Fic Rec

Your love story with Clark isn’t exactly convoluted. He made you coffee and brought you out in the sun to watch ducks in Centennial Park. You’d teased him with delicate outfits and long stretches, had occasionally brought him dinner. And it isn’t a long story, either. It’s been, what, three weeks? Nearly four? Too long to be this nervous, and yet. Clark squeezes your hand as your heart trips for the third time in as many minutes, caught on the sharp cut of his jaw and his messy curls. He doesn’t say anything as you weave between tight aisles looking for the specialty foods, but you get the sense that he knows you’re nervous. 

“I can’t believe you remembered where I got the garlic,” you say conversationally. 

“It’s rare, right? From the Himalayas.” 

“Did I tell you that, too?” 

“Your article, honey,” Clark says, his eyes tracking the jars of preserves and a row of open-basket offerings. “Single clove, golden… ah-ha!” He lets your hand fall to grab a paper bag and the tongs buried within. This basket has a plastic covering over the top that clicks and folds upward, releasing a heavy scent. 

“Careful, Clark, it’s like, a billion dollars per pound.” 

He shakes his head, unworried. “How much do you need for the risotto? Tell me when. And don’t short it.” 

You decide not to short it —you’ll pay. But when you and Clark get to the counter, baggie of garlic, fresh oregano, ginger stems and tangerines dumped unceremoniously onto the counter by the cash register, he bats your hand away with the most aggression he’s ever shown you and offers the clerk his card.  

“I don’t like mean Clark,” you murmur, squinting in the sun as Clark shepherds you back outside. 

“No? You should get used to him.” 

“Didn’t peg you for a bully, Kent.” 

“I’m not.” He swings an arm over your shoulder, careful not to hit you with the groceries (what a loser!). “I could never bully you, you’re too nice. And who will make my dinner, if you’re upset?” 

“So funny.” 

“I know,” he says against your cheek. Your skin warms under a prim kiss. His lips part and the wet of his tongue doesn’t touch you, but you can feel it regardless, the humidity of his breath rolling over your skin. 

“Off!” you demand. 

He grins and takes back his arm. “Off,” he says, looking very much like he’d like to kiss you again. It’s awful how palpable the need is on his face. You ignore it as best as you can, too worried he’ll get you home and kiss you against the door, fumbling blindly for a bed he’s never seen. 

He’s less desperate than you’re making out. In fact, if Clark wants to seduce you is anyone’s guess. He holds your hand down the street to your apartment building, laughs lightly when you tug him behind the staircase toward the back, and holds your handbag while you rummage for your keys without protest. 

He places his case, your bag, and his shoes at the side table on the way in. You try to see your trimmings through his eyes, hand on his arm to balance as you pull off each of your shoes. You like the process of it, your fingers in his muscle, his eyes on your knee as you bring your foot up behind you, and your fingers as you slide them into the back of your shoe to tug it off. You like the sound they make as they topple to the floor, and the way you slip across the floor as Clark gathers you up for a hug right there in the door. His hair makes a sound as it falls around his face, Clark burying his nose in the side of your head. You hold his back. Feel for ridges. Find thick layers of fabric in the way. 

“Wanted to do this all day,” he says. 

If it weren’t so endearing to be wanted, you’d laugh. Clark doesn’t make you guess about his affections. He’s unlike anyone you’ve ever met, if only for his honesty. His earnestness. 

You duck your head into the curve of his neck. “Smell nice,” you mumble. 

“Are you tired?” 

“No… You’re… putting the moves on me.” 

“Is that what I’m doing?” His laugh vibrates at your temple. 

“Can you make me dinner?” 

He pulls away from you to hold your face. “Yeah, I can make you dinner.” 

The plan had been Clark would come over and you’d make dinner, considering your expertise. A chef’s column for the biggest news outlet in Metropolis doesn’t come easy. You’re good at what you do. And that risotto had been half the reason Clark fell in love with you, if he’s to be believed. (Though he doesn’t say love.) (The other half a thin, pale skirt.) 

Clark is a quick study. Your cooking lessons have helped him some. It’s nice to see him in your kitchen, waving a wooden spoon at you as he talks, stripping out of his suit jacket and rolling up his perfect white sleeves.

He gets broth up his arms and on his tie. You stand in front of him with the heat of the stove kissing your side and carefully work the knot from his neck. 

“Kiss?” he asks. 

You use his tie to guide him down. 

—

Clark brought his pajamas in the briefcase. 

He made you garlic butter and pesto by hand, plated up your risotto with a kiss. He hoisted your legs into his lap when you’d started to falter during the movie and he’s rubbed them until you’d dozed, and now he’s in the shower, having taken his pajamas and his shower things with him. His shampoo had been macadamia and argan oil. 

And his pyjama pants are blue. 

He rolls into your room with wet hair slicked to his neck and roughly towel dried at the front, blocking the TV with his height, a pair of socks still held in his hands. “I put my clothes in the laundry. Is that okay?” 

You’re hoping you hadn’t left your delicates at the top of the bin. “Yeah, of course it is. I’ll wash them before bed, they’ll be dry again before morning.” 

He shrugs. “I brought slacks for tomorrow.”

“How much fits in that briefcase?” 

“You’d be surprised. Move over?” 

You shuffle to one side of the bed so Clark can sit down beside you. He seems large against your headboard. You trace the curve of his neck to a relaxed jaw. There’s no stubble there when you run over his skin with your fingers, but there’s a teeny-tiny spot of blood under his chin. You wipe at it until it comes off. “I’d kiss it, but I’m worried it’ll get infected.” 

“Kiss me anyway,” he says, lifting his chin. His collar is tacky with water. 

You lift yours in turn to reach, lips pressing with the utmost care to his chin as he wraps an arm behind you. You can’t see the cut, but you worry you’ll hurt him if you aren’t careful, and he feels your hesitation under his hand. 

“It’s okay. You can’t hurt me,” he says, like this is normal to say, like it doesn’t have your heart cradling itself in the heat of your stomach. 

You kiss him again, then his neck, the column of it solid beneath your lips. You wait there with your nose tip digging in, but he doesn’t say anything. 

A small gasp floods from you as he grabs you by the waist and pulls you into his arms, on top of his legs, long and lithe and dipping the mattress underneath him. Your face falls flat against his collar, warm to damp, startled but far from unhappy by his sudden show of strength. He closes his arms around you and hugs you. In a moment, his nose rubs itself against your cheek in a nuzzle. It’s animalistic only in the sense that it’s without thought, his nose rubbing into the same spot over and over again. 

He doesn’t moan, but nearly. The sound he lets out is one of relief. Like you’d evaded him all day, and this is a victory. 

“Is this the part where we start telling each other secrets?” he asks.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly. 

“I didn’t know how badly I needed this.” 

You needle your arms behind his back to hold him, too.

“Do you…” 

“What?” he asks. 

“It will sound like I’m flirting, and I am a little, but it’s a genuine question, okay?” 

“Alright,” he says. You can tell he’s not about to laugh at you, which is nice. 

“Do you work out?” 

He smiles against your cheek. “Some. In the morning, when I can. I lift weights.” 

“I know that– I realise it’s a silly question. I don’t think people tend to look like you naturally.” 

“Is this still part of the genuine question?”

“No, this is the flirting.” 

“Oh, gotcha.” He knocks under your chin lightly. 

You look up to let him kiss you. 

He makes another wretched sound, like the beginning of a groan half-smothered by your mouth. Clark parts his lips, turning his head to the side, the taste of him pressed into your tongue as he breathes you in. It is incredibly foreign to be breathed in while you’re kissing, but Clark pulls at your back like he’s worried you’ll move away, feeling and breathing, sudden fingertips tumbling down your back. 

“Where are you going?” he whines. 

“You’re tickling me.”

“On accident. You really are Peitho, you know. She’s cunning and cruel when she wants to be.” 

“Don’t pressure me.” 

“Now that’s not funny, is it?” he asks, grinning as you lean down slowly. 

“Let me feel your heart.”

You press your fingers to his pulse. He lets you count the beats, says, “That’s sixty seconds,” like he’d known you would struggle to time it with your fingers. 

“I think you’re dead at a hundred.” 

“What’s that mean, doc?” he murmurs. 

You stroke his jaw with the flat of your nail. Not teasing —thinking. 

“I think I need to shower, too,” you say. He knows why. His eyes go lax behind his glasses with fondness. “Okay?” you ask, tapping his glasses with your nail gently. “You can clean the smudges off of your glasses while I’m gone. How’d they get this dirty, that’s crazy.” 

He rubs the small of your back with pressure. “I think it might’ve happened when I tried to get my face in your neck. And your ear. And, you know, your head.” 

He sounds delightfully bashful. It begets another kiss. 

You lose time in his lap. Really, you’d stay. But you need a minute in the shower to breathe through your nerves, and Clark is remarkably in touch with feelings, so he kisses you and sits up to encourage you away. “Go on. I’ll be here.” 

“Don’t look through my stuff. Promise?” 

“Sure,” he says, like a liar. 

You come back some twenty minutes later in your nicest pointelle pyjamas, skin slicked with a tiny bit of body oil and lotion atop it that smells of figs, ‘cos it’s the only one Clark’s ever mentioned liking aloud. He doesn’t skimp on compliments and loves to tell you that you smell good, but the fig one, the first time he smelled it, stopped him cold side by side on a couch in the coffee shop by his apartment. “What is that?” he’d asked. 

Your smug smile drops. “Clark,” you breathe. 

He pulls your teddy bear by the back and makes him wave. “Hi, honey.” 

“You found Charlie.” 

“You were hiding him.” 

“He was tastefully placed on my desk.” Where you’d hoped he wouldn’t be seen.

Clark pets Charlie’s downy head. “How could you hide him? He’s lovely. He told me–”

“Charlie didn’t tell you anything, he’s my teddy.” 

“Since you were young?” he asks. 

Charlie’s all worn around the armpits, the fur kissed anxiously from his cheeks. “I’ve always had him, yeah.” 

“I think I’d be remiss not to tell you that you look beautiful,” he says, “and Charlie says the same.” 

“Don’t talk through my teddy.” 

He presses Charlie to his chest like he’s a baby.

“He loves you.”

It turns your heart. You’d been ready to lay back in his lap and have him kiss you dizzy, tucking curls behind his ear to whisper saccharinely into the shell of it, but you’re thinking now that you want to curl up with him and find that box of chocolates he’d given you last week (for looking oh so morose for all of five seconds, apparently) to share. Have him rub your arms as you pretend to watch a movie. 

“Okay. Okay, come and hug me,” you say, leaning against your desk expectantly. 

Clark is up in three seconds flat. 

—

You wake with a start. 

There’s a shape beside you in bed, turned toward you, so close to you that you struggle to see him beyond the dark curls of his hair against your flowered pillow case. 

He has freckles on his shoulders. You hadn’t seen them last night in the dark, or even in the lamplight Clark begged for, just to see you, of course I want to see you, you’re beautiful like this, and they surprise you. There’s a handful of them across the hills of his shoulders. Barely any at all, but enough to kiss. 

He feels your mouth and wakes up quicker than you’d wanted. 

“Shit,” he says, grappling backwards for his glasses on the nightstand. 

“Clark?”

“Sorry.” When he turns back to you, he’s wearing his glasses again. You frown.

“What’s wrong?” 

Your stomach hurts. Like, hurts, the explanation loaded in one fell swoop. He slept with you and he didn’t mean to stay because he hadn’t ever meant to stay–

“No, sorry, nothing is wrong.” Clark clears his throat. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I wake up badly, sometimes.”

“Was it me?” 

“No.” He smiles like you’re the sun, blinking sleep away lazily. His eyelids and mouth are both puffy with it. “No, of course it wasn’t you, come here. I slept well.” 

You’re aware, then, of his missing shirt, the way your thigh slides between his as he pulls you tight to his chest. 

Just like that. 

You press your face to his shoulder, rather than let him see your expression. The night before comes back to you in a heated rush, every soft touch and softer kiss. You shudder under his tracing patterns.

“Can see you better like this,” Clark says, bringing his hand to your cheek to angle you in the sunshine.

You’re too tired to move, but you want to be kissed. Fortunately, your boyfriend is as generous as he is kind, and he promises to do all the hard work. “You can make yourself comfortable, honey,” he murmurs, turning you onto your back with an easy strength.

You cover your mouth with your hand. 

Clark can see your smile regardless. “So pretty,” he says quietly, kissing your chest, glasses slipping down his nose as he cranes his neck further.  “God, you’re perfect like this.” 

“You didn’t kiss me good morning,” you murmur, mostly to tease him. 

“I will.” His hand finds the pulp behind your knee. “I will. I promise.” 

˚‧꒰ა ❤︎ ໒꒱‧˚

You lunged for it. “Give it back.”

He twisted away, holding it just out of reach. “Absolutely not. This looks educational.”

“Dean.”

Garrett immediately perked up. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly.

Dean’s grin widened. “Oh, it’s not nothing.”

Tucker turned his head, looking up at you from where he sat between your legs. His brows lifted, more amused than nosy, and somehow that made it worse.

“Di Laurentis,” Tucker said. “Give her the phone.”

Dean pressed a hand to his chest. “I’m offended you’d assume I’m doing anything wrong.”

“You stole her phone.”

“Temporarily relocated it.”

“Dean,” Hannah said, already fighting a laugh. “Give it back.”

But Dean had already seen enough.

His eyes dropped to the screen, and then his face transformed.

“Oh my God.”

You covered your face with both hands. “I hate you.”

Logan leaned over the back of the couch. “Read the title.”

“No,” you snapped.

Dean cleared his throat in a formal, dramatic voice. “Saddled by Sundown.”

Garrett choked on his water.

Logan made a sound like he had been punched in the ribs.

Hannah burst out laughing.

You snatched the throw pillow beside you and hurled it at Dean’s head. He ducked out of the way, still laughing.

“It’s a book,” you said, hot all over. “People read books.”

Dean looked down at the cover again. “This man is shirtless in a barn.”

“Farm labor is very demanding.”

Garrett nodded like he was considering it. “True. Lots of hay. Heavy equipment.”

“Don’t help,” you said.

Tucker still hadn’t moved, but you felt his thumb sweep once over the inside of your ankle.

You looked down.

He was watching you now, his mouth curved just enough to make your stomach tighten.

Dean, tragically still alive, kept going. “Wait, wait. There are more of these in the app. She has a whole collection.”

“Dean,” you said slowly. “I am begging you to remember that I know where you sleep.”

“Cowboy romances,” Logan said, looking far too pleased with this development. “Didn’t see that coming.”

“You don’t see most things coming,” you muttered.

Garrett leaned back in his chair, pointing his slice of pizza at you. “So is this why you got weirdly defensive during that movie when Dean said cowboys were overrated?”

“I was defending the genre.”

“The genre of shirtless barn men?” Dean asked.

You reached for another pillow.

This time, Tucker caught your wrist gently before you could throw it. His hand wrapped around you easily, warm and solid.

“Save it,” he said. “He’ll only get louder.”

Everyone started talking again, and slowly, mercifully, your phone was returned. You locked it immediately and shoved it under your thigh like that would erase the last five minutes from history.

Tucker gave your ankle one last squeeze before standing.

“You okay?” he asked, low enough that the others wouldn’t hear.

You lifted your chin. “I’m fantastic.”

His eyes moved over your face, taking in every bit of false dignity you had left.

“Sure are,” he said.

You hated the way his accent made two simple words feel like a hand sliding beneath your shirt.

By the time you all made it to the bar, the cowboy jokes had mostly died down, replaced by Dean getting rejected by the karaoke host because he tried to submit the same song three times under three fake names.

The place was crowded and loud, packed with Briar students, locals, and a few regulars who seemed deeply unprepared for whatever Dean had planned.

You claimed a booth in the back with Hannah while the boys fought their way to the bar.

“I’m sorry,” Hannah said, still grinning. “But the way your face dropped when Dean read that title was incredible.”

“You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I am on your side. I also support your right to read about dusty, emotionally unavailable ranchers.”

“They’re not all dusty.”

“Of course not.”

“Some of them bathe in rivers.”

Hannah laughed into her drink, and you tried very hard not to look at Tucker where he stood at the bar.

He was leaning with one elbow on the counter, talking to the bartender like they were old friends, because of course he was. Tucker could make friends with a parking meter. He wore jeans and a dark shirt that fit him in a way you had been trying not to notice all night. His hair was a little messy from the cold outside, and when he glanced over his shoulder, his eyes found you immediately.

You looked away before you could do something humiliating.

The night settled into the kind of chaos that only happened with that group. Garrett sang a painfully sincere power ballad and somehow made half the bar cheer for him. Logan and Dean performed a duet that involved too much hip movement and absolutely no musical talent. Hannah recorded the entire thing while Garrett yelled, “That’s my girl,” even though she had told him twice that recording evidence of Dean’s crimes was a public service.

Tucker stayed beside you through most of it, shoulder brushing yours in the booth, one arm stretched along the back behind you. He did not mention the books again. He did not tease you about cowboys or covers or shirtless men in barns.

The silence felt deliberate.

You were halfway through your drink when Dean stumbled back to the table, flushed with victory from whatever crime he had just committed onstage.

“Tuck,” he said. “You’re up.”

Tucker lifted his brows. “Am I?”

“You are now. I signed you up.”

“Of course you did.”

Dean dropped into the booth beside Logan. “You’re welcome.”

You turned to Tucker. “You don’t have to.”

He looked at you for a second too long.

Then he smiled.

Not wide. Not obvious. Just enough to make you nervous.

“Nah,” he said, sliding out of the booth. “I’ll do it.”

Your eyes narrowed. “What did he sign you up for?”

Dean pressed his lips together with the focus of a man trying to keep a secret and failing at every visible level.

“Dean,” you said.

“I’m just here for the arts.”

Tucker walked toward the small stage, and your heart started beating harder for no reasonable reason. He looked too comfortable up there, taking the mic from the karaoke host, rolling his shoulders once like he was getting ready for something more dangerous than a song in a bar full of drunk college students.

Then the opening notes started.

You froze.

Dean slapped both hands over his mouth.

Logan fell forward onto the table, already laughing.

Garrett looked at you, then at Tucker, then back at you. “Oh, he’s dead.”

You sank slowly into your seat.

“No,” you whispered.

Hannah grabbed your arm. “Yes.”

Tucker stood under the cheap bar lights with the microphone in hand, his eyes already on you, and started singing “Save a Horse.”

The whole room erupted.

Dean was on his feet immediately.

Logan pounded on the table.

Garrett yelled, “Commit to the bit, Tuck!”

And Tucker did.

He did not have the best voice in the world, but he had enough confidence to sell it and enough charm to make the entire room go with him. He moved across the tiny stage like it belonged to him, smile easy, head tipped slightly whenever the crowd sang along. He kept it funny at first. Light. Ridiculous. Playing into the shouting and clapping like he was only doing it because Dean had signed him up.

Then he looked at you during the chorus.

Your entire body forgot how to behave.

He didn’t point. Didn’t wink. Didn’t make it obvious enough for everyone to catch.

He just held your gaze, singing the title like he knew exactly what it would do to you.

Heat climbed up your neck.

“Oh, she’s dying,” Logan said.

“I am not.”

“You kind of are,” Hannah said, delighted.

Dean leaned across the table. “Are the cowboys in your books this committed? Because I respect the hustle.”

“I’m going to pour this drink on you.”

Onstage, Tucker laughed through the next line, probably because he could see you plotting murder from the booth. It only made him worse. He got the crowd clapping again, voice rough and warm through the cheap speakers, and every time the song swung back to that chorus, his attention drifted to you like a match being struck.

By the time it ended, you were gripping your glass too tightly.

The bar erupted into applause.

Tucker handed the mic back, stepped offstage, and started toward the booth while Garrett and Logan cheered like he had just won a championship.

