Emma

The shutter retracted up with a clatter, the three of you ducking in one by one before Kat dragged it back down to the floor, twisting the key at the bottom to lock it.

You coughed as you stood, the air thick with the faint smell of bleach and old lint. It was to be expected from a furniture store you supposed, especially one that didn’t get much movement from well.. anyone.

“Hey is there a light in here?” You spoke through the darkness, turning to catch the silhouettes standing behind you.

“This way.”

An arm hooked around your waist before you could answer, and through the dim light you made it out who it was. A scent of roses and cocoa butter covered the smell of pot, and the coolness of her bangles rubbed against your arm as Kat angled you both across the floor.

You made it a few paces to the back wall before a gold glow lit up from the far corner.

Bobby.

He fumbled with the string of an antique lamp, unwrapping the straps of his camera as he set it onto a nightstand, turning to face you both with a scrunch in his brow.

“Does Clark really sleep on these things? They’re fuckin’ hard.” His hand pressed into the mattress, shoving it up and down before it bounced back into his hand.

“Don’t complain about it now, it was your idea. And yeah.. he does..” Kat looked up at him with that familiar look of sarcasm, shrugging beside you as she swung the backpack from her arm and onto a dresser. Her arm reached into it, rummaging as you leant against the wood.

“Your manager sleeps in his own store?” She huffed a laugh at your quirked brow.

“He’s kind of.. down and out, it’s the only place he has right now.”

“Then where is he?”

“I’m not sure, out of town for something he’s gone crazy about, something he’s found apparently.”

She eventually pulled out a packet of ‘jiffy pop’ from the bag with a proud smile, “Right Im gonna get us actual food.”

Kat turned on her heel, placing a hand on your shoulder before giving it a squeeze.

“Don’t get into too much trouble.. and.. don’t let Bobby touch anything.”

Kat disappeared down the hall in search of the break room, leaving you standing in the middle of Clark's furniture store trying not to laugh at how ridiculous this was.

You had been lying in their apartment for hours before one of you, not that you could hardly remember, mentioned heading out. And after however long of wandering through town, the last glimpses of the sunset burning into the dark, you’d made it to Clark’s.

"Yeah if we don’t get arrested for a break in."

Bobby had already claimed an entire display bedroom for himself, setting it up for you all. The bed was wide, king sized it read from the poster, with deep blue sheets and off white pillows, discoloured it looked from that angle.

"Nah," he said, kicking off his shoes and throwing himself backwards onto the mattress. "This is basically a hotel."

"It’s a furniture store." You crossed your arms watching him with a squint.

"Exactly, free hotel."

The mattress bounced as he spread his arms dramatically with a smirk. Half of the lights had been switched off for the night, leaving the showroom glowing in soft amber pools, and somehow it actually made it look homely. Not the empty, stale place the three of you usually made fun of.

Your eyes wandered over the space, fighting a smile. The whole place felt surreal. Couches were arranged like fake living rooms, lamps casting warm circles of light, rows of untouched beds stretching into darkness, and the staircase behind you leading to the lower level. Not creepy at all.

You found yourself drifting where Kat had disappeared to. The three of you had been inseparable all evening, and lately it had only grown, like some undergrown strange tension that crept on you all slowly. Being friends for years would do that you supposed, but it always seemed as if there was more. Like gravity pulled you together just as you all had stayed close. The lingering glances, the casual touches that lasted a little too long, and some sort of feeling nobody seemed quite ready to put into words.

They’d been dating for two years, and you’d been happy for them, even remembered the exact day they’d came come from school in the late afternoon to your house just to tell you.

“So you’re together, together?” You leaned on the doorframe, eyes wide with excitement.

“Hell yeah.” Bobby’s arm slung around Kat’s shoulders with a proud grin.

“Not that this changes anything, he’s still an idiot, and you’re still my favourite.” Kat smirked at you.

“Hey—“ Kat swatted him in the stomach before grabbing onto you and ushering you outside into whatever left of the summer sun there was.

And she was right, it didn’t change anything at all. If anything it brought you all closer. There wasn’t anything unspoken, it was all out in the open and comfortable, except for one thing. How they had felt for you.

Bobby patted the spot beside him.

"Come test the merchandise." He spoke up, gesturing his head toward his hand.

"You sound like a salesman."

"I'm the best salesman Clark's ever had."

The thought made you laugh, yeah right.

You stepped forward anyway, the bed dipping beneath your weight as you kicked off your shoes and climbed on. Neither of you said anything at first, just laying a single arm length’s away as you realised he was right.

The mattress was hard, sticking into your back through the plump covers. Though it should have been expected, it’s a display. So much for getting high beforehand, you hadn’t through that far. So you made do with what you could, snagging the fur blanket from the end of the bed and tucking it behind you both.

The flicker of the TV box he’d angled into a chest of drawers, lit up your faces through the shadowed space, returns of old tv shows muffled in the background. And both of you were engrossed, staring into the flashing colours fading in and out.

You felt eyes on you after a while, staring into you from the side. Bobby had turned his head slightly, blue eyes burning into you, and you turned yours.

His grin had disappeared somewhere along the way, leaving only the twinkle in gaze, something you’d always noticed reserved for one other person. The one they reserved for eachother.

"You're staring." Bobby whispered dropping his head between you both teasingly.

"No I'm not." You kicked his leg lightly, shaking the buzz from your head, but it didn’t seem to lift, instead it grew, a shiver wracking the back of you spine.

"You are.”

"You started it.” The wood of the headboard creaked behind you as you braced your knees up, tucking them toward your chest.

That earned a laugh, a breathy one like the air had been punched from his lungs as he sat up, and then suddenly you were both laughing. The kind of laughter that came from being slightly high, and running entirely on bad decisions.

Bobby's shoulder brushed yours then, quick and tender, so quick it could have been ignored, but you were already heightened, alert to every movement around you. Neither of you moved away, his eyes flicking down briefly before returning to yours.

"Hey." He rasped softly, lips parted as he turned to rest onto his arm.

"Hey." You whispered back, swallowing thickly.

“Bobby I don’t think..”

You weren’t able to continue, to telll him it was a bad idea, that it was wrong, but before either of you could overthink it, he leaned in.

The kiss was soft. Tentative and warm, his lips brushing over yours with a desperate tenderness, and you almost melted into it, almost.

You jumped apart from him when you heard footsteps, catching the gaze of your best friend in your peripheral. Bobby only retracted, still ghosting your lips as he released the palm he’d placed on your cheek.

Kat appeared around the corner, standing beside the TV stand, carrying the popcorn in a bowl she’d somehow found. Her eyes darted to Bobby, then at you and then back to Bobby, a hand moving to her hip, and for a moment none of you said anything.

"...Seriously?"

“Kat I can—“ Your face burned.

Bobby immediately pointed at you, “Her fault.”

"My fault?" You whipped your head toward him.

"Absolutely." His face was unreadable, even if the smirk that pulled at his lips was far from innocent.

Kat stared for another second before letting out a laugh so hard the bowl of popcorn ruffled in her hands.

"You two are unbelievable. You couldn’t have waited for me?”

She tossed the bowl softly onto the bed and climbed onto the mattress beside you. You only stared at her, at both of them, eyes wandering where your heart hammered in your chest in a way you didn’t know how to feel. Shame? Guilt?

“Really I didn’t think—“ The words left your mouth before you could hardly speak, stumbling over them to explain.

“You have no idea how long we’ve waited to do that.” Kat cut you off gently, settling herself comfortable under the blanket.

Desire—

“You— uh, what?” Your head snapped up, and she just nodded, popping a piece of popcorn into her mouth with a smirk, handing the bowl over to you.

We. The word lingered in your head, stirring your senses as if you’d been dreaming. But they only smiled at you, amused by the dumbfounded look on your face, as if all of it, their own agreement of you, had been common knowledge.

The three of you collapsed into a tangled pile of blankets and laughter, yours somewhat in disbelief. But even as the three of you rested back, Kat bumped her shoulder against yours.

"Move over."

You rolled your eyes and listened, shuffling over into the very middle of the bed, both of their leg’s sticking into yours from the sides. “Bossy."

"Always."

Bobby groaned dramatically as Kat stole half of the blanket, and with the minutes passing and him still busy complaining about the blanket theft, Kat glanced over at you and the playful expression on her face softened.

"Come here," she said quietly, beckoning you over with the pull of her fingers. And before you could ask what she meant, not that you bothered to question, she leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips.

She looked just as surprised as you felt when she pulled back, her hand splaying at your hip. Bobby blinked from behind you, grinning softly, leaning around you both where you could both see him.

"Oh, so we're all doing that now?"

Kat reached at her side and threw the pillow behind her back at him. The three of you dissolved into laughter again, and that time nobody seemed interested in pretending that nothing had happened.

Because there was something different underneath it all. Something shared between all three of you finally coming undone.

You shook your head, resting back into one another and staring mindlessly at the static buzzing from the television. The three of you must have passed another two blunts between you when the haze grew, thick and heady. The room contorting amongst you all into something more heated, as if the air had been sucked from the space entirely. A leg slid up against yours, and fingertips touched at your thigh.

Kat steadied her hand there as your breath stuttered, the cool air of Bobby’s exhale sifting right at the back of your neck. Your noses bumped then, rocking back and forth as your breaths mingled, lips ghosting through lidded eyes and exhilaration.

“Hey, you know we haven’t got to do anything you don’t want to.” She was breathless, brown eyes gazing into yours with careful consideration that washed all over your face.

“You want this?” You tilted to look at both of them, Bobby and Kat looked at each other over either side of you and meeting back to you, their hands curled around one another’s, “Uh.. yeah, more than anything..”

You nodded slowly, the breath catching in your throat, “Then I want to.” Your hand curled around Kat’s neck as she dipped back to kiss you, this time hungrier, her tongue sweeping across your lip, and inching you both back against the headboard.

“You’re so so pretty..” She mumbled into your lips with skin pressed against skin your tongues locking around each others and another pair of lips at your neck.

“Open up for me Angel..” Bobby called out to you, arm bending over your waist and snaking the t-shirt from on you. You retracted only for a moment, the material being pulled away and tossed over on the floor, revealing the swell of your breasts. Long, warm fingers tweaked your nipple before his body had bent over you, sucking one into his mouth. His tongue was hot against your the sensitive bud, swirling harshly until you moaned into Kat’s mouth.

One hand fell into his hair, threading through the fine blonde strands as you arched into the feeling, his hand staying gripped at your hip to keep you in place.

