry. The peanuts taste old and the berries are like gum. You give up halfway through. Your throat is dry enough as it is.

You stop for the usual order; cappuccino with of cinnamon and cocoa, and a cheese Danish. No danishes today, something about a delivery. You get him a croissant instead. He won’t be happy.

You sip the tea as you drive up to Lloyd’s overzealous abode. Everything he is does is excessive; well, everything but take care of himself. You roll through the gates and hide your car in the usual spot.

Routine takes over. You suppress a cough that tugs in your chest as you enter. The house is quiet. You open the curtains then climb the stairs to deliver his breakfast.

You knock to no avail. You can hear him inside. You let yourself in. He’s on the balcony talking on the phone. You sneak in with his coffee and the second choice of pastry and set it down. He turns and inhales. He’s in his black robe with the tiger embroidered into the left side.

“Mmm, caffeine.” He declares into the phone. “Nicky, hold your dick, alright? I got everything in order. I’ll be heading out in a couple hours.”

You can hear the retort on the other end but can’t make out the words. Lloyd chuckles.

“Don’t be such a fucking prude. I know what you were doing with Priyanka.”

There’s more shouting on the other end and more laughter on his. You retreat into the bedroom and check his go-bag one last time. You open the dress and bend to pull out some clothes but as you stand, you waver and stagger around.

You blink as your head spins. It’s getting annoying. You wish it would stop. Maybe you should’ve finished that granola bar.

You lay out his attire as he growls. A crinkle fills the air before the paper bag flies through and the chocolate croissant slides out across the floor, leaving a dusting of pastry. You sigh.

You know better than to apologise and give an excuse. You clean it up and continue your work. He holds a grudge which means he’ll be sure to spill as much as he can on the table before he finishes his coffee.

You bring him his tablet. He sits and pores over the briefing and maps. You flee to the kitchen to prep a proper breakfast. He comes down and eats, still thumbing at the tablet.

He pulls out his phone again. He dials out as he hums at the bigger screen of the tablet. “Tianaaaaa.” He sings. “Got time for a morning quickie?”

You back out and distract yourself with other things. Patches of time blow by without recollection until you find yourself bracing the wall, staring at the plaster, clueless. The gate buzzes.

You let Tiana in and she disappears with your boss. You put his devices on the charger and clean up his dishes. As you shut the cupboard, you slump over the counter, drifting until you barely keep from crashing to the floor.

"Slacking again." Your father snarls as you tap the speaker and roll back against the pillow. You hold back a sigh.

"Dad?" You gulp.

"Daughter." He snaps. "You owe me rent."

"Huh?"

"With interest. You think I'm gonna keep holding onto this trash you left behind for free?" He sneers.

You rub your eyes, wide awake as your heart spikes. You sit up and clear your throat.

"Dad, you said--“

"You're just like you're mother. Running off whenever you want, thinking you can just barge back in when it suits you. I'm not a storage unit." He huffs. "Just as useless as her too."

"Dad, please, I'm still waking up. I..." You pause and swallow in your dry throat. You glance over your shoulder, staring at your bag on the night table. Andy's card... No you can't.

"Always a goddamn excuse. I thought-- I tried to raise you better but you're just as stupid as her." He growls. "A thousand by the end of the day or I burn it."

You wince. "Dad, please--"

The line clicks. You stare at your phone then close your eyes. You tip your head back and roll your shoulders. Well, it's a good thing you never had anything very valuable. But there's one other hitch; doesn't sound like you'll be going home after this term.

"Sweetheart." Andy's crisp voice slices through the lull.

Your eyes snap open and you turn to him. He has a cardboard tray with cups in his hand, a paper bag in the other. You push yourself to your feet and the blanket droops over the side of the bed.

"Andy?" You gasp. "When..."

He looks down at the coffee and wets his lips. His throat tightens. "Been here long enough to hear what I need to."

"Andy..."

He crosses the room and puts the tray and bag down on the night table.

"Wanted to surprise you. Figured you'd still be sleeping." His voice is thin with fatigue. "Sounds like you had a rude awakening."

"Andy," you repeat his name again. "What did you..."

"All of it." He turns to you and puts his hands on your shoulders. He squeezes. "I was gonna drive you to class but... I got business that just came up. Get yourself an Uber."

"What? Business? Andy. What are you talking about?" Your spine locks up as chills ripple across your skin. "My dad... He says things he doesn't mean."