Dean bowed to him. “You’re welcome. I created this.”

Tucker slid back into the booth beside you, close enough that his thigh pressed against yours.

You stared straight ahead.

He leaned in, voice low. “You’re quiet.”

“I’m considering a transfer.”

“To where?”

“Somewhere without karaoke.”

“That’d be a shame,” he said. “You looked like you were enjoying yourself.”

You turned your head.

He was close. Too close for the amount of people at the table. His eyes were on your mouth for half a second before they lifted again.

“I was embarrassed for you,” you said.

“Were you?”

“Mhm.”

Tucker nodded slowly, as if giving that the respect it deserved, which was none. “That’s why you haven’t touched your drink since I got onstage?”

Your fingers loosened around the glass.

Across the table, Dean was loudly explaining to Garrett that he had “changed the romantic trajectory of the evening,” so at least no one was paying attention.

No one except Tucker.

You tried to find something sharp to say. Something that would put the night back where it belonged, with jokes and distance and plausible deniability.

Instead, you said, “You’re a terrible friend.”

The amusement in his face shifted into something lower, steadier.

“Yeah,” he said. “I was hoping that came across.”

Your breath caught.

Tucker’s hand slid under the table and rested on your knee. Not high. Not rushed. Just there, his palm warm through the fabric of your skirt.

“Tell me I’m reading this wrong,” he said.

There was still laughter around you. Dean shouting. Garrett arguing. Hannah ordering another round. The bar lights flickering over Tucker’s face.

You could have lied.

You had lied for months.

But his thumb moved once against your knee, and your self-control went thin enough to tear.

“You’re not,” you said.

Tucker’s jaw worked slightly.

Then his hand moved higher.

Your breath went uneven.

He leaned back like nothing had happened, picked up his beer, and took a slow drink. To anyone watching, he looked relaxed. Normal. Like he hadn’t just shifted something huge between you with two quiet words and a hand under the table.

Then he stood.

“I’m gonna hit the bathroom,” he said casually.

Dean waved him off, too busy trying to convince Hannah that he deserved producer credit for Tucker’s performance.

Tucker did not look at you when he walked away.

You stayed in the booth a little longer, listening to Dean talk over Logan, feeling the heat of Tucker’s hand still sitting on your knee like he’d left a mark there.

Then you slid out.

Hannah caught it, because of course she did. She glanced from you to the back hallway, and whatever she saw on your face made her pick up her drink and start an argument with Dean loud enough to cover you leaving.

Bless her.

The hallway to the bathrooms was dimmer than the rest of the bar, narrow and lined with old posters. Your pulse beat hard in your throat as you passed the women’s room and found Tucker near the single-use bathroom at the end.

His eyes lifted when he saw you.

That was all it took.

He opened the door behind him, and you slipped inside.

The lock clicked.

The room was small, with a sink set into the counter, a mirror, and music thumping faintly through the walls. For half a second, Tucker only looked at you.

Then you grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him down to you.

Tucker kissed you like he had been waiting all night to stop pretending.

There was nothing slow about it. His hand came to the back of your neck, the other finding your waist as he backed you toward the sink. You made a small sound against his mouth when the counter hit the backs of your thighs, and he swallowed it, kissing you deeper.

He tasted like beer and mint and Tucker, familiar in a way that made your chest ache even as your body went molten.

His hands slid down to your hips.

“You have any idea,” he murmured against your mouth, “what you looked like sitting in that booth?”

You tugged him closer. “Annoyed?”

“Distracted.”

Your breath caught before you could stop it.

Tucker kissed along your jaw, then down your neck, his mouth warm and unhurried even though the rest of him was anything but. The music outside changed, bass thumping through the door, and someone laughed somewhere in the hallway.

The sound should have made you stop.

Instead, your hands slid under the edge of his shirt, fingers pressing into the warm skin at his waist.

Tucker’s breath hitched.

“Keep doing that,” he said, voice roughening, “and we’re not making it back to the table.”

You dragged your nails lightly over his skin.

“Good.”

His hands tightened on your hips, and whatever control he’d been pretending to have snapped thinner.

Then he lifted you onto the sink counter.

The mirror shook faintly behind you. You wrapped your legs around him, and he stepped between them, kissing you again like he had no interest in remembering there were people waiting just outside.

His hand slid beneath the hem of your skirt, fingers brushing the bare skin of your thigh.

He paused.

His mouth stopped moving against yours.

You felt the second he realized.

He drew back enough to look at you.

“No panties?” he said, voice lower than before.

You tried to look composed and failed spectacularly. “Laundry day.”

His eyes darkened.

“That right?”

“Yeah.”

His hand moved higher, slow enough to make you grip the edge of the counter.

“All night,” he said, “you were sitting next to me like this?”

Your knees tightened around his hips. “I didn’t plan for you to sing that song.”

“No?” His mouth brushed yours. “What did you plan for?”

“Nothing involving a public bathroom.”

Tucker kissed you once, hard and brief.

“Plans change.”

His fingers slipped between your thighs, and your whole body jerked when he touched you. The sound you made was too loud for the space, too honest, and Tucker caught it with his mouth while his hand worked under your skirt.

“You’re gonna get us caught,” he murmured.

“You started this.”

“I sang a song.”

“You knew what you were doing.”

His smile brushed against your cheek. “Yeah, I did.”

He pulled his hand back just enough to lift it between you. You watched, breath stuck in your chest, as he licked two fingers slowly, his eyes not leaving yours.

Every thought in your head vanished.

Then his hand was under your skirt again.

“Oh,” you breathed.

He rubbed your clit in slow circles, slick fingers moving with a confidence that made your hips shift forward helplessly. You caught his shoulder with one hand and the counter with the other, trying to stay quiet as pleasure rolled through you fast and bright.

Tucker watched your face like he was learning what ruined you.

“You’re trying so hard to keep quiet,” he said, mouth near your ear. “It’s making it worse.”

You swallowed a moan. “Tuck.”

“I like that,” he said. “Say it like that again.”

Your thighs tightened around his hips.

He pressed a little firmer, circles steady and sure, and you gave him exactly what he wanted because you couldn’t help it.

“Tuck.”

His breath dragged out rough against your neck.

“There you go.”

The praise hit you hard, and he must have felt it in the way your hips rolled against his hand, because his fingers slowed just to make you chase them. Then they slipped lower, teasing your entrance, and your laugh broke apart into a gasp.

The music outside swelled, loud enough to rattle the door in its frame. A burst of laughter passed down the hall, and Tucker moved closer, his body covering yours as though that could hide what the two of you were doing.

His fingers pushed inside you.

Your grip on his shirt tightened.

He moved slowly at first, watching your face, reading every little shift. Then he curled them, and you had to press your mouth to his shoulder to keep from making too much noise.

“Tucker,” you gasped.

His jaw brushed your temple. “That’s the spot, huh?”

You nodded into his shoulder, too far gone to make a joke out of it.

He did it again.

Your whole body tightened.

“God,” you whispered. “Please.”

“Please what?”

You lifted your head enough to glare at him, even though you were breathing too hard for it to land properly.

“Tuck.”

He smiled, but it was strained now, his control wearing thin. “I know. I’m sorry. I just like hearing you ask me.”

You reached between you, fingers finding his belt. “Then I’m asking.”

Tucker kissed you as he helped, hands brushing yours, breath uneven. He got his belt open, shoved his jeans and boxers down just enough, and you caught one glimpse of him before he was reaching for his wallet with the kind of urgency that made your stomach flip.

“Tell me you have a condom,” you whispered.

He pulled one out.

“Thank God,” you breathed.

He tore it open, rolled it on, then gripped your thighs and pulled you closer to the edge of the sink. The movement made you gasp, your skirt pushed up around your hips, his jeans low, both of you still mostly dressed and somehow that made it filthier.

Tucker’s hand came to your face.

He kissed you once. Not rushed. Not this time.

Then he lined himself up and pushed inside.

Your mouth fell open, but no sound came out at first. He stretched you slowly, one hand braced on the counter beside your hip, the other gripping your thigh. Tucker’s forehead dropped against yours as he filled you, his breath shuddering.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

Your nails dug into his shoulder. “Tuck.”

He stayed still once he was all the way inside, jaw tight, his body pressed close enough that you could feel the effort it took for him not to move right away.

“You feel so good,” he said, voice rough. “I need a second.”

A breathless laugh escaped you.

He smiled against your cheek, and then he started to move.

The first thrust made your head fall back against the mirror.

His hand came up behind your neck, cushioning you before you could hit too hard. Even here, even like this, he noticed. Then his hips snapped forward again, and your thoughts scattered.

He fucked you against the sink with his mouth at your neck and one hand gripping your thigh, keeping you open for him. The counter creaked beneath you. The mirror fogged slightly near your shoulder. Your skirt was bunched at your waist, your top twisted under his hand, your body taking him in quick, deep strokes that made it nearly impossible to stay quiet.

“Tucker,” you breathed, and his name came out broken.

His grip tightened.

“You have no idea,” he said against your throat. “How many times I thought about you like this.”

You clung to him, barely able to answer. He angled his hips, and the next thrust hit so perfectly that your eyes squeezed shut.

“There,” you gasped.

He caught it immediately.

“There?”

“Yes.”

He kept that angle, steady and focused, kissing you to swallow the sounds you couldn’t hold back. Every thrust pushed you closer to the edge, pleasure building too fast after his fingers, your body already sensitive and wet for him.

His hand slid between you again.

When his fingers found your clit, you nearly fell apart.

“Oh my God,” you whispered.

Tucker’s breath stuttered. “Come on. Let me feel it.”

Your body locked around him.

He kissed you hard as you came, his fingers still moving, his hips slowing just enough to drag it out. The orgasm hit you in waves, your thighs shaking around his waist, one hand slapped over your own mouth because you could not trust yourself.

He watched you through it, eyes dark and stunned, like he could not believe he got to see you like this.

Then his thrusts got rougher.

Desperate.

He buried his face against your neck, breathing hard, his hands gripping you as he chased his own release. You held onto him, murmuring his name near his ear, and that seemed to finish him.

Tucker came with a low groan, his body pressing yours back against the mirror, his hips stuttering once, twice, before he went still.

For a few seconds, the only sounds were your breathing and the muffled disaster of the bar outside.

Then someone in the hallway shouted, “Yo, whoever’s in there, some of us have beer organs with limited patience.”

Dean.

Of course.

Your eyes widened.

Tucker dropped his forehead to your shoulder.

“I’m gonna kill him,” he whispered.

You started laughing, quiet and helpless, your body still wrapped around his.

Tucker lifted his head, and the look on his face softened so much that it made the laughter fade in your throat.

He kissed you gently.

Then once more.

Then he helped you down from the counter like your knees were not in immediate danger of betraying you. He cleaned up, fixed himself, washed his hands, and handed you a paper towel without making you ask.

You straightened your skirt, then turned to the mirror and immediately regretted it. Your hair, your mouth, the flushed look on your face all gave you away at once.

Tucker came up behind you, but he didn’t wrap his arms around you right away. Instead, he braced both hands on the sink on either side of you, boxing you in without touching anywhere except the faint brush of his chest against your back.

You looked at him in the mirror.

He was watching you there, his hair a little mussed, his shirt wrinkled, his eyes quieter now than they had been all night.

“I don’t want to walk back out there and pretend this was just the song,” he said.

Your fingers paused at the hem of your skirt.

Tucker’s eyes stayed on yours in the mirror, steady in a way that made your chest feel too tight for the room.

“I want you,” he said. “Not just tonight. Not just because Dean’s an idiot and I picked a song I knew would get under your skin. I mean seriously.”

Your throat went dry. “You’re telling me this in a bar bathroom?”

His mouth curved a little, but he didn’t look away. “Yeah. Not my best setting.”

“No,” you said, softer now. “But it’s very you.”

Tucker leaned in, pressing one kiss beneath your ear. “Let me take you home. Let me take you out tomorrow. Let me do this right after doing it completely wrong first.”

You stared at him in the mirror for another second, trying to keep your face together and failing.

“Okay,” you whispered.

Tucker’s hands tightened once on the sink, like that one word had hit him harder than anything else you’d done in that bathroom. Then he kissed your shoulder, soft and lingering, before finally reaching past you to unlock the door.

Dean was leaning against the opposite wall with his arms crossed.

Not surprised. Not horrified. Barely even interested.

Just waiting.

“Finally,” he said. “I was starting to think I’d have to send Garrett in with snacks.”

You froze in the doorway. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to know I was right.”

Tucker sighed. “Dean.”

“No, no, I’m being mature about this.” Dean pushed off the wall, eyes flicking between Tucker’s hand at your waist and your very obviously fixed-in-a-hurry hair. “I’m not saying a word.”

You stared at him.

Dean lifted both hands. “Out loud.”

Tucker started guiding you past him.

Dean fell into step beside you like he had been invited. “For the record, I accept thank-you gifts in cash, liquor, or public acknowledgment that I’m the reason this happened.”

“You are never getting that,” Tucker said.

Your eyes went straight to the fridge.

Hannah’s post-it was still there, bright yellow and impossible to ignore.

logan — if something leaks, breaks, explodes, or you panic. do not let him flirt his way out of doing the job.

You stared at his name for a long second.

“No,” you said to the empty kitchen.

The pipe sprayed again.

You grabbed your phone.

It rang twice before he answered.

“Please tell me this is the part where you say you need me.”

You closed your eyes. “I need a wrench.”

There was a small pause, and then Logan laughed under his breath. “That is a devastating downgrade.”

“I might need a plumber,” you said, looking at the water spreading across the tile. “Or an exorcist.”

“Which apartment?”

“Hannah and Allie’s.”

“Yeah, figured. Hannah told me she left my number.”

“She also told me not to let you flirt your way out of doing the job.”

“She wrote that down?”

“In pink ink.”

“Wow.” You could hear the grin in his voice. “She knows me so well.”

“Can you fix a sink or not?”

“Probably.”

“Probably?”

“I haven’t seen the sink yet.”

“Logan.”

“I’m five minutes away.”

You looked down at your wet shirt clinging to your chest, then at the puddle near your feet. “Make it four.”

His voice softened slightly, though the amusement stayed. “You okay?”

“I’m wet, annoyed, and my kitchen is flooding.”

“That sounds like a yes with attitude.”

“It’s a yes with a time limit.”

“I’m on my way.”

He was there in four.

When Logan showed up, you were standing in the kitchen with damp socks, a soaked shirt, and the deeply unfair feeling that the apartment had chosen to embarrass you in front of the one person who would enjoy it.

He knocked twice before you opened the door.

John Logan stood in the hallway in sweats and a dark T-shirt, hair slightly messy, mouth already tilted like he knew the night had handed him something good.

His gaze flicked over you, quick enough to almost be polite, then lifted back to your face.

“Bad sink?” he asked.

You stepped aside. “Evil sink.”

He walked in, glanced at the towels on the floor, then at the bowl under the cabinet. “Yeah, I can see that.”

“I had it under control for about twelve seconds.”

“That’s longer than most people.”

You looked at him.

He held his hands up, fighting a smile. “That was supportive.”

“It sounded judgmental.”

“It was both.”

Despite yourself, you almost laughed, which annoyed you more than the leak.

He crouched in front of the sink and opened the cabinet, leaning in with one shoulder braced against the counter. The easy joking faded just enough once he saw the pipe, and that was somehow worse. He was still Logan, still too relaxed in your kitchen, but now he actually looked like he knew what he was doing.

You passed him the wrench when he asked for it, then a dry towel. His fingers brushed yours both times, and you told yourself it was only because the kitchen was cramped.

“So,” he said from under the sink, voice muffled. “Boyfriend couldn’t come save the day?”

You leaned back against the opposite counter. “That would require having a boyfriend.”

He paused with his hand still under the sink.

Not long. Just enough.

“Good to know.”

Your stomach dipped, and you hated that he probably heard the silence that followed.

“That was not an invitation.”

“Didn’t say it was.”

He turned the wrench again, but there was a smile in his voice now, low and pleased and impossible to miss.

You looked down at the towel in your hands instead of at him. “Fix the sink, Logan.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

A small laugh slipped out before you could stop it.

Logan glanced back at you like he had caught something he wanted to keep, and that annoyed you more than if he had actually said something about it.

You busied yourself with the towels, wringing one out over the sink while he went back to the pipe. The kitchen settled into the sound of water dripping into the bucket, his hand moving against metal, and your own very poor attempt at not watching him work.

After another minute, he reached out without looking. “Towel.”

You handed it over.

He wiped beneath the pipe, then adjusted something near the valve with a focus that made you regret how much you were watching his hands.

“You sure this is fixing it?” you asked.

“No faith in me?”

“I met you through a post-it on the fridge.”

“That post-it had my number for a reason.”

“Hannah also warned me not to let you flirt your way out of doing anything.”

Logan looked up at that, grin slow but not overdone. “Smart girl.”

“I meant her.”

“I didn’t.”

Your stomach dipped, and he ducked back under the sink before you could come up with anything decent to say.

After another turn of the wrench, he said, “Relax. I’m good with my hands.”

You almost dropped the towel.

He noticed without even looking directly at you.

“That came out exactly the way you meant it,” you said.

“Did it?”

“Logan.”

“What?” He glanced up, all innocence and none of it believable. “I’m fixing your sink.”

The worst part was that he really was fixing it.

He joked too much, and he looked entirely too pleased with himself every time he made you stumble over a response, but he was not just poking at pipes for show. He knew where to look, what to tighten, when to stop and check the leak. Every few minutes, he asked for something, and every few minutes, you found yourself looking at his hands before you realized you were doing it.

It was getting irritating.

Not because he was annoying.

Because he was annoying and attractive and actually helping.

That combination felt personally unfair.

When he finally told you to turn the faucet on, you did it slowly, one hand on the handle and the other ready to shut it off if the sink decided to attack again.

For two seconds, everything was fine.

Then water burst from under the pipe and hit Logan square in the chest.

“Shit.”

He reached under the sink while you scrambled for the faucet, twisting it too far in the wrong direction before finally getting it right. The spray stopped all at once, leaving behind a dripping cabinet, a wet floor, and Logan kneeling in front of the sink with his shirt plastered to his chest.

He sat back on his heels, water running down his neck, and pushed a hand through his hair.

You meant to look at the pipe.

You looked at him instead.

His shirt clung to him in a way that made the kitchen feel very quiet. You could see the shape of his chest beneath the wet fabric, the way his stomach tightened when he breathed, the water caught along his jaw before it slipped down his throat.

Logan’s eyes lifted to yours.

For once, he did not say anything immediately.

That was worse too.

He stood slowly, reaching for one of the towels on the counter. “That part was not supposed to happen.”

“I figured.”

“You look a little too satisfied about it.”

“I’m deciding whether I should still trust you with the sink.”

He dried his face with the towel, but his eyes stayed on you. “That what you’re deciding?”

The question was simple. The way he asked it was not.

You shifted your weight, suddenly aware of your own shirt sticking to your chest.

“Yes.”

His gaze dropped for half a second, then came back up.

“Okay,” he said, quieter. “Decide.”

The kitchen seemed smaller than it had a few minutes ago. Water dripped softly into the bucket under the sink. Your shirt clung to your skin, and his clung to him, and the space between you felt thin enough to snap.

You looked at the towel in his hand, then at his wet shirt, then at the way his fingers tightened around the fabric like he was stopping himself from reaching for something else.

“You told me you were good with your hands.”

Logan’s expression changed.

The teasing did not disappear, but it settled into something heavier.

“I did,” he said.

A second passed.

Then he stepped closer.

“Was that just about the sink?” you asked.

His eyes dropped to your mouth.

“No.”

That was all it took.

He crossed the space between you in one hard step, and then his mouth was on yours.