His own t-shirt rose over his head with one steady tug, reaching for your hand to put it against his skin, letting you feel him. You traced the warm planes of muscle, down his chest and to his abs, and further along the v of that dipped beneath his jean shorts. Bobby shuddered against you, pressing into your thigh, and trailing his fingers down your sides.

You watched them through the haze, a gentle buzzing in your fingertips and your chest. The high from the pot or them you couldn’t tell, and not that it mattered.

They pulled away only for a moment, impatient and needily, Kat’s arms rising on instinct as he helped her take the rest of her clothes off, sliding her shorts down the legs before her fingers worked at undoing his belt buckle, reaching to cup the bulge beneath his pants, already tented and aching. “Save it.. for next time baby.” She mumbled against his lips over you, and he groaned into the kiss with a slight nod.

Next time.

He shrugged the rest of his clothes off, leaving him only in his underwear, the hard line of his cock poking through the dark fabric. She rose beside him, the curve of her breasts shadowed beautifully in the golden light, and the tan flesh of her thighs curling over yours. The pressure swirled in your belly at the sight, arousal coating slick between your thighs.

Bobby settled behind you, an arm slipping around your waist as though he’d always belonged there, and the warmth of him at your back only made Kat’s presence in front feel more overwhelming. You shivered at the feeling, hands moving between the both of them as they settled.

Kat’s fingers brushed loose hair from your face before cupping your cheek, foreheads touching briefly, sharing a knowing smile that felt private despite the crowded tangle of limbs and blankets.

“There you are,” Kat murmured softly.

The attention from both sides left you breathless, almost unable to move if you couldn’t feel the thump of heartbeats and burning touch of skin.

Bobby’s chin stayed pressed to your shoulder, his hands sliding lower, gripping your hips to keep you pinned between them. Kat’s mouth claimed yours again, her tongue sliding deep while her fingers pinched your nipple hard enough to make your back arch. Bobby’s cock dragged along the cleft of your ass, thick and hot, already leaking as he rocked forward in slow, deliberate thrusts that never quite pushed inside.

"Fuck, you’re soaked," he muttered against your neck, teeth scraping over the fresh mark he’d just sucked there. His tongue followed, licking the sting away before he dropped lower, body snaking further down the bed, spreading your thighs wider with his shoulders. The cool air hit your pussy, as he turned you onto your back, both pairs of eyes flicking between you he gave one long, filthy lick from your entrance to your clit, making your whole body jerk back against the ruffled sheets. He groaned into your cunt like he was starving, sucking your swollen clit between his lips and flicking it with the tip of his tongue, teasing two thick fingers through your folds.

Kat swallowed your broken moan, grinding her soaked pussy against your thigh. She grabbed your wrist and moved your hand between her legs. "Please.." Your fingers slid through her slick folds, her legs widening as two of them sunk knuckle-deep into her tight heat while your thumb rubbed tight circles over her clit. She rode your hand with short, desperate rolls of her hips, her juices coating your palm as she panted into your mouth.

Bobby pulled his fingers out and replaced them with his tongue, fucking you with it in messy, wet strokes before he sucked your clit again, loud and obscene. Spit and your arousal dripped down his chin, his one hand keeping you spread open while the other stroked his cock in time with every thrust of his tongue.

"Taste so fucking good," he groaned, voice muffled against your pussy. Kat fluttered around your fingers as she came with a sharp cry, her thighs shaking and wetness gushing over your hand. She didn’t stop moving, she only kissed you harder, biting your lower lip while her fingers found your other breast and squeezed it into her hand.

Bobby clamped at your thighs, tugging you further down onto his mouth as you mewled, bucking your hips against his face while your fingers pumped in and out of Kat’s wetness, drawing all of you closer to your edge. He rubbed himself into the sheets, fucking himself through the rough fabric of his pants and into his palm desperately.

Moans filled the room of the empty store, so confined and warm, that all care for even being there had left your mind, filled with the haze of them fucking you. You felt the peak of your climax, falling over the edge with the burn of Kat’s whines into your neck and Bobby’s tongue.

“Fuck, make her come Bobby..”

Kat straddled your chest, knees planted on either side of your head, lowering herself onto your waiting mouth, grinding down with a breathy moan as your tongue pushed inside her. Your tongue and sucked at her swollen clit while she rocked against your face her brow pulled tight as she gripped the headboard. Her juices coated your chin and cheeks, as she rode you harder, Bobby’s face still buried between your spread thighs, tongue working in relentless, sloppy strokes.

He dragged the flat of it up through your soaked folds, circled your swollen clit, plunging back down to fuck into your dripping hole. Every lewd sound and moan echoed in the quiet room, his fingers digging into your ass, holding you open while he rode you through your high.

Your own climax hit fast and hard, crashing over your body in a wave and making you come with a muffled cry, your fingers tightening at Kat’s waist. Your thighs clamped around Bobby’s head as your pussy clenched and pulsed, fresh wetness flooding his tongue and he groaned into you, lapping it up greedily while his hips jerked against the mattress. The friction against his trapped cock was too much, “Fuck fuck fuck..” He came with a broken grunt after a few sloppy thrusts, hot cum soaking through his pants in thick spurts, his whole body shuddering between your legs.

Kat followed seconds later, her hips stuttering over your tongue as she came, grinding down hard, her thighs shaking on either side of your head. She cried out into her hand, gushing over your lips and chin, riding out every wave until she finally went limp. The golden strands of his hair fell into his eyes, his forehead rocked into your inner thigh as he finally let up, panting to catch his breath.

Her body fell down beside you, climbing from you carefully where the three of you collapsed together in the tangled sheets, a hazy sheen coating your bodies.

Kat slid to curl against your side, her face tucked into your neck, still breathing hard. Bobby crawled up behind you, pressing his sticky, cum-wet front to your back and wrapping an arm around both of you. His breath warmed your shoulder as he nuzzled closer. Kat’s fingers traced lazy circles on your stomach while Bobby’s hand rested heavy on your hip. No one spoke. Just the sound of slowing breaths and the quiet creak of the bed as you all melted into one another, warm and spent.

The three of you lay there, tucked and blissed out in a bed you shouldn’t have been in, veiled moonlight peeking through the thin shutters in the small glow of the showroom. Every buzz of the high eased off into a comfortable tiredness, as your breathing evened out.

“I think I need new shorts.” Bobby mumbled into your back, and you let out a short giggle hearing the smack against muscle from Kat’s hand reaching over. But none of you bothered to move, his shoulders shrugging, and the pair of them cuddling around you as his arm swung over you both.

So much for bad decisions. But secretly, none you hoped it would end. After all, it was just the beginning of something none of you were ready for.

You’d taken the day off, which was strange in and of itself since you rarely took days off for anything.

For years, your bakery had come first. There was always something that needed your attention—an order to fill, inventory to check, paperwork to finish, or a new recipe to test. Taking a day for yourself had always felt selfish somehow.

But then you’d met Jack.

Somewhere between late-night conversations, stolen mornings together, and his stubborn insistence that you deserved rest just as much as everyone else, you’d started learning how to slow down.

Or at least attempt to.

Jack was always reminding you to take care of yourself. To eat something other than leftover pastry scraps and coffee. To get enough sleep. To take a breath every now and then instead of carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.

And if you couldn’t manage that yourself, he was more than willing to do it for you.

Jack loved taking care of you.

You’d learned that very early in your relationship.

Whether it was wrapping a blanket around your shoulders when you fell asleep on the couch, bringing you coffee before your alarm went off, or quietly taking over dinner when he could tell you’d had a long day, caring for you came as naturally to him as breathing.

Sometimes you caught him looking at you with that soft expression he got when he thought you weren’t paying attention, and it never failed to make your chest ache.

The ironic part, however, was that Jack never seemed interested in following his own advice.

He worked ungodly hours at the hospital. The Pitt always seemed to need him, and Jack had never been the type of man who could walk away from someone who needed help.

Then there was SWAT.

Every now and then, he’d still pick up shifts as their on-site medic.

Did that part worry you?

Absolutely.

Were you going to tell him to stop because every call-out took years off your life?

You’d certainly considered it.

More than once.

But no.

Because despite everything, Jack genuinely enjoyed it.

Not the danger. Not the violence.

The helping people part.

The making-a-difference part.

Over time, he’d made an effort to go out less often with the team. These days, he only stepped in when they were short-handed or desperately needed someone with his experience.

Still, every time his phone rang at odd hours, your stomach twisted.

Whenever he left, you’d kiss him goodbye and tell him to be careful.

And every time, he’d cup your face in his hands, press a kiss to your forehead, and promise he’d come home.

“Military training,” he’d say whenever you worried aloud.

“Being an ER doctor.”

“Being cool under pressure.”

As if that explained everything.

As if those things somehow made him invincible.

Jack always claimed he functioned best when things were chaotic. That while everyone else was panicking, his brain slowed down enough to focus.

You weren’t sure if that was a gift or something life had forced him to learn.

Probably both.

But regardless of where he went, regardless of whether he was heading into a packed trauma bay or responding alongside SWAT, there was one thing that never changed.

He always came home to you.

And if there was one thing Jack Abbot was good at, it was keeping his promises.

The thought made you smile as you curled deeper into the corner of the couch, enjoying the rare quiet of your day off.

For once, there were no customers waiting for pastries. No invoices sitting on your desk. No early morning alarms demanding you be at the bakery before sunrise.

Just a peaceful morning and the promise of Jack eventually walking through the front door.

Honestly, that was enough to make it your favorite kind of day.

Because even though you had no bakery orders to take care of today, you at least had one thing finished:

Jack’s birthday cake.

You’d been planning it for weeks.

Not anything extravagant or over-the-top. Just something thoughtful. Something made with love. Something worthy of the man who had walked into your life and somehow managed to turn it completely upside down in the best possible way.

The man who made you laugh when you were stressed.

The man who never forgot to kiss you goodbye before a shift.

The man who somehow convinced you that you deserved to be cared for just as much as everyone else.

The man who loved you unconditionally.

A soft smile tugged at your lips as you glanced toward the kitchen.

The cake sat safely beneath a clear cover on the counter, hidden away until later.

You’d had to be sneaky about it.

Jack wasn’t exactly the easiest person to surprise. Between years in the military, working in emergency medicine, and simply being observant by nature, he seemed to notice everything.

So you’d enlisted help.

After a particularly embarrassing amount of subtle questioning and a few failed attempts at casually bringing up birthdays, you’d finally cornered Robby and Dana during a delivery to the Pitt.

Neither of them had been particularly subtle once they'd realized what you were doing.

Dana had immediately smiled.

