slut

Ok obviously our wonderful sweet husband will take a while before he feels comfortable enough doing anything adventurous in the bedroom, but once you've been together a while he becomes a lot more confident than you might think.

And again, obviously he is wonderful and sweet so I can't see him enjoying anything particularly sadistic - I also can't really see him enjoying his partner bratting. His dominance comes more from you choosing to give up control rather than him taking it from you.

Sam is more of a giver than a receiver, but if you kneel in front of him and take him down your throat he will absolutely not complain. While he won't ever push your head down, he will keep a tight grip on your hair and praise you the whole time.

One of his favourite things when he's more dominant is giving. He'll more than happily stay between your legs until you've been overstimulated to heaven and back, and he will keep pulling orgasms from you until there are tears running down your face - he's learned to read you incredibly well, so he knows your limits and you have barely, if ever, had to safeword.

I've already expressed my feelings on Sam enjoying the use of blindfolds, at length in one of my previous posts.

He isn't particularly sadistic, but he can tease a lot when he gets confident. If you're a whining mess underneath him he will wait until you use your words and tell him what you want.

Maybe one of the more surprising things about him is how much he likes leaving marks on you. It's never anything from impact play etc. but he loves leaving love bites all over your body. Every time he sees them its a little reminder that you're his.

You were in the kitchen, the clock was about to strike afternoon tea time and you were boiling some water above the fire. The biscuits your mother had made yesterday were asking to be enjoyed as you laid them on a plate.

Quickly you wiped your hands clean before walking to the front door to make your way out to the garden. Sam had been working there since just after luncheon and you were about to invite him inside to share some refreshments with you.

Your parents were out having a meeting with your aunt and uncle that lived a hill over. You hadn't felt like joining them, rather preferring the quiet comfort of home over your aunts lively chatter. Besides with Sam taking care of your garden today someone had to stay home and you rather liked his company anyway, not that you saw him much today, you yourself having been inside reading the whole time.

As you made your way outside you couldn’t help but smile at the feeling of the warm sun shining directly on your face. You found the gardener quickly for there were not many places within the greenery to hide ones self. Your smile grew bigger as you walked your way over to him. "Sam?" You called out to him. He responded with no more than a hum in acknowledgement, his hand holding onto his head as he was knelt next to some flowers.

Your eyebrows knitted together in confusion, he was always quick and happy to talk to you, even this morning he was more than happy to share conversation with you. "Are you alright?" You asked him and as you approached him you could see the colour that covered his cheeks, he almost looked feverish. "Oh Sam," he flinched away slightly when you moved to feel his forehead with the back of your hand, but leaned into the touch when your skin finally met his.

His temperature had you quickly taking action. "Come on, let's get you up and inside," you grabbed his arm, pulling him up and he easily moved with you, following you without a word, leaning into your side. You heard the kettle scream, and the moment you had Sam seated in one of your kitchen chairs you went to get it off the fire.

Carefully you pushed the plate filled with biscuits in his direction as you went to make some peppermint tea to help his fever cool down a bit. You hoped it wasn't the weather combined with the labour that had him running this hot. You couldn't help for blaming yourself for not checking up on him earlier, but the idea that you could have found him worse or later is what gave you a quiet sense of comfort.

When you turned around to give him his tea you found him staring at you with clouded eyes. It was then you realised he hadn't spoken a word since you went to invite him inside. You walked to his side of the table and put the tea down in front of him. "Take as much time as you need to cool down," the silence was deafening. "Besides, my parents won't blame you if you don't finish because you went home with a fever. You know that right?" He didn't respond, just looked at you, still obviously flushed.

When you went to check his temperature again his hands snatched your wrist before you could. "Please-" it almost sounded like he was in pain, "-don't," he pleaded with you.

"Wha-" before you could even finish your sentence he pulled you closer, trapping your hand, still in his grip, against his chest. "Sam, what are you doing?" He let his head fall against your chest, making your breath hitch. Never had you thought you would feel Sam this close, the sudden touches left your mind blank and you did not know what to do, how to respond to the sudden advances.

You would be lying if you said you didn’t fancy Sam greatly, but you didn’t think either of you would ever find the courage to do anything about your feelings, and that was if Sam would feel the same towards you, something you had always thought he didn't.

However, your heart was beating rapidly and Sam had yet to push you away. You felt him rubbing circles on the back of your hand and his face moved up to snuggle into your neck, breathing you in. "Sam?" All you got was muffled moan in return. "Please, talk to me," you were lost beyond words.

"I-I-" you heard him swallow down his nerves as he finally spoke. "I want you... No, I need you, please just," he fell silent again but his other hand found your waist, grabbing, letting go, repeating the notion like he was going mad by his inner turmoil.

Your confusion didn’t lessen by his confession. Yes, you too were now flushed, your cheeks most definitely many shades redder, but the suddenness of the situation, it was all to much for you to process.

The sudden feeling of open-mouthed kisses being left on your neck had you letting out a squeal of surprise. His arm around you kept you from jumping away from his embrace. "Sam, what are you-" you were quickly cut off by his thumb on your mouth, his hand cradling your jaw as he shushed you. He looked up at you, looking strangely vulnerable before something changed and you suddenly felt his lips upon yours. Your eyes closed and a moan left the back of your throat as you felt your knees weaken from the urgency of the kiss. His tongue found its way inside of your mouth and you were done for.

He stood up no more than a moment later and lifted you on the table with easy, you bumped into the mug of tea and the liquid spread over the table, soaking the biscuits but neither of you seemed to care as Sam's hands found its way to your sides, one feeling up, reaching your chest while the other found and squeezed your thigh. Your arms were wrapped around his broad shoulders and you pulled him closer as you felt the heat spread through your body.

His kisses moved down to your neck and eventually ended up at your breasts, protruding from the corset you were wearing. Your breathing was harsh and your breast were basically pushed into his face because of it, but you heard neither one of you complain. Neither did you complain when his hands made its way underneath your skirt, feeling up the skin of your bare thighs after he removed your undergarments that had been quickly soaked through and touched your private parts.

You closed your legs as a sudden shiver ran through your body, but Sam had none of that as he stopped what he was doing with your breasts looked up at you with a stern face and pushed your legs apart with his strong working hands. Your head fell back and a moan left you as you felt him softly rubbing the most sensitive part of your body, you did not know what he was doing to you or why it felt so good, but you knew you were not far from reaching your release. And gosh were you right, because the thumb on his other hand was pushing inside you slowly, teasing your rim and no more that a second later you cried out from the sudden wave of pleasure. You covered your mouth with your hand, trying to muffle your sounds as a few tears ran down your cheeks. When you opened your eyes an immediate blush found its way to your cheeks as Sam was looking down at you with an almost predatory hunger in his eyes.