It was not sweet. It was not tentative. It was a wet, hungry kiss that shoved the breath out of you and made your back hit the counter before you realized he had moved you. His hands went to your waist, firm and hot through the damp fabric of your shirt, and you grabbed his shoulders because he was already kissing you like he had been thinking about it since he walked in.

Maybe before that.

His tongue slid against yours, and the sound that left you made his fingers dig into your waist.

His hands tightened on your waist. He stepped between your legs, caging you against the counter, and the feel of his body pressed to yours sent a hot, dizzy rush through you.

His shirt was cold and wet against your chest, but underneath it he was warm, solid, all hard muscle and restless hands.

He kissed you until you could barely think through it.

Then his hands slid down to your thighs.

“Up,” he said against your mouth.

You barely had time to react before he lifted you onto the counter.

The casual strength of it made your stomach flip. One second your feet were on the floor, and the next you were sitting on the cold kitchen counter with Logan between your knees, pulling you forward until your legs opened around him.

“Well damn,” you breathed before you could stop yourself.

His grin was instant.

“Already?”

“Shut up.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time, his hand spreading across your lower back as he pulled you tight against him. He did not leave space between you. Not even a little. His chest pressed to yours, his mouth stayed close, and his other hand slid along your thigh, fingers pushing beneath the hem of your shorts.

You shivered.

He felt it.

A pleased breath left him against your jaw. “Still thinking about what I said?”

“About what?”

His fingers skimmed higher.

“My hands.”

Your breath caught.

He kissed the corner of your mouth, then the line of your jaw, then the side of your neck where your pulse was making a fool of you. His arm stayed locked around your back, holding you against him as his hand slid between your legs over your shorts.

The first press of his fingers made you inhale sharply.

Logan paused just enough to look at you.

“Still okay?”

You nodded.

His eyes stayed on yours. “Say it for me.”

“Yes.”

The answer barely left your mouth before he kissed you again.

His fingers moved slowly at first, rubbing over the damp fabric, learning the shape of your reaction. You tried to keep kissing him like you were still in control of any part of this, but then he pressed harder, right where you needed him, and your mouth opened against his.

“That’s better,” he murmured.

You dug your nails into his shoulders.

“Cocky,” you managed.

He smiled against your neck. “You like it.”

“I haven’t decided.”

His fingers slid beneath the waistband of your shorts.

Your whole body tensed.

Logan’s arm tightened around your back, keeping you close as his hand dipped under your panties. His fingers found you wet and aching, and his breath left him in a rough sound that went straight through you.

“Fuck,” he said softly. “You’re soaked.”

“You sprayed me with the sink.”

He laughed under his breath, but it broke when his fingers slid through your pussy, gathering the wetness there.

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s definitely what this is.”

You would have snapped back if he had not started touching you properly.

Two fingers rubbed slow circles over your clit, and every thought you had scattered across the kitchen floor with the towels. You pressed your face into his shoulder, biting back a moan, but Logan was not having that. His hand at your back slid up beneath your shirt, palm warm on bare skin, and he pulled you closer until your breasts pressed hard against his chest.

“Don’t hide from me,” he said near your ear. “I want to hear you.”

The words made your pussy clench around nothing.

His mouth brushed your ear, his smile almost cruel. “Yeah. You liked that.”

You lifted your head and kissed him because it was easier than answering. He kissed you back immediately, tongue sliding into your mouth while his fingers kept moving between your legs. The wet sounds of his hand under your shorts were obscene in the quiet kitchen. You could hear them beneath the drip of the sink, beneath your uneven breathing, beneath the small groan he made when your thighs tightened around his hips.

He was still standing right in front of you, holding you like he wanted every inch of you pressed to him. You could feel his cock getting hard through his sweats, thick against the inside of your thigh.

The realization made heat roll through you.

Logan’s fingers slowed.

“You felt that, huh?”

You looked at him, breathless. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re sitting on the counter with my hand in your shorts.”

You hated how badly you wanted him.

You hated how much he knew it.

Then he pushed one finger inside you, and you stopped thinking about anything else.

Your head fell back, a moan slipping free before you could swallow it. Logan’s mouth moved to your throat as his finger slid deeper, curling slowly, testing what made your thighs shake. He found it too fast. A smooth curl, a press, and suddenly your hips jerked against his hand.

His laugh was soft and wicked.

“Still questioning my hands?”

“Logan.”

“That wasn’t an answer.”

He added a second finger, stretching you with slow, deliberate strokes that made your eyes flutter. His arm stayed around your back the entire time, keeping you upright against him, close enough that every breath dragged your chest against his. Your wet shirt stuck to your breasts, and when he shifted, the friction made your nipples tighten painfully.

He noticed.

His mouth moved lower, kissing over the damp fabric at your chest before his hand left your back just long enough to drag your shirt upward. You lifted your arms because there was no pretending now. The shirt came off and hit the floor with a wet slap.

Logan looked at you.

Really looked.

Your skin burned under it.

“Jesus,” he muttered.

You reached for him, suddenly needing him closer again, and he came willingly. His mouth covered yours as his free hand cupped one of your breasts, thumb dragging over your nipple while his fingers kept fucking you. You arched into him, your knees tightening around his hips.

“That’s it,” he said against your mouth. “Let me feel you.”

His thumb circled your clit while his fingers moved inside you, and the combination made pleasure build fast and hot in your stomach. You gripped the edge of the counter with one hand and his shoulder with the other, trying to hold on to something as your body started to shake.

He kissed you through it.

Messy, deep kisses that stole every sound from your mouth until he wanted them back and pulled away just enough to hear you.

“You had a lot to say a minute ago,” he murmured.

You tried to answer.

He curled his fingers again.

Your words fell apart into a moan.

Logan’s eyes darkened. “That’s what I thought.”

You were close already. Embarrassingly close. Maybe it was the teasing. Maybe it was his fingers. Maybe it was the fact that he still had one arm around you like he had no intention of letting you lean away from a single second of it.

Maybe it was all of him.

His wet shirt. His mouth. His hand. His cock hard against you. His voice in your ear, rough and smug and getting less controlled every time you moved against him.

“Come for me,” he said. “Right here.”

Your thighs trembled.

“Logan.”

“I’ve got you.”

That did it.

The words were softer than everything else, but they hit harder. Your pussy clenched around his fingers as the orgasm rolled through you, sharp and warm and dizzying. You buried your face against his neck, moaning into his skin while he kept touching you through it, slower now, drawing out every pulse until your body went loose against him.

He did not let you fall back.

He held you close, breathing hard against your hair, his fingers still buried inside you until you whimpered from how sensitive you were.

“Fuck,” he said, voice rough. “You look good like that.”

You lifted your head, still trembling.

He kissed you before you could answer.

This kiss was different. Hotter because he had lost some of his patience. His fingers slipped out of you, and you gasped at the emptiness, but then he was reaching for the waistband of your shorts.

Then your shorts and panties were being pulled down your legs, his hand gripping your thigh to lift you enough to get them off. They dropped somewhere near the towels. You barely cared. Your hands were already at his shirt, dragging the soaked fabric upward.

He helped you yank it over his head, and for a second you lost your place in the rush of it.

Because he was right there.

Wet skin, hard chest, hair damp and messy, eyes locked on you like he was trying to decide whether to kiss you again or devour you whole.

You touched him because you had to.

Your hands slid over his chest, down his stomach, feeling the flex of muscle beneath warm skin. Logan sucked in a breath when your fingers reached the waistband of his sweats.

His hand returned to your lower back instantly, catching you, pulling you upright against him again. The closeness made your head spin. Even while you fumbled with his sweats, even while he shoved them down enough for his cock to spring free, he kept you against him like he could not stand the idea of space.

Your eyes dropped.

He was hard and thick, flushed at the tip, and the sight of him made your mouth go dry.

Logan noticed.

“Still full of myself?” he asked.

You dragged your fingers along his cock, and his breath hitched.

“Maybe not full enough.”

His eyes snapped to yours.

For once, he looked like you had stolen the line right out of his mouth.

Then he laughed, low and disbelieving, and kissed you again. “You’re trouble.”

“You asked if I had a boyfriend while fixing my sink.”

“Yeah, and look how well that worked out for me.”

He reached down, wrapped his hand around his cock, and dragged the head through your pussy. The slick slide made both of you go still. Your hands gripped his shoulders. His forehead dropped to yours, and for one breath, neither of you said anything.

Then he did it again, dragging himself over your clit, down to your entrance, then back up until your hips lifted on their own.

“Logan,” you breathed.

“I know.”

“Do you?”

His eyes lifted to yours. “Yeah.”

There was something in his voice that made you ache worse than the teasing had.

He reached to the side, grabbing his sweats from where they had bunched at his thighs. You realized what he was doing when he pulled a condom from his wallet. The normalness of it should have cooled things down.

It did not.

Watching him roll it on while standing between your spread thighs made your stomach twist all over again.

Then he stepped back in, one hand sliding behind your back, the other gripping your thigh. He pulled you to the edge of the counter until your pussy brushed the head of his cock.

You inhaled sharply.

He kissed your cheek. Your jaw. The corner of your mouth.

“This still what you want?”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

You looked at him, heat blooming in your face despite everything he had already done to you.

“I want you to fuck me.”

His eyes went dark.

“Christ.”

Then he pushed inside.

The stretch made your mouth fall open. Logan groaned, deep and rough, his arm tightening around your back as he sank into you inch by inch. You clung to him, legs locking around his waist, your body adjusting to the thick pressure of his cock filling you.

He stopped once he was fully inside, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard.

“Fuck,” he said. “You feel so good.”

You could barely answer. He was so close, chest against yours, one hand spread wide over your back, holding you upright while his cock throbbed deep inside you. The counter was cold beneath your thighs. His skin was hot under your palms. The sink dripped behind him like the most ridiculous reminder of how this had started.

Then he moved.

Slow at first, just a pull of his hips and a deep thrust back in that made your nails dig into his shoulders. His mouth found yours, swallowing your moan. His tongue slid against yours as he started to fuck you, still holding you close enough that every thrust rocked you into his chest.

You had expected him to be good.

You had not expected this.

The closeness made it worse. Better. Impossible. He did not give you room to turn away from the feeling. His arm stayed around your back. His hips pushed between your thighs. His mouth kept coming back to yours every time you tried to breathe. It was wet and heated and messy, the kind of kissing that made you feel like he was just as gone as you were.

Your breasts brushed against his chest with every thrust, nipples dragging over damp skin until you were shivering from that alone. He gripped your thigh harder, lifting it higher around his waist, changing the angle so his cock hit deeper.

Your head tipped back.

“Oh my God.”

Logan’s mouth moved to your throat.

“There,” he said. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

You could only nod.

He did it again, and your whole body jolted.

“Words,” he murmured, breath hot against your skin.

“Yes,” you gasped. “There.”

His hips snapped forward a little harder.

Pleasure sparked bright through your body.

“Right there?”

“Logan.”

He kissed you, smiling into it for half a second before the smile disappeared into a groan. “You say my name like that again and I’m not lasting.”

You clenched around him.

His eyes squeezed shut.

“Fuck.”

You would have laughed if you had enough breath for it. Instead, you pulled his mouth back to yours and kissed him until he started moving faster.

The rhythm turned frantic without losing the closeness. He fucked you hard, but he kept you wrapped against him, one arm behind your back, one hand on your thigh, his chest pressed to yours like he needed to feel every reaction. Your hands slid into his hair, tugging when he hit that spot again, and his answering groan vibrated against your mouth.

“Keep your legs around me,” he said.

You did.

You could not imagine doing anything else.

Your heels pressed into the backs of his thighs. Your pussy took every thrust, slick and tight around his cock, the wet sound of it mixing with the harsh pull of his breathing. The counter creaked beneath you. Somewhere behind him, water dripped into the bucket.

It should have been funny.

Maybe later it would be.

Right now, all you could think about was Logan’s cock inside you and his hand moving between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit again with devastating accuracy.

Your body jerked.

He felt it and groaned.

“God, you get so tight when I touch you there.”

You made a helpless sound into his mouth.

He kissed you through it, his thumb rubbing steady circles while his hips kept moving. The pressure built again, hotter this time, deeper because he was inside you, because his cock kept dragging through you just right, because he was holding you like there was nowhere else he wanted to be.

“Next time,” he said, voice rough, “you don’t have to wait for the sink to break.”

The words went straight through you.

“There’s a next time?”

His hips slowed just enough for him to look at you.

His eyes were dark. His mouth was swollen from kissing you. His hair was damp, his chest flushed, his hand still moving between your legs like he knew exactly how close you were.

“You tell me.”

Your answer came out as a kiss.

He took it like a yes.

His hips drove forward again, and the counter dug into the backs of your thighs. You barely felt it over the pleasure gathering low in your stomach. His thumb circled your clit faster, his cock thrusting deep, and you broke away from his mouth with a moan you could not hold back.

“Logan, I’m gonna come.”

“I know.” His voice sounded wrecked. “Come on my cock. Let me feel it.”

You tried to hold his gaze, but then he shifted the angle again, deeper, harder, still pressed so close you could feel his heartbeat against your chest. The orgasm hit fast, a rush of heat and pressure that made your pussy clamp around him as your body shook in his arms.

He cursed into your neck.

“Fuck, that’s it.”

He kept moving through it, fucking you while you came, his thumb slowing only when you started to tremble from too much. You clung to him, face buried against his shoulder, every pulse of pleasure leaving tingles down your thighs, your spine, the tips of your fingers.

Logan’s rhythm faltered.

His grip on your back tightened. His mouth found yours again, rough and desperate, tongue sliding against yours as he chased his own release. You kissed him back, still clenching around him, still shaking, and that seemed to break whatever control he had left.

His hips drove in deep once, twice, then he came with a low groan, his forehead dropping to yours as his body went tense against you.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

The apartment was quiet except for breathing.

And the sink.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

You started laughing first.

It slipped out of you, breathless and disbelieving, your forehead falling against his shoulder as the full reality of what had just happened came crashing in. Logan lifted his head, looked at the sink, then looked back at you.

“Technically,” he said, still breathing hard, “I did solve the emergency.”

You wanted to shove him. You also wanted to kiss him again, which was deeply inconvenient.

He slid out slowly, making both of you suck in a breath, then helped you down from the counter like he had any right to be sweet after what he had just done to you. Your legs were not entirely trustworthy, and Logan noticed immediately.

His hands went to your waist.

“Whoa.”

“I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

You gave him a look.

He kissed you once, quick and smug, then reached for his discarded shirt and paused when he realized it was soaked.

You glanced around the kitchen. Towels everywhere. Your shorts on the floor. His sweats low on his hips. The sink still dripping into the bucket.

Your phone buzzed on the counter.

Hannah’s name lit up the screen.

did everything survive? did you call logan?

Logan glanced at it before you could move the phone away.

“Nosy,” you muttered.

“She asked about me.”

“She asked about the sink.”

He looked past you, toward the cabinet, where the dripping had finally slowed to almost nothing.

“Same thing.”

You rolled your eyes and typed back.

yes. unfortunately.

Logan laughed under his breath. “Unfortunately?”

“You heard me.”

His smile stayed, but he let it go. For a second, neither of you moved. The kitchen was still a mess, your clothes were still on the floor, and his hoodie hung loose on your body while he stood there shirtless and damp, watching you like he already knew this was not ending here.

Then the sink gave one last quiet drip.

Logan sighed and reached for the towel.

“Give me two minutes.”

This time, you did not pretend not to watch him work.

A minute later, the dripping stopped.

He stood, glanced at the post-it on the fridge, and took the pen from the counter.

You narrowed your eyes. “Logan.”

He only smiled as he wrote beneath Hannah’s note.

today was undoubtedly one of the hottest indiana has ever seen. and of course, with the luck that your and your friends had, the AC at the squawk went down last night. you and robin had stood outside with flashlights in hand as steve fumbled with the fuses and plugs and such for an hour. no luck.

which meant for the station had an entire night to incubate with the blazing heat. walking in this morning felt like you had literally stepped into hell.

irritated was a massive understatement. you were hot, annoyed, bloated and puffy from your incoming period, extremely irritable, and exhausted all at once. it made for the worst combination in a situation like this.

and steve… oh bless him. he was just trying to be the supportive, sweet boyfriend in a time like this. and he was certainly in an affectionate mood— one where he was all soft and just wanted to cling to you at all times. the two of you had been practically cooking in the heat of the sound booth as you played each tape robin had requested and his idea of passing time meant touching any prt of you possible. and fortunately enough for her, she was out at the gas station grabbing some more ice for your water bottles to help cool you all down.

once you felt the uncomfortable beading of sweat form at your hairline, you stepped out and into the small living area, reaching into the fridge for some sort of snack. you could hear footsteps approaching.

steve slid up right behind you, his chest pressing against your back and his strong arms winding around your hips to hold you close. he buried his face in the crook of your neck and peppered sweet kisses to the skin there. “you smell so good, honey,” his voice a low, deep rumble that typically would make you melt.

but today, you just felt like a ball of raw, explosive nerves. you were so overwhelmed and hot and every single touch— even from steve— brought you closer to your break of overstimulation. the heat of his body against yours didn’t feel romantic like usual, it felt suffocating.

you stiffed and wiggled away from him, shoving his arms off of you in the process with a sharp, frustrated huff. “steve, seriously? get off,” you snapped, not even looking back at him as you closed the fridge and moved to the pile of unorganized records.

he blinked, frozen in the same position as he watched you aggressively shove the sleeves back into their intended place. he looked at you with these big, soulful eyes that made him look exactly like a kicked puppy. “i just wanted to be close to you,” he spoke softly, sounding genuinely hurt.

ten minutes later, he’s sauntered back in to find you on your knees, still organizing records. he leaned down over your shoulder, lips brushing the shell of your ear and his hands squeezing at your hips affectionately.

“stop touching me!” you snapped, practically jumping out of your skin to create distance between the two of you. “can you just leave me alone for a second? it’s a hundred degrees in here and i feel like i’m fucking melting. just… stop!”

steve visibly deflated as he stepped back. he didn’t get mad— he never really did the whole ‘angry’ thing with you— but he looked utterly defeated. he stood there for a moment too long, hands twitching at his sides uselessly, staring at you as if he couldn’t understand why his love was being completely rejected.

“i’m just trying to be sweet,” he whispered, his tone sounding small, guilty, and hurt.

you didn’t even look up from the records. “yeah, well your ‘sweetness’ is making me want to scream right now. just give me some space, steve.”

that was his breaking point. the kicked puppy look shifted into something much deeper. a flicker of tiredness behind steve’s eyes. he had spent the last four hours trying to be the most affectionate, attentive, and understanding boyfriend in a situation like this to lighten your sour mood. even ignoring the uncomfortable drip of sweat from his skin just to put your comfort first and all he got in return was snarky remarks and sharp shoves.

he sighed, a long, heavy sound that signaled a change in his mood. he didn’t move towards you this time. instead, he stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the wall to watch you for a moment. the warmth in his gaze never vanished, but it was now tempered with a new simmering frustration.

“right. space. got it,” he said, his voice losing that sweet, playful edge and instead becoming dull and flat.

he didn’t try touching you anymore, just stood and watched you with that quiet, disappointed intensity. he wasn’t mad or upset with you, he was just tired of being the punching bag for your changing hormones. the silence that filled the room was suffocating and heavy. for the first time all day, the lack of his touch had felt suspiciously loud.

after another hour of organizing, the two of you were back in the stuffy control room, the space feeling even smaller with the stifling heat. the air was stagnant and the only sound heard was the low hum if equipment and the muffled tune of the song through the headphones.

steve was slouched back in the chair beside yours, entirely too comfortable and his legs spread too wide. his jean clad knee was pressed up against yours, attracting even more heat to your skin. he was playing with a rubik’s cube and failing miserably. after another minute or so of turning it endlessly, he dropped it down onto the desk and let his hand idly wander over to your bare thigh before he could even realize he was doing it.

you picked it up by his finger and tugged him off, letting his hand fall back into his own lap.

he looked at you then. the tight line of your clenched jaw, the way your brows pinched towards each other out of irritation, how your arms crossed over your chest like a physical wall you’ve just put up. he felt that familiar sting of rejection immediately. but he wasn’t ready to give up, not yet. he truly believed that if he could just make you smile a little, if he could crack the shell of your bad mood, everything would revert back to normal.

he shifted a little closer, practically trying to conjoin by your sides, completely ignoring the fact that you’re both almost sweating through your clothes. he leaned in, his voice dropping down to a playful, teasing whisper that always managed to make you giggle.