Robby had grinned like he'd just been handed classified information.

“Planning something for our favorite grumpy old doctor?” he'd asked.

You’d rolled your eyes.

“He’s not old.”

“Sure,” Robby had said, completely unconvinced.

“Aren’t you five years older than him?” you’d teased.

Thankfully, they’d eventually given you the information you needed.

From there, you’d spent nearly the entire morning in the bakery.

The familiar sounds of mixing bowls, timers, and whirring mixers had filled the quiet hours before sunrise. Flour had somehow ended up on your shirt, your cheek, and the tip of your nose despite your best efforts.

Not that Jack would have been surprised.

He often joked that you left a trail of flour behind you like breadcrumbs.

By the time you’d finished decorating, your feet hurt, your kitchen looked like a small baking-related disaster zone, and you’d never been happier with how a cake turned out.

It wasn’t perfect.

But it was Jack.

Simple. Thoughtful. Comforting.

Exactly the kind of thing he’d appreciate.

Because Jack wasn’t someone who cared about grand gestures.

He’d made that very clear.

At his age, he’d told you more than once, he preferred things lowkey.

A quiet evening.

Good food.

The people he loved.

That was enough.

Honestly, you thought that was one of the reasons you loved him so much.

After everything he’d been through, after all the years he’d spent taking care of everyone around him, Jack never asked for much.

Which only made you want to spoil him more.

Today, though, you were determined to keep things exactly how he’d like them.

Just the two of you.

A homemade dinner after he’s rested some.

A birthday cake.

Maybe a movie curled up together on the couch if he wasn’t completely exhausted from his shift.

Nothing fancy.

Just love.

And if you knew Jack at all, that would mean more to him than anything money could buy.

The thought warmed your chest.

A glance at the clock told you he still had a few hours left before he’d be home.

Plenty of time to finish setting everything up.

Though if you were being honest, the hardest part would probably be keeping the surprise a secret until then.

Jack had a frustrating habit of figuring things out before they happened.

Still, the image of his face when he saw the cake was enough motivation to keep trying.

Because if there was anyone worth celebrating, it was him.

When you heard the door unlock, you immediately sat up straighter on the couch.

Your stomach fluttered with nervous excitement as you glanced toward the front door.

You’d spent the last several hours waiting for him to get home, checking the clock far more often than necessary and making sure everything was ready. The cake was hidden, dinner ingredients waiting in the kitchen, and the decorations—minimal, just how he’d like them—were set up.

Now all that was left was Jack.

The door opened.

Jack stepped inside with a tired huff, closing it quietly behind him.

His backpack landed beside the door with a soft thud before he straightened, rolling one shoulder as though trying to work out the stiffness from a long shift.

Then he spotted you.

Immediately, his brows furrowed.

A small frown tugged at his lips as he checked the time on the wall clock before looking back at you.

“Sugar,” he rumbled, voice rough from hours of talking in a busy ER. “What’re you doin’ up?”

The concern in his voice made your heart squeeze.

You crossed the room before he could say anything else and wrapped your arms around him.

Jack barely had time to react before you buried your face against his neck.

“Happy birthday,” you murmured.

The effect was immediate.

Every ounce of tension seemed to drain from him.

The worried crease between his brows disappeared as his arms came around you, strong and familiar, pulling you firmly against his chest.

His nose brushed the top of your head as he held you.

Jack took a slow breath, then another, settling into the embrace as though he’d finally reached the safest place in the world.

You felt his shoulders loosen beneath your hands.

Felt him melt.

“Oh, baby,” he huffed, pressing a kiss into your hair. “You didn’t have to stay up for this.”

You only hugged him tighter.

“’Course I did.”

A quiet chuckle vibrated through his chest.

The sound made you smile.

Jack tipped his head down, resting his cheek against your hair for a moment. Neither of you moved. Neither of you seemed particularly interested in letting go.

After a long shift, this was always his favorite part of coming home.

You.

Not the apartment. Not his bed.

You.

Being able to hold you, hear your voice, feel your heartbeat against him and know that you were safe.

That he was home.

You tilted your head back slightly.

“You want anything for breakfast?”

Jack hummed thoughtfully.

His eyes drifted shut.

Honestly, he wasn’t even listening to the question anymore.

He was too busy enjoying the feeling of you in his arms.

The warmth of your body pressed against his.

The familiar scent of vanilla and sugar that always seemed to cling to you no matter how much time you'd spent away from the bakery.

The steady rise and fall of your breathing.

His Sugar.

God, he loved you.

More than he'd ever thought possible.

Especially on mornings like this.

Quiet mornings.

Simple mornings.

Mornings where he got to come home and find you waiting for him.

“I’m okay,” he mumbled eventually, his voice softer now.

One of his hands slid up your back.

He pressed another kiss to the top of your head, lingering for a moment before pulling back just enough to look down at you.

The exhaustion in his eyes was still there, but it was softened by something warm.

Something undeniably fond.

“I love you.”

The words came easily.

Naturally.

As though saying them was as necessary as breathing.

His thumb brushed gently along your side.

“Best part of my birthday’s already happened.”

A sleepy smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“I got to come home to you.”

You smiled and reached up, cradling Jack’s jaw in your hand.

The stubble along his cheek tickled your palm, familiar and comforting.

Leaning in, you pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

“Go lay down,” you sighed against his mouth before pulling back slightly. “I’ve got a surprise for you when you wake up.”

Jack immediately followed you.

His lips brushed yours again, unwilling to let you get very far.

A low hum rumbled in his chest as he chased another kiss, one hand settling against your waist.

“You don’t need to do that, baby.”

His mouth found the corner of your lips, lingering there as a small smile tugged at his own.

“I just need you.”

The sincerity in his voice made your heart melt.

It wasn’t a line.

It never was with Jack.

After everything he’d been through, after all the years before you’d met him, he’d never been particularly interested in gifts or celebrations. What mattered to him was time. Presence. The people he loved.

And somehow, unbelievably, you had become one of those people.

His favorite person, if his coworkers were to be believed.

You laughed softly as he pressed another lingering kiss near the corner of your jaw.

“Jack.”

His arms tightened around your waist.

“Nope.”

“Jack.”

A sleepy grin spread across his face.

You could practically see the exhaustion catching up to him now that he was home and no longer running on adrenaline.

“You said breakfast.”

“I did. You said no.”

“You said surprise.”

“I did.”

His grin widened.

“And now you’re trying to get rid of me.”

You laughed outright at that.

“I’m trying to get you to sleep.”

Jack rested his forehead against yours for a moment, his eyes drifting shut.

For someone who spent every night taking care of everyone around him, he was remarkably stubborn whenever someone tried to take care of him.

Especially when that someone was you.

“Sleep sounds pretty good,” he admitted reluctantly.

“That’s because you’ve been awake for over twelve hours.”

“Details.”

You rolled your eyes affectionately.

“Go.”

A dramatic sigh escaped him.

The man had faced trauma activations, military deployments, and SWAT callouts with less resistance.

Still smiling, you gave his chest a gentle push.

“Bed. Now.”

Jack caught your hand before you could pull it away and pressed a kiss to your knuckles.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You snorted.

“Don’t start.”

“I’m serious.”

His tired eyes softened as he looked at you.

For a moment, all teasing disappeared.

The affection there was enough to make your chest ache.

“Thank you, Sugar.”

The nickname came out quiet.

Warm.

Grateful.

Before you could respond, he leaned down and stole one last kiss.

Slow.

Gentle.

The kind that made you smile against his mouth.

Then, finally, he stepped back.

“You better be here when I wake up.”

You laughed.

“Where else would I go?”

Jack considered that for a second before nodding.

“Good.”

Satisfied with that answer, he squeezed your hand once more before heading toward the bedroom.

You watched him disappear down the hallway, your smile growing.

The cake was hidden.

The surprise was ready.

And for the first time all morning, keeping the secret felt worth it.

Because you couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when he realized what you’d planned.

Jack wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep.

Long enough that the exhaustion dragging at his bones had eased, at least a little.

Long enough that he’d drifted into the kind of deep, dreamless sleep that only seemed possible when you were nearby.

What finally pulled him awake wasn’t an alarm.

It was the smell.

His eyes blinked open slowly.

For a moment, he simply lay there, breathing it in.

Cooking meat. Roasted vegetables. Herbs and spices.

Something warm. Comforting.

Homemade.

His stomach immediately growled in response.

Jack huffed out a quiet laugh and scrubbed a hand over his face.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered.

Carefully, he pushed himself upright.

The house was quiet except for the faint sounds drifting from the kitchen. The clink of utensils. Cabinet doors opening and closing. The occasional hum that sounded suspiciously like you singing to yourself.

A smile tugged at his lips before he could stop it.

Grabbing his crutches, he stood and steadied himself before making his way down the hallway.

The closer he got, the stronger the smell became.

And then he reached the doorway.

Jack stopped.

For a moment, he simply watched.

You moved around the kitchen with practiced ease, completely at home in the space.

The afternoon sunlight spilling through the windows painted everything in soft gold, catching the loose strands of hair that had escaped whatever attempt you’d made to keep it back.

You were focused on whatever was simmering on the stove, occasionally checking another dish waiting on the counter.

Comfortable.

Happy.

Home.

A feeling settled heavily in Jack’s chest.

The two of you had officially moved in together a few months ago.

Even now, he sometimes caught himself marveling at it.

At the fact that you were here.

That he got to come home to you.

The transition had felt surprisingly natural.

You’d already spent most nights at his apartment anyway. There had already been a drawer full of your clothes in his bedroom, your favorite mug in the cabinet, baking supplies slowly invading his kitchen.

Eventually he’d looked around one day and realized you were already part of every corner of his life.

Asking you to move in had simply made it official.

“You know,” your voice called without turning around, “staring is rude.”

Jack blinked.

A smile spread across his face.

“What is all this?” he asked, glancing around at the spread taking shape on the counters.

The answer came so casually that it caught him off guard.

“Your favorite.”

Jack looked at you.

You shrugged.

“Robby told me.”

His eyes wandered over the kitchen again, taking in details he’d been too distracted by you to notice at first.

The roasting pan in the oven.

The vegetables waiting to be finished.

The stack of plates you’d already set out.

Then his gaze landed on the cake sitting proudly in the center of the table.

Jack stopped.

It wasn’t extravagant.

No towering layers or elaborate decorations.

Just a simple, beautiful cake that looked unmistakably homemade.

His cake.

He recognized the care in it immediately. The smooth frosting. The little details carefully added by hand. The kind of work that took time and patience.

Time that you’d spent on him.