You felt small beneath him, but could not deny that you wanted more of this pleasure, more of him. Wrapping your legs around his waist you pulled him closer, pressing him to your core and the feeling of him against you had another shiver run op your body. He was quick with his reaction to your advances, taking his suspenders of his shoulders and dropping his pants to the kitchen floor. His thumbs slightly spread you for his cock, the thickness of him slowly being pushed into you. It made your hole burn at the stretch, you were panting, one of your hands still covering your mouth while the other grabbed onto the table.

It didn't take long for him to bottom out in you, and the feeling of him completely stretching you open had you tightly breathing through your nose. He gave you no more than a moment before he started moving, and he did not go easy on you, pounding inside of you like some rapid bunny in heat.

More tears left your eyes as you were repeatedly stretched open by the man above you. You could feel his veins rubbing against your sweet spot, making you see stars. Your nails were tightly latched into the wooden table beneath you and a splinter finding its way in your finger, but you could not focus on the pain it gave you as you could slowly feel your pleasure building up to a second release.

You moved your hand that had been muffling the sounds coming out of your mouth down past your hips until you reached your private parts. Your hand brushed his cock as you went to rub yourself into another climax and you could not help but wrap your hand around him as he pumped into you, your fingers just being able to wrap around him. The erotic scene alone got you reaching your high, your legs wrapping around him even tighter, pulling him into you as your walls squeezed him tight, you could feel yourself gushing on his cock, your hand now covered in your own juices.

The movements of his hips got more erratic, his movement increasing until you could feel his hips stuttering against you as he to reached his release, covering your insides with himself. You felt his energy drain immediately as he slumped against you, his head falling down on your chest. You ran a hand through his hair, his curls now too being covered in your glistening release. As the man fall asleep on top of you, still stretching your insides you could not help but wonder what could have possibly let to this, but as you planted a kiss on his temple you decided you did not really care, happy with what had just occurred.

Taglist: @alriguess

The unrelenting pounding of the storm upon the thin glass of the windows wakes you. No sun shines through; the darkness is only broken by the flickering glow of the gas lights on the wall. Beside you, your beloved Alfie sleeps peacefully, the slow rise and fall of his chest and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat soothe your tired mind, and your own heart falls in time, in perfect synchronicity with his.

You long for and deeply cherish moments such as these, when it's just you and him alone, in absolute, consuming tranquillity. It's always a welcome change to the usual chaos and violence that follows him, like a shadow stalking, inescapable and smothering. Days like this, miserable and dim, ironically feel the lightest, juxtaposing with the darkness and cruelty that Alfie's way of life affords, the life that you chose to spend with him, that you'd choose again and again, no matter the cost.

Rainy Sundays like this very morning feel like a gift sent from the universe, one lazy, dreamy day you get to spend together where he's yours, all yours, no calls, no meetings, no wars; just you and him doing nothing at all, together. Alfie works tirelessly to give you the world, 'because that's what you deserve,' he tells you over and over, but you'd give the world up if it meant it could just be you and him, together, living in peace, forever. Though you know deep in your heart that he'd never step down from his business, not even for you, his greatest love, he's the king of his dark underworld; he'd never take off his blood-stained crown.

"Mornin' love, fuckin ‘ell it's miserable out there" Alfie wakes with a soft groan, rolling over, he nuzzles his face into your neck, his wild beard tickling the delicate and sensitive skin there. As if he thought that if he buried himself deep enough, the world would disappear, and you hoped, begged, and prayed that it would too.

"Mornin', my love," you punctuate with a gentle kiss to the top of his head, taking in the scent of him, the scent that you knew like a prayer, that you'd know for the rest of your life. "Will you be going to the bakery today, or should I get the fire going and draw a bath for us?" You ask, knowing the answer already. After being married for so long, you knew Alfie's routine as if it were your own, and in a way, it was yours; wherever he strayed, you followed, like you were his shadow, familiar and devoted to only him.

Every day you'd find yourself in his office, sitting reading in the plush armchair that he'd bought just for you, tucked away in the corner where he could always see you, not out of possession but out of pure adoration. Alfie loved having you around all the time; he carried you like his own personal security blanket. You were his cure; he'd look at you, and the relentless voices in his head would cease, his anxiety would fall away, and he'd be at peace at once, just from the mere sight of you.

The day Alfie told you that he loved you remains in your memory fondly; he hadn't said it so much as screamed it, romantic and brutal in the kind of way only Alfie could be.

"What the fuck is it that you want me to say!?, Do you want me to say that I 'love' you? That I've been in love with you since the moment I laid my eyes on you!? You want me to tell you how it feels like I can't breathe when you're not here with me!? How I feel a deep and crushing loneliness when you're gone? Do you want me to tell you that it's not just mindless fucking to me? not now and not for a long time. How about that being near you is the only way I can make the fucking endless screaming in my head fuck off?"

From that day forward, you swore that you'd always be by his side, on his side, no matter the cost, no matter the punishment. Alfie needed you in the way a man needs air, and you needed him too, the kind of desperate and hungry need that consumes you, becomes who you are and all you'll ever be again.

"mmhm", he murmurs into your neck, a wordless broken sound, regardless, you knew what he meant, you always knew, oftentimes you knew before even he did. "You, woman, are too good to me, ya know that, right?" Alfie pulls away from you just enough to look into your eyes, loving and sweet, searching for a reason, an explanation for your unwavering devotion, your endless kindness that he thought he'd never experience, that he believed he didn't deserve. If sin took human form, it was Alfie; he'd committed unspeakable acts, biblical atrocities, the heinous and depraved kind that can only be found mirrored in the Old Testament, violent and cruel.

But if he were sin, you were his saviour, forgiving and gracious, you loved him unconditionally, in spite of his callous and ruthless nature. That ferocious part of him was a side that once scared you, but not anymore; you knew that though he could be punishing and savage, he would never bring that upon your head. Alfie cared for you too deeply, relied on you so heavily, to ever dream of hurting you, whether consciously or not.

"Don't talk like that, my love" Your gentle hand finds his face, purposeful, a tender touch that tethers you, a reminder of your wholehearted love for him. The ring on that finger, stunning gold and precious diamond, catches the glow of the flames, heavenly beams splitting and filling the room, encasing you both in a cage built of your commitment, your worship of one another.

"It's true though, innit. I'm not complainin', at all, just-" Alfie sits up, propped up on his elbow, the sheets fall away from his bare chest. "Just, you're too good for me, and don't go arguin' with me about it, yeah, 'cause I've just woke up and can't be arsed with the earache." You laugh, not mocking, adoring. Alfie has such a way with words that never fails to make you giggle, sweet in his own kind of mental way, like the poetic ramblings of a madman, sweet but often filthy prophecies meant just for you.