“you know,” he murmured, a small, hopeful grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “i’ve heard the best cure for a bad mood is a very handsome boyfriend. and lucky for you, i’m right here. free of charge.”

he punctuated the end of his joke with a soft nudge to your shoulder. that alone would’ve been enough to make you crack a smile.

except you didn’t. instead, you sighed and rolled your eyes. “shut up, steve,” you retorted, your voice cold and sharp. “you’re not being funny, you’re being annoying. please, for the love of god, just stop talking and stop trying to touch me.”

the grin vanished instantly. his face fell as he recoiled back slightly as if the words hit him like a physical blow. he looked at you, his expression shifting from hopeful to genuinely bewildered. he wasn’t just feeling like a punching bag anymore, he felt like there was a real resentment towards him. he was trying everything— the sweetness, the humor, the patience— and you were treating him like he was a complete inconvenience.

the door to the booth swung open to reveal robin with two iced coffee’s in hand. “hey, so i got the ice and figured i’d get us something cold to—“ her gaze darting between the two of you, noticing the hard line of steve’s clenched jaw and the way your body was radiating anger. she took note of the immediate tension simmering in the heat of the room. “yikes. did someone die in here orrrr…”

steve didn’t answer, he just looked at her desperately for some kind if support, and then back to you. he tried one last time, a tentative, barely there brush of your hands.

that was the final straw. you pulled away like you’d been burned. “i can’t do this. i can’t deal with you right now!” you snapped, so incredibly overwhelmed and overstimulated that you could seriously just break down and cry right here.

steve’s hand stayed suspended in the air for a heartbeat before he slowly pulled it back. the soft, pleading eyes were gone. the tiredness was too. it shifted into something much colder and harder now. something much more assertive. he didn’t say a word to either of you, just stood and grabbed his keys from the small rack by the door with a sharp clink. “we’re leaving.” there was no room for argument.

the ride home was suffocatingly silent. his hands were practically white-knuckling the steering wheel the entire ride home. he didn’t touch you once. the lack of his hands on you, which felt like an annoyance an hour again, now had the air in the car feeling ominous and heavy.

the moment you guys were in the apartment, the cool air hit the two of you like a truck, yet the tension was still boiling. steve didn’t let you get settled, instead, his hands were on your waist with a firm grip as he guided you into your shared bedroom and shut the door behind him with his foot. it made you gulp.

he was on the verge of breaking. he turned you towards him and stepped back to create distance between the two of you. “alright, you done with your little tantrum now?” he asked, his hands on his hips like an angry father. “you gonna tell me what your problem is now? i have spent the last eight hours trying to be the best boyfriend i could possibly be. i’ve been sweet, i’ve been patient, i’ve tried to make you laugh— and you’ve just been treating me like shit all day. like i’m something you have to tolerate.”

“i told you, i’m just hot! you’re acting like i’m some big villain for not wanting you all over me when it was a thousand degrees in there,” you shot back, though your voice wavered slightly under the intensity of his gaze. “all i asked for was some space!”

steve let out a sharp, mocking laugh, his eyes darkening. “space? you didn’t want space. you wanted a punching back.” he stepped forward into your space, his presence suddenly overwhelming. “it was never about you being hot or wanting space. it’s about the things you said to me and the way you spoke to me.” before you could react, he pushed at your shoulders, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make you fall back. your bottom hit the bed, your palms flying by your hips to keep you upright.

he didn’t give you even a second to breathe. he stepped between your thighs, cornering you against the bed with his large frame hovering over you and blocking out the rest of the room. he reached down, his fingers gripping your chin firmly as he tipped it up so you were forced to look at him.

the sweetness was completely gone, now replaced by a smoldering, dominant heat that made your stomach feel all tingly. he looked so devastatingly hot right now— his hair slightly messy from the day, his eyes narrowed and piercing. he looked like he was done playing nice.

“you’ve been acting like a little brat all day,” he said, his voice dropping to that low dangerous purr that vibrated in your chest. he gave your chin a little shake, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip in a way that was demanding and possessive.

a small, mocking smirk played on his lips, his gaze scanning your face as if he was analyzing every bit of your stubbornness. “you think you can just be mean to me all day and then… what? go to bed like everything is fine?” he clicked his tongue and shook his head. “i don’t think so.”

he leaned in closer, his breath slow and controlled as it hit your skin in warm bursts. his scent was intoxicating from this distance. the grip on your chin tightened just enough to remind you who was in control. “say it,” he commanded, his voice dropping to that familiar octave that was nothing but raw and assertive. “apologize for being so mean to me today.”

even with steve looming over you, clearly in full control, you couldn’t help it. irritability was still humming through your body. you rolled your eyes and tried to pull your face away from him. it was no use. “i’m not apologizing,” you muttered, your voice still laced with that stubborn, snooty tone. “you’re just being dramatic.”

steve’s eyes flared, a dark, dangerous glint flickering behind them as he stared at you. he didn’t argue, didn’t plead. instead, he let out a deep guttural chuckle that sent chills down your body. “dramatic? of honey, you have no idea how dramatic i can be when i’ve been pushed.”

before you could snap back, he was lifting you in one fluid motion and flipping your position so he was sat at the edge of the bed with you straddling his thighs. one hand wrapped around the column of your throat— not squeezing, just resting— while the other tangled in your hair and pulled you into a searing kiss.

you gasped against him in surprise as he tugged on your roots to tilt your head back and gain more leverage over you. the force that he kissed you with was borderline predatory.

it was hungry and messy and completely uninhibited. your mouths moved together with a wet, slapping sound as your tongues tangled in a frantic battle for dominance. steve tasted like strawberries and the gatorate he’d been drinking at the station, a mix that made your head spin. he groaned deep in his throat, a vibration you could feel in your own chest he sucked your lower lip into his mouth, tugging on it hard before letting it snap back.

you fought back, hands roaming across his chest and neck, pulling him in closer as if you were trying to merge your bodies into one. you bit at his lower, a sharp, playful nip that drew a long hiss from him. he responded by deepening the kiss, his tongue sweeping across the wet cavern of your mouth, claiming every corner and tasting every inch. his hands moved down to your hips, rolling them into his own.

the sounds each of you made were primal— wet, sloppy noises of tongues sliding against tongues, punctuated by deep ragged breaths for air that you both forgot you even needed. every time you broke away for a second of oxygen, it was only to snap back together with even more intensity, your lips bruising each others in their haste.

steve’s hands left your lips to fumble with the buckle of his belt, quickly shoving his jeans and boxers down to his knees and freeing himself while sucking on the pink muscle of your tongue. he was painfully hard already. he gave himself a few slow strokes while his free hand pulled your shorts and panties to the side, running his tip through your leaking slit.

he pushed into you with a devastatingly slow thrust, hands coming back to rest on your hips to keep you flush against him. you pulled away to let your head fall back in overwhelming fullness. he was fucking loving it.

he smiled up at you with that stupid cocky grin, knowing he was pressed right up against your cervix, making you go completely soft on him. “yeah? this was all you needed? just had to get you all dumb on my cock?” he teased before leaning forward to suck deep purple marks into your skin. “ready to apologize yet?”

you bit down on your puffy lip to suppress a moan, your stomach tensing every time he’d readjust the slightest bit. the stretch wasn’t uncomfortable, but you could surely feel the building pressure from the lack of warming up.

he took your silence as your answer, nodding slowly with that sly grin pulling at his lips. “got it. you still wanna be difficult then?” he asked, pushing up even further into you. your nails dug into his shoulders as you whimpered, feeling impossibly full. “that’s fine, honey. have it your way.”

“fuck you, steve,” you tried to snap out, instead, it just sounded like a pleading beg.

he smiled at you like he’d just received the best invitation of his life. “oh baby,” his hands moved to grab handfuls of your ass, holding you up just slightly as his voice rumbled. “i will.” his fingers dug into your skin with a bruising force as he thrust up into your sopping cunt with a violence that knocked the wind out of you. he buried his cock so deep inside that it felt like he was trying to reach your soul.

“you just can’t help yourself, can you?” he mocked, his voice dark and triumphant as he watched you absolutely eat this up. “you want to be all mouthy and bratty, but you fuckin’ love it when i take over, isn’t that right? love when i put you in your place?”

the moan that spilled from your lips was borderline pornographic as he fucked you with a slow, punishing rhythm that made you feel every vein and ridge of his cock against your gummy walls. he moved his hands to your hips, forcing you to take every single inch as he steered your body to meet his thrusts.

it was embarrassing how fast you could feel the coil in your stomach twisting tighter. he just looked so sexy like this— all dominant and messy and dark. you’d rarely seen this side of him.

every single punch of his mushroom tip against your cervix was a declaration of his ownership. he was driving into you with everything he had, his breath somehow still so slow and controlled while you were falling apart above him.

he began to pick up his pace rapidly, relentlessly pounding up into you. your eyes stung with tears as he stretched you out so perfectly, pulling you down to meet each thrust just to push himself deeper inside of you.

“that’s it, baby. fuckin’ take it,” he gritted through his teeth, his voice strained and raw. “feel every inch of me. want you to remember exactly how it feels when i’m the one in charge.” smack. his hand landed heavy against your bottom, making the unshed tears gush down your cheeks as the pleasure became overwhelming.

he moaned loud and unapologetic at the feel of your cunt squeezing him. “you’re so tight,” he groaned, his cockiness returning full force. “you love this, don’t you pretty girl? you love it when i stop being all sweet and kind and just take what i need.”

you couldn’t even scream. the only sounds coming out were little broken whimpers and cries as he hit that certain spot over and over again while you clung helplessly to his shoulders. “oh! mmph! i’m sorry, stevie! fuck, i’m— i’m sorry! please! oh god, please!”

steve let out a low, triumphant sound, but he didn’t stop. instead, he slowed down just enough to let the friction build, his eyes hooded and shimmering with something you couldn’t make out. he leaned in, his lips grazing your jawline, but he didn’t kiss you. instead, he let out a quiet hum.

“what was that?” he mocked, his voice a teasing and arrogant purr. he leaned in further, letting his lips ghost over the shell of your ear. “i didn’t hear you, sweetheart. are you sorry for being a mean little brat to me? are you sorry for treating me like trash all day?”

he didn’t wait for an answer from you. he began to pull out, slowly, agonizingly, until he was almost completely gone, only to drive right back in with a devastating, slow-motion punch. he wasn’t just fucking you anymore, he was claiming you. pushing deep into your guts, forcing you to feel every single inch of his cock as he stretched you open.

“god, this pussy’s so tight, honey,” he groaned, his voice now a thick, sultry drawl. “so fuckin’ pretty. just look at how she’s gripping me… she’s practically begging for it.”

he gave you a slow, deliberate roll of his hips, making you gasp and arch into him as he stretched you wide. he sounded and looked completely enamored by your body, but his teasing edge still hadn’t left. it was a reminder that he knew exactly how much power he had over you in this moment.

“it’s such a shame, really,” he whispered, his voice dripping with mock sympathy and he stared at the way your lips stretched around him. “it’s too bad you’ve been such a brat today. truly a tragedy.”

his hands slipped under the hem of your shirt to hold you waist, pulling you even closer to him as his cock pulses inside your warmth. “i would’ve loved to get my mouth on her,” he purred, his voice suggestive and dangerous. “i would’ve spent hours between these pretty legs, eating you out, tasting every single inch of you until you were shaking and cryin’ for me. i would’ve made you lose your fuckin’ mind on my tongue.”

he felt your core clench around him desperately, a needy spasm at the mere thought, and he chuckled a dark, cocky sound.

It’s been three weeks since you crashed Bucky’s car, and you haven’t gotten behind the wheel since. Each time you tried-and you really did try-you freeze and make some excuse to get one of the bodyguards to drive you around. The thought of another accident makes your chest tighten, dread filling your ribcage until you feel lightheaded and shaky.

Bucky doesn’t like that. His queen shouldn’t be worried about anything. And he’s determined to erase the fear lingering in your eyes.

So he stops in the middle of the highway, opening his door uncaring of the cars racing past him. The two black SUVs filled with your bodyguards that have been trailing behind you since you left the estate park a few feet behind you, blocking off your lane. 

The sounds of tires, rushing air, and horns fill the car. Bucky has one leg out before you realize what’s happening. Laughing at your frantic demands for him to get back in the car, Bucky takes your hand off his forearm, places a kiss on your palm, and steps out.

“Sweetheart, you’re going to take us to our hotel so I can treat you to the spa.” He gives you a pointed look when you shake your head. “Or we can sit here all day.”

“That’s fine with me!” you shout at him as he saunters around to your side. “Mister ‘you don’t have to do anything.”” You mock his deep voice, sneering at him. “Well, I’m not driving so you can either take us or get used to living right here because I’m not doing it.”

His lips curl into a full smirk. If anyone else spoke to him like that, they would be staring at the end of the barrel of his prized gun but you-Bucky inhales-he fucking loves it when you get feisty.

“Let me in, Malyshka,” he requests, staring down at you through the glass. Unease and fear tangle in your chest; you’re not afraid of him but you know he’ll sweet talk you into driving, and you’re not ready for that.

“No.” You hit the locks, a soft, pitiful groan slipping past your lips when he holds up the keys in his ring-adorned hand.

You watch the locks disengage and he swings your door open. “Ya know this isn’t very safe,” you say, gesturing at the cars around you.

Bucky bends down, his nose grazing yours. His shadow of beard brushes over your skin The scent of his cologne wafts around you. “I’ll never let anything happen to you again,” he responds, his soft, chapped lips sweeping over yours, the sincerity in his deep voice sends a jolt of electricity down your stomach. “But I will spank your pretty ass until you get behind the wheel.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Bucky raises a brow, an amused glint darkening his azure eyes. “You’re right.” His hand curls around the nape of your neck, tilting your head back, his tongue traces over your bottom lip. “It’d much more fun for me to spank that tight little pussy.”

Fuck, he’s serious. Your eyes widen as you gaze up at him. Debating your choices, you settle on pouting, that always works. You’re not ashamed of using his weakness against him. Your bottom lip tepidly juts out and Bucky laughs out an oh no you don’t.

Reaching inside the car, he unbuckles your seat belt and hoists you out of the car like you weigh nothing. He dodges your flailing hands while jogging to the driver’s side.

Your hands feel sweaty and your eyes flutter shut. Tamping down the burgeoning panic, you focus on Bucky’s voice as he tells you to breathe. Inhale. Exhale.

Bucky adjusts your seat, strapping you before pushing the key in the ignition. You flinch when the engine roars to life. “I can’t do this,” you say, voice thin. 

His lips brush over your forehead in a comforting gesture. “You can and you will.”

“What if I crash? Bucky this car is so expensive and I don’t-“

“It’s just a car.” He replies, sauntering over to his side. After settling in, he gazes at you until you open your eyes. You can’t take his unrepentant stare and finally give in with a muted groan. 

Bucky patiently waits until you gingerly step on the gas, the car lurching forward. “Good girl, see you’re doing just fine,” he murmurs encouragingly.

You can do this. It’s fine. You can do this. Bucky won’t let anything happen. All you have to do is let go and-

“Open up for me, Malyshka.” He squeezes your sun-warmed thigh with his large hand, his the smooth, cold metal bands of his rings press into your skin. “I’m going to help you relax.” 

There’s a tinge of lust in his baritone voice that sends a shiver, a mix of anticipation and need, down your back. You know you should say no but it’s practically impossible to deny him anything when he commands you so effortlessly. Bucky radiates such power and strength that it makes your knees weak and causes your heart to flutter in your chest–your thighs part without a second thought.

“Good girl,” he praises with a hint of a smirk tugging his plush lips. His bearded cheek dimpling as he gazes at you. “You focus on the road and I’ll focus on you.”

Long, thick fingers, tracing intricate patterns over your inner thigh, languidly moving closer and closer to your pussy, back and forth. You squirm under the featherlight caresses, your legs spread even further apart, and he groans out a husky khoroshaya devochka, the light breeze whipping the needy sound around you.

Bucky squeezes your soft flesh, the rough pads of his fingertips scrape across your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. You whimper, resisting the urge to grab his wrist, his hand is everywhere but the one place you need it. You try to move him, but he continues his exploration nonchalantly with a smile tugging at his lips.

You need to feel him on your clit, inside you. He’s barely done anything and yet he has you clenching around nothing, so wet that your slick soaks your panties, the thin material clinging to you like a second skin.

The deep, pulsating ache in your pussy throbs more and more with every languid sweep of his fingers across your thigh. Another thin whimper winds its way up to your throat.

“You know the rules,“ he admonishes, the very tip of his finger brushing over the seam of your panties. He knows what he’s doing, watching you writhe on his expensive leather seat, your thighs clamping around his hand. “Keep your eyes on the road and tell me what you want.”

You glance at him, taking in his devious smirk.

 “Please,” you beg, twisting back to the road after he gestures for you to look forward. “Bucky don’t tease me.” 

Bucky raises a brow, tilting his head back. “Use your words, Malyshka.”

The way he’s speaking to you, cold and sharp, his piercing blue eyes burning through you. It sends a fresh wave of slick pouring out of you. “Touch me, please I need you Bucky, please,” you beg, your nails digging into the steering wheel.

His knowing gaze cuts towards you. “Just my fingers?”

Oh- oh fuck. His rings. God yes. You want those too. He laughs boisterously when you nod, almost swerving into the other lane when you see him take his family rings off his fingers and shove them on his middle one. Your chest heaving under your sundress, anticipation coursing through your veins.

Lifting his hand from your thigh, ignoring your low whine, he slides his finger under the strap of your dress and eases it down your shoulder. The breeze rushes over your exposed skin, and the exhilaration of him undressing you in public has your nipples tightening, a dull roar resounds in your ears.

You glance around, a flash of worry sparking in your chest but then you see the SUVs are flanking your car, keeping you hidden from the other motorists.

“Keeping going, we’re almost there, if you stop, I’ll stop,” he warns.

Swirling his thumb over your sensitive, stiff peak, he listens to your soft moans. 

You swiftly follow his instructions, not even caring if you look desperate. Because you are. Your eagerness earns you another good girl, the warm endearment rolling off his tongue. His hand drops down to your thighs, and he pushes your damp panties to the side. “So wet for me,” he groans.

“ Jesus Bucky-oh fuck,” you moan, your fingers flexing into the leather material. “Please.”

You don’t know if you’re begging him to stop or go faster but any fear you had of driving is wiped away when Becky sweeps the rough, scarred pad of his thumb over your aching clit, a cool wave of sensations bursts inside you, a soft cry falls from your lips your foot presses down on the pedal, the wind picking up around you.

“Slow down sweetheart,” he murmurs, “you’re doing so good.” His ring adorned finger teases your entrance, coating himself in your slick, the gradual push inside your pussy feels unbelievably good, you’re so wet he easily adds another finger, the steady pace in and out of your velvety soft cunt adds to the sensations of his thumb rolling your clit back and forth.

A heady pleasure builds with every pass of his thumb, soft tight circles intertwine with rough strokes, and the coil in your belly gets taut as he continues his unpredictable pattern until you’re grinding on his hand.

Bucky keeps his eyes on the road, humming under his breath as he enjoys the breathy noises coming out of you along with the wet vulgar sounds of your pussy, sucking his fingers back in with every flick of his wrist.