“Sugar…”

The nickname came out quieter this time.

You followed his gaze and immediately smiled.

“Oh.”

A hint of nervousness crept into your expression.

“I made that this morning.”

Jack stared at the cake for another moment before looking back at you.

“You made me a cake.”

It sounded almost like he was trying to process the fact.

You laughed softly.

“That’s usually what people do on birthdays.”

“Not like this.”

His voice was gentle.

Because this wasn’t something picked up from a bakery shelf at the last minute.

You were the bakery.

Which meant every detail had been intentional.

Every ingredient chosen carefully.

Every decoration added by hand.

Every hour spent making it.

For him.

The realization settled heavily in his chest.

Warm.

Overwhelming.

Dangerously close to emotional.

You noticed immediately.

“Jack.”

He blinked and looked back at you.

The smile on your face softened.

“You didn’t need to get all sentimental on me yet. You haven’t even seen the inside.”

A surprised laugh escaped him.

“There are more surprises?”

“Maybe.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You love me.”

“I do.”

The answer came without hesitation.

Without thought.

As natural as breathing.

Jack looked at the cake once more before his gaze returned to you.

The food.

The decorations.

The cake.

The effort.

The obvious care that had gone into every detail.

All for him.

For his birthday.

For no reason other than the fact that you loved him.

“You didn’t need to do this.”

You looked genuinely confused by the statement.

“I know.”

The answer was immediate.

Certain.

He asked you out for a dinner date before the end of the night. Before the end of that date, he’d already secured another, and so on and so forth. Now, it was nearly two years later and you wore his ring and carried his name.

Things had been busy in and out of the station lately and he hadn’t had the time to spend with you as he wished. It had been weeks since he’d been able to take you on anything resembling a date. So, he’d told you he was all yours for the night, to pick where you wanted to go and he’d make it happen.

You’d texted him midday. Got it handled baby. Text when you’re on the way.

He frowned at that, wanting to take care of you. To treat you. But he’d said it was your choice so he’d kept his mouth shut and followed instructions.

When he arrived home, a bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand, he found you curled up on the couch in your comfortable clothes. You stood to greet him with a wide smile. “Hey, baby. Those for me?”

“Of course,” he said before pressing his lips to yours. “You don’t look ready to go anywhere.”

You twined your arms around his neck. “That’s because we are staying right here where I don’t have to share you with anyone. Dinner was delivered about five minutes ago. I will dish it up. All I need you to do is get comfortable and light the fire.”

He studied your face, making sure this was what you really wanted. Realizing it was, he smiled. “Sounds perfect.” He kissed you again before pulling back and handing you your flowers. “Better get those in water, sweetheart.”

Fifteen minutes later found the two of you curled up together on the couch while you ate your dinner, flames crackling in the fireplace and an old movie on the TV. Charlie leaned over and pressed a kiss to your head. “I wanted to take you out and treat you tonight, but this is so much better. My girl’s so smart.”

You shot him a grin that quickly faded when his phone buzzed on the table beside him. He glanced at the screen and frowned. He’d made it abundantly clear to everyone he was not to be disturbed for anything short of an apocalypse. He answered. “What part of ‘do not bother me’ was unclear in the communication I sent out?”

There was a beat of silence. “I’m sorry, sir. I just—”

“Has there been an officer involved shooting?”

“No, sir.”

“Here’s what’s going to happen. I am going to hang up. Then you are going to send out a new department wide communication that states Deputy Chief Reid’s phone is off until sometime tomorrow. If there is an emergency, send a car to the house. And it better be a fucking goddamned emergency. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.” The answer was so quiet, Charlie barely heard it.

“Good.” And then Charlie did precisely what he said he would. He hung up and turned off the phone. He left the burner on as he rarely got calls that weren’t emergencies on it anyway.

He dropped the phone on the table and kissed your head, before digging back into his meal. After a moment, he realized you were still just sitting there looking at him. “What’s wrong?”

“You didn’t have to do that, Charlie,” you said, but you had that soft look you got when he’d done something that pleased you greatly.

sometimes you would wake with a strangled gasp already caught in your throat, fingers twisting in the sheets, your whole body rigid like you had been caught somewhere far away and dragged back all at once. other times you woke trembling without a sound, eyes wide and glossy in the dark, staring at nothing for a moment before the reality of your room would slowly piece itself back together. bobby knew the signs by now. he knew the exact way your breathing changed, the tiny hitch in your chest, the way your hand would start searching beside you before you were fully awake, reaching for him like your body was desperate to make sure he was still there.

and he always was.

most nights the two of you slept tangled together, limbs wrapped around each other like even in your sleep you were afraid to lose the other one.

bobby held you close with one arm thrown around your waist, his face tucked into your hair, one hand resting steady and warm against your back. it made him feel better, keeping you there like that, like he was anchoring you to the world just as much as you anchored him.

but sometimes the terrors hit too hard, and no amount of closeness was enough to stop your body from jerking awake in panic.

this night was one of those nights.

you woke with a sharp inhale, your chest rising too fast, heart pounding so hard it felt like it might split your ribs open. for a second you didn’t know where you were, the room was dark, but the dark wasn’t comforting yet.

you tried to slip out of bed quietly, careful not to wake your sleeping boyfriend.

careful because you didn’t want to bother him.

careful because you didn’t want to feel needy.

careful because part of you still hated how much the fear could take out of you, how it could leave you shaking and small.

but before your feet even hit the floor, bobby was up.

“hey,” he said softly, voice rough with sleep but instantly awake in the way only people who loved you could be. “babe?”

you froze for a second, hand braced on the mattress.

he was already sitting up, shirtless and half-dazed, the bed sheets falling low around his waist as he blinked at you in the dark. even half asleep, even still waking up, the concern on his face was immediate and real.

“c’mere,” he murmured.

you swallowed hard, trying to breathe through the lingering panic. “i’m okay.”

bobby gave you a look that said he did not believe that for a second. “i know…” he said gently.

bobby swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, moving toward you without hesitation. the floor creaked softly under his feet, and he came close enough to brush his hand down your arm, warm and steady against your cold skin. then, with the kind of care that made your chest ache, he guided you away from the bed and toward the kitchen.

“come on,” he said, his voice low. “let’s get you out of here for a minute.”

the apartment was quiet around you. bobby kept one hand on the small of your back as he walked beside you, not pushing, not rushing…

in the kitchen, he leaned against the counter and looked at you for a long second, studying your face in the dim light.

“do you want me to make you something?” he asked. “tea….coffee…hot chocolate?”

“no, m’okay thank you, bobby.”

it was such a simple thing, the offer. so ordinary. so painfully normal.

he didn’t treat you like you were broken. he didn’t act like your fear was annoying or inconvenient or something you should just get over.

“or we could watch tv. or i can take us to denny’s if you’re hungry enough for that. whatever you want, baby.”

you rubbed at your face and let out a shaky breath. “i don’t know.”

“that’s okay,” he said right away. “then we don’t have to decide yet.”

he moved to stand in front of you, tilting his head down so he could catch your eyes, his thumb brushing your cheek with such tenderness.

you were quiet for a moment, fighting the urge to apologize for being like this, for waking him, for needing too much, for not being able to just sleep. but bobby was looking at you like he had all the time in the world, like there was nowhere else he could possibly rather be.

so you leaned into him instead.

his arms came around you instantly. no hesitation. he held you close with one hand at the back of your head and the other around your waist, lowering his chin to rest on top of your head.

“i've got you- i've got you-” he cooed.

your eyes shut. the fear was still there, but his arms made it easier to bear. easier to breathe. easier to remember where you were.

bobby swayed you gently in place, just a little, like he was trying to rock the terror out of your body.

“i'm sorry,” you whispered. the words were barely audible, but bobby heard them.

immediately he pulled back just enough to look at you. his brows pinched together.

“for what?”

you looked away. “for waking you up.”

the expression on his face somehow grew even softer. his thumb brushed beneath your eye.

“i was already up.”

“no you weren’t…”

“you’re up, i’m up, babe.” he leans down to kiss your cheek. “don’t ever have to have sorry-”

he kisses your cheek again.

“not for this.”

another.

“not ever.”

It was Friday afternoon and you were desperately, achingly horny. 

You’d tried your old faithful vibrator, which was doing the job fine, but you were desperate for some human connection. Your mind drifted through the mental rolodex of who you could call up for some casual fun. It was a short list, your demanding schedule not lending itself to a particularly vibrant social life. You’d only been on a handful of dates in the past year, most of which ended in disaster. 

Alex was out of the running because of his unfortunate odor problem. 

Sam was out due to a creepy doll collection he failed to disclose until you made your way to his apartment. 

And Daniel was out because, frankly, he was terrible at sex, which is kind of a sticking point for you right now. 

That left James, a guy you met on one of the apps and who was decent enough with his mouth that you’d seen him a handful of times. You didn’t hook up with him often, mostly because he was particular about your pubic hair. He preferred for it to be cleanly shaven, or at least heavily trimmed before he would consider going down on you. 

So despite the fact that he wasn’t much good at fucking, you tended to go back to him when you needed a release. Yes, your standards were abysmally low, but the truth of the matter was that residency didn’t really give you any time to get out and meet new, better hook-ups. So James it was. 

It had been a couple months since you’d hooked up, mostly due to this preference of his. Unfortunately, taking the time to take an ‘everything shower’ just to get your pussy eaten was a luxury that you were not often afforded due your residency schedule. 

But today you’d had the time, energy, and desire to get devoured, so you hopped in the shower to take care of everything. By the time you emerged your hair was double cleansed, you’d applied a hair mask, exfoliated, shaved your legs, applied moisturizer and body oil, and–most importantly–your pussy was cleanly shaven. 

You had a renewed pep in your step as you made your way over to your bed, ready to entice James. You maneuvered onto the bed and experimented with a few poses before landing on one that showed off your assets the best. You propped up your phone–timer set for 10 seconds–and you scrambled into position, perching back on your haunches and settling back on your feet, back arched a little uncomfortably. 

You heard the shutter of the camera going off and quickly extricated yourself from the uncomfortable position. Looking over the image, you were very impressed. 

The photo pictured your nude body from the chest down, beginning with the barest hint of the underside of your breasts showing, then the expanse of your stomach and curve of your hips. Lower, your fingers were on your pussy, parting your lips just enough to tease. It was a damn good nude, if you did say so yourself. James was lucky to receive it. 

It had been so long since you texted him that instead of scrolling through endless scam messages and bill reminders, you just typed in the first few letters of his name to pull up his contact. As soon as you typed ‘ja’ it popped up, and you quickly began composing your message. 