"Alright, alright. I'll let you off just this once, yeah." You snake your arms around his neck, pulling yourself into his chest, burying your face in him with soft kisses to his collarbones. "Only because you asked sooo nicely." He hums, letting out a quiet and satisfied laugh into your hair, breathing in the intoxicating lavender scent from the shampoo bar he begged you never to stop using.

"That's a good girl. Now what were you saying before? something about a bath?" His hands run aimlessly up and down your back, in long, absentminded and tender strokes, into your hair, across your shoulders, down to your silk-covered ass, anywhere he could reach. Alfie never asked anything of you; he was a perfect gentleman when it came to your autonomy, but he'd slip in veiled requests in the way that he spoke, guiding you, but your choices were always your own.

"I'll get a fire started and draw the bath." You say, slipping out from under the covers, the cold air a stark contrast to the warmth of Alfie's body, shrugging on your linen robe, you feel his rough fingers wrap around your wrist.

"You don't have to, I can do it, if ya want" He looks up at you with big, innocent eyes. He knew what he was doing; he's an expert at getting what he wants, and he knows too well the effect those imploring, deep blue eyes have on you.

"No, no, I was getting up anyway, I'll do it." You shake your head, knowing that despite his protest, he was always going to let you do it.

"You're not gonna put in those fancy smellin' salts, are ya?" He turns on his back, his arms resting lazily behind his head. You bite your lip at the sight of him, the sheets now falling low on his waist, his well-built chest fully exposed, a delicious treat for your tired eyes.

"The ones that you say you hate, but don't half moan when I don't put them in?" You raise an eyebrow at him, pointed and knowing. Alfie would always pretend to hate what he called 'stupid girly shite', a defence mechanism, an attempt to keep up his macho facade. Still, you knew he loved it really, the domesticity of life with you; it was a sweet escape from the danger that lurked beyond the four walls of your home.

"Yeah, the very same." He tilts his head, a silent agreement that he did in fact want you to use them, though he'd never say it aloud, as if his enemies were somehow listening in.

"No, Alfie, I definitely won't use them", you lie for him, playing along with his game. No matter how silly you think it is, you'd do anything to make sure he felt safe with you; you'd never want him to feel like his fears were unreasonable, you were his sanctuary, and you never take that for granted.

"Lovely stuff." You hear him say nonchalantly as you leave the safe refuge of the bedroom, your bedroom, the bedroom that you shared, that you worshipped one another in, as if it were a holy place, and it was in its own way. The cold wooden floor groaned under your bare feet. You'd memorised the tired creaks long ago; they were music to your ears when you lay in bed, as you knew it wouldn't be long until your Alfie joined you. The sweet sound was almost a wordless warning, preparing you for him and whatever unholiness he had planned once he had you in his arms.

As the rain is still battering against the windows, your feet find the frigid tiles of the bathroom, you light the unscented candles that litter every surface, half melted and burned out, the warm glow introduces an orange hue to the poorly-lit room, the sun still hiding behind the dark grey clouds that swallowed the sky. The fire crackles as you make quick work of lighting it. Living with Alfie, you had become an expert at lighting fires, a constant attempt to keep him comfortable. You thought maybe, if you kept the house warm enough and he felt secure enough, he might never leave.

A huge copper-brass clawfoot tub sits proudly in the centre of the room, big enough for the two of you. Alfie had made sure of it when he bought it; it was an absolute requirement for him. The tap sat situated on the side so you could sit comfortably on either end, as if it were designed with lovers in mind, and it was. You remember when you first saw it, how touched you were that Alfie had been so thoughtful in his choice of tub. Although he's not the type of guy to go around screaming his love from the rooftops, you know he loves you; it's the little details, like the bath, that are unspoken proof.

Lazily, you dip your hand just below the waterline, testing the waters, making sure it’s just right, comfortable enough just to lounge in. The tepid water babbles and flows, and you imagine bathing in cliffside pools, a sacred act observed only by you, him and the silent wind that whispers of your love, as if it were a legend- but you know it can’t be, not in reality, so for now, just sharing a bath with Alfie is enough.

“What you thinkin’ about, hey, woman?” Alfie’s gruff voice fills the room, mixing with the steam and luxurious scent of the salts you delicately poured into the water. He pulls softly at the shoulder of your robe, exposing velvet-smooth skin, which he kisses delicately. You turn to face him, placing your arms around his neck once again, and your hands play with the loose hair at his nape.

“Nothing you need to worry about, love” You reassure him with a kiss to his plump lips, gentle and slow, no hunger nor desperation, just intimacy of the purest kind. He kisses you back, his teeth graze your lips tenderly, and it sends butterflies through you, the type of impassioned flutter that leaves you burning under his touch.

“Alfie!” you pull away to hide your flushed face in the crook of his neck, but he doesn’t let you, taking your face in both his hands to look at you, and a small smile flickers across his face.

“You know I love you? cause I do, I really bloody love you.” he places a kiss on your forehead, then your nose, your cheeks and chin, finally landing on your lips. You laugh against him, endeared by the gentle way he handles you, as if you were a fragile thing that he was terrified of breaking.

“I have heard something like that, yeah”, you say, peppering small kisses to his lips between each word—your face still in his hands, he pulls back, a stern look appearing on his face. Winding Alfie up was one of your favourite pastimes; it brings you a sick kind of joy watching him get all worked up, listening to him stumble over his words when he couldn't get out what he wanted to say fast enough. It’s all part of what makes him Alfie, and you love all of him, every quirk, every flaw, every single thing.

“No, listen, I'm trying to be all romantic and shit here, woman, yeah, I love you. You drive me fuckin’ mad sometimes, but I love you anyway, cause look at you. You, my love, are a fuckin’ work of art, a masterpiece, you hear me? Absolutely perfect.” Tears prick at the corners of your eyes at his sweet words, and he wipes them away. No matter how many times you hear him say ‘I love you’, you never tire of it, but never quite get used to it.

“Hey, stop all that nonsense”, he motions his hands at your glossy, wet eyes. “Don't go crying on me now, treacle, you know I hate it when you do that, don't know what to do, do I?” You huff out a laugh that sounds more like a sigh. It’s true, Alfie did hate it when you cried, not because you weren't allowed to be emotional, but because he didn't know what he could do to make you feel better; he hadn't quite yet figured out how to read your mind. He swore he would one of these days.

“I know, I'm not crying because I'm sad, I'm crying because you, sir, are so damn sweet”, you say with a kiss to his cheek, reaffirming and sure. It makes him smile, a sweet, innocent smile that only you knew, the same smile that's painted on his face in your memory, a vision that's reserved only for you, a gift from him.