He’s searching for his favorite little spot, the one that has his name written all over it, the one that makes your eyes roll back, the one that makes you lose control.

He knows he’s found it after you nearly careen off the seat, the smooth metal of his rings striking it with such an intense force your back arches, pride fills his blues eyes when you manage to keep the car straight. You almost cry seeing the exit sign, quickly pulling off the highway, his hotel is close. 

You’re even closer. 

“Fuck, right there, right there,” you sob, hitting the steering wheel with your palm, “oh shit.” 

You stop in front of the gilded entrance, the tires screech as you throw the car into park. You collapse in the seat, grabbing his wrist, the combination of exhilaration and pleasure sends a wordless scream up your throat. 

Bucky glances at you “What’s that Malyshka? Harder?” He teases, “Okay sweetheart if that’s what your pretty little pussy needs. Now let me reward you for being such a good girl for me.” 

And he slams his fingers inside you, curling and twisting, just as the edge of his ring strokes your sensitive spot and the coil splinters sending waves of sultry hot bliss through your body, your mouth falls open, going slack. He chases you when you slide your hips back on the seat, unable to take another second of the intense pleasure.

“Don’t run from me,” he laughs as if he’s not ruthlessly fingering you in front of his hotel. “I’m not stopping until you make a mess on my hand.”

You clench down hard, more fiery pressure building in your belly, you’re going to snap in two if he doesn’t stop. It’s too much, god it’s too much.

“Buck-” you start, his name gets lost in your throat when he pushes down on your clit in a rough little circle, you go tense, your walls spasming around his fingers, keeping them inside you. You give him exactly what he wants, gushing around him, your orgasm ripping through you, a thin, high keen slipping past your lips. 

By the time you come down from your high, your nails have scratched thin lines into the headrest and he’s sucking his fingers clean one by one. ”See was that so hard?” 

Your head lolls indolently away from the afternoon sun beating on your face until you’re facing him. Chest heaving as you try to catch your break. “I can’t believe we did that. You’re insane,” you laugh, dragging your hand down your face. 

 “But now every time you get behind the wheel, instead of worrying about your accident, you’ll think of how hard you came all over my fingers,” Bucky responds, reaching across the seat to adjust the straps of your dress.

It’s patrol again. You’re in that old mall with Joel. And he’s quiet today, like he has been the past couple weeks. No shitty comments or dumb jokes. Hardly any of his usual grumbling, just quiet and stoic. He’s wearing a green flannel, sleeves rolled up. Beard recently trimmed, his hair a little less unkempt than usual. And he seems nervous, antsy, bouncing his foot as you both sit on a bench, taking a short break. 

You could help him relax. 

“Victoria’s Secret is back that way. Kinda wanna try on some more lingerie,” you suggest, hoping he’ll take the bait you’re offering.  

“Pass,” Joel says, “You know I don’t like that place.”

“You could watch. We had fun last time we did that, didn’t we?” you reach for Joel’s arm and try to pull him from his seat and toward that dreaded underwear store. He doesn’t budge. 

“Joel?” you ask, confused by his reluctance.

“I don’t know about all that, hon. Thinkin’ we should go to that bookstore, find some more books for the library back home,” Joel points toward a nearby Barnes & Noble, “Yeah?”

You shrug, “Sure, after.”

“After what?”

“This,” you lean toward Joel and grip onto the collar of his flannel, pushing it back to expose more of his neck. Pressing your lips to his throat, nipping and kissing the skin as your hand trails down his torso, fumbling with his belt. 

You’re not wasting time. 

“Oh,” Joel breathes shakily, “That.”

“Yeah,” you say with a satisfied smirk, “That.”

You nudge his head to the side with your nose and try to push him back into the bench, pushing his flannel further over his clavicle to expose more of his neck, but he stays firm. He grabs the hand fumbling with his belt and pulls it away. “I don’t think so,” he says. You pull away immediately and Joel looks at you with sympathy, concern. 

“What’s wrong? What’d I do?” you ask, feeling insecure, self-conscious all of the sudden.

“You didn’t do anything,” Joel says. 

It’s been a while since you’ve been with him, he knows you’re probably antsy for more because he is too. But he’s feeling apprehensive. Each time you’ve fucked, it’s been quick and dirty. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course. He’s not sure what exactly your history with other men is, but Joel fancies himself a gentleman and believes in the campsite rule. Believes that you deserve better than what he’s been giving you. Starting with, say, a bed. You’re exhausting, troublesome, and you’re like a tick the way you get under Joel’s skin, but you still deserve decency. 

Decency won’t stop him from fucking the living daylights out of you, though. He’ll just be a little more gentlemanly about it all, moving forward.  

Joel clears his throat, “You’re young, you know. And I–”.

“And you what?” your tone is snarky.

“Jesus Christ, motormouth,” Joel snaps, “Would you let me finish speaking before you start arguin’?”

You shrug but remain silent, motioning for him to continue. 

“I just think we should do things by the book from now on. Dinner, talking, that kinda stuff. You know, I just want things to be sort of…nice for you. I dunno the word exactly, just...nice, I guess.” You watch Joel blush as he struggles to spell it out.

“Do you mean romantic? Like a date?" Excitedly, you gasp, "Are you taking me to the Rainforest Cafe?”

Joel stares at you blankly before speaking. Rainforest Cafe is a no-go, you're guessing. “No. Not romantic. And not like a date. A date is for two people that actually like each other.” 

And just like that, the attitude is back. He just exudes charisma. 

You pout, “You don’t like me?”

“No, I don’t. I barely tolerate you. But, you know. I still wanna - want you - I want us to…I don’t know,” Joel groans. It’s entertaining, watching him try to spit it out. 

Awh. He barely tolerates you.

You smile, “I barely tolerate you, too.” But Joel won’t look at you, keeps his eyes focused ahead. Still nervous, he fidgets with his hands and continues bouncing his leg.

“Was thinkin’ tomorrow,” Joel mutters quietly, “Y’could come over. Could be…nice. Maybe. Probably not, ‘cause you’ll be there.”

“Yeah. Sounds nice. Maybe. Probably not. ‘Cause you’ll be there too,” you mock his low tone. 

Joel glares at you, “Seven. My place. Be on time.”

—

After your break, you explore the mall further. There’s a store called Spencer’s, which looks neat. Joel agrees, unaware of exactly the kind of store Spencer’s is, so you both go inside. There’s funny t-shirts, cool knick-knacks and tchotchkes. Joel is looking at various lava lamps as you make your way toward the back, and he follows you. 

Holy shit.

There’s all sorts of things on this back wall. Handcuffs, lingerie, lubricants, vibrators, dildos, costumes.

“Wow,” you say, “Looks like your kind of party, Joel.”

Joel rolls his eyes, annoyed, “Shut up.”

“This looks nice. Not romantic at all,” as you poke Joel with a vibrator. 

He flinches, “Get that shit offa’ me, freakazoid.”

“We could use it tomorrow. On our not-date,” you smirk.

“Don’t need it,” he huffs. 

“Wow. You seem confident about that,” you say. Joel shrugs, a look on his face you can’t quite read. “Whatever. Maybe I’ll take it for myself. You know, for alone time.”

His face falls immediately. Joel, prudish as he may seem, truly does not have an issue with masturbation. It’s natural, it’s human. But something about you doing it makes it a little… jealousy-inducing. The thought of you, one of those toys between your thighs, you making all sorts of pretty noises that he can’t hear; it’s just too much for him. “Yeah, knock yourself out,” he says sarcastically, “You’ll have a lot of fun with a battery-less vibrator.”

“You still have some, don’t you?”

Joel scoffs, “I do. But they’re mine, and I sure as shit ain’t sharin’ with you, ‘specially not for those things.” 

“Sharing is caring, you know.”

Joel rolls his eyes, “S’a bold assumption you’re making there. That I care about you.” 

Rude. 

You poke him with the vibrator again. “Quit that,” he grumbles, “Now stay here a minute. Gonna take a leak, I’ll be right back.” He drops his bag and heads for a private area nearby. You stare at his bag on the floor and wonder if he’s fucking with you, because he never goes anywhere without his bag. Better to be safe than sorry is what he always says. And you know he keeps batteries in that bag. 

Ah, fuck it. He won’t know. 

There’s a sign that says “buy two toys, get one free”, and you’re not one to pass up a good deal, even if that deal means nothing now being twenty-or-so years into a fungus apocalypse. So you stuff three toys in your bag, along with one of the lava lamps Joel was checking out. You rifle through Joel’s belongings and pull out a handful of batteries, then stuff those into your bag too. Six should do it, hopefully. After twenty years, a lot of them are duds. You’ll try the toys out tonight, then sneakily put the batteries back in Joel’s pack tomorrow night on your not-date. And Joel will be none the wiser. 

—-

Joel is livid. 

Someone called off patrol today, so he was volunteered by Tommy to fill in. He’d still be back in time for your not-date, and although the change in his plans was not ideal, it’s not what set him off today. No, that was all you. 

His radio had died toward the end of his shift. No big deal, he thought. He reached into his pack and fumbled through his belongings to find his spare batteries. Only, they weren’t in his bag. So he searched a little longer before he realized he actually knew exactly where those precious batteries would be. No doubt inside you at the moment. 

Was he in danger without a working radio? Could’ve been, but no, not really. Will he never find batteries again? Yes, he will. Joel’s crafty and good at scouting supplies like that, even when supplies are sparse. What did pissed him off, however, is the fact he knows you consciously went behind his back to steal his batteries for those toys. You’ve probably spent all last night and all day today fucking yourself silly, couldn’t have waited just one more day. He feels a little insulted, topping off the jealousy already simmering.

Joel comes back to Jackson around five in the evening. He should be showering, cooking, setting the table, and tidying his house. But instead, he makes a beeline for your place. 

He doesn’t bother knocking on your door. He knows you keep it unlocked, something he constantly advises you against. He closes your door, and hears your long and pretty moans coming from upstairs. He’s not sure what’s coming over him or why he cares so much. He prides himself on being level-headed, rational. But all of that’s out the door when he hears your moans, moans that he believes should have been all for him and him alone. 

At least he gets to catch you in the act. 

Joel tiptoes up your steps, fighting his urge to stomp angrily. Your bedroom door is wide open, lights dim. There’s a lava lamp bubbling next to you on your nightstand. You’re laid out on the bed, legs spread, one toy between your thighs and two others lay next to you. Your eyes are squeezed shut as you moan Joel’s name. It’s a nice touch. Maybe he’ll go easy on you. 

Probably not. 

He stands in your doorway and clears his throat, “Enjoyin’ yourself?” 

“Joel!” you yelp and your eyes fly open. Joel moves to stand next to your bed, his gaze dark and intense, his mouth forming an unamused frown. 

“You think you’re slick, don’t you?”

Your words are caught in your throat. Ohh, you are so busted.

“How many’d you steal from me?”

The vibrating dildo you were fucking yourself with is still humming loudly, and in the otherwise silence of your room, it’s deafening. You fumble to try to turn it off. 

“Oh, no. Don’t let me interrupt your date. That’d be awful rude of me.” 

Too shocked to make any moves, you freeze, dildo still humming away inside you. And as anxious as you feel, you’re equally excited. You’ve picked up on Joel’s jealous side, and you’d be lying if you said some part of you wasn’t trying to rile him up. 

“I just, mmmm,” you moan, “Just missed you a lot. Couldn’t wait for tonight.”

“S’that right?”

“Yes, Joel.”

“You missed me so much you decided to deliberately go through my bag and steal my batteries?”, he spits, sarcasm lacing his words, “Yeah hon, sure looks like you missed me, fuckin’ yourself on that plastic cock.”

“Silicone,” you correct, though now definitely isn’t the time to bother with semantics. Joel notices you rocking your hips ever so slightly, chasing your orgasm as subtly as you can. You’re right, right fucking there. He can see it on you, you’ve got that look about you. Your breathing is shaky and your body trembles. 

“You’ve got some fuckin’ nerve,” Joel hovers over you, one hand next to you on the bed and his other reaching for your toy. 

“Please,” you beg. 

“Think you’ve made yourself come enough, impatient goddamn brat,” he mumbles as he pulls the toy away from your center, tossing it aside. You groan and whine in frustration. Just three more seconds, you would have been there. 

Fucking Joel.

“I’m at a loss on what to do here, sweetheart,” Joel says as he kicks off his shoes before sitting on your bed, his back against the headboard, “Can’t fuckin’ take those batteries back on account of they’ve all been inside ya.”

“Joel, I did not fuck myself with your batteries. That’s…not how that works.”

“Shut up, wiseass.”

“Joel, I was gonna give them back, I swear. I just wanted–”.

Joel cuts you off, not caring to hear the rest of your explanation, “All half used and out of juice? How generous. Lucky me,” he muses, annoyed.

“Joel–”.

“Don’t think you fuckin’ get it,” he snaps, “Y’got no fuckin’ self control. You’re lyin’ to me, stealin’ from me, sneakin’ around. And it breaks my heart, ‘cause I was startin’ to look forward to our date.”

“Date?” you ask in confusion. Joel’s cheeks turn rosy as he refuses to acknowledge his slip up. The not-date turned actual-date. “Joel.”

“Need to get through to you somehow,” he ignores you, still too upset,  “Got a couple different ideas in mind. I guess we’ll have to see which one sticks.”

He pulls you up and over his lap, your head laying on the crumpled sheets. He presses a hand firmly on your neck, holding you in place as he gently runs his other hand over the swell of your ass. 

You know what’s coming. And it’s been a long time coming, at that. You've noticed the way Joel looks at you, his angry stare and how he chews on his inner cheek. How his hands ball into fists, like he’s fighting the urge to strangle you. Wrap his hands around your neck and just fucking squeeze. 

Crack. 

The sting of his hand striking your ass is as delicious as it is painful. He smacks you again, harder. And it’s just as incredible. That sharp bite, how it sends arousal gushing from your core. You can’t help the moan that slips from your mouth. 

Joel pulls you off his lap abruptly, onto your knees between his thighs, and faces you towards him. He wears a puzzled expression, like somehow he wasn’t aware that spanking is more of a reward than it is a punishment, at least to you. “Ya weren’t s’posed to enjoy that so much.”

“Joel–”.

“Yeah, we’re not doing that. Fuckin’ weirdo,” he interrupts, shaking his head a little. Joel thinks for a moment, staring at you as he contemplates his next move. His eyes flicker to yours, and you can practically watch the gears in his head begin to turn. “I think,” he lifts his hips to pull both his jeans and boxers down his thighs, and his cock springs free. It’s the first time you’ve really gotten to see it. Long and thick, prominent vein, blushed tip a bit wider than his shaft. Curly dark hair surrounding the base. It’s artwork. “Think we’ll try Plan B,” he says firmly as he reaches forward, wrapping one hand around himself to stroke his member, thumb swiping across the tip. 

It should be your hand. And he’s well aware of this, but he’s giving you a taste of your own medicine before moving on to the main event. You extend your arm in front of you, but Joel doesn’t allow it.  “Ah ah,” he tuts, slapping your hand away, “You can go play with one of your rubber cocks. Since you love ‘em so goddamn much.” His words are biting, acrimonious.

He’s throwing you off. Joel, who says he couldn’t give a “fiddler’s flying fuck” about you, is upset that your pleasure wasn’t brought on by his hands today. Joel, who barely tolerates you. “Joel, please, I want you. I’m sorry,” you cry, “I need you, Joel, been missing you so much. Please, Joel. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“Layin’ it on pretty fuckin’ thick, sweetheart.” 

You cry in frustration, “Joel, I’m sor-”.

“Cut that shit out. You ain’t sorry. You’re sorry you got caught, ‘cause now you’re in trouble,” Joel keeps stroking himself, taunting you, “This is on you.”

Joel thinks back to when he was a teenager, when his father caught him with a lit cigarette hanging from his lips, how his father’s punishment was to make him smoke the whole pack, and how before he was even halfway through the pack the nicotine had made him sick to his stomach. 

Same idea.

Still stroking himself, Joel grabs one of the vibrators sitting next to you. It’s a wand type, light pink in color. He holds down a button and it buzzes to life, “C’mere. Between my legs. Do it now,” his voice is stern, authoritarian. You assume the position. Joel parts your legs wider, pulling your knees back before guiding your hands to hold the backs of your knees, keeping you open nice and wide for him. “You stay like this. Don’t move.” His flannel feels soft and warm on your skin. You feel his hot breath on your neck, his chest rising and falling steadily against your back. Wordlessly, he brings the vibrator to your core. He drags it over your lips, through your folds, coating it with your arousal. 

Joel circles your clit with the toy now, and your hips to follow the sensation. The way you’re sighing, moaning, grinding with his movements, Joel can tell you haven’t picked up what he’s putting down yet. 

Poor thing. Fucked herself stupid on all these plastic cocks. 

“Yeah, Joel, like that. Fuck, feels good,” you breathe, “Right there. S’good.”

Joel’s silence is disconcerting. There’s no dirty talk, no snide remarks like usual. But you’re too worked up to worry about why. Within seconds, you’re coming. Sweet, breathy moans and whines falling from your lips as you ride out your high. 

Joel presses the button on the vibrator, taking it up a notch. The buzz is louder, the feeling intense, nearing on too much. Finally, he speaks, “I really do hope your thievery was worth it, sweetheart,” he whispers in a low, raspy voice behind the shell of your ear, “Now tell me, exactly how many batteries am I short?” 

It’s getting uncomfortable now. You wrap your fingers around Joel’s wrist and try to pull him away from your core but he doesn't budge, “What? Joel, let up.”

“What’d I say? Hands on your thighs. Y’don’t move,” he barks. You do as you’re told, and he hums in satisfaction, “Now answer my question.” 

“I don’t know, six? I–oh, fuck. I was gonna give them back. Please, Joel, I can’t– ”

Joel scoffs, “Six? You stole six batteries. What, were you stashing them for winter? Squirrelier than I thought.”

“No, just…you know how sometimes, they-they-they, and they’re old, so–Joel, m’serious–”, you whine, almost pleading for mercy from the overstimulation he’s causing.

Joel pulls the vibrating wand from your core, and you exhale in relief, resting your head back on his shoulder. He’s showing you mercy. Or so it seems. 

But the sound of the vibrator clicking on is back in an instant. Slightly different pitch this time. You pull your head off his shoulder and watch in shock as he guides it to your pussy, notching the longer end inside. He doesn’t bother going slow as he parts your insides with the toy. You worked yourself up plenty.

“Whatever. Damage is done. So here’s the deal,” Joel starts, “You’re gonna come for me six times, one for each of the six batteries you stole from me. You’re gonna keep count, too. Got one down, right?” but you’re a mess of whimpers and whines, which is the wrong answer, “Or are we doin’ more?”

“One, one, we’re at one. Oh, god. Joel, please. Please.”

“Y’don’t even know what you’re beggin’ for,” Joel mumbles. His hand crosses over both his and your bodies to hold your jaw firmly, keeping your sight set on the picture between your thighs. The toy sliding in and out of you, wet and sticky with your juices. The shorter end sliding over your clit. He’s hitting your g-spot with precision, each thrust sending you closer to the edge. Within seconds, you’re seeing stars as Joel fucks you through it. 

“Count,” he demands. “T-two,” you moan, but Joel doesn’t relent. A third washes over you just as quickly as the previous one. “Three, s’too much Joel, please,” you beg.

“Quit whinin’,” he mocks, “I’m goin’ easy on ya, considering the fuckin’ stunt you pulled. You wanna make it more?”

“No, please. M’so tired.”