Gnawing at your thumbnail, you went back and forth on a few messages, trying to sound sexy, but playful. After five minutes of deliberation, you decided to just go with what you had. Honestly, it’s not like James was going to give it more than a second thought–if he wanted to fuck he wasn’t going to care about how sultry (or not) the message you sent him was.

You settled on: 

you: shaved just for you. want something sweet to eat? ;) 

You looked it over for a minute, nodding to yourself and hitting send before you could psych yourself out. 

What a mistake. 

Jack sat at the work station, mouth open and slackjawed, still staring at his phone screen. 

Not at the photo anymore–no, that had been quickly swiped away–but the image was still burned into his retinas, the after image projecting onto the back of his eyelids when he closed them. 

Why? 

Because three minutes ago he received a text message from one of the day shift residents. He was concerned, initially, because there was little reason for day shift residents to contact him as opposed to Robby. Which is why Jack opened the message as soon as he saw it come in, thinking it might be an emergency, especially because it was you. 

Instead, he was greeted with a sight he thought he’d never have the pleasure of seeing. 

You, stretched back on your heels, breasts barely visible, pussy on full display for him. Your fingers held you open, your folds glistening in the late summer light that was streaming in, your pretty little clit in the center, just begging to be sucked. It was, quite possibly, the prettiest pussy he’d ever seen. 

He couldn’t take his eyes off of the photo for a good 30 seconds, before the logical side of his brain kicked in and he remembered oh yeah, I’m at work and can’t be caught looking at my resident’s cunt. 

He wasn’t unfamiliar with you, even though you’d only worked a handful of shifts together. But he saw you every morning at handoff, and you two shared warm smiles and easy jokes, your sardonic wit matching his bar for bar. He knew you were smart, able to hold your own in a trauma, and compassionate and empathetic underneath it all. And he couldn’t ignore the fact that you were gorgeous either. 

And he would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought of you in this sort of light before, either. Jack Abbot was not a proud man–he could admit that on more than one occasion, he’d stood in his shower fisting his cock to the image of you on your knees for him. 

It was especially bad when you did something impressive at work. Like the time you went toe-to-toe with a surgeon about whether a patient really needed surgery when you insisted that all they needed was a pericardiocentesis, and to prove your theory, you stuck the needle into the pericardium and extracted the fluid despite surgery’s objections. A ballsy move, one that would have been deeply problematic if you were wrong, but paid off. He’d had to rub one out in the bathroom that day. He apparently has a thing for competency. 

“You’re gonna catch flies, Abbot,” Ellis said, walking out of an exam room, IPad tucked under her arm and smirk wide on her face. Jack shook himself out of his reverie, trying desperately not to think of your photo (but failing miserably). 

He cleared his throat, “Sorry, what’ve you got for me?” he asked, still a bit dazed. Ellis looked at him skeptically–there wasn’t much that threw Dr. Jack Abbot–but proceeded to present her case anyway. 

Once he approved her plan of treatment, Jack returned to his phone. He sat there for a long moment, contemplating what to do. You hadn’t said anything else, no frantic “I’m so sorry, that obviously wasn’t meant for you,” texts that explained the situation. Jack was positive it wasn’t intended for him, and he didn’t want to embarrass you more than you were sure to be. 

His thumbs hovered over the keyboard, dancing nervously as he typed out his reply.

You started getting ready after sending the text, anticipating that James would want to meet up tonight. You did your hair, applied a bit of light make up, and threw on a cute little sundress. 

It was about an hour later when you went to check your phone again, fully expecting to see a cheeky message from James inviting you over for some fun. 

What you saw made your stomach drop instead. You felt dizzy, nausea washing over you in roiling waves. The text thread you were looking at was addressed to Jack Abbot, not James. And staring back at you was your nude body, followed by a response from Dr. Abbot. 

Jack Abbot: I don’t think I’m the intended recipient for that photo. 

Jack Abbot: But for what it's worth, a real man would eat it even if you didn’t shave. Would prefer it, actually. 

Jack Abbot: Sorry, that was inappropriate. I’ve deleted this text thread, along with the photo. We can pretend this never happened. 

There’s no fucking way. Absolutely not. There is no possible way that you accidentally sent a nude photo of yourself to your fucking attending. Not just any attending either, but the one you'd had a big fat stupid crush on for the better part of a year. The one you’d spent endless nights fantasizing about with your fingers plunged deep into your cunt, whose visage you’d pictured hovering over you, fucking you hard and deep; the name you accidentally moaned when James was eating you out the last time you hooked up. 

Your mind refused to accept that this was reality, hoping against hope that this was some twisted fucking nightmare. 

Shame welled up inside you, your cheeks hot from embarrassment and tears pricking at the corner of your eyes, mortification settling in earnest now. In addition to being humiliating, you also felt like a fucking creep. From his perspective, you just sent him a completely unsolicited nude photo. 

Even more so, you hated that this probably killed any chance you had with him, even if that chance had been slim to none to begin with. 

You paced your bedroom, thumbnail chewed raw as you tried to do damage control. What does one even say after they accidentally send a nude to their boss? After far too much deliberation, you decided to keep it simple, apologize, and crawl into your bed for the remainder of your two days off. 

You: Dr. Abbot, I am so sorry about that!! I obviously didn’t mean to send that to you. 

You: I meant to send it to a James and must not have looked closely enough before I sent it. 

You: Thank you for deleting the photo, and I’m so sorry once again that you were subjected to seeing that. 

You threw your phone as far away from you as possible, recklessly disregarding its safety despite the fact that you most certainly could not afford to repair said phone if it was damaged, and flopped onto the bed, screaming into a pillow. Your throat was raw by the time you surfaced for air, your body limp and exhausted, mind shuffling through worst case scenarios. 

In the midst of your spiral, your brain drifted to the other part of his message: a real man would eat it even if you didn’t shave. That was, admittedly, inappropriate, but no more so than sending a nude to your superior, so you figured you were even. He probably just meant it to be supportive; to try and diffuse the awkward situation. 

But another part of you wondered if he meant something else. If he was signalling to you that he would eat it, bush or not. The thought was indulgent, if not utterly preposterous. He was an attending; you were a resident. There was no way he’d meant anything by it. But you couldn’t help thinking…  

Did he like the photo? Was he picturing you with a bush? Did he think about tasting you, about swirling his tongue around your clit or plunging it deep into you? 

A notification dinged, shaking you out of your daydream, and you contemplated whether or not you actually wanted to see what he said, if anything at all. Curiosity eventually won out, hands grappling for your phone and swiping open the notification. 

Jack Abbot: No worries. 👍 

It was a completely normal response, which almost made it worse. Part of you wished he would lash out, call you disgusting or a whore, at least you’d know what to do with that. Shame or disgust were easier to digest than nonchalance. 

You didn’t bother to send the photo to the correct person, your lust dampened, the fire doused with cold water, remnants pulverized to ash. Groaning, you burrowed into your bed with no intention of leaving for the next two days. 

You had no idea how you were going to face him Monday.

You woke up two days later and ran through your options. 

Flee the country and never return to Pittsburgh ever again (unrealistic, you’d devoted too much time to becoming a doctor, you weren’t giving up because of some catastrophically stupid mistake)

Arrive to work 20 minutes late, hopefully avoiding Jack Abbot by all costs (unlikely, the man worked more overtime than anyone except Robby. He was sure to still be there, and all you’d get was attendance point for your trouble) 

Be a mature adult, apologize, and forget this ever happened, like he suggested (undoubtedly the best choice, but could you really ever forget that your attending has seen your pussy? And, a far sicker thought, did you want him to forget?) 

Indecision weighed on you as you got ready, ultimately deciding on lucky number option 3. Your only saving grace was the fact that you were on day shift, and Abbot rarely worked days. The only interaction would be at handoff, and maybe if you could busied yourself enough getting a jump on patients, you could avoid him for as long as possible. 

That was your plan of action as you walked into chairs, head down as you scanned into the ED and approached the nurses station. You didn’t hear his voice, which was a good sign; typically, you could hear it as soon as you entered, steady barking out orders over the hum of the department. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself and thinking for the first time since you sent that photo that things might be okay. 

You spot Ellis at a work station, and beeline to her to get the handover started. 

“Hey Ellis, how’d the night go? Any weird and wild cases?” you ask, 

“Oh, you know, the usual,” she said, “foreign body extractions, a couple MIs, an insomniac who overdosed on benadryl and swore that the hat man was after him for money,” she laughed, shaking her head.

“To be fair, the hat man could be after him for money,” you said solemnly, face straight for a second before you burst out laughing. 

Handover continued smoothly, Ellis updating you on which patients needed labs or imaging and which needed to be discharged. You almost made it through unscathed, your body turning to make your way to North 5 when you heard his voice calling to Ellis. 

Your shoulders tensed–body betraying you by freezing in place–and he was next to you before you could scuttle away. Resting his forearms on the counter next to you, he continued talking to Ellis–about what, you couldn’t say, static filling your ears as you remembered what you’d done. 

“Morning, Doc,” he said, startling you out of your daze.  

“G-good morning, Dr. Abbot,” you stuttered, eyes glancing briefly at him before settling on his chin, unable to meet his eyes for more than a second. 

He looked annoyingly normal, showing no sign that anything unseemly had occurred between you. You chanced another look at his eyes, the hazel orbs showing no hint of amusement or belittlement. But there was a look of acknowledgement, a steady one that should have reassured you that everything was okay, that you weren’t a laughingstock. The same look he’d give you in a trauma when things went sideways through no fault of your own. 

And In any other situation, it would be reassuring. But right now, all it did was remind you that he’d seen your most sensitive parts, that he’d commented on the state of your pubic hair (or lack thereof). Heat bloomed in your cheeks, and your breath caught in your throat, eyes unable to breakaway from his gaze. 

When you did manage to look away, it was, traitorously, to look down at his lips. They looked so soft, and for a split second you imagined yourself leaning in, capturing his lips with yours and kissing him into oblivion. You snapped back to reality half a second too late, seeing the edge of Abbot’s mouth turn up in the barest hint of a smile. 

Clearing your throat, you quickly excused yourself to see a patient, all but running to the exam room. You managed to slow your breathing and compose yourself before you entered the room, squaring your shoulders and getting back to work. 

This was going to be a lot harder than you anticipated.