“Oh well, that's alright then innit?” A faint blush creeps onto his face, a muted rouge against his fair complexion, mostly hidden by his beard. He hides his face in your hair, still a little insecure about showing affection, a small part of him still believes that if he lets you in, you’ll leave, no matter how many times you remind him he's stuck with you for life.

You remember back to that night in his office, how afraid he had been when he finally professed his love for you.

“Because I can't, I can't tell you all that, you know why? I’m scared, YES! The great Alfie Solomons is scared. Fucking terrified, actually. Because if I let you into this, into my fucked up world, you'll run, you will. And then what am I left with? Fucking nothing! Poor fucking Alfie all on his fucking one. And I can't be having that, no.”

You remember the way his hands shook, how white his knuckles had turned in his fist, as though admitting his feelings for you physically hurt him. Most of all, you remember the way your heart melted at his words; Alfie wasn’t precisely a poet when it came to being romantic. Words escaped him most of the time, but you wouldn’t have him any other way; he was your Alfie, profanity-riddled prophecies and all.

“We should get in. The water's going cold.” You tilt your head towards the bath, which has been idly waiting for you both, steam still rising from the water, enveloping you both in a warm, wet hug. His face lights up with a devilish smirk, and you catch that naughty glint in his eyes that you know too well.

“Don’t have to tell me twice, pet.” Alfie makes quick work of untying your robe, his fingers tickle your sensitive arms as he pulls it off you, hungrily yet somehow still gentle, the thin straps of your nightgown come down with it. His eyes are dark and frantic as he takes in the sight of you. You stand before him naked, a sight that only he has seen, that only he will ever see. You shift awkwardly under his hungry gaze; no matter how many times he's seen you this way, you can’t help but feel self-conscious. It’s just the way your brain is wired, a product of your time, always told as a woman you’ll never be good enough.

“Don’t do that.” His hands are on your waist now, smoothing up and down your sides. He can sense your discomfort; he always can. He reads you like a book, a book he knows by heart; he knows what every little subconscious move your body makes means.

“Do what?” You feign ignorance, and the awkwardness of the situation grows inside you; you feel vulnerable as the rose-scented steam that fills the room wraps itself around your trembling body, touching you, holding you where you stand shaking.

“That thing that you do when you’re all naked, when you go all weird like I aint already seen it a million times before.” Alfie’s crass words didn’t help, and you go deeper into yourself, wishing you could just sink into the floor.

“Look at me.” Alfie closes the gap between you, one hand caressing your cheek and the other still hangs loosely around your bare waist. “You, my love, are fucking beautiful, you are hands down, the most perfect woman i’ve ever fuckin’ seen with me eyes, and I’ve seen a lot of them, so don’t be doing this, going all weird like you ain’t the most magnificent thing God ever cooked up, yeah, because you fucking are, and i’ll tell you that every day until my last breath, alright?” He places a gentle kiss on your lips, though the tenderness doesn’t last long as his lips find their way down your chin, then your neck, your shoulders and finally your chest.

“Alfie!” You giggle wildly as his teeth softly graze the skin of your breast. He looks up at you, his eyes full of feigned innocence, but you can still see that familiar covetous look beneath.

“What!?” His mouth was now wide open, millimetres from your nipple, and he was looking at you like a kid who got caught stealing out of the cookie jar.

“The bath, Alfie, it’s getting cold.” You raise your eyebrows at him, and he stands up straight, grumbling something incoherent under his breath along the lines of ‘no good….something something…bath….ruining my…something something fun’.

“Right, well, ladies first” Alfie scoops you up into his big arms as easily as if you were a doll, as though you weighed nothing to him. He places a kiss on your cheek before carefully lowering you into the comfortable, warm water below. The divine floral scent of the salts hits your nose instantly, it calms you immediately, and your anxiety from moments before washes away into the rose-scented sea that surrounds you.

You let yourself sink into the water, your head resting on the lip of the tub, and your eyes turn to Alfie, who’s stood watching you, a satisfied smile on his face, pleased that his lover has finally found peace amongst the waves that lap against your soothed body. His hands find the waistband of his striped pyjama bottoms, and his fingers untie the cord that keeps them up. An intrusive warmth rises through you, not from the heat of the water but from your growing desire as your eyes run down the length of Alfie’s glorious, exposed body.

“Like what ya see, hey?” Alfie stands with his hands on his hips and a cheeky smirk on his lips, showing himself off to you. It makes you blush at once, the burning heat pricks at your wet cheeks, damp from the steam. You only nod in response, a coy smile creeps onto your face as you dip just below the waterline in an attempt to hide it.

He bends down to gather your clothes, which lie in a crumpled heap on the slick floor. Picking them up, he throws them into the wooden woven basket that sits by the door. Before climbing into the bath, facing opposite you, one leg at a time, and finally sinking in, his long legs tangled with yours, tethering you to him, keeping you connected.

You sit quietly, enjoying the peace. The rain now lighter taps against the glass of the window, the fire crackles and hums, but you focus on the way Alfie’s heavy breathing rises and falls, your body instinctively copies his, and you become one in this beautiful, tranquil moment. A faint sadness washes over you briefly as you wish every day could be like this one, just you and him, alone with each other, where nothing outside the four walls of your home means anything, and these quiet stolen moments you spend together mean everything.

“I wish every day could be like this” You didn’t mean to say it; it just slipped out. You wished you could take it back immediately, not wanting to reopen that wound. The two of you had spoken briefly before about Alfie stepping away from his business, but he had shut it down, appalled that you had even suggested such a thing.

His business was his life; it’s all he’s ever had and all he’s ever known, it’s brought him everything, including you, and he could never give it up, no matter how much you wished he would. It wasn’t that you didn’t support him and his work; you did. You were just tired of lying awake in bed at night, sick with worry, wondering whether he would come home or be blown to pieces by someone he had double-crossed. You couldn’t sleep until he was safe beside you; the image of him lying motionless and blue in a casket would plague your frantic mind otherwise. You couldn’t stand the thought of losing him; he’s your whole world, and it pains you to think someone would try to take that away.

“I know, love.” He reaches across the water, cradling your face with his wet hand, and you lean into it, placing a kiss on his palm. He sighs, “Look at you, my beautiful woman, how the fuck did I get so lucky?” The question’s rhetorical, he knew there was no honest answer, not one that he could think up anyway, he thought of you as a divine gift from God, he felt that perhaps in a past life he must’ve really been something to be given someone as incredible as you.

You stand up, water dripping flawlessly from your limbs, before turning around and situating yourself between Alfie’s legs, your back leaning against his chest. His arms wrap around you like a vine, tying you to him, pulling you closer as he places a kiss on your shoulder. He lets out a contented sigh against your neck, his breath cold against the heat from the steam that surrounds you, that warms your soft skin.