"Sweetheart. That didn't sound like a concerned father to me." He rubs your shoulders with your thumbs. "And it's not the first damn time I've heard him talk to my woman the wrong way."

You flinch. You frown. Back in the store when your dad called... You thought maybe he overheard some but hoped...

"Please. It's not a big deal. You don't have to--"

"Sweetheart, you don't get it." He bends to kiss your forehead. "I do gotta."

"Andy..." Your voice cracks as you think Charles and bloody knuckles; of what Everly said. "You can't hurt him."

He goes silent and slowly drags his hands down your arms. He clings to your hands and hums. "No, I can. He hurts you and I know he does more than speak to you bad." He squeezes. "I see it each time you shy away from me."

"It's just my dad."

"Who's going to burn all your stuff?" He challenges.

"He's not serious."

"Sounded pretty damn serious to me." He snaps and you flinch, pulling your hands from his.

He cringes and shakes his head. "I'm not mad at you, sweetie. I'm concerned."

"Please--"

"This isn't something I can just let go." He leans back on his heel. "Don't worry about me. That's not your job. I worry about you." He insists. "And this is just that.”

He turns and strides away. You hurry after him. He stops just inside the front room. He faces you.

“Go. Enjoy your breakfast.” He orders.

“But… yours.”

“I’ll be fine.” He caresses your cheek and leans in to kiss you. “Sweetie. You have to trust me. That’s gonna be important. Trust that some things I need to take care of.”

“Please, don’t hurt him.”

He winces and closes his eyes. His jaw tenses. He shakes his head.

“I’ll try not to.” 

He spins and marches out. You stand stunned. He as much as admitted his intent. But what’s more shocking is you’re not stopping him. All that pleading, just words, and that’s as much as you’ll try for your father. It’s more than he ever did for you.

💗

You go to your midterm but you’re not really there. You can’t stop thinking, wondering what Andy’s doing. Flashes of his bloody knuckles and that deadly silence when he came to your house that night he found Everly colour your mind. The memories redraw his entire image; all those moments he firmed his voice and told you, didn’t ask.

You write on autopilot and hand in your exam. You don’t care if you do well. There’s more important things than twenty percent of your grade.

You don’t know what to do. You can’t go back to that apartment. You’re too nervous to be alone.

You call Everly. She answers. Surprising considering it’s before noon, even during midterms season.

“There you are!” She chimes. “All done with daddy?”

“Everly,” you warn. “Please.”

“I didn’t mean it like that but… nice to know what’s on your mind,” she giggles.

You roll your eyes. “Just finished my last midterm.”

“Yay!” She trills. “So does that mean you want to get hyped on vodka?”

“Not exactly. How about a latte?” You offer.

“Do you have daddy’s card? We could go to the sushi buffet.” She suggests. You sigh. She laughs again. “Oh, you’re starting to sound like him.”

“Oh my god. Don’t say that.”

She cackles. 

“I need some sashimi.” She whines.

You chew your lip. Well, you need the distraction. You shrug and shuffle along the campus sidewalk.

“Sure, should I meet you at your place?” You ask.

“Uh, probably. I need to get myself together.” She yawns. “Do you remember Chase?”

“You didn’t…” You hiss.

“A girl needs to rebound!” She preens.

💗

After sushi, you go back to Everly’s. You try not to make it too obvious that you’re avoiding leaving or being alone. Sometimes her lack of perception is an advantage.

She’s too focused on begging you to upgrade her wardrobe as she shows you her ‘out of season’ pieces. You cross your arms as you sit on the couch and she presents shirts that look brand new and skirts you’ve never even seen her wear. You squint.

“I think that’s cute.” You argue at the mini skirt with the little tassels sewn into it.

“It’s totally last year!” She throws it down. “You can have it… and buy my a new one with daddy’s card.”

“Everly, it won’t fit me.” You chide.

“Sure it will. It’s got give.”

“You don’t need new clothes.” You rebuff. “Your dad said for emergencies only.”

“My dad? Your sugar daddy.” She laughs.

“Ew, stop doing that.”

“It is kinda weird.” She sticks her tongue out. “Are you like… my mom now?”

“Stop!” You shriek.

She laughs even louder. “Well…” she comes around the couch and pushes aside the clutter of clothing. She sits across from you. “You know… dad hasn’t dated since… mom. Hasn’t even tried. I actually was starting to think he was ace or something. Which like, no judgement to him, but he’s so wound up.”