Jack was being honest when he told you he deleted the text thread with that photo in it, a fact he was coming to regret as he laid in bed post-shift, body tired but too wired to relax and fall asleep. He’d committed the photo to memory, though, losing himself in it as he dragged his hand up and down his cock, thinking about how soft you’d be, how sweet you’d taste, the sounds he’d pull from you as he fucked you with his tongue. He’d fallen into this routine an embarrassing amount of times since he received that photo, feeling like a pervy, dirty old man all the while, but doing nothing to stop himself either. 

His hand glided over his shaft once more, imagining that it was your warm, wet walls wrapped around him instead, and he was coming hard, painting his stomach with streaks of warm, wet goo. He sat there, breathing heavy, as a twitch of shame rolled over him. He shouldn’t be jerking it to the remembered image of a resident’s pussy, a woman at least 15 years younger than him, if not more. 

But it was harder than he’d thought it would be to put that photo behind him. It was all he could think about as soon as he saw you that first morning, the image looping in an endless projection in his mind. It was completely unprofessional, and frankly dishonest. He’d told you that you could both pretend it had never happened, but he wasn’t so sure that was possible anymore. 

And it was clear you hadn’t forgotten either. You were jumpy around him, the easy quips you used swap in the morning abandoned for stuttered greetings and awkward silences. He’d also caught you looking at his lips on more than one occasion and stealing glances at him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention. He wasn’t sure if it was true attraction, or just some morbid curiosity that was sparked by the unusual situation you two found yourselves in, but Jack wasn’t about to get his hopes up for the former. 

As difficult as it was to keep his head on straight after seeing that photo, the more troubling part was that he’d lost the 10 to 15 minutes he spent every morning talking to you, a small ritual he looked forward to every shift. He hadn’t realized how much those moments meant to him until they were gone. Even the worst nights were magically better when he was able to make you laugh at handoff, your smile making his chest swell with pride and head fuzzy with feelings he had no business feeling. 

Jack knew he had to do something to ease the tension, to get things back to normal. Or maybe a new normal, if he had anything to do with it.

The days passed in a similar fashion to that first day. Jack would greet you politely and attempt your typical banter, and you would awkwardly stutter out an adequate reply before making your escape as quickly as possible. You weren’t sure why you weren’t able to be a fucking adult and put it behind you, but you just couldn’t. Every time you thought you had the courage to revert back to your typical routine with Abbot, you chickened out almost immediately, bumbling your wall through some moronic excuse. 

To make matters worse, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. It was worse than it ever had been before; what used to be an errant thought that would arise only in the throes of pleasure were now occurring during the most mundane tasks. You thought about what his full, silver curls would look like buried between your thighs while you were doing laundry; what his mouth would feel like on your breasts, teeth pulling at the pebbled skin of your nipples while you cooked dinner; how he would fuck you–would it be soft and slow, or hard and punishing?–while you cleaned the bathroom. 

Your luck ran out about a month after the incident, as you were calling it. For the most part, you were able to keep your interactions with Abbot brief, albeit awkward. But today he was scheduled on day shift, covering for Al-Hashimi while she was home sick with her son. You’d only found out when you walked in, seeing his name on the board despite the fact that he was off last night. 

You felt a wave of nausea wash over you; how were you supposed to go a whole day avoiding him? You managed pretty well for the first half of your shift, presenting exclusively to Robby, which wasn’t all that different from your normal routine. You avoided the traumas Abbot was running, hiding in exam rooms under the guise of checking vitals or reviewing scans. It was working fairly well until midday, when you were unfortunately in the vicinity of the ambulance bay when paramedics burst through. 

“Santos, Mohan,” Abbot paused, eyes flitting over to where you stood before calling your name as well, “with me!” he said, already moving into the trauma room and gowning up. You reluctantly followed, slipping on your own trauma gown. He was behind you before you could secure your gown, fingers brushing against the nape of your neck as he tied the strings for you. It shouldn’t have sent a thrill down your spine, but it did. You stuttered out a thank you as you moved to assess the patient. 

The paramedic was halfway through the bullet when you arrived at the bedside, hands moving to transfer them from the stretcher to the bed. “– multiple lacerations, bruises to the face, chest, and abdomen. Possible tib-fib and facial fracture.” You looked down at the patient, a teenage boy who couldn’t have been older than 15. 

“BP’s low, 70 palp; pulse ox is 85,” Princess called out.  

You slid the chestpiece of your stethoscope over the patient's chest, listening to the lungs. Unfortunately, your brain went blank when Abbot sidled up next to you, arm pressed tight against yours in the cramped trauma room. 

“What do you think, Doc?” he asked, listening with his own stethoscope now. 

You blinked, brain lagging as you tried to compose yourself; to try and save this boy’s life. 

“Uh-um good breath sounds?” you said, a question more than an answer, though you were certain about the breath sounds. “Airway is patent, no tracheal deviation, no blood in the canal,” you finished, regaining a bit of confidence as you averted your gaze from his. 

“Good,” he said, hand grasping your elbow and moving you down to the end of the bed. “What do we need to order?”

Santos, blessedly, answered before you could embarrass yourself further, “C-spine, chest and head CT.” 

“BP is down to 60!” 

“Alright people! What are we dealing with?” Abbot called out, eyebrow quirked at you.

Every differential evaporated from your mind. “He’s bleeding from somewhere,” was all you could come up with, though that was obvious. Instead of dwelling on that, you turned your attention to the boy, your eyes examining his body, searching for the source of bleeding. With Samira’s help you flipped the boy over, desperate to find a stab wound or gash, but coming up empty. 

“Must be the belly,” Santos said.

“Alright, lavage kit please!” Abbot said, turning to you, “you ever done one of these?” 

You shook your head. 

“Well, today’s your lucky day, then,” he said, handing you an 11-blade.

Despite your best efforts, your hand shook as you pressed the blade against the skin. 

“I-I can’t,” you whispered, low enough that only he could hear. 

“You can,” he said, stepping behind you to steady your hand, guiding as you made the incision. He handed you the tubing next. “Make sure you’re into the peritoneum,” he whispered, lips right next to your ear. His hand was still on top of yours as you slid the tubing in, “I’m in, hook up the saline and extension tubing,” you said, breathing a sigh of relief.  

Your relief was short-lived. The results of the lavage came back–negative. “Shit, nothing. It’s not the belly,” you said, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

“What the fuck? Where the hell is this kid bleeding from?” Abbot cursed, pacing around the bed to see if anything was forgotten. “You check his back?” he asked. 

“Yes, nothing there. Maybe it’s a faulty blood pressure cuff?” you said, grasping at straws, but moving to flip the boy over and recheck his back again anyway. 

Abbot was next to you, eyes raking over systematically to find the source when suddenly Mohan pointed out a tiny mark on the boy’s lower right side, “What is that?” she asked. 

“That is a very small puncture wound. Probably an ice pick, if I had to guess,” Abbot answered.

Fuck. You should have caught that. You were standing right there, staring at the lower quadrant of the boy's back. You’d even seen the small mark, but dismissed it as a mole. You felt sick to your stomach, fear and shame welling up in you. You had never had a reaction like this in a trauma, not even on your first day as a med student. 

Garcia burst through the door just as Abbot was getting the patient ready to head up to the O.R. “Puncture wound, probably hit the kidney or renal artery,” he said, passing off the patient. She nodded, taking over from there. 

“Good pickup,” you congratulated Mohan weakly as you walked out of the trauma bay, hoping you could make it to the bathroom and wallow in self-pity for a few moments.

You heard him call your name shortly after you exited the trauma bay. Heart sinking, you turned to face him. “Yes, Dr. Abbot?” you asked, fidgeting with the hem of your scrub top. You weren’t sure you could handle being yelled at by him today. You’d never been one for tears at being reprimanded, but you could already feel the tell-tale prickling behind your eyes, and you were almost positive that the dam would burst at a harsh word from Abbot. 

“A word, please?” he asked, gesturing you to the stairwell, the only place with a semblance of privacy in the ED. You sullenly followed after him, bracing yourself for impact. 

You leaned back against the wall, fully expecting him to start yelling as soon as you were situated under the staircase, hidden well enough from passersby, but all you felt was a warm, heavy weight on your shoulder. 

“You have to settle down, okay?” he said, one hand planted firmly on your shoulder and the other grasping your chin between his fingers to direct your gaze to his. “Look, I know what you sent me was embarrassing, and we probably should’ve talked about it, but you can’t get this worked up over it when I’m on shift as your attending. It can’t affect your work, you're too good of a doctor to let something like this throw you,” he said earnestly, eyes sincere when you looked into them. 

You stood there, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. Your mind still hadn’t fully caught up. “I… you didn’t bring me out here to yell at me?” you asked, voice coming out weaker than you intended it to. 

He shook his head, confused, “What? No, of course not. I barely noticed that puncture wound myself,” he said, alleviating your anxiety somewhat. 

“What I’m concerned about is how wound tight you are around me. I’m not saying you have to like me or anything, but you have to be comfortable working with me. You didn’t make an error in this trauma, but you could have. And I know it would eat you up if something like that happened,” he said, thumb gently sweeping over your chin. 

“I can’t let you jeopardize your education because you’re embarrassed about mistakenly sending me a revealing photo. It would kill me if you didn’t reach your full potential because of something like that, if I had any part of it,” he shook his head, a pained look on his face. 

Oh. You couldn’t breathe, your cheeks surely inflamed at this point. You were suddenly very aware of how close he’d gotten–and of his hand on your face. His fingers were warm against your face, skin rough, providing delicious friction as his hand repositioned, thumb stroking along your jaw as he subtly tilted your head back. He smelled like clean laundry and coffee, with a slight tang of antiseptic.

Your lips parted, ragged breaths falling from your lips. 

“Dr. Abbot–”

“Jack. Call me Jack,” he murmured, so close that you could feel the heat radiating from his body. If you tipped your head up just a fraction, it would close the distance between you; would bring your lips flush together. Your eyes fluttered shut at the thought. 

“Jack, I don’t know why I can’t stop thinking about that picture,” you admitted quietly. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” he asked, tongue darting out to wet his lips, “I can’t stop thinking about it, either.” 

“Really?” you looked up at him from under your eyelashes. 

He nodded, moving impossibly closer, lips ghosting against yours. He hesitated briefly, a look of doubt flashing across his face before his gaze steadied–a decision made; a line ready to be crossed. His grip tightened against your jaw, “I can’t stop thinking about you spreading that pretty little pussy open, or about the prick who wanted you to shave before he’d think about going down on you,” he said, shaking his head in disgust. 

“You know how many times I fucked my fist to the memory of that photo? How much I’ve thought about how you taste, what sounds you’d make when you cum?” he asked. 