“You’re perfect.” He says in almost a whisper, as if he'd said it too loudly, that God might realise he’d made a mistake and take you back to heaven where he thought you must be from. His hands stroke aimlessly across your stomach beneath the surface of the water; they run along the underside of your breasts, down your side to your legs, where they finally rest. The way Alfie touches you feels like worship, admiring every part, taking in and appreciating you, the Lord's most magnificent creation and his most precious love.

“You lie”, you say jokingly, winding him up for the thrill of it again. He freezes under the weight of your body. You can’t see his face, but you know he’s frowning, his brows furrowed; you’ve seen that very look a thousand times before when you’re being bratty.

“Listen here, love, I never lie, well, not to you anyway, you take that back right now, yeah, cause Alfie Solomons does not fucking lie, not to you, not now, not ever, right?” You laugh as he stumbles haphazardly over his words, his hands grip your sides, tickling you, rough but not violent.

“Alfie! Stop that right now.” You thrash against his clawing hands, the water splashes over the edge of the tub, spilling onto the tiles it sits upon.

“No. Not ‘til I hear you say that Alfie Solomons is no liar, say it, right now” He growls into your neck, the words vibrating through you, overstimulated, you concede.

“Okay! okay! Alfred Solomons is NOT a liar! okay! There, I said it! Now let go of me!” and he does, immediately, and places a kiss on your red cheek.

“See, wasn’t so hard, was it?” His hands rest on top of your thighs again, coming home to where they belong. The peaceful silence finds you again. You rest your head against his chest, focusing on the rise and fall of his lungs against your back, the way his breath feels against your neck, and the way his hands smooth over your legs, causing small ripples through the water, consumed by pure relaxation, the likes of which you haven’t felt for a while.

“Rain’s let up, thank fuck.” Alfie says after a while, as rays of sunlight peer through the window, rainbow hues fracture upon the water. Your heart sinks, knowing all too well what that means: how soon enough your perfect day would have to end, and it would be back to business as usual. You close your eyes and sigh, not saying anything, you know if you try to speak, you’d end up in an argument about him having to work, like always, so you don’t, you just sit there, silently hoping he’ll stay.

“What’s wrong now?” He sighs, sensing the shift in your mood, not annoyed, just curious. Alfie’s words always seem to come out sounding harsher than he intends them to, but you can always tell what he means, knowing he always means well, just struggles with words most of the time.

“Nothing.” The word comes out as barely a whisper. It wasn’t ’nothing’ though, and he knew it; it’s never just ‘nothing’ when said in that voice laced with disappointment and grief.

“Ah, see, now, it’s never just nothing with you, is it? so go on, tell me what’s troublin’ you, love.” He strokes your hair, tucking it behind your ear, an endearing touch that, just this once, fails to lift your mood. You contemplate whether you should actually tell him or lie. You swore you’d never lie to him, but found yourself doing it often to prevent arguments with Alfie, not wanting to start something you knew you’d never win. If arguing were a sport, Alfie would be an Olympian.

“It’s just-“ You start, turning your body halfway to face him, “I just, look, I guess it’s just-“ lost for words, you rest your head on his chest, unable to look into his eyes.

“Come on, am I supposed to fuckin’ guess here? Spit it out, woman” He looks at you with eyebrows raised, though you can’t see them. You watch as the ripples on the water dance against your bodies, trying to find the right words to say how you feel, how to convey your dismay properly.

“Well, it’s just that it’s stopped raining, and I know that means we’ll have to go to the bakery, and I don’t mind, really, you know I love spending time with you, wherever we are…” You pick at the skin of your fingers with your nails, a subconscious nervous habit, one you swore you’d stop a thousand times.

“But?” He motions for you to carry on, knowing there was much more to what you have to say than you’re letting on. It had always been difficult for you to express your feelings, especially when it came to what you wanted. Growing up as a woman in your time, you were constantly told that you must always be agreeable, that no man likes a difficult woman, and that having your own opinions was unattractive; and even though you know Alfie didn’t share these sentiments, some teachings become so ingrained that they’re almost impossible to unlearn.

“But,” You feel his hands in your hair, stroking, as if he were trying to coax the words out of your head physically, drawing them out of you with his compassionate touch. “I don’t want to go, I mean, if you have to go, I’ll come, but I want to stay here, at home, with you, just us, just once.” The words tumble out of your mouth in incomplete sentences, you feel that familiar anxious lump in your throat rise, the one that always comes before you cry, your emotions getting the better of you.

Alfie says nothing, not right away; a contemplative silence surrounds you. Birds chirp outside the window, though it doesn’t sound sweet; it sounds like a warning, a cautionary call reminding you that nothing as perfect as this day could be forever, and you felt like a fool for thinking it could ever be, and for thinking he could ever be just yours.

“Okay.” One word that comes out of his mouth as if it were obvious, as if you’d made up all those times you had argued over him having to work all the time, like you were crazy for ever thinking he’d have to leave.

“Okay?” you repeat in disbelief. You look up at Alfie, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, you search his face for any tell that this was just some sick joke he was playing on you, getting your hopes up, but there’s none.

“Okay. We won’t go, we’ll stay here today.” He shrugs, his hands still in your hair, loosely curling strands around his fingers.

“You’re not taking the piss, are you? Because I swear to God, Alfie, that’s really cruel.” You warn, your eyes still searching his face, wondering when he’d pull the rug, when it would all come crashing down.

“No, I’m not taking the piss, you don’t wanna go? We won’t go, simple.” You turn fully now, throwing your arms around him, squeezing him in an excited embrace, almost drowning both of you in the process.

“Jesus Christ!” He braces himself, gripping the edge of the tub with his arms, holding on for dear life as you frantically kiss his face, appreciative of his rare gesture.

“Why the change of heart? We never get to stay home, too much to do, too many people to see, so you say.” You lay your head on his shoulder, your knees tucked up to your chest, womb-like, his arms wrap around you, keeping you secure against him, joined together

in a moment of pure elation.

“I don’t know, can’t be arsed?” It sounds more like a question than an answer; you know it’s not the whole truth. Determined to get it out of him, you stroke his wild, wet beard with the back of your hand, fingers grazing his lips; a trusted move that never fails to work on him.

“What happened to ‘Alfie Solomons never lies’, huh?” you giggle sweetly, pulling out all the stops in an attempt to get him to open up. After being with him so long, knowing him so intimately, you have an arsenal of tricks you use on him to get your way, and they work like a charm every time.

“Well, it means a lot to you, don’t it? And I know it’s hard for you when it comes to talking about your feelings, and what have ya.” He pauses, looking down at the water that has now cooled significantly, the only warmth coming from the heat of your body pulled tight to his “And, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I have to work all the time, It’s just, look at you, and look at me, I don’t deserve you, so i work so that you can have nice things, anything you ask, an I feel less guilty of the fact that you got stuck with me, because i’m fucking dirt, compared to you.”