“He’s a bit… uptight.” You say quietly.

“It’s so weird to see him… soft. Like, he’s my dad, of course he cares about me but he’s always been so strict, you know. But with you… I don’t know.” She pouts and her eyes brighten. “Do you think you could sweeten him and get me a car?”

You scoff. “Everly.”

She shivers dramatically. “Oh, you’re worse than him. Scarier.”

“Don’t,” you chide.

She winks and giggles again. She stands up and turns to scrutinise her clothes again. She holds up a pair of holographic heels. “I really need the new Manolos.”

You shake your head and huff. Despite the distraction of her bartering, you can’t settle. You just keep thinking about that look in Andy’s eye when he walked in this morning. That stone in his voice. The resignation in his face.

He nuzzles the back of your head as his dick prods your back. He hums and nibbles your ear. He caresses your shoulder and arm. His large hand stretches across your throat.

“Fuck, day’s hot enough without you wiggling that ass around,” he taunts as he rubs his tip against your rear. “Come on, open up for Lloyd Poo.”

You shiver but don’t resist. You open your legs and arch your back. You whimper as he slides into you. It’s getting easier but you’re still raw. You bite your lip as the bright sun makes your eyes water. You lean your head back on his shoulder as his fingers curl into your neck.

He rocks into you deliberately. Long strokes that mirror the slow breaths rising and falling in his chest. You drop your arms and feel along his thick thigh and side. He groans and rams his hips up. He grunts and drags his hand down, hooking his arm under yours to fondle your chest.

“I could fuck you all day… think I will.” He snickers. “You know, baby…” he puffs heavily. “It’s a fucking compliment cause I don’t usually… keep a kitty around more than an hour or two.”

You purr and lean into him. “If you want me to go…”

“Shut the fuck up.” He ruts harder and you squeal. “You couldn’t get off me if you tried.”

He’s right. You push down onto him until he spasms. His hand kneads your chest, his other splayed over your stomach and pelvis. He rolls his hips relentlessly, water stirring.

His motion stammers as a sudden sharp melody erupts. He sighs but plunges into you again. He shifts your weight along the wall of the pool. You latch onto his forearm as he sidles along.

“Work with me, sweetheart,” he growls.

He carries you along and pushes you once more against the tile. He splashes water over the edge as he reaches to quiet his ringing phone. He thrusts again.

“Hansen. Go.” He snarls.

You hold back a squeak as you watch the call timer count. You bring your hand up to bite your knuckle. Your eyes roll back as Lloyd crushes you into the wall.

“You busy?” The voice rises from the speaker.

“Swimming.” Lloyd answers keenly. “What d’ya want?”

“You’re shortballing me.” The caller accuses.

“You insulting my balls?” Lloyd challenges.

“It’s worth more.”

“Fuck it is.” Lloyd pumps into you hard, water slapping loudly.

“Hansen?”

“I’ll drop another ten–” He pauses. “Just to get you to let me finish.”

He reaches over and hangs up with an impatient flick. He drones and once more loops his arm around you. He backs up and turns so his back is against the wall of the pool. He stills and moves you up and down his length. He bows his head and chews on your shoulder.

You close your eyes and smile up at the blazing sun. No thoughts, no dread, no worry. Just that moment and the way he makes your body sing.

☀️

You don’t wanna go. It’s not your choice though. As young and naive as you are to get yourself into this… whatever it is, you know better. You have to go home. The towel Lloyd tosses your way is as good as a dismissal.

“Are you busy tomorrow?” You ask as you wrap yourself up.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, sweetheart?” He cackles and sits, naked, shameless, on the lounge chair and sighs. He whistles as he looks down at his dick, limp but twitching. “What the fuck do you do to me?”

You giggle. “I don’t… know.”

“You should go before I clear my schedule for the week. I can’t afford that shit.” He growls.

You grin and stare at him. The way he wants you makes you feel so powerful. And he’s not bad on the eyes. The mustache isn’t exactly your thing but the rest of him…

“Don’t look at me like that,” he warns. “Why the fuck are you hanging around here anyway?” He pauses and holds up his finger. “Actually, don’t answer that. I don’t fucking care.” He points at you. “Get this, alright? I’m not a commitment kinda guy. I’m— I got some years on me and I haven’t been tied down yet so don’t you go dreaming up some fairytale. This is fucking. Nothing else.”

You shrug and bend to grab your bikini. “Sure. I got it. I’m too young for commitment.”