“Quit your whinin’. S’a punishment. Ain’t supposed to feel good,” he growls, “You’re gonna give me my batteries’ worth out of these little fuck toys. Make you come until you can’t fuckin’ walk.” You’re still holding your knees back as Joel fucks you through your third orgasm. The hand that was holding your jaw is now traveling lower, groping your breasts and teasing your nipples. Hot, salty tears of overstimulation and exhaustion roll down your cheeks. You’re shaking, trembling, and he knows it’s all too much. He wonders how many times you came before he showed up. So Joel decides to show a bit of mercy, feeling that pulling three orgasms from you is sufficient enough. For now.

He pulls the toy from your pussy and tosses it on your nightstand. He gives you a moment to breathe, to let your legs down. He rubs deep and firm circles into your sore, aching hips before lifting your limp, pliant body up to straddle his lap and face him. His eyes are soft and sincere, his quiet way of telling you he’s still here. And when this is all done, he’s gonna take care of you.

He’s still gonna fuck the living daylights out of you, though.

“You’re doin’ so good,” he tells you, “Almost there.” You nod and Joel lifts your hips, guiding the tip of his cock to your entrance and pulling your aching pussy down onto his cock with a soft groan, slower than he did with the toy. He knows you’re sore. 

He fucks you deep and hard, just how you like. You fall forward, resting your forehead on the thick line of muscle between his neck and shoulder. Whimpering his name into his hot skin, moaning somewhere between agony and ecstasy, “I-Joel, I'm serious. It’s t-too much, please.”

“I know it is,” he whispers as he bounces you on his cock, chasing his own release, hanging by a thread with the way you’re squeezing around him. You think Joel is feeling sympathetic maybe, as he decides to offer a compromise. “I’ll make–oh, fuck,” he gasps, “Make ya a deal.” You mumble incoherently against him, and Joel sits you upright, his cock stiff and filling deep inside you. 

“Right here. Look at me,” he breathes out, gently gripping your jaw to tilt your face up. You look at him with burning, tear stained eyes. He can see the exhaustion on your face. “Breathe, sweetheart,” he coos, “How many left you owe me?”

“Three,” you answer, breathlessly.

“Mhm,” he mumbles, rolling his hips slowly, “I know you’re tired, honey. Probably pretty sore. S’that right?”

“Yes, Joel.”

“Christ, poor thing. What a mess you got yourself into. I know you didn’t mean to, hmm?” You nod in agreement quietly as he fucks you a little more gently, offering you a slight break. “Just curious, wanted to have some fun, huh? I know how ya are,” his tone is soft and kind, but still teasing. 

You smile with a slight shrug. 

“Tell me you’re sorry for stealing, and you only have to give me one more tonight. Just gotta apologize, real nice f’me.”

“Mmm,” is all you can muster. You’re so spent, muddled and incoherent noises seem to be the only sounds your voice can make. 

“Words, c’mon now, baby. ‘I’m sorry, Joel’,” he instructs you.

“I’m sorry, Joel,” you repeat, “For taking your batteries.”

“There ya go, sweetheart. That's it. Good girl,” he praises.

You sigh and collapse on his chest once more as Joel snakes a hand between your bodies. He finds your clit, his fingers warm and soft. With your face against his body, you bite down on his shoulder as his fingers begin rubbing slow, precise circles over your aching clit. No toy in the world could compare to the way his touch makes you feel. 

Just one more. 

He starts to fuck you deeper again, his free hand sliding up your up to grip around the base of your neck as he thrusts up into you, bouncing you on his cock. You’re liquid in his hands as he continues to steadily work your clit. That all too familiar pooling heat in your core is building back up for the last time, this one far more intense than the previous three orgasms he’s pulled from you. It crashes over you in waves, white-hot pleasure coursing through your veins. Joel feels your body tremble and shake, your fluttering walls choking his cock, pulling his own orgasm from him as he spills inside of you, filling you up with loads of his hot seed. 

God, how you missed that. Missed him.

It could have been minutes, maybe hours that you stayed seated on his cock like that, just breathing with Joel. He runs his fingers up and down your spine, strokes your hair.

Finally, you sit up and extricate your body from his to remove the batteries from the toys. “Here,” you hand them to him.

Joel wears kind of an affected scowl on his face as he takes them from you. “Batteries feel light.”

“Sorry,” you say.

Joel smiles softly, his eyes glimmering as he hands them back to you, “Keep ‘em. Got a stash at home anyhow. Now get dressed.” 

“Why?”

“Jesus, sweetheart. Y’got the memory of a goldfish. Cause we’re havin’ dinner, that’s why.” 

You bite your lip and smile mischievously, “Because it’s a date.”

“No. S’not a date, wiseass. You’re a lady and you deserve…hey-”, Joel stops himself, noticing the bubbling lava lamp next to you, green with blue bubbles, like the one he was eyeing back in Spencer’s, “S’a cool lava lamp. I always wanted one.”

“I know,” you smile shyly, “Picked it out for you. Just wanted to make sure it worked first.”

Please please please reblog, comment, send me asks! Talk to me! Your interaction means the world!

“Hey there, love,” Spencer says, the nickname brushing off his lips with ease. He looks tired and worn down. Y/N thinks that traveling through two different time zones and not getting enough sleep is a way to do that to a person, but she decides she’ll keep that to herself and just usher Spencer to bed earlier tonight.

“Oh, Spence. I really missed you,” she confesses, breathing in his familiar scent. It's a little different. He smells like cheap hotel shampoo and stale coffee, not like his usual minty and green tea body wash and expensive coffee beans. 

Spencer sighs into her neck, swaying slightly as he holds Y/N in his arms on her front stoop. His bags, even the mysterious black on, lay neglected on the ground by their feet.

“I know, Y/N. I know, sweetheart,” he reassures, rubbing his hand up and down her back in a comforting gesture. “I got you something. Well, really it’s for us. But for you, mostly I suppose,” 

“You’re acting clingy and squirrely,” she assesses, leaning back to look at Spencer’s unreadable face. He simply shrugs, as if to say you’ll find out when you find out. 

“I need caffeine,” Spencer remarks, as he insists on carrying all the bags into the house by himself, “And something comfy to wear. I’ve been in this shirt for the last two days. There was a break in the case 41 hours in and we couldn’t break for the hotel. It was too out of the way,” 

“Oh my poor boy,” Y/N exclaims, helping Spencer shed his cardigan and standing with him as he takes his shoes off, “What about a nice hot shower and then some leftovers. I made chickpea curry last night. We have leftover rice and garlic naan, too,” she offers. 

Spencer, offering his thanks, grabs at his tie. His shoulders tense with exhaustion and something unreadable. He’s not usually mysterious. Usually, Spencer’s nothing but an open book. 

“You alright?” Y/N asks, doling out the portion of chickpeas and rice on the delicately decorated plates she received for her 25th birthday. 

“Fine,” Spencer says, clipped and detached. 

So unlike him. 

“Hmm. Well how was work? Anything interesting happen?” Y/N asks, attempting to spark conversation with her boyfriend. They’ve only been dating for a solid five months; enough time for whatever it was to have run its course. If Y/N didn’t know any better than she should expect herself to be circling the drain tonight along with dishes that would certainly be neglected for a pint of Java Chip. 

“Fine,” Spencer says, nodding thanks for the plate of food. He shovels in a couple bites, seemingly uninterested in continuing the conversation. 

So unlike him. 

Usually, Spencer would be clamoring to talk to her. It wasn’t too long ago that they spent long nights sharing a bottle of red and talking about everything from books to movies to the meaning of life. 

“Alright, Spencer. Cut the crap. Are you breaking up with me? Because if you are–?” 

Shock washes over Spencer’s face. And he doesn’t wear it well. He does a spit take and it’s nearly as foolish as it looks like in movies. Spencer’s eyes grow about three sizes bigger. 

“What? Break up with you? God, no,” he stammers, the sentiment clear although his efforts lacked clarity. 

“Okay.” Y/N says, tossing Spencer a napkin to mop up his mess of curry and water. “Good to know. But why are you acting so….squirrely?” 

Shifting in his seat, Spencer attempts to remain calm. His eyes, a honey brown with a cool brown rim, flit to the mysterious bag he brought in from his car. It was as if she could hear the whirring of the gears clicking into place. She follows his gaze to the bag. 

“You bought something. Something that you’re either nervous about or embarrassed? So it can’t be books. And it’s not something innocuous like a throw blanket or pie dish. And judging by your breathing growing heavy, it’s something….salacious.” 

Spencer’s thin upper lip twitches with delight. He hums, neither confirming nor denying her claims. His eyes flicker with playfulness, a contrast to moments ago when Spencer’s eyes flooded with fear and shock.

“You’re smart.” Spencer concludes, smiling with knives. He stands to presumably grab the black bag that has caused so much intrigue. “Should have been a profiler with a mind like yours.” 

“I’ll stick to what I know.” Y/N tells him, her interest in the bag only growing 

when Spencer places it in front of her on the table. “Let me guess, we’re at the stage in our relationship where you can buy me sexy underwear without it looking like you’re sleaze,” 

Chortling, Spencer blushes profusely. His feeble attempts at hiding the bag's contents fail miserably as they only pique Y/N’s interest. His eyes are wide with wonder and anticipation in the kitchen light. 

“It’s not lingerie.” 

“Alright, well whatever it is, Spencer I’m sure I’ll love it. You’re being so jumpy, it’s making me think you’ve got some really kinky sex toy in here,” she says, reaching her hand into the bag to finally examine its contents. She’s good at reading faces. From the old man who reads French Literature on the Metro to the young barista at the local coffee shop, Y/N, like even Spencer admitted, is pretty well versed at reading people. Which is why, for a split second she reads pure terror in Spencer’s eyes. 

“Oh shit,” she says, turning the box in her hand and reading the label. “You bought me a wand?” Her voice goes up an octave as if she’s just realizing what she’s holding in her hands. 

Spencer, now thoroughly, embarrassed, covers his face with his hand. His cheeks are tinged a lovely pink and he peeks through his fingers, apparently still eager. “Will you kill me if I say that’s not the only thing in there?” 

“Spencer Reid!” she shouts, slapping his hands on the table with glee and excitement. It was the very thought of Spencer Reid in a sex shop that sent both shivers down her spine, like an electric shock and shock waves of laughter through her system. “You went into a sex shop.” 

“Yes, Y/N,” Spencer contends, his tone playful enough, “But please continue your teasing. We’ll see how cocky you’ll be when you’re on the receiving end of 5000 RPMS. And that’s the lowest setting,” 

“Is that a threat?” Y/N asks, leaning in closer to Spencer. Her cleavage is eye level to Spencer’s line of vision. His eyes dart there to the bag and back to her eyes. 

He shakes his head. “A promise. Continue,” Spencer instructs, pointing towards the bag. She listens, fishing her hand in the large bag.

“That’s a clitoral stimulator.” Spencer explains, “The website I got recommendations from says that it simulates oral sex. It has eleven settings,” he continues, watching as Y/N’s eyes grow big at the thought of the toy in her hands. 

“Hmm, eleven?” she muses, putting it down next to the menacing looking hitachi wand.

“Another one? Spencer, how much money did you spend on toys?” she says aghast as she takes out yet another item from the bag. 

“It’s a Lush vibrator.” Spencer explains, waving off Y/N’s concerns for his wallet. “It’s actually connected to my phone. That means I can control it, even when we’re apart. Which, considering how much we’re apart, just might come in handy.” 

“This must have cost a lot of money.” Y/N speculates, staring at the three presents facing her on the countertop. “You really didn’t have to. You really shouldn’t–” 

“Y/N,” Spencer says, her name sounding deadly in his breathy timber, “It’s my job to make sure you’re satisfied. And I thought it would be a little fun to bring in some…reinforcements.” 

“That’s certainly more forward thinking than my last boyfriend. He was under the assumption that toys stole his thunder. But between you and me, and like every other woman he slept with, it’s probably because he hardly ever made me finish.” 

“Really?” Spencer says, looking shocked. “And he was still insecure about bringing toys into the bedroom?” 

Laughing, Y/N tosses her head back in a chortle. There was something endearing about Spencer’s genuine shock. 

 Spencer, looking half bemused and half proud, shifts in his seat. “So are we going to test them out or what?” 

Twenty minutes later, they were both in her bed. Y/N, on her back, with her feet planted firmly on the bed, watches as Spencer studies her carefully. Sweat pools in her cleavage and she grabs the sheets, needing something to grip as yet another wave of pleasure washes over her body. He had already coaxed an orgasm out of her with the clitoral stimulator. 

Spencer, fully dressed, holds the wand against her. He has a notebook to her left with small scribbles of notes detailing how fast she’s edged with each different toy. His scribbles, messy and disorganized at best, grow increasingly illegible. Spencer’s creases his brow, a sign of his intense determination, and is fuzzy as Y/N gazes down at him. She watches his look of stoic concentration, something that she finds entirely too attractive. But considering he plans on bringing her to climax time and time again tonight, she’ll give into her flights of fancy. 

“Think you like this one.” Spencer comments. He switches the wand to his less dominant, but still skillful hand to make notes on the pad. A self-satisfied smirk grows on his face, a sign that he’s enjoying this more than he’s letting on. 

“It’s really good.” she says, her voice betraying her already limited resolve. Spencer’s fingers lie casually on her thighs, searing marks into her legs that vaporize her skin. When he touches her it’s like her limb liquifies and her skin melts. She wants his fingerprints to sear into her skin, finally becoming part of her. 

“Yeah,” Spencer asks, a sarcastic smirk playing on the corner of his mouth, “Tell me more, sweetheart. Tell me how good it feels.” 

Spencer’s words are punctuated by the head of the toy rolling against her clit. He never keeps it in one place longer than a couple of seconds, either not wanting to overstimulate her too soon or to keep her on her toes longer for him. 

“It feels so…good. Better than it used to. Before I had you,” she stammers, the words clunky in her mouth as she concentrates on Spencer’s deft hand at her core and his warm lips against her neck. 

“That’s right, sweetheart. Before you had me to keep you nice and full, you had to use things like this. But I’m gone too often for you. I need to know my sweet girl is taken care of. So we’re going to test all of these toys out tonight. Till you’re drippy little mess, begging for me to finally fuck you.” 

Spencer’s sloppy kisses climb the slope of Y/N’s neck. He leaves whisper-wishes into the nooks of her skin, each one filled with promises and love. It’s a stark contrast; the sweet kisses to his hand that holds the vibrator: the bane of her undoing. 

“You know Hitachi wands are excellent for clitoral stimulation. This one has only one vibration pattern, but eight different speeds. Now that sounds like a challenge. And one that I’d like to break.” 

Y/N’s brow furrows as she gazes at Spencer with a deep concentration. He breathes against her neck, a trail full of wet kisses plotting their revenge against her sensitive skin. Spencer’s fingers hold the wand deftly as he concentrates the sensation against her clit. Y/N’s feet move up the bed, dragging the crocheted blanket with them. 

“Holy shit, Spence!” Y/N curses, her breath bated as the wand’s vibrations kick up a couple of levels. 

“That’s my girl. You like the fourth setting. Remember that, baby,” Spencer says, his lips curved into a proud smile as Y/N’s hips jut upwards in tandem with the toy, “Just like that, Y/N. I can tell you’re close. Give me another. One’s not enough for my greedy girl. And who am I to deny such a pretty face and a wet pussy. It’s all mine after all.” 

She feels the wand leave her clit and venture up to her stomach. Y/N’s muscles react like falling dominos at the sensation. She tenses as the vibrations shoot up and fry her nerves. Spencer licks his lips at the sight of her arousal sticking to her bare torso. He carefully dances the wand up to her nipples, watching with glee as they pebble even further in response to the vibrations. 

“One day I’ll give you an orgasm from just playing with these nipples. I’ll lick and kiss and suck on them till you’re dripping and begging for my cock to fill you up.” 

“Jesus, Spencer.” Y/N pants, her hips buckling as her climax reached its peak. “Can I come, please? Please let me come again? I need it so fucking bad, baby.” Her tongue peaks  out from her lips, wetting the surface as Spencer peered up at her. She grabs his collar to drag him up for a kiss just as she finally teetered off the edge, yet again. 

Spencer separates from the kiss, his lips puffy and red from Y/N’s frantic mouth. He smiles, gently caressing her head in a gesture that was entirely too sweet for their current situation. She feels Spencer’s erection in his pants; it had to be almost painful by now. 

“What was that two or three?” Y/N asks, a self-satisfied smirk plaguing her face. “I think we might set a record or something.” 

“That was two.” Spencer corrects. He takes more notes in his little notebook. “Of at least four or five. Depending on how much you beg later.” He slips off the bed and fishes through the bag. “Now, I think I have an idea for which I’d like to try next.” 

A bright pink silicone dildo with a flared based, freshly washed, lays in between them on the bed. Y/N raises her eyes in surprise. 

“Most men wouldn’t be too thrilled to have something other than their penis fuck their girlfriends, you know.” 

Spencer shrugs. “Yeah, but there’s a lot that we can do with it.” He claims, “Like double penetration or even, uh,” He blushes and stumbles over his next comment, “And pegging.” 

Y/N grins as an overwhelming sense of arousal washed over her. “Oh,” she says, skimming her fingers around Spencer’s neck. His skin is ridiculously soft, “we are so tabling that one for later. I would love to see you a mess for me instead.” 

Spencer grins. “Fuck, that’s good, Y/N. So good.” He kissed her forehead. “I wanna watch you ride it. Like you would my cock.” 

Y/N nods, as Spencer shifts on the bed, allowing for her to assume a crouched position. She looks at Spencer, his eyes laden with lust and love. He sits, legs spread in an attempt to accommodate his hardened erection in the old arm chair. He looks too good to be true, his cheeks are tinged with a blush, the dances that line between innocence and corruption. His notebook is forgotten, as he needs the entirety of his attention focused on the sight before him. 

“Good girl.” Spencer mutters, his hands resting on his thighs, but they twitch restlessly. It was as if he needs to physically hold himself back from ravishing Y/N at the sight of her crouched on her bed ready to fuck herself with a dildo her purchased for her. “Lower yourself on the toy. Give yourself an inch into your sweet little cunt.” 

His voice is deep, yet soft as he guided her pleasure expertly. She groans as the toy breaches her cunt, the full sensation is welcomed after the last hour of the wand and clit stimulator. 

“Don’t you wish it was your cock fucking my cunt, Spencer?” Y/N asks, her right hand wrapped around the flared base of the toy and the other holding herself up. Her abdominal muscles stunned with strain as her body remained in a crouched position, but the promise of release goaded her on. “You’re so hard, baby. I can see it from here. Don’t you want to touch yourself?” 

Spencer bites his lip. He nods as his hands undo his belt and his hips lift up enough so he can shimmy his pants and underwear to his knees. He wraps a hand around his cock, hard and glistening with arousal, and rubs upward with a tight fist. Spencer’s teeth dig into his bottom lip as he continues to watch Y/N lower herself onto the toy. 

“Give yourself another inch, sweetheart.” Spencer instructs as he fucked his fist. He swipes his thumb over the tip of his cock. “Fuck I wish it was your mouth or your pussy on my dick.” 

“God, you have the prettiest cock.” Y/N pants, the toy filling her up more and more as she sinks lower onto the base. “But now that we have this toy, maybe you can fuck my ass? I know you’d like that, baby.” 

“Dirty girl,” Spencer praises, a smile covering his face as Y/N’s thighs quiver, “Tell me does that toy fill you up nicely? I had to pick out the best one for my girl.” 

“Yes, yes,” Y/N answers, her voice rough and raw, “So good….I feel so full.” The pink dildo filled her cunt. 

“Good. Good.” Spencer says, his hand moving up and down his cock at a hastened pace. “Show me how you’ll ride it when I’m not here to fuck you, baby. Show me how you’ll fuck that tight cunt.” 

Spencer’s words provide the encouragement for Y/N to hoist herself up and down on the dildo. She would've laid flat on her back, a position that would have been easier on her thighs and core, but the angle she’s  able to reach makes the suffering all worth it. 