Alfie’s words struck you like a knife to the heart, tearing you apart from the inside out. His usually confident voice shook as it left his lips, breaking as he confessed his deepest feelings. It kills you to see him like this, feeling insecure and hopeless, because he’s everything to you. You often feel you don’t deserve him, don’t deserve the love he showers you with, the gifts, everything that he’s done for both of you. Insecurity is a funny and mostly cruel little thing.

“Please don’t talk like that, Alfie.” You take his hands in yours, water running off them, glistening in the light of the sun. “I don’t need all the nice things, I just need you.” You bring his dripping hands to your lips, kissing them softly yet purposefully.

“I love you, Alfie, not for what you can give me, but for who you are, yeah? It wasn’t the fancy jewels or the nice big houses that I fell in love with, was it? It was you. Remember that? When it was just you and me alone in your office, fucking like we were the only people in the world for each other, and you’d whisper naughty little obscenities into my ears, making me fall more and more in love with you every time you made me come? That’s who I fell in love with, and that I still love, with every fibre of my being.” You take a long pause, giving him time to take in your words and make sure he understands every single one, because it’s important to you that he knows how loved he is, that he feels as loved as he makes you feel.

“So let’s not play this game of who deserves who, and who doesn’t, I love you, and I need you, I don’t care about anything else, none of it matters as long as we’re together, always.” You finish, breathing out a heavy sigh as the weight of your feelings lifts off your chest, a weight that had been unknowingly holding you down for some time. Weightlessness washes over you, and the anxiety and insecurity cease, until it’s just you and Alfie, with nothing but hope and passion between you.

“Well, that’s alright then, I suppose.” His words come out awkwardly, as they always tend to, but you know he feels the same. Weightless and surrounded by only love, you can feel it in the way his body relaxes beneath your own, physically lightened by your sincere confessions.

Another handful of beautiful and peaceful minutes pass, filled with easy conversation about anything and everything, flowing so naturally with nothing holding you back any longer, before deciding it was finally time to get out of the now chilled water. Alfie gets out first, purposefully splashing you as he does so, in the cheeky way that he is. You watch with only desire in your eyes and your heart as he carelessly dries himself off, his glorious body slick and glistening in the light; never have you seen a sight so flawless.

“Come on then, out ya get, love” He holds a towel out for you, after wrapping his own low around his waist, letting just a gorgeous glimpse of hair peek out over the top. You stand up, the cold air hits you like a curse, before stepping out as Alfie wraps the warmed towel around your shoulders. The wet from your hair drips down your back, and a cold shiver follows. Alfie notices and pulls you into his strong arms, wrapped lazily around your waist, the heat of his body enveloping you in a warm, comforting embrace, a very welcome change to the frigid air of the room.

“So, what’s the plan then? What do you wanna do, treacle? The day’s yours.” He asks with a kiss on your forehead, then pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his wet lips curved in a charming, heartwarming smile.

The truth was, you didn’t even know what you wanted to do; you had no plan, all that you wanted was to spend the rest of this beautiful day lounging in the arms of your lover, your husband, your everything. Doing nothing at all, together in perfect harmony with one another, it’s all you have ever wanted; just you and him, basking in the glory of your shared and eternal love for one another.

“Whatever you want to do, love.” You gracefully place your hands on his bare chest, a delicate and tender touch that tells him you're his, all his, always his. One of his hands strays from your waist, cupping the sweet underside of your ass, his fingers tracing the line he knew like the back of his own hand.

“Mmm, well, you know what I want to do, what I always want to do with you, sweetheart.” His lips find your neck, though this time he was no longer being gentle, using his teeth to nip at your sensitive skin, sweet, pleasurable torture. Both hands now gripping, grabbing the underside of your ass, urging you to jump into his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist, chaining yourself to him.

“How about I remind you why it was you fell in love with me, yeah? Jog your memory a little?” It wasn't as much of a question as it was a declaration, a warning of what was to come, the familiar heat of desire already building deep in your stomach. You bury your face into his neck, hiding the blush that was burning your flushed cheeks, and he feels it, that and the wetness between your legs that's pressed right up against him, threatening to drip down.

“I think that's what you want, innit? Want me to make you fall in love over, and over, and over again, yeah?” He growls in a low, sexy, husky tone. One hand makes its way between your legs, using two fingers to explore your wet heat, one electrifying stroke between your slick folds, before he dips both fingers in, curling them expertly, hitting that spot that makes you gasp.

“Fuck, already so wet for me, aren't ya?” Alfie pulls both fingers out, though your desperate walls clench around nothing as if they're still there, craving his stretch so helplessly. Without saying another word, he's kissing you frantically, like a man who'd been at sea for months, touch-starved and hungry. He carries you effortlessly from the bathroom to your bedroom, his lips never leaving yours, his hands still pawing at your ass, grabbing any skin he could, frenzied and maddening.

Alfie throws you down, your body crashing against the plush mattress that breaks your fall, and you watch as he sits at the top of the bed, his back resting against the solid-oak headboard, placing pillows behind him for comfort. He taps the space between his legs, motioning for you to sit, and you do, situating yourself between them, your back against his chest and your head falling back on his shoulder. You place a kiss on his chin, covered by his beard, and he leans down, taking your lips once more in his.

The kiss is feverish and manic, tongue and teeth clashing together, rough and completely arousing. Your own arousal now drips down between your thighs, your thighs that Alfie skillfully guides open. His fingers immediately find your aching clit, and he begins rubbing in soft, teasing, agonisingly slow circles, knowing how much it destroys you. Alfie could only be slow when he knew it was torturing you; he’s an expert at pulling you apart, making you wait and beg for him, you're completely at his mercy, and you wouldn't want it any other way.

You moan against his lips, gasping as he continues teasing you, and your hand lands harshly against his thigh, squeezing it, an attempt to ground yourself. His free hand loosens the towel around your chest, letting it fall open and exposing you to the cold air of the bedroom, still not breaking the hungry kiss. The gnawing heat builds in your stomach, and you feel yourself coming closer to your orgasm, desperate for more. You place one hand over his to guide him to where you need him most, but he doesn't let you with a shake of his head.

“No, no. Come on, love, you know how this goes, I'm in charge, and you know that.” He breaks the kiss, scolding you for being such a needy little thing. “But, that being said, if you ask me very nicely, I'm sure I could give you what you want.” He smirks as if he were the devil himself; you thought he may as well be.

“Please. Please, Alfie.” You beg, your breathing laboured as he continues touching you slowly, his fingers not letting up, keeping up that same torturous pace.