“Uh huh.”

“Really.” You assure him as you drop the towel and pull on your damp bathing suit. “Besides, there’s lots of guys my own age.”

He snorts but doesn’t say anything. He shakes his head and leans back on the heels of his hand. He sniffs.

“Go home, sweetheart. I really do got business to deal with… boring fucking business.”

“See ya ‘round,” you throw your caftan over your head and skip away.

“Mmm, sure thing, sweetheart,” he mumbles.

You strut out but stop once you’re past the gate. Your confidence dissipates. You look up and down the street. You have no escape.

Slowly, you make your way to your mom’s gate. His car is there. Shoot. You stare, trying to figure a way inside. You don’t think you have enough strength in your legs to make the climb again.

“There you are!” Your mother startles you as she appears in a bright floral romper and sunhat. “Dear! Where have you been?”

You push through the gate and clear your throat.

“Swimming… at Nadine’s.” You pull the name out of thin air. She never can remember who is who.

“Ah. How is she?”

“Good. Good.” You fold your arms. “I’m just going to change–”

“Melrose,” the deep voice stops you from flitting away as Steve steps through the front door. Great. He winces as he sees you. “You found her.”

“I’m a good girl,” she purrs.

You frown. They made up fast. You look between them.

“Um, can I go…” you gesture past Steve.

“We have a surprise for you!” Your mother claps.

“A surprise?” You murmur.

“Vacation! Whoop!” She throws her arms up. You shrug in confusion.

“Huh?”

“Steve booked us all a trip to a resort in the Caicos!” She shrills. “A family vacation! We talked and realised we really haven’t spent time all together.”

“Oh, but…”

“I have a bunch of time off banked at work. Figure I should use it before it expires.” He says primly.

You blink at him as his eyes bore into you. You notice his intent examination of your caftan. You look at your mom.

“When?”

“In a couple days. Oh, this is just what I needed! Cocktails on an island.” She wiggles in excitement. “Lindy’s already packing.”

“Oh, right…” You utter.

“Don’t be a downer!” She grabs your arms and pulls them apart. “You need to loosen up!” She pouts and feels the sleeves of your caftan. “And get something cuter than this!”

“Mom.” You say.

“We’ll go shopping tomorrow! And get you something nice.” She tugs on you. “What do you think, honey?” She turns you to Steve. “Wouldn’t she look lovely in something… red?”

Steve watches you. His cheek dimples and his brow twitches. You can smell vodka radiating off your mother.

“Maybe pink,” he suggests. “Don’t forget the sun lotion, Mel. I know how the young girls like to show off these days.”

“And the older ones,” she giggles. “Isn’t that right, honey?”

He hums. “Well, there’s lots to do, isn’t there?”

“Yep, so… I should probably… go do that.” You pull away from your mom.

You step up to Steve and stare at him defiantly. He glares back. “You’re welcome.”

“Hm, thanks,” you scoff.”

One hour prior... 

Maddie 

This is what I need.  Just some girl time. I love Andy, don’t get me wrong but sometimes there is just too much testosterone in the house. I turn to look at myself. The pretty white dress with blue flowers swishes as I turn. It makes me smile. I walk out and turn around for the girls. “What do you think?” 

“Aww Maddie, its beautiful,” Jenn coos.  

“Rocking that tiny baby bump,” Ang sings.  

That’s the one thing I am eternally grateful for: my new friends. It’s the one thing that I was missing. James always kept me to himself. Sure, I had co-workers I could talk to but outside of the office I had no one. At first, i thought that we were just in that honeymoon bubble. Love birds nesting and all that. Now I can see that it was control.  He wanted to control me; make sure I didn’t find an outlet that would let me see all of his evil intentions.  

I fully believe my soon to be ex-husband is evil.  

What kind of man has to find another woman to satisfy his needs just because his wife was inexperienced? I was willing to learn. I was willing to do anything for him. I would have given the world if I could.  

But then I wouldn’t have Andy.  

I take a deep breath and lean on the frame of the changing room. “Maddie, are you ok?” Andie asks with a frown. 

“Yeah, just need a moment.” I sigh as the clerk from the store brings a chair. “The doctor said my blood pressure is pretty high, and I need to keep calm.” I rub my bump. Andy loves to kiss my bump whenever he can. Says his baby knows and wants a hug and a kiss from the Papa.  

Papa.  

It makes me smile, thinking that I met a man and fell hard in just weeks. Someone who cherishes me, loves me, protects me with everything he has. He has never made me feel less.  