“Fuck…so good, Spencer. But I don’t think I can come from just this…it’s not…it’s not enough for me.” Y/N explains. Spencer knows that. He understands the science behind the female orgasm enough to know that many women are unable to reach climax from vaginal penetration only.

“I know, sweet girl. Don’t you worry.” He promises. “Bring your fingers to your clit

and give yourself some nice tight circles.” 

She listens. Her fingers draw tight circles around her clit. Y/N bites her lip as she feels her pleasure build and build. “So good. So good.” 

“I know, I know. Grind against the heel of your hand. You go wild when I do that, love. Like a little fucking minx. You can’t get enough.” 

The tension builds in her stomach as she grinds against the heel of her hand. Cursing, Spencer watches with lust-laden eyes as Y/N writhes on the bed. Sweat forms against her brow as her feet dig into the mattress and her thighs burn in exhaustion. Until she finally feels that familiar burst of pleasure release. 

“Fuck, fuck,” She curses, so caught up in her own pleasure the room seemed to spin around her. “I–I…Spencer, I’m coming.” 

Her release washes over her as she slumps down into the bed, finally spent with all her energy expended. She can barely hear Spencer shuffle over, nearly tripping over his feet since his pants remained gathered around his ankles. 

“Holy shit.” Spencer curses. “That was the most sensual thing I’ve ever seen.” He looks at her with half awe and half love. He pulls his underwear back up and kicks his pants off as he sits on the bed. “Are you alright, babe?”

Y/N groans, her cunt is raw with overstimulation and it is like every single nerve in her body is lit on fire in the best way possible. She offers Spencer a weak thumbs up that morphed into an equally weak fist bump. He obliged and gave Y/N a sweet forehead kiss in return. 

“So toys are a plus for us,” Spencer muses. He adjusts the pillows on the bed and helps Y/N sit up in a more comfortable position. “Thank you for this. I really enjoyed it. And I’m, you know, glad you’ll be occupied when I’m gone.” 

Y/N’s face flushes as a warmth resembling love covers her entire being. “I should be the one thanking you,” she counters, “Wait…I didn’t get you off.” She says, sitting up and then failing as her tired body gave out. 

“That’s a problem you already took care of,” Spencer protests, gesturing to his stained underwear. “I had already come untouched by the time you told me to touch myself. You put on quite the show, sweetheart.” 

She raises her eyes in disbelief as Spencer chuckles and kisses her cheek. “I’m glad you found that equally pleasurable. I don't think I’ve ever come as hard as I just did. And I doubt it’ll ever happen again.” She rises from the bed, with the help of Spencer. He grabs her waist as they make their way into her bathroom.

“Is that a challenge?” Spencer says, with a cocky smirk

“Fuck yeah it is,” Y/N said, “but I think I need like three weeks to recover.” 

Thank you for reading! Please remember, I appreciate you reading, reflagging, and commenting on all of my fics. I love your feedback and appreciate your support & community more than you'll ever know.

Tag List (I don't want to bother anyone, so just tagging people I mainly interact with)

“I can feel it on you. You need some chapstick.” 

She puckers for a kiss. You laugh and kiss her cheek as she kisses yours. 

Eddie takes his coat off and folds it over his arm. He smells like diesel immediately, oil staining his wrists and the thigh of his work pants, but he’s amazingly handsome, so you barely notice. “What are you doing home, lovely girl?” he asks, meeting your eyes over her mess of damp curls. 

It catches you off guard. Eddie is a solid babe guy. Babe, baby, bub. Sweetheart and sweet thing when he’s feeling brazen, but ‘lovely girl’ is rare. Pretty girl when he’s flirting, but lovely? He says it so softly, it falls off of his tongue, with the sort of gentleness he’d give Roan when she’s hurting. You must look more wounded than you thought. 

Your voice turns tight. “Um– uh.” You clear your throat, eyes widening as Eddie approaches, as he leans down to touch your cheek. “I–” You look between him and Roan, not wanting to upset her, but not being able to handle it internally. “Eddie.” 

“What?” he asks in concern. “What, Y/N?” He puts his hand on Roan’s shoulder, thumb quick to rub a soothing line. 

“I just don’t feel very well,” you say weirdly. 

You sound like you’re going to burst, they both hear that. You frown at Roan as she frowns at you, trying hard to fight back tears. “Sorry,” you say, touching her cheek with the back of your pinky. “Sorry, Ro, I’m okay.”

Eddie scoops Roan gently off of your lap and puts her in the seat beside you. “I’m sorry I’m so filthy,” he says, kneeling down in front of you, hands on your legs, “I don’t want to ruin your nice shirt.” He looks you in the eye. 

You shake your head. 

“Hey. Tell me.” He waits, as he always waits. You could tell him anything in the world right now and he’d make it better, because he’s been taking care of you for a long time. 

“I couldn’t face it.” 

Eddie catches the tear in your lashes before it can fall. “Couldn’t face what, sweetheart? Work?”

“I just didn’t want to do anything today.” 

“That’s okay. God, I wish you’d told me, but that’s okay!” He leans up for you, taking your face into his hands. “Is something wrong? You can tell me anything, sweetheart.” 

You close your eyes and let your face fall forward into his hands. Your lips part, but in place of the apology you’d meant to give falls a whining breath of air, a sudden dispelled panic. Things feel so awful, but he’s going to take care of you; your relief is an immensity off of your shoulders. 

“It’s okay,” he says, kissing your cheek, hands moving around to the back of your neck. He holds you in place. 

A small hand touches your back. “Yeah!” Roan says, patting you with a clumsiness that’s clearly meant to be gentle. “Don’t be sad, mom, please.” 

“I’m not,” you say uselessly. 

“It’s okay,” Eddie says again. “Roro, she’s not sad, she’s tired. We cry all the time when we’re tired, don’t we? She needs to lie down.” 

You laugh through your tears. There’s a sludgy headache behind your eyes and your throat aches —you really do want to lie down. 

“Sorry if I’m freaking you out,” you say. 

“You always freak me out,” Eddie says, “that’s your thing. You’re amazing.” 

You laugh-sob and force him into a hug that gets oil all over the side of your shirt. Eddie holds you without argument, without a hint of complaint. He just sits up on his knees even though it must hurt and covers up as much of you as he can with his arms, his hair all over your face, your breath damp and warming your skin where you're tucked into his front. “I should have called you this morning,” you say with a little sob.

“Yeah, babe, you should have, but it’s fine. We’re here now.” 

Roan stands on the couch, hugging your heads. “‘Xactly!” 

Eddie asks Roan to go and get changed. You see him winking from the corner of your eye, and Roan kisses you with a smacking, “Mwah!” before she does as he’s asked. From there, Eddie turns investigative. “What’s wrong?” he asks between kisses, the daintiest, softest kisses he’s ever given you as he rubs your tacky cheek. “Please tell me. You can’t just be by yourself all day when you don’t feel like yourself. You gotta keep me in the loop.” 

“I really didn’t mean to. I thought you’d still be here ‘cos I got to work and I turned straight back around but you’d already left, and then I kept wanting to call you but I didn’t know what to say. I just feel sick and everything is stressing me out.” 

“Okay,” he says, kissing you super, super softly before climbing onto his feet. “I’m gonna get your notepad and we’ll make a list. We’ll write it all down, and we’ll see what we can fix.” He smiles hopefully. “It might even be fun.” 

You lift your head and look at him, his lovely eyes creased with concern, his hair falling into his face, the dirt on his arms. He’s worked all day and now he’s taking care of you, even though you don’t know what’s wrong. 

You stand before he can get away from you and thrust your face into his chest, arms thrown behind him. “I’m so glad you’re home,” you say. 

Eddie covers the back of your neck, a smile evident in his tone, “I wish you would’ve called me.” 

Eddie encourages your head back, the two of you smiling at one another without worry. Eddie’s gonna write a list. You’re probably gonna sit in his lap while he does it. Things will be okay. 

Roan bumps down the stairs. “Mom, I have brought your pa-jamas.” 

“What about me?” Eddie asks. 

Roan shrugs. “I couldn’t reach them.” She hugs you around the thighs, your pyjama shirt slipping out of her hands. You can see now where she’s put her shirt on backwards, and lost a pony tail holder in the process of getting changed. 

“Wow, my big girl! You did it all by yourself!” 

When you look up, Ari is swallowing, a faint tinge of color appearing across his bearded cheeks. “You okay?”

Ari clears his throat, wiping his hand across the back of his neck. “Fine, I’m fine. Don’t you want to go home?” I can’t function with you so damn close.

There’s a desperation in his tone that is impossible to miss, it lingers in the air, settling around you, seeping into your veins.

You like it. You crave it.

You’ve seen the way he stares at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention like you’re the oasis he’s been searching for all his life.

The neediness, the concealed affection with a hint of vulnerability propels you to get closer and closer to the man that everyone, including the daunting Barnes, is cautious around.

You shrug, lolling your head to your shoulder. “Do you really want me to go?” You bite the corner of your lip, brows furrowing as you wait for his answer.

Ari wants a lot of things from you and you leaving his side is not one of them. God damn it you’re making him crazy. Not that he can say that to you.

Instead, he inhales, a deep shuddery breath, his large, sculpted pecs rising and falling under his thin white t-shirt. Casting a quick look at your smiling face, he averts his eyes, the pink tinge coating his cheeks deepens–without a word he turns back to the engine, studying the sleek machinery.

“I’ll take that as a no,” you say with a laugh to hide the uncertainty peeking through earlier.

While Ari has never been what anyone would considered nice, he’s never outright rejected you, always accepting your presence even if he refuses to acknowledge why he does, so you don’t know how you would feel if he had told you to leave.

His shoulders tense and he tilts his head, cracking his neck. Ignoring his sullen disposition, you began to talk to him–well his back anyway. You never thought a man’s back could be sexy until you got a front-row view of his. His shirt does nothing to hide the thick corded muscles, the power lurking beneath his skin. So broad and wide you could easily lay on top of it.

Ari continues to tinker with the car, pointedly ignoring you, occasionally stopping to grab a new part or tool from the box beside you. Each time he walks past you, the blush under his beard gets a little more pronounced, he keeps muttering things under his breath.

Something about you distracting him, he’ll never get anything done.

You grin, hiding your laughter behind your hand each time. It's nothing you haven’t heard before anyway and it's nothing compared to the things he said to everyone else in the shop.

Ari realizes you’re not going anywhere after the third or fourth menacing glare, his shoulders slump in resignation and he gives up his inaudible grumbling.

Ari will never confess this but your voice is his favorite sound. He could listen to you all night.

You’re unaware that he's paying attention to every word you while you chatter away about volunteering at the animal shelter, the one-sided discussion filling the otherwise quiet space.

The light blues of the evening sky give way to streaks of violet and pinks, casting shadows across the garage floor. You fall silent after a while, content to watch him work. He towers over the car, his corded muscles glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. The fading sunlight peeking through the window strikes his freckled, tanned skin, illuminating him. You openly admire the tattoos trailing up his arm and across his back, and you can see a hint of the extensive back piece when he bends over to pick up a dropped cloth.

You suck in a slow breath, exhaling through your nose, tamping down the sigh building in your throat. The urge to sink your nails into his colorful ink and see if he feels as good as you imagine slams into you, a pulse kicks up between your thighs and you have to clench them together to ease the abrupt ache.

Needing a distraction from your growing arousal, you try to think of something to say, anything that will get a reaction out of him.

There's one question that irks his nerves like no other. Even you haven't dared to ask him.

Until now.

“You don’t talk much do you?” Immediately pulling your lips between your teeth, you await his response and you’re not disappointed.

Ari goes still.

Absolutely still.

His hand tightens around the wrench until his knuckles blanch. He tosses it to the ground, the sharp clatter makes you jump. A skittish laugh falls from your lips. He straightens to his full height and turns around. Maybe you pushed him a bit too far.

Too late now.

Your mouth goes dry when he storms to you, the dull, heavy thud of his boots echoing off the walls. His massive 6’6” frame crosses the room in seconds, your breath hitches in your chest around the same time he reaches you.

“Hey Ari,” you squeak out, for once unable to muster up a playful greeting, immediately biting your lower lip.

A dark feral expression sweeps across his face, his pupils expanding. He runs his knuckle across your lip, nudging it out of your mouth.

“Sunshine, I think you do enough talking for the both of us,” that statement coming from anyone else would have had you up in arms, ready to splutter out a sharp retort but Ari’s tone is–it's warm and sincere. And he’s still touching you. The rough calloused texture of his fingertips sends a shiver down your spine, as they brush down your chin and across the column of your throat. “Wanna know something?”

"I don't need to talk to anyone. Except you." Ari bends down, his face hovering above yours, so close you can see a fleck of green in his blue eyes, so close the sweet peppermint of his breath washes over you. You nod, pulse between your thighs beating faster and faster until you're aching. His large warm palm brushes up your thigh, stopping just below your skirt.

"Besides Sunshine, I can think of do better things with my mouth than talk.”

Oh. Oh. Your eyes lock on his lips, soft and full. Anticipation and exhilaration billow in your chest making your heart flutter before sinking deep into your belly, warmth pooling deep inside you.

Ari cocks his head to the side, raising his brow. His deep blue eyes caress your face, drifting down down down your body, settling on your skirt as he urges your thighs apart. You spread them wide for him, heat flooding your cheeks when his pink tongue darts across his bottom lip, as if he’s imagining how you taste.

“And you sunshine-,” he hums, his baritone voice lowering to a near growl, the honeyed nickname he gave you sounds downright sinful when he says it like that.

“Yes?” Your voice comes out breathy, faint.

Ari grins, just a little tip of the corner of his mouth but for the normally stoic biker, he might as well be beaming. You made Ari Levinson smile. That cuts through your lust-addled brain, leaving you more shocked than before. You want him to do it again–no you want to be the reason he does it again.

He’s still speaking–focus, you tell yourself, focus on the incredibly sexier biker standing too close yet too far away.

“You know what I want you to do with your mouth?" He asks, kneeling down before you, his head tilting back, both of his hands slide up your thighs-you didn't realize just how large his hands were until now, they easily cover your entire thigh-his thumbs digging into your sensitive skin. “You know what I need to hear from your pretty lips?”

“I um, I don’t," you stammer. Please tell me.

“My name. No oh god or no please I can’t, just my name as you cum for me.” He pushes your skirt up to your waist, and one long finger skates down the middle of your damp panties.

Your stomach constricts painfully, your hips shifting on their own volition when he curves his finger around the soaked material. “I want to hear you cry out when I stretch this pretty pussy for the first time, I know you’re going to sound so fucking beautiful when you’re gagging on my cock.”

Your mouth goes slack and your brain empties out. You wanted him to open and talk to you but you didn’t expect it to be like this. Who knew Ari had such a filthy mouth?

You must have said that last part out loud because Ari laughs, his eyes flickering up to meet yours. “I’m quiet sunshine. I am not shy when it comes to all the things I want to do to you.” And for you sweet girl.

“Now, do you want me to show what I do better than talking?”

Again you nod, you’re so turned out that you couldn’t speak even if you were coherent enough to form words.

His good girl shoots right down your spine and across your clit. Ari pushes your panties to the side, the cool air breezes over your exposed cunt. He makes a satisfied noise deep in his throat “Prettier than I dreamed.”

Holy fuck does that do things to your ego, any shyness you might have had dissipates.

“Grab my hair,” he commands. “You’ll need something to hold on to.”

“You’re so bossy-ah,” you cry out because Ari is devouring your pussy. That's the only way to describe the messy, vulgar way his tongue is gliding through your folds. Sensations crash into each other, unfurling inside you.

Blinking rapidly, you tell yourself to breathe. Are you breathing? You should probably do that because you might pass out before he's done and oh yesfuckyes-you lose your train of thought when his tongue circles your clit, the intricate pattern sending fiery pleasure up your spine. It's so good. He feels so good.

Too good.

Your back arches and you make a sound that's somewhere between a whimper and moan.

“Holy shit Ari,” you grunt, your hands flying to his thick hair, trying to tug the large man away. "Wait wait wait oh fuck," you gasp, your eyes rolling back.

He chuckles, watching your head drop to your chest. “Oh no Sunshine, you wanted to see what I could do now sit there and take it like a good girl,”

He dives back in, flattening his wet tongue, tracing your spasming entrance twice before gliding inside, curling and sweeping over your silken walls. Wrapping his arms around your thighs, he finds your clit, circling it with his wide thumb, strumming it back and forth as fucks you with his long, thick tongue.

You’ve had guys go down on you before but the way Ari is eating you is unhinged. Feral. And you love it.

Pleasure spreads like electricity across your veins. You’re making sounds you didn’t think were possible. Each devastating lash of his tongue sends you spiraling further and further out of control, the workstation creaking and groaning as you grind on his face. And Ari only pulls you even closer, his beard bristling across your skin. Coils of pure ecstasy tighten in your belly with each stroke of tongue inside, his thumb flickering across your clit. Your trembling thighs clamp around his head and a scream claws up your throat in between your heaving gasps. “Just like that, right there please god.”

Taking his tongue out of your tight pussy, he wraps his lips around your clit and he stops. “Ari no don’t stop,” you cry out, yanking his hair in your fists. You must have closed your eyes at some point, peeling them open, you meet his gaze and your stomach drops from the intensity in his darkened blues. “Ari” you start, and he sucks your swollen clit into his mouth. “Oh god yes, “ you moan, only to cry out when he stops again.

Looking down your brows furrow tightly, you rock your hips. “Don’t tease-pleaseplease I’m so close.”

He shrugs. Shrugs. You're about to scream and he just shrugs. His unrepentant gaze doesn’t waver from your face. You pant, tears forming in your eyes when he remains still.

“Ari,” you whimper, feeling the heat of his mouth surround your pulsing bud. Oh. You both know the second you understand what he wants, you chant Ari until his name sounds like your own personal prayer and he rewards you by worshiping you. Relief courses through you and you sob his name as he flickers his tongue across clit, dragging it further into his mouth, each deep suck feels like he’s dragging you down, the coil getting tighter, tighter, until it snaps. Your orgasm spreads across your body in sultry heady, pulsating waves, keening from the sheer bliss, you gush all over his face, drenching him. You didn’t even know you could do that.

Gasping, your legs drop to his shoulders and you fall back on the wall behind you. Small aftershocks spiral through you as he eases you out his mouth with a wet plop. Another holy fuck escapes you. Placing a soft kiss on your inner thighs, he moves your legs to the side, letting them dangle off of the workbench.

Ari gazes up at you, memorizing this moment, every time he comes into work, he’s going to fantasize about the way you’re splayed across his table, beautifully wrecked.

Ari stands, stretching his back with a low groan, he lets out a soft laugh under his breath when you lean to the side, your body limp, boneless from the intense orgasm. Placing his large hand on your waist, he steadies you before popping his glistening thumb in his mouth, wanting one last taste of you on his tongue. Through your hazy vision, you see the look of pure masculine satisfaction in his eyes. Ari was right, you do sound beautiful when you cum for him. He eases your panties back into place and adjusts your skirt.

“I enjoyed our conversation. I look forward to talking to you again very soon.”

You saw it with your own eyes, after all. 

You were so immersed in the scene, and those six little words, that the front door opening never crossed your ears. You were practically foaming at the mouth when Tom threw his keys on the entryway table before he shimmied out of his blazer. 

“Darling?” He calls your name, but you can’t hear him. Not when you’ve got the TV on full blast, replaying his line over and over again. You’d have wet dreams about that, no doubt. 

And to think you saw this movie. You were at every premiere possible they could’ve had, as you stood in support of your husband’s greatest film accomplishment. You had seen this specific scene countless times, but it was only now that you paid this much attention to the words. 

Tom’s eyebrows lift when he hears his voice coming from the television. He walked around to see his beloved wife, you, curled on the couch. You had a bag of snacks beside you, but you were engrossed with the scene. 