A strangled moan escaped your lips at his words. You’d never seen this side of Jack Abbot before, and it was intoxicating. “I-i think about you when I touch myself too,” you whimpered, your admission seeming tame compared to his vulgar words, but you wanted him to know you were also going crazy over him; that this wasn’t one-sided.  

“Yeah, pretty girl? You think about me when you stuff that little cunt with your fingers? Wish it was my cock instead?” he asked, his other hand snaking down to your hip, fingers inching their way under your scrub top to caress the skin there. 

You nodded, the proximity and dirty talk stealing your breath and leaving you unable to form an intelligible sentence. 

“Did he eat your pussy, sugar? You got all dolled up for him, did he at least treat you right?” he asked, breath fanning over your lips, stubble just barely grazing your sensitive skin. 

You shook your head, dazed. “I didn’t send it to him,” you said, a little bashful, “was too embarrassed after I sent it to you.” 

He groaned, forehead falling against yours, “poor baby, put in all that effort and didn’t even get to cum, did you?” he asked, just the slightest bit condescending. 

You let out a pathetic whine, shaking your head ‘no’ at his question. Heat pooled deep in your belly and you felt your panties quickly dampening.  

He tsked, “we’ll have to rectify that,” he said, “You shave again? Or you let her grow back natural?” he asked.

You bit your lip, still a bit shy despite all the filthy words that he’d spoken in the last 5 minutes. “I’m au naturelle,” you whispered, a slight smirk tugging at your lips. 

“Good fucking girl,” he growled before his mouth was on yours. His lips moved against yours with a ferocity you’d never experienced before. There was nothing uncertain about the kiss, his lips firm as he devoured you, tongue licking into your mouth and sliding against yours deliciously. One of your hands slid up the side of his neck to play with the curls at his nape while the other fisted in the fabric of his scrub top. 

His spit tasted like the stale breakroom coffee and the spearmint of his gum, and you couldn’t get enough. You suckled at his tongue, trying to keep up with his relentless pace, but eventually let him take the reins and kiss you silly. 

You were both panting when you pulled away, a string of spit drawn taut between your lips before snapping. Jack held your head between his hands, thumbs brushing softly over the apples of your cheeks. 

“Talk with me. Tonight. Come have dinner or a drink with me, and we can talk about it all,” he said, a borderline pleading look on his face. 

You nodded, still a little dumb from the kiss. “Yeah, yeah, sure. Okay,” you said, slowly extricating your hand from his scrub top. 

He let you go with a final squeeze to your jaw, moving to re-enter the ED before you. 

You stood there a moment longer, wiping your lips to get rid of your combined saliva and to lessen the kiss bitten look you were sure you were sporting before getting back to work.

The rest of the shift was painfully slow, the hours passing by like molasses. You couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss, the way his lips molded against yours like it was their rightful place. You did make a concentrated effort not to let it impact your work, though. Jack was right about that; nothing could come between you and finishing your residency. 

It was just after 7:30 when you exited the hospital, and you immediately spotted Jack leaning against his truck waiting for you. You smiled as you approached him, nervous butterflies erupting in your stomach. Despite that breathtaking kiss, you still didn’t know where you stood. Was he just satisfying a sexual curiosity? Or was it possible that he also had feelings for you? 

He cleared his throat, “So I was thinking we could order something to my place and talk there. Unless you want to go somewhere else, to a restaurant or your place,” he rambled, nerves undercutting his typically confident energy. 

“Your place sounds good,” you nod, still a bit shy.

His hand was warm on the small of your back as he guided you to the passenger side, opening the door for you and helping you step up into the cab. The ride to his house was quiet, but not uncomfortably so. Some 90s alternative rock playlist hummed quietly in the background while you ordered pizza for the two of you–on his phone, with his card, he insisted. His hand rested lightly on your knee, the heat of his palm burning through the fabric of your scrubs.  

You arrived at a beautifully manicured house in a suburb far enough from the city to be peacefully quiet. It’s different from what you pictured, you realize as you walk in. You assumed that a man who worked as much as he did wouldn’t have the time or energy to put into making a house a home; you pictured a sterile kitchen and minimalist fixtures, white walls with abstract art. 

But it was homey. The walls were painted, photos scattered across them. The couch looked comfy, something picked out with intention, not the first option plucked from a furniture catalog. There were plants, beautiful, well taken care of ferns and pothos littered about. Warm light filtered through the kitchen, the island topped with butcher block and bracketed by two upholstered stools. 

“Do you want anything to drink? Water, wine, beer?” he asked, opening the fridge and grabbing a beer for himself. 

You focused your attention back on him, abandoning your pseudo-psychoanalysis of his house and drifting over to perch on a stool. “Wine would be nice,” you said, grateful for something to occupy your hands. He nods, pours you a modest glass of red–something French that probably costs ten times the amount of your shitty grocery store wine. 

The pizza arrives soon thereafter, and you sit down at the island to eat. Conversation is easy, and you feel more at ease with him now than you ever had before, a drastic 180 from this morning. You talk about your day, life, post-residency plans; he lets loose a few embarrassing stories from his own residency days, one featuring a very unfortunate Robby being pantsed by a 6 year old in the middle of the ED. Eventually, though, plates are cleared and glasses are downed, a natural lull falling over the conversation. 

“So,” he starts, head resting against his palm, arm propped up on the counter, “that photo…” He’s got that sly smirk on his face now, comfortable now to tease you about it. 

You groan, burying your head in your arms. He laughed, “you don’t have to explain yourself, but I am curious what series of events led to me receiving that photo,” he said… “a series of events for which I am very thankful for, by the way.”  

You turned, resting your head sideways on your arms, and started explaining all about James and his preferences, how he was your only real option for some skin-to-skin contact. Jack, for his part, listened quietly, offering little commentary until you finished your great tale. 

“So you’re telling me that this kid can’t even fuck you right, yet he demands you shave before he’ll go down on you?” he asks, a horrified look on his face. 

“Welcome to the joys of modern dating,” you joke, shooting him a halfhearted smile. 

He shook his head, “unacceptable,” he said before hooking his leg around your stool and pulling you closer. You gasp, steadying yourself with a hand on his thigh as you fight not to topple onto him completely. He was close now, one hand coming up to rest on the hollow of your neck while the other slid up your top, thumb strumming over your ribs. 

Jack didn’t hesitate this time. This kiss was different–no less searing, but a little more leisurely–like he wasn’t worried about scarcity anymore, confident that he had the time to take you apart and put you back together again before the night was over. His mouth was molten against yours, tongue delving deep in your mouth and swallowing up the steady stream of desperate whines escaping you. 

The hand on your neck coasted upward, tangling in your hair and angling your head back to deepen the kiss. Your hands slid under his shirt, groaning as they came to rest on his tummy. He was warm, the muscle firm under your hands as you lightly scraped your nails over his flesh. His chest rumbled under your touch, the hand in your hair tightening, the twinge of pain a welcome contrast to the overwhelming pleasure of his lips against yours. 

He barely broke the kiss to whisper into your mouth, “let me show you what its like to have a real man fuck you. Please, sugar,” he pulled away finally, resting his forehead against yours.

“Please fuck me, Jack,” you said, eyes hooded with lust. A moment later you were being scooped up from the stool and carried toward his bedroom. While Jack focused on not running into anything, you trailed open-mouthed kisses along the length of his neck, sucking the skin between your teeth before soothing it over with your tongue. You nipped gently at his adam’s apple, smiling when he yelped at the contact. 

“You’re trouble, you know that?” he chuckled before dropping you down onto his bed, your body bouncing slightly before settling. He stood between your legs, face cradled between his meaty hands. “I want you to listen to me, okay?” he asked, waiting for you to nod before continuing, “I want to do so many filthy, obscene things to you tonight; want to fuck you into oblivion as many times as you’ll let me, but I want you to know that if you want to stop, at any point, you just say the word and we’re done. No questions asked. Understand?” 

You nodded once more, but that was insufficient for Jack. “need you to use your big girl words, okay, pretty? Tell me you understand,” he said. 

“I understand, Jack. If I want to stop, I’ll tell you,” you replied seriously, even though you knew there was no chance you’d want to stop. 

“Good. Now, I want you to take off your scrubs, scoot up to the headboard, and get comfortable while I take care of my leg, okay?” 

You did as he bade you, left only in a pair of pink cotton panties and bra. You hadn’t planned on being in this situation, but you were glad they were a matching set at the very least. Settling against his pillows, you watched as he shucked his pants off, the sleek metal of his prosthesis glinting in the low lamplight. 

He sat down at the edge of the bed, fingers undoing the mechanism with practiced motions, twisting the appendage off and setting it to the side. The skin looked a little chapped, but not raw, which was a good sign. 

“Is there anything I could do to make things more comfortable for you?” you asked. You wanted to make sure he knew you weren’t put off by his leg, wanted to make sure he didn’t feel like he had to overcompensate because of it. 

“No, thank you, sugar. You’re doin’ plenty already,” he assured, turning around to face you. His eyes darkened as he took you in, his gaze hungrily raking over your newly exposed skin. He moved to hover over you, forearms braced next to your head as kisses you again, this time a sweet press of his lips against yours before he began trailing his mouth along your jaw and down your neck, laving hot kisses all across your neck and collarbone. 

A gasp punches out of you when he sucks harshly at the spot just below the ear, the spot that turns your insides to putty. He grins against you, focusing his attention there until you’re a writhing, moaning mess under him. A hand reaches behind you to make quick work of your bra clasp, the flimsy material soon thrown across the room, forgotten immediately. His hands are on you in a flash, thumbs teasing along the underside of your tits. 

Whining, you claw at his shirt, desperately wanting to feel his bare chest against your nipples, and he obliges, one-handedly throwing the thing off. The fine silver hair on his chest scrapes against you, your nails digging into his back as you pull him flush to you. Jack groans, hips involuntarily rutting against you, his hard cock a delicious pressure against your aching cunt. Your hips cant up, chasing the friction and grinding yourself against him. 

“Careful, you keep doin’ that and this’ll be over before it even starts,” Jack warns, nipping at your bottom lip before continuing his maddening descent, mouth exploring your breasts–conveniently ignoring your painfully hard nipples. “Jaaaack,” you whine, thrusting your chest upward. He takes the hint, lips suctioning against a nipple and using his tongue to flick the pebbled flesh. Your hand fists in his curls, holding him there as his hand moves to tug at your other nipple. When he decides he’s given enough attention to one nipple, he switches sides, giving the other the same treatment. By the time he moves on, your tits are sure to be sore and red tomorrow, but you could not care less about that right now. 