“Use your words, yeah, treacle. You tell Alfie exactly what you want.” He whispers in your ear, his low voice sends a shiver down your spine, and his teeth nibble at your lobe. It was all becoming too much, so fast, that sweet overstimulation overcomes you.

“I want you to fuck me with your fingers, Alfie. Please, I need to come right fucking now.” You beg, completely unrestrained, unashamed of your desire. He complies straight away, dipping two fingers back inside your wet heat, hitting that spot that has you panting, gasping and moaning his sweet name, that tastes like honey on your tongue.

“See, that wasn't so hard, was it. God, you are so fuckin’ unbelievable, dripping down my fingers like this.” His words vibrated through you, only deepening that warmth inside you that was threatening to come undone at any moment. Alfie’s movements get harder, hitting all the right places, his fingers dragging along the inside of your walls, his teeth biting your shoulder softly, your toes curl, and your eyes slam shut as he uses his thumb to brush over your clit.

“Fuck! Alfie! I’m gonna- fuck! Oh fuck!” The words fall out of your mouth before you even think them, obscene and desperate, unable to make a complete sentence or form a coherent thought. He knows what they mean, though, and he pushes his fingers deeper into you, scissoring them in and out, hitting that sweet spot every single time, as if he were physically drawing your orgasm out of you; and he was. Euphoria washes over you, crashing through your shaking body, and you scream his name over and over again, like a prayer, as you come all over his fingers, coating him; it drips down his hand, making a mess all over the sheets.

“That feel better, does it, love? Needy little thing you.”He takes his fingers out of you, not bothering to wipe them, and wraps his arms around you, holding you as you come down from your high. You sit for a moment, sinking into him, boneless and shaking, just panting, trying to recover. You can only nod in response to his question, lost for words, completely drunk on your own orgasm.

The feeling of his thick, throbbing cock twitching against your back pulls you out of your dizzied state, and you jump up on your knees to face him, your eyes glossy and wide. He nods, resting his arms behind his head, permitting you to do what you hadn’t even asked for yet; he just knows, like he always does. You hurriedly unwrap the towel that clung to his waist, freeing his erection. His dripping cock slaps his stomach, and you take it in both hands, but not before coating it in the slick that you had gathered from between your legs, smearing it down the length of him, mixed with his own arousal.

“You’re gonna kill me one of these days, I swear. Where did you learn to do a thing like that? fuckin’ ‘ell!” He groans through gritted teeth, endeared by your filthy actions. The truth was, you learned from the best, him; he knew exactly how to turn you into the dirtiest, sexiest, wildest little creature, an indecent woman of his own creation, his finest work.

You don’t respond, too lost in the moment to even hear him, drunk on the sight of his aching cock twitching beneath your touch. Lowering yourself to your stomach, you wrap your soft, wet lips around his head, using your tongue to lap up the pre-cum that still drips from his slit, not wanting to waste a single drop of him, savouring the salty taste, it was like tasting heaven to you. Alfie hisses sharply at the contact, his hands fly down to your head, gripping a handful of your hair, rough and brutal, exactly the way he knows you like it.

You begin sliding your mouth down him, hollowing your cheeks, sucking and slurping, and twisting your head slightly as you do so, and his hands in your hair guide you, working together perfectly to unravel him. The obscene wet sounds mixed with Alfie’s laboured breathing and harsh gasps echo throughout the bedroom, your sweet, sinful sanctuary, a holy place.

“Fuck! You are actually fuckin’ insane, woman.” Alfie moans, his free hand sliding down your spine to grab a handful of your ass, clawing at it as your tongue works up and down the underside of his shaft, feeling every pulse and vein beneath his spit-slick skin.

You angle your head in such a way that allows him to go in deeper, and you swallow around him, drawing a deep, guttural moan out of him, which he follows with a sharp slap to your ass. The brutal contact makes you gasp around his cock, and the sound waves vibrate through him. His grip in your hair tightens as he pushes you down even further, your nose buried in the hair on his pubic bone. You can’t breathe, but you don’t want to. You’d die happy with your mouth stuffed full of Alfie’s immense, beautiful cock.

Alfie pulls your head back up, dragging you forcefully by your hair, and you look up at him, spit dripping down your chin, eyes wide and wet from when you were choking on him. He grabs your face in one hand and pulls you up to your knees to face him. He takes one look, shakes his head and crashes his lips against your own, tasting himself on your tongue.

“I swear to God, if you don’t sit that sweet cunt on my fuckin’ cock right now, I might just fuckin’ die.” He snarls against your mouth, biting and pulling at your bottom lip with his teeth; it hurts, but only in the best way, the way that has you dripping all down your thighs.

It doesn’t even take you a second to get yourself situated in his lap, your legs tucked underneath you, either side of his. You lower yourself into his lap, grinding your hips up and down the length of him. The drag of his head against your clit makes you throw your head back in a moan. Alfie’s hands find your waist and grip your hips tightly, guiding you as you coat him in your wetness. You can feel his cock twitch against your throbbing heat, aching to feel the velvet-smooth drag of your cunt on him.

“Fuck! Do not fuckin’ tease me, woman. I already feel like I’m about to fuckin’ blow, and if I don’t get to do it inside you, I’m not going to be very fucking happy.” His hand lands roughly on your ass again, a stern warning that he was losing his patience and control of himself. You know how close he is, you know how rough and wild he gets when he’s about to come, turning into more than a beast than a man as he loses himself.

You lift yourself on your knees and reach behind to line him up at your entrance. Alfie can’t wait for all that, though, and he pushes you down onto him without warning, allowing no time for you to adjust to the sweet, burning stretch of his size. You curse under your breath, throwing your head down against his shoulder, and you bite down on it; it’s all you could do to stop the scream that was threatening to escape your throat.

Alfie uses his grasp on your waist to bounce you up and down, knowing your shaking legs wouldn’t allow you to move. The angle of your pelvis means he’s hitting right at the deepest part of you, stretching you, pushing you to your limit. The way his hot, pulsing cock drags along the inside of your walls sends electric flutters throughout your body, your second orgasm already building fast. Only Alfie could get you there this fast; he’s a specialist at getting you off, a practised expert who knows exactly the right buttons to press that drive you wild.

“I fucking love you so much.” You gasp against his shoulder, burying your face into him, unable to do anything but let him use you as his own personal fuck-toy. It didn’t feel degrading in the slightest. You love the way Alfie worships your body, how he uses you for his pleasure as if you’re the only thing in the world that can get him to come undone like this, the only woman in the world for him, and you are.

“God! I’m so fuckin’ close, I’m gonna fill this cunt so full you’ll be drippin’ in me for fuckin’ weeks, I swear, no, I promise, make you a filthy little thing.” His grip on your hips loosens as he loses control of himself, so you take over, dragging, rolling and grinding yourself on him. He reaches between your bodies, his hand finding your sensitive clit again, frantically and unceremoniously rubbing it under his fingers.