“C’mon, sweetheart, just a little more,” 

Tom laughs, but then realizes you kept rewinding it. 

And then it clicked in his brain. 

Leaning against the doorframe with one foot crossed over the other, he brings his arms to wrap around his chest. He licks his lips, his head tilting to the side as he hears it play again, and again, and again. When he heard it for the 7th time, he cleared his throat. 

“Having a good time, sweetheart?” Tom’s voice calls out. He sees you throw the television remote across the floor, your head ducking low. 

‘TOM!” You scream, hand clutching your chest. He sauntered into the room, finding you panicking. You were embarrassed, not knowing how long he had been standing there. 

“How long have you been there?” You ask him. 

“Long enough to hear myself repeat ‘Cmon, sweetheart, just a little more,’ 7 times in a row… But I’m positive it’s been played more than that,” He chuckles. He glances between his paused face on the screen, then down at you.

“What about that scene has you flustered?” He asks you. He leans down and picks the remote up before he turns the television off completely. You stare up at him with a flustered smile. 

“You looked hot,” You say plainly. 

Tom nods. “Is it that? Or is it what I’m saying?” He deepens his voice.

You bite your lip. “Both?” You sheepishly smile. 

Tom stares at you for a few more moments. He reaches down and caresses your cheek. You lightly gasp at his warm touch, your cheek nuzzling into his palm. He moves his fingers up your face, soon tangling them through your hair. His other hand comes forward, this one drawing a line across your jaw with his index finger until it slips around your throat with ease. 

He hears the hitch in your breath, and he can feel how your pulse escalates beneath his thumb. Tilting his head to the side, his green eyes were full of wonder as he pondered on you, the thoughts of what he could do infiltrating every ounce of purity he had before he walked through that door. 

“Tom,” You mutter his name. 

He squeezes his hand around your throat, and he sees when your eyes roll back on command. He grins wildly, adoring this sight of you. He knows you’re a sucker to be choked, it was the one thing that drove you absolutely mad for him. You loved being pushed into submission. Tom was naughty, very naughty. If he ever admitted it in an interview, he was telling the truth. There was nothing this man wouldn’t do in the terms of pleasuring you.

And right now? As he thought back to the scene he walked in on, he knew. He was going to ensure he withdrew every ounce of strength from you whether that’s by slamming into you, fingering you, pleasuring you with his tongue, or maybe a mix of all three. 

He wanted you to cum until you just couldn’t anymore. 

“Alright. Bedroom. Now,” Tom says, pulling you up swiftly. He may be 60, but the man had strength. A squeal erupts from your throat when he throws you over his shoulder. 

“Tom!” You burst out laughing as he carries you through the length of the house. You grabbed his back, the fabric of his blue dress shirt squeezed in between your fingers.

“You asked for this,” He tells you. 

When he enters the bedroom and throws you onto the mattress, you gasp. He comes down moments later, his lips hungrily finding yours. You groan against his mouth as you start to reach up and tangle your fingers through the buttons of his shirt.

Swatting your hands away, he grunts, lifting your hands above your head. Arching your back slightly, Tom’s knee wedges between your thighs and hits your center. A groan falls from your mouth, and it takes everything you have to grind against him, but he’s not having it.

“We play by my rules, sweetheart,” Tom tells you, coming off your mouth with an audible pop. You stare at him, seeing as he leans back. With his knee still pressed hard into your center, he begins unbuttoning his shirt. Toned and tanned skin is revealed to you, hard pecs and a gorgeous set of abs coming into view. 

You were so glad he took such good care of his body. 

He sets the shirt to the side, chuckling when he sees you smile. 

“You never get tired of it,” He sighs. “How long’s it been, darling?” He teases.

You groan. “Six years,” You hiss. He meets you for another searing kiss while he wraps his fingers around the edge of your shirt. Breaking the kiss long enough to peel the fabric over your head, he’s grateful you weren’t wearing a bra. 

Immediately his lips find the top of your breasts where he nips and sucks, earning delighted groans of pleasure to fall from your lips. 

“Yes!” You squeal, but that transitions into a hard moan when he takes one of your nipples into his mouth. He sucks and prods it with his tongue, taking your wrists into his hands and pushing them above your head. You’re unsure of what he’s doing, especially when his hands disappear from your wrists, but you suddenly feel his dress shirt on your hands.

Opening your eyes, you see he’s tying you to the bed. 

“T-Tom,” You whimper. 

Tom chuckles to himself, shooting you a cheeky wink. 

“I told you – you asked for this.” He reminds you, kissing your forehead. He secures you to the bar of the bed, and your eyes flutter with anticipation. His cologne wafts through the air, and you watch as he leaves the bed. Grabbing your shorts, he pulls them down, your panties coming with them. He’s wasting no time as he tosses them to the floor.

Shirtless and standing before you with his hands on his hips, he rests an index finger on his lips. It was a normal gesture he made, especially when he contemplated something. 

“What are you gonna do to me, baby?” You ask him seductively, running your foot over your leg. You give him the sight he craves to see, your legs spreading open. 

Tom chuckles and without missing a beat, his words cause a fire to brew within. 

“I’m going to make you cum until you can’t anymore,” He says with a confident glint in his eyes. Your eyes widen, and the excitement grows rampant when he grabs your thighs. Pushing them down until they met the mattress, that’s when he started on your lips. 

Down he went, nipping and adding love bites to your jaw. He secured the spot on your neck, claiming it as his with bruises that only he would see. You moan sweetly, your hands begging to pull from the restraints so you could touch him, but you knew this was the game he wanted to play tonight. And when Tom wanted to play, no one stopped him. He was competitive by nature, anyway. 

You can feel your core developing a searing ache the more he kissed your warm skin. His lips assaulted your breasts where he played with your nipples with one hand, his mind occupying the other. Flicking the bud in circles and adding engaged sucks, you were growing wetter by the second. 

It was when he started making his way lower, kissing your abdomen and leaving a sloppy trail of wet marks with his tongue, that you were dripping onto the sheets for him. He cut his emeralds at you, noticing your bottom lip quiver. 

“So needy for me, aren’t ya?” He sighs. 

“Yes!” You laugh. “Listen, babe, I can’t help it. It’s the way you say certain things,” You reference the movie. 

Tom nods. “And it wasn’t supposed to be an innuendo by any means. But you and millions of women across the globe probably had the same thought,” He tells you as he wraps his hands underneath your thighs, gently caressing the innermost part with his thumbs. 

“But those millions of girls don’t get this,” You remind him. “I do,” 

Tom chuckles. 

“You do, pretty girl, don’t you?” He disappears lower. Your breath catches when he starts to kiss over your mound. Head arched back, you tighten your pull on the makeshift restraint. 

When he finally connected his lips to your throbbing clit, it was the most relieving thing you had ever experienced. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were even holding. Tom laughed against your heat, quite amused by the effect he had on you.

He grabbed your thighs and really dug in, his tongue slipping into your entrance. He was practically french-kissing your slit, your eyes fluttering. His nose brushed over your clit. He moved his head around at the perfect angle to give you the utmost pleasure. You rattled against the bedframe, now desperately craving to run your fingers through his hair. 

“T-Tom!” You squeal. You threaten to close your legs on his face, but he holds them apart, ensuring he’s given the space he needs to work. He moves up, his lips wrapping around your clit. He’s flicking his eyes up at you between sucks, feeling you shake when he circles your clit with his tongue. He makes a gentle grunting sound, more than enough to send vibrations coursing through you.

He sees that you’re trying your hardest to keep it together, but he knew he had you on the brink of release. He pops off your clit with a smile, his lips glistening with the remnants of you. 

“Cum,” Is all he tells you. You know it’s not a question of whether you could, it was a command. When he returns his lips to your throbbing core, he pushes two fingers into you without warning. You now have something to grab onto. He thrusts his digits deep within your channel and curls them toward himself, rubbing your g-spot with ease. He’s got you where he wants you, and when he nudges the bud one last time, he feels you spilling over the edge. 

Your release comes hard and fast. He licks up every ounce of it until you’re on the edge of squirming away from him. He smiles, realizing that maybe you being restrained for the rest of it might be fun. 

And while you’re working to catch your breath, a visible sheen of sweat covering your face, you blink. “Tom,” You say his name as a cry. 

“Yes, darling?” He answers you, already unbuckling his belt. You watch when he grasps the button to his jeans. You knew what was coming next. 

“I can’t touch you, can I?” He asks. 

He shakes his head, actually looking remorseful. But he was an actor. Have you seen the man’s face? Just one twitch of his eyebrow holds more emotion than the average person. 

Before you’re allowed a full cool-down, Tom’s wasting no time. He wraps his arms underneath your back and guides himself inside of you. The stretch his length gives your weeping hole makes you cry into his shoulder when he lends it to you. 

“Atta girl, keep it coming,” He laughs, loving the way you whimper for him. He winces when he feels the grazing of your teeth over his skin, one leg curling up. 

“P-please, can I wrap it around your waist?” You beg into his ear. He’s already so deep, you just need to feel him. 

“Just one,” Tom tells you. You quickly wrap it around his hip. As he starts to thrust harder into you, each rocking motion sends you reeling toward another orgasm. 

And that’s the game he was going to play for the night. When you and Tom both came that time, he had so much stamina that he didn’t have to bounce back. He simply pulled out of you, and before any of your mixed releases could be wasted, Tom was licking you clean. 

He was kissing over your clit and pushing his tongue into your slit again. Your arched, your wrists throbbing as you begged to be released from the restraints. He was wanting to overwork you, he wanted to make sure that you were tired and not able to walk in a straight line tomorrow morning. He wanted to see the wobble in your knees later on when he released you, and you went to the bathroom to clean up. 

He begged to see that vulnerable side of you. 

By your third orgasm, this one had you screaming at the top of your lungs. Tom was thankful your house was secluded from nosey neighbors, or they would certainly conjure what was going on at the Cruise household. He grins to himself, watching you with a seductive glow to his complexion. You arch an eyebrow, staring at him with a tired look plastering your face.

His fingers move to your slit.

“No! N-no, Tom! I can’t cum again!” You cry. “I’m done, I can’t,” You whimper. 

That wasn’t good enough. 

Tom craned his head to the side. He crawled up the space of your body and kissed your jawline. 

“Come on, sweetheart, just a little more…” He coos that line in your ear. He’s touching you anyway. “You can cum one more time, I know you can. Can you do that for daddy? Can you cum one more time? I promise after that, you’ll be done,” He smiles. 

He pushes his into you with his index finger, followed by his middle, and then his ring finger. His thumb seeks out your clit, and there he went. 

With his free hand, he reaches up to untie your hands. The moment they’re freed, they instinctively wrap around Tom’s neck. You bury your face into his chest, your whimpers growing louder. You never expected that him walking in on you tonight would spark this behavior out of him, but you weren’t complaining. 

“T-Tom,” His name is a cry for help. 

He kisses your lips tenderly before he stares at you. He’s still stroking you from the inside, his fingers curled for maximum pleasure. 

“C’mon, sweetheart, just a little more,” He deepens that line in your ear. You dig your nails into his back, surely bringing blood to the surface of his toned back. You scrape them down, and as you squeeze around his digits, you can feel your stomach building with a hard knot once again. It’s flashes of white, hot pleasure across your body, it’s the ringing in your ears as you come harder than ever around his fingers. 

“That’s my girl!” Tom cries out. “That’s it, ride it out, look at you,” He slows his hands down, but you’re grabbing his wrist to help guide yourself. You move your hips frantically into his palm until you’re completely worn out. 

Tom pulls his fingers from inside of you, and you let out a gasp. 

With your back to the mattress, your eyes immediately close. Tom does that same maneuver of cleaning his digits off with his lips while he watches you. 

“Darling?” He calls for you quietly.

“...Hmpph?” You throw your arm over your mouth, muffling the noise. 

He rolls onto his back while taking you with him. You land on his chest, your forehead collecting sweat. He strokes your back as he kisses your head. 

“Are you okay?” Tom asks you.

You felt amazing. Overworked, overstimulated, but amazing. 

“That… Was… Why didn’t you say that before?!” You exclaim. “I’ve been married to you for 4 years, together with you for 6, and never have you acted like THAT before! Where was the animalistic Tom Cruise hiding?!” Your head pops up to stare wildly at him. 

He bursts out laughing, his cheeks glowing as he laughed. 

“I guess he was hiding… Waiting for the right moment,” He teases you, kissing your lips tenderly. 

You nod. “Can he come back?” You whisper. “I mean, not tonight. Maybe not even tomorrow night. Not even in the next three days. But can he?” 

Tom laughs harder as he flips the two of you back over so he can hover above you. 

“He can come back,” He promises you, kissing your forehead. “How about a shower?” 

You nod your head. 

“Please!” You sigh. “I really don’t think I’ll be able to walk tomorrow,” You huff.

Tom snickers.

“Good. That was the whole point.” He winks, slipping out of bed and pulling you with him.

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@marvelogic

It had been one month since you'd last seen Ari. A whole 30 days since you'd been able to see him, touch him, taste him, and it was driving you crazy.

He was only supposed to be gone a week, which would have been bad enough, but unsuspected issues had kept him away longer.

All you'd had to get you through was the odd phone call whenever he had signal and it just wasn't enough.

As soon as he walked through the door to your shared apartment you were on him. Jumping straight into his arms, almost knocking the wind out of him as he stumbled back into the door.

His larger arms surrounded you, holding you impossibly tight to his body as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

"Hey baby, you miss me?" he smirks, pulling back slightly to get a look at you.

"Maybe a little," you smile, leaning in to give him a soft kiss.

When your lips meet a huge need takes over the two of you, Ari deepens the kiss, one large hand cradling the back of your head, his other lifting you from under your ass until your legs are around his waist.

"You've got no idea how much I missed you, baby," Ari murmurs, his lips descending down your neck as he moves you both towards your bedroom.

A giggle escapes you as he drops you on the bed and he can't help but smile as he looks down at you.

"Missed that laugh," he purrs, reaching for your ankles and pulling you to the edge of the bed, "missed your gorgeous face," he leans down so he's hovering over you, lips ghosting yours, "missed this perfect body," his hand trails delicately over the skin of your thigh pushing your skirt up and you can't stop the whimper that escapes you, "missed the pretty noises you make," his nose brushes down your throat, his beard a delightful burn against your skin, "missed my tight little pussy," his fingers connect with the damp spot on your panties and you keen into his touch, "missed ruining you."

He brings his face back up, crashing his lips onto yours in a kiss that devours you. Your fingers tangle in his long hair, tugging when you feel him move your panties to the side, his fingers collecting your arousal before rubbing soft circles against your clit.

You whimper against Ari's lips as he pulls back to look at you. He takes in the way your lips are parted, eyes scrunched shut in pleasure - he's never seen someone so beautiful.

He chuckles at the way your eyes snap open when he removes his fingers, "so needy for me already, baby?"

"Ari it's been a month, of course I'm needy," you pout.

"Where's this attitude coming from, huh? I'd hate not to give you what you want," he smirks, knowing he's got you exactly where he wants.

You throw your head back with a whine knowing he's trying to push your buttons because he knows just how desperate you are for him.

You hear Ari's soft laughter as you feel him pull your skirt and panties down as you quickly discard your top.

"Fuck, baby," he whispers, once your naked, a large rough palm caressing your cheek.

You think he's about to lean in for a kiss but he goes further to whisper in your ear, "I'm going to absolutely ruin you."

Before you get a chance to respond he pushes two thick fingers into your soaked pussy, your head tilting back in pleasure.

"Missed you like this, fuck, pussy's so tight around my fingers," Ari growls, fingers curling deliciously causing your back to arch.

His fingers continue to move inside of you as he plants kisses across your jaw and down your neck, biting and sucking his way across your skin, only moving on when he's satisfied with a blooming bruise.

When his thumb starts circling your clit you lose it. Back arching, toes curling, thighs trembling as his fingers work you through a shattering orgasm.

"Fuck, Ari," you breathe, a small smile on your face. Your eyes are closed so you don't see him move down your body.

Your eyes shoot open when you feel his tongue circle your sensitive clit, his fingers once again moving inside of you.

"Shit," you moan, fingers tangling in his hair tightly as you feel another orgasm approaching.

The growl he lets out when you pull on his hair vibrates against your sensitive core and you cum for a second time.

"Missed the taste of you, baby," he hums, lifting his head to rest on your thigh as you try and catch your breath.

You can't help the whimper that leaves your lips when you look at him. His full beard is covered with your release, his hair all over the place from your fingers and a look of lust in his eyes that has you clenching around him.

"Missed it that much," he continues, giving kitten licks to your clit that has you jolting each time, "I think I want another taste."

You're about to protest, the sensation almost too much, but he's diving back in and the words get caught in your throat.

"Ari, oh my god," you whine, your hips bucking in an attempt to get some reprieve.

He doesn't let you get far though, his spare hand coming round to pin your hips to the bed.

"Ari," you pant, fingers gripping the sheet next to you, toes curling against his broad back, "I can't, please."

He doesn't respond, too lost in the way you taste. You try to push his head away but he's quick to lace his fingers with yours to keep your hand resting on your stomach. His eyes meet yours and he winks before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking hard as his fingers continue to curl against your g-spot.

Pathetic whimpers of "fuck" and "yes" and "please" fall from your lips as you cum again, your arousal coating Ari's face as he laps up all you have to offer.

You can feel tears in your eyes at the overwhelming pleasure, your limbs feeling like jelly as you lay there panting.

"God damn, can't get enough of you, baby," Ari praises, kissing your thighs as he removes his fingers.

You're too busy basking in the afterglow of three orgasms to notice Ari has moved away and undressed himself.

It's not until he's laying his body over you that you open your eyes, blessed with the view of Ari's teasing smirk, "you didn't think we were done did you?"

He chuckles at the way your eyes widen, distracting you with his lips as he grasps his hard cock and lines it up with your entrance.

You moan loudly against Ari's lips as he pushes into you, your hands coming up to grasp his biceps.

"Jesus christ, baby, will never get over how tight you are, squeezing the life out of me," Ari grunts as he pulls back leisurely before setting a deep and slow pace. His hips grinding into you each time.

You're so sensitive from your previous orgasms that it takes no time at all for you to reach the edge again.

With a tight grip on Ari's shoulders, nails biting into his skin, you cum with a cry around his cock.

"That's it baby, so gorgeous when you cum for me," you hear Ari murmur in your hazy state.

You whimper when he sits up slightly, his large hands grabbing your thighs and pushing them up to your chest. The new angle has you clenching hard around him, the pleasure teetering on the edge of pain.

"Ari," you cry, "I don't think I can."

"Well let's see shall we?" Ari winks, his fingers finding purchase on your thighs before he's pounding into your relentlessly.

You don't even have time to process your last orgasm before another one is careening through you. And when Ari's fingers find your clit you know you're fucked.

Ari continues to play your body like his favourite instrument, pulling out sounds from you that should have you hiding your face in embarrassment but you're far too gone to care.

You feel the pressure begin to build again, but stronger than the other times.

"Ari, fuck, fuck," you pant, your hands pushing at his stomach.

He pulls out of you almost all the way just as you squirt all over him. Your body convulses at the strength of your orgasm. Both yours and Ari's thighs covered in your release along with his stomach.

The sight sends Ari feral as he pushes back into you, hands gripping your hips tightly as he chases his own release.

You don't realise you've cum again, you don't even realise he's cum, until you feel a warm cloth between your legs.

Peering your eyes open you see Ari cleaning you up, a pair of grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips.

He looks up once he's cleaned you up, a soft smile gracing his lips, "welcome back, baby. Lost you for a moment there."

"I don't think I can survive you going away again," you chuckle breathlessly, still feeling light.

Ari throws the cloth to the side before crawling into bed with you, covering you both with the sheet and wrapping his arms around you.

"Well, now I know you can squirt, you're going to have to get used to that."