He kissed down your stomach, lips lingering at your navel before pulling back, eyes travelling down between your legs. “Fuck sweetheart, is all this just from me playin’ with your pretty tits?” he asked, eyes fixated on the wet spot on your panties. You whimper in response, mind too fuzzy to form words. His fingers skate over your waistband, your tummy contracting in anticipation. Ever so slowly, he drags your panties down your legs, discarding them over his shoulder as he settles between your legs.

His pupils were blown wide, utterly entranced by your pussy. The attention made you want to shrink in on yourself, your legs subconsciously moving to close, but his wide shoulders and firm grip on your thighs stopped you. “Fuck, sugar, this is what she looks like with some curls on ‘er? And you let some boy convince you she needed to be bald?” He shook his head, a genuinely pained look on his face. 

He moved to spread you open for him, thumbs stroking up and down your lips as he took you in. Without warning, he surged forward, pressing a chase kiss against your clit before sitting back and continuing to admire your pussy. You squealed, hips twitching forward in search of more friction, the brief contact making you dizzy with need. It was slightly embarrassing, being watched like this, but you were growing impossibly wetter anyway. 

Jack’s hands moved back to your thighs as you squirmed, grip tightening, fingers sinking into your soft flesh just enough to ache, and spread you further open. “Don’t hide from me, pretty girl,” he said, pressing hot kisses from your knee to your inner thigh, stopping right at the crease between your pussy and thigh, breath fanning over your puffy folds. Your clit was throbbing, your hips subtly shifting against nothing. 

“‘m gonna show you just how pretty this pussy is, not gonna stop until you feel it,” he said, looking directly into your eyes, “you okay with that?” 

No sooner had you nodded than he was on you. He didn’t waste any time, swiping the flat of his tongue through your folds from entrance to clit in one long stroke. His tongue was hot against your cunt, the muscle firm as it lapped hungrily at your folds, exploring every inch of you. He groaned, nuzzling his face deeper into your pussy. “Fuck, you taste better than I could have ever imagined,” he moaned, tongue dipping into your hole to collect the slick gathering there. 

He didn’t surface for air, mouth working against you relentlessly; like he’d been deprived of something vital that had been restored to him, and he wasn’t about to let it go again. It was primal, almost animalistic the way he licked, sucked, and nipped at your cunt. Your back arched almost painfully off the bed, hands fisted in the sheets and moans slipping from your lips unbidden. 

He alternated between circling your clit in tight little circles with the tip of his tongue, and suckling on it, lips wrapped snug around the bundle of nerves. Your body was hot, your legs trembling as the coil in your core wound tighter. One hand moved to grip his curls, the hair soft between your fingers as you tugged at it. He moaned into your pussy, the vibrations bringing you right to the edge.  

“Fuck, right there, Jack,” you gasped, “I’m so close, so–”

“Cum for me, sugar, let me taste you,” he said quickly, head bowing back down to suck your clit harshly, teeth grazing it just the littlest bit.  

And you did, white hot pleasure coursing through you, body contorting, legs squeezing his head between your thighs as you rode out your orgasm. You felt like a live wire, your nerves firing on all cylinders while Jack kept gentle pressure on your clit, drawing out your release as long as possible. Jack lapped up all your spend, not letting a drop go to waste. Boneless, you weakly pushed his head away, the overstimulation too much. 

He sat back a fraction, face dripping with your juices and his saliva. There was a gleam in his eye as his thumb replaced his mouth, rubbing soft circles against your clit. A high-pitched whine escaped you, your sensitive nub begging for reprieve. 

“You can give me another one, can’t you pretty girl?” he asked, voice brooking no argument. 

“I d-don’t–fuck–I don’t know,” you blabbered, the painful overstimulation quickly giving way to pleasure, your hips canting forward against his thumb. 

“I think you can,” he murmured, swiping a thick finger through your folds before sinking it in and curling lazily against that sweet spot on your front wall. “Fuck, Jack, feels so good,” you moaned, moving you hips in time with his finger.  Before you knew it he was adding another finger, a slight sting accompanying the stretch. All you could do was whimper, his fingers switching between slow and deep, and fast and hard strokes. 

Your second orgasm hit you without warning, pleasure reverberating through your body from the top of your head to the soles of your feet, your toes curling as you came harder than you ever had in your life. Jack’s fingers kept moving, wringing every last after shock from your body. You were panting now, trying to catch your breath but failing miserably. 

And yet, Jack’s fingers were still moving, scissoring you open now. It was too much, the sensations bordered more on pain than pleasure. “I can’t–can’t do a-another one like this,” you stuttered out.

Jack looked at you, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Tell me you have the prettiest pussy,” he said, fingers slowing a fraction as he waited for you to answer, gaze leveled directly at you.  

You whined, face heating at the order, “J-Jack, please, just wanna cum on your cock,” you said, hoping it would break his resolve. 

“I’ll fuck you as soon as you say it, sugar. Say you have the prettiest pussy.” 

You squirmed, cheeks hot as you whimpered, “I can’t–I’m not–” was all you managed to get out before a sharp slap landed on your pussy. You gasped, the pain shocking but not unwelcome. 

“If you want to cum on my cock, you have to be a good girl,” he said, face severe as he continued curling his fingers against your sweet spot. “and good girls do what they’re told. So, I want you to say, ‘Jack, I have the prettiest, sweetest pussy’ okay? Can you do that for me, pretty girl?” he asked, thumb circling your clit. 

You huffed, trying to catch your breath. “Ja-aack, fuck, I-I have, hng, I have the p-prettiest, sweet–ah–sweetest pussy,” you stammered out. 

“Knew you could do it for me,” he praised, fingers leaving your cunt to pull off his boxers. His cock sprang out, curving slightly and resting against his abdomen. It stole the breath from your lungs–It was obnoxiously thick and decently lengthy, tip flushed red and leaking precum steadily. Your hand reached out to feel him, maybe jerk him off a little before he fucked you, but Jack stopped you, pinning  your wrist down on the bed. You whined, lip jutting out in a not-so-faux pout. 

“I’m trying not to cum in 5 seconds like a teenager, sugar, and if you put your soft hands on me right now I’m not gonna be able to last,” he said, reaching over to his bedside table to grab a condom. He stroked his cock a few times before rolling the condom on and lining himself up with your entrance, neither one of you interested in teasing anymore. 

He eased the tip in, your walls fluttering around him to accommodate his girth. Your legs spread open wider for him as he settled between your hips, pushing the rest of his length in slowly until he was flush against your hips, his pelvic bone rubbing your clit just right. The stretch was intense, your walls fluttering and clenching harshly at the intrusion. Your hips wiggled slightly, trying to get used to the twinge of pain from the sheer size of him. 

Jack hovered over you, one arm resting next to your head while the other gripped your hip tight. His face was twisted, almost painful looking. “You gotta relax for me, sugar, you’re gripping me like a fuckin’ vise,” he grit out, head falling into the crook of your neck, placing chaste kisses there, trying to loosen you up. You tried, willing your muscles to relax around him.  

A few moments passed before Jack was able to move, pulling out to the tip before thrusting back in harshly, setting a brutal pace. You moaned, Jack’s hips snapping hard against you, cock dragging through your walls exquisitely. You tried to keep up with his pace, your hips meeting each thrust, cunt greedily sucking him back in each time. 

Your back was arched, hair splayed out across the pillow as you took what Jack gave you. 

“So pretty for me, sweetheart,” he said, sitting back on his haunches, “my perfect little pussy.” He grabbed at your thighs, pushing them up toward your chest, knees nearly at your ears. The new angle forced him deeper than before, his thrusts fucking you into the mattress. You were entranced by the view of him fucking you, curls dripping and chest glistening with sweat as he pounded into your pussy. 

The room sounded obscene between the slapping skin, your combined moans, and your squelching cunt. Moans were falling from your lips at a near constant rate, and Jack was louder than you’d expected, throaty groans and grunts reverberating like music to your ears.

You’re honestly not sure you’ve ever come more than twice in a night, but it didn’t take as long as you thought for your third orgasm to build, the waves cresting fast. The only thing you could think about was Jack’s cock hammering into your pussy. 

“I think I’m gonna, gonna cum again,” you breathed, “don’t stop, Jack, pleasepleasepleasepleeeeeeease,” you keened.  

Jack’s hand found your jaw, tilting your face up to kiss him sloppily, “cum for me, baby, let me feel you milk my cock,” he said, thrusts growing more uncoordinated as he neared his orgasm. 

It only took a few more deep, punishing trusts before you were coming undone around his cock. You held eye contact with Jack as your orgasm washed over you, your mouth parted wide, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes at the overwhelming sensations. You felt so full, your walls pulsing mercilessly around him. 

Jack gripped your hips in both hands, his trusts faster and harder than before as he chased his release. “wanna feel you cum in me Jack,” you croaked, throat raw, hands reaching out to paw at any skin you could. 

Jack groaned, hips stuttering a few more times before thrusting deep into you once last time and cumming. He ground his hips into yours, milking every last drop from his cock. You felt the warmth of his cum through the condom, your cunt clenching again at the feeling, your mind already flashing forward to imagine him fucking you raw–you let about another garbled moan at the thought. 

Spent, Jack collapsed into you, cock softening inside your still pulsing cunt. His weight on top of you was comforting, grounding you back to earth. You were content to lay there, coming down and catching your breath. 

Eventually Jack rolled off of you, disposing of the condom and grabbing a few wet wipes from his nightstand to clean you both up. 

He pulled you against his side, big hand petting your hair, “You okay, sugar? Was that too much?” he asked, voice hoarse. 

“no, was so good, Jackie,” you mumbled, feeling floaty and sated. 

“Good,” he whispered, pressing soft kisses onto your hairline.  

You sat in comfortable silence for a while, head resting on his bare chest, his heartbeat a comforting thrum in your ear. One large hand ran up and down the smooth expanse of your back while the other held your hand against his chest, fingers intertwined together. 

“I hope you know this isn’t just a one time thing,” he said suddenly, his arm tightening its hold around you. 

“No?” you asked, trying to keep the hopeful edge out of your voice. 

“Uh-uh, you’re mine,” he says possessively, hand snaking down to cup your sensitive mound, “this is my pussy now.” 

You want to be offended, want to point out that you’re more than your cunt. But you know Jack knows that, and more than anything your head grows warm and fuzzy at the thought of being someone’s. Of being Jack’s. 

“Yeah, ‘s all yours, Jackie,” you mumble, falling asleep against the gentle rise and fall of his chest, happier than you’ve been in a long time.