I slip back into the dressing room to try another dress.  I’ve outgrown my pants and just need some loose clothes and leggings.  I want to be lazy.  But I also love getting to know everyone. I like cooking with Curtis, sharing smoothies with Jake, helping Doc with papers, and especially sitting in Andy’s lap while everyone enjoys themselves around us. I don’t feel safer than in his arms.  

As I step out of the dressing room in a yellow dress with daisies, a voice speaks with a quiet yet commandeering voice. “You look delicious, Cupcake.”  

I know that voice.  I’ve heard it before. Before I can turn around, he pushes me back into the room, spins me, and pins me into the wall. Lloyd Hansen gives me a smile, the stick of his lollipop sticking out. He presses his hips into me, holding me in place while he removes the candy from his mouth. “I knew you were pretty, but fuck are you beautiful when you are all glowy and pregnant.”  

“Wh-what do you want?” I can feel my heart starting to race. I try to breathe calmly but it's taking some time.  

“Relax, sweetheart. I am not going to hurt you.” He smiles and caresses my cheek. “I don’t have a death wish.” I whimper and his smiles grow wider. “Shhh. You don’t want to alert anyone about my being here.”  

“Please... please don’t hurt me or my baby.”  

He scoffs. “I would never. That could be my niece or nephew there.”  I gasp and he laughs softly. “So you don’t know who the father is. That’s interesting. Very interesting.”  He tosses the candy and then lowers his hand to the bottom of the dress. His fingers glide gently over my skin as he brings the skirt up. I open my mouth to scream but he covers my mouth. He grips my thigh and pulls it up and over my hip. “Don’t.” He tightens the grip on my leg.  

“Hmm... so warm.” I feel his cock jump against me and I let out a muffled gasp. “I understand now why Barber and Barnes are obsessed with you. I could take you myself and raise that baby as my own. Make you my woman, fuck you whenever I want, put another baby in you.”  

A tear slips. “Oh, princess, don’t worry. Unless those two guys are dead, there is no way for me to get away with that.” He presses his forehead to mine and rubs his nose with mine. His mustache tickles but I don’t even flinch. “But I am warning you. Bucky has figured out that you are with child.” My eyes widen. “And he wants what’s his, that baby and you.”  

No. No, he can’t know. I don’t want him as the father of my baby. I don’t want anything to do with him. I cried out, the sound muffled but made Lloyd harder somehow.  

“You need to keep calm, kitten. Can’t have you having issues with the baby. We’ll be seeing you soon, Princess. And when we bring you back home, our whole family will celebrate. From one bed to the other.” With that, he releases my mouth and kisses me hard before I can get a sound out. He lets me go and I teeter where I stand. He blows me a kiss before running out of the cubicle and out the back door.  

I sway for a moment. He knows.  

That’s the last thing I think before everything goes black.  

Ang 

“She’s taking a long time in there,” I comment.  

“Maybe she’s stuck in the dress?” Andie offers before giggling.  “Remember when you got stuck in your jeans with Dani and Steve had to cut you out of them.”  

“Fuck you.” I look away. That was mortifying but, in the end, satisfied me.  I ended up bouncing on Steve’s massive cock for an hour. I think I set a record in orgasms that day.  

Suddenly, I hear a thump, and I jump up and run into the dressing room.  I see the back of a man wearing a yellow shirt and tight ass pants. But my peripherals see legs on the floor. I throw the curtain open, and Maddie is lying on the floor, unconscious. “Maddie!” I get to and check her pulse.  It's rapid. “Andie! Call 9-1-1!” 

Andy 

“I should have gone with her,” I said, pacing in the waiting room.  

“All it would have done is hurt someone in the crossfire, Prez”. Steve said as he held Ang. Ang is not a crier, but she was in tears when we came tearing into the emergency room. Steve cupped his wife’s face to get her to focus.  “Ang, baby, what happened?” 

“I don’t know. We were in the store, trying on stuff and Maddie wanted to get a couple of dresses. She was changing but taking a while. I thought she was stuck or something. Then I heard a thump and I ran in and some guy was going out the back door.”  

“What did he look like?” I demanded. 

“Tall, dark hair, yellow shirt. I didn’t see his face.” She shook her head. “Anyway, I saw something in my peripherals and Maddie was on the floor. Andie called for an ambulance, and I made sure she was breathing.”  

“Fuck!” I start to pace. I look at Ari and Jake. “Go,” I ordered. They kissed their women and headed back to the store. They knew what I needed. The security footage. We needed to know who had been in the room with her.  

“Andy,” Ang grabbed my arm. “She was bleeding. I don’t know if she cut herself in the fall but the paramedics were with her within three minutes. They just happened to be around the corner when we called.”  

I froze. Not our baby. Not her. I can’t lose them. I pace back and forth for what felt like hours. Jenn brought some coffee for us, and they talked quietly with everyone, but they left me alone.  

The door opens and Doc walks in. I stand in front of him and grab his arms. “Chris, tell me she’s ok. That they are ok.”  

“Prez, they are stable. Alive and stable. But they are not out of the woods yet.” He grabs my shoulders as I sag. “Maddie’s blood pressure skyrocketed. She passed out from shock.”  

“The bleeding?” 

“She cut her hip on something when she went down. The baby is good for now. They were able to stabilize the uterus and avoid preeclampsia. However, Maddie is now at a much higher risk than before. The ER doctor, Dr. Hunt, has her sedated to allow her body to relax and heal. But more than likely, she will be on bed rest for the rest of her pregnancy. She can walk to the restroom or sit on the couch, but no strenuous activities.”  

My mind was spiraling. I tried to focus on the one thing: they are going to be ok.  I held on to that thought and breathed through my panic. “When can I see her?” 

“They are moving her up to maternity now. We can see her in about half hour.”  

“Thank you Doc.”  

“Of course. Maddie is a fighter but she will need help with this adjustment.”  

“We’ll be there for her,” Jenn replies.  

True to his word, half an hour later, I am walking into the hospital room and seeing Maddie for the first time since she was brought in. She is asleep, peacefully, oblivious to the rage I was feeling under my skin. Her hands seem to have naturally landed on her bump, as if she is protecting our baby. My heart breaks. I should have been there. I underestimated the danger.  

I pulled a seat next to her and took her hand. I kissed it and pressed it on my cheek. It was warm and that made my heart calm down. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”  

I hear the door creak and I stand. A man in scrubs walks in, look at a tablet. “Mr. Barber?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I’m Doctor Hunt.” We shake hands. “I understand that Dr. Beck got you up to speed with Maddie’s condition. Her labs have come back, and everything is looking normal.” I sighed in relief.  “She will need more careful monitoring.  I have reached out to Dr. Robinavitch. He’s going to come by tomorrow and make official recommendations for her pregnancy.  She is very lucky that someone was there to get her to the hospital.” 

“When will she wake up?” 

“I’ve ordered for the sedative to be reduced.  I’d say by morning.” 

“Thank you, Doc. I appreciate you looking out for them.” I shake his hand and then sit back down.  

I feel pressure in my hand and I startle awake.  I look at my watch. Five thirty AM. I passed out.  Then I feel the pressure on my other hand and look down to see the most beautiful eyes in the world. “Angel,” I breathe.  

“Hi Andy.” She gives me a small smile as tears roll down her cheek.  

I adjust so I can reach with my other hand to wipe away her tears. “Don’t cry, Angel.”  

“I’m sorry,” her voice wobbles as she starts to hyperventilate. Her heart monitors start to beep rapidly.  

I scramble and climb into her bed, watching out for all the wires she’s connected to, and pulling her into my arms. “Shh… love, please relax. I’m here and you’re okay. You and the baby are ok.” I kissed the top of her head and started to run my fingers through her hair.  

“I’m… I’m…” she stuttered as she sobbed.  

“Baby, relax for me. Everything is ok. My sweet Angel, please. The baby needs you to relax. Breathe with me.” I breathed in and felt her follow the movement of my chest. A nurse opened the door slightly and I shook my head at her. She smiled and nodded before leaving us alone.  After a few minutes, I can feel her body relax and her breathing calmed.  

“There you go, Angel. You did so good for me.” I kiss her forehead. “Tell me what happened.”  

“You’ll be angry with me.”  

“Baby, I would only be angry if you did something to me on purpose.  Did you let this happen on purpose?” She shook her head.  “Then, tell me.”  

She searched my eyes, looking for something to tell her that I’m not mad. She swallows and says, “Andy, it was Lloyd.  He was in the dressing room.” She trembled as she told me.  “He pinned me and told me that Bucky knows. He knows about the baby and that he’s coming for me. The he kissed me and left.” 

All I see is red.  

NEXT

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