“Shit! Yes- God yes, Alfie! That’s fucking amazing!” You throw your head back, arching your back, allowing his cock to find a new angle, deeper, harder, making you pick up your pace, desperate to feel the sting of it over and over again.

“Your cunt feels so fucking tight squeezin’ me like that, you were fucking made for me, you know that? fuckin’ absolutely perfect, and all mine.” His words, though absolutely vulgar, warm your heart in some sick, perverted kind of way. The obscenity of them, along with his skilled fingers, brings you over the edge, again, coming undone all over his pounding cock.

Your walls clenching around him was the final nail in his coffin. He pushes you all the way down onto him, the sharp feeling painful yet somehow completely enchanting. He buries his head between your breasts as his own orgasm explodes through him, muffled curses fall out of his mouth and as he moans your name, thick, hot ropes of his cum coat your insides, filling you up, just like he promised.

Alfie’s arms wrap around your trembling body, and you both just sit there for a couple of moments, his cock still inside of you, getting soft. Unable to think or speak as you come down together, he pulls you closer, and you wrap your arms around his neck, not saying a word, just two panting, spent messes keeping each other together.

“I fucking love you,” Alfie whispers against your chest, kissing the tender, sweat-slick skin of your breast. “You scare me shitless sometimes, but I still love you anyway ‘cause you, my love, are a dream, a vision of biblical fuckin’ proportions. I tell you, there is no man luckier on this earth than me. not one.” He pulls back and rolls onto his back, bringing you down so your head rests on his chest.

“I love you too, my sweet, sweet husband.” You place a kiss on his chest, the salty taste of his sweat meets your lips, but you don’t mind, not in the aftermath, not as his seed drips out of you still, making a mess of the sheets beneath you.

“So, treacle, since you’ve got me all to yourself, all day. You tell me what you want to do, and we’ll do it, all of it.” One of his hands idly plays with your now dry hair, his fingers loosely twirling strands, as he strokes your back with the other.

Satisfied, contented and absolutely spent, you hum a pleased sigh, happy just to be held in his arms, as the sun shines through the window, and the birds sing in the tree below it.

“absolutely nothing.”

actually cannot believe how long this took me to write, i think it may actually be my best work yet though, so i hope you enjoyed🤍

requests are open🤍

//

The chatter of the room had become a dull noise in her ears. Those standing in front of her continued to converse even as she stared off into space, completely bored with the event. A cliche in itself to be a woman bored at a party, but you can’t help what entertains you. She wasn’t quite sure what she’d rather be doing, but anything might have been better than this. The air wreaked of cigar smoke from the gentlemen who had taken to the parlor to discuss more private matters. It was a feeble attempt to keep the smell away from the delicate senses of the women. The irony of such a gentile gesture was many of those men had a reputation of hitting their wives and keeping company of women of the night.

It was clear which of the wives were victims of their husbands controlling and abusive nature by the pounds of make up attempting to cover black eyes, bruised cheeks, and busted lips. They were trapped by marriage with no hope of escaping unless their husbands suddenly keeled over or they ran off and were shamed from high society for the rest of their lives.

She was lucky enough that her hand had not been pledged as of yet. It wasn’t for lack of trying from her mother and father, but she always managed to run off any suitors that glanced her way, gaining the reputation as some unruly prized filly that needed to be broke. Said task wouldn’t be so easy as it was clear many of the men who tried, had failed. Needless to say, her parents were frustrated and often berated their daughter with hollow threats to get her to behave.

“Thomas Shelby as I live and breathe,” she smiled.

Tommy smirked, “Good afternoon, my lady.”

“What rotten and corrupt man are you after tonight?” she sipped her drink.

There was always the idle gossip among the ladies that the Shelby family was involved in some lucrative businesses that was rarely legal. After chatting up a couple of his brothers and friends, it didn’t take her long to figure out what Thomas Shelby was up to. Once Tommy caught wind that the little heiress knew some of their secrets, he decided to make her an ally instead of an enemy. He recognized her uncanny ability to make men pour out their secrets to her. Tommy stood next to her observing the party, “What do you have?”

“Would you like to know about Lord Haynes’ under the table campaign parties full of prostitutes to sway votes to make him head of his company’s board? Or would a Father Matthews habit of having his alter boys on their knees in his confessional booth be more interesting?”

“I will never understand how you do it,” he admitted.

“There are benefits to being a woman. Many of the men you call business partners believe the opposite sex is only good for cleaning or fucking,” she rolled her eyes.

A booming voice suddenly called out to Tommy. Both individuals turned their heads to locate the owner of the voice. Her eyes took in a burly man with a cane. He had a scruffy beard and hair slicked back under his cap. He looked out of place with his unkempt appearance. “Alfie!” Tommy called to the man. Alfie’s eyes turned their attention from Tommy to her curvy figure standing near the fireplace.

His eyes held a dark kind of mischief that she couldn’t quite place. It was the type of mischief mothers warned their daughters about when young men came calling. The two men shook hands and began a banter that indicated they had been friends for some time. One might mistake them for brothers with how they bickered.

“Right, who is this lovely creature,” Alfie cut off his conversation with the other man and turned to her.

As Tommy introduced her, title and all, Alfie took her hand and bowed dramatically before kissing her knuckles, eyes meeting hers with the same mischievous twinkle, “Charmed.”

“Quite, Mr. Solomons,” she replied.

He stood up straight, her hand still in his grasp, “Alfie. Any friend of Tommy’s, is a friend of mine. Especially one with a face like yours. You a Jew?”

“Quite a personal question. Why do you ask?” she held his gaze, raising an eyebrow.

“Because I have to tell me ma, yeah, if her grandchildren will be half or full Jew,” he smirked before laying a second kiss on her hand.

“Alfie,” Tommy began before she cut him off.

“It’s alright, Tommy. I’m flattered. Unfortunately, your mother may have a heart attack if you brought me home. I’m not Jewish.”

Alfie’s smile told her he didn’t care one way or the other. He seemed as giddy as a school boy that she was joining in on his little game. Alfie let her hand slip from his, her soft skin scratched against the calluses embedded in his own. The man excused himself to hunt out a drink. As he walked away, she turned to Tommy, “Quite the friend, Tommy.”

He rolled his eyes, “Don’t encourage him. He embarrasses me enough.”

“More than your brothers?”

//

It didn’t surprise her that Alfie would suddenly appear near out of nowhere. He would rarely talk to her directly, opting to converse with any gentlemen or ladies around her. He wanted to make his presence known and make it clear he was watching her. She was equally as intrigued by him, but she wouldn’t let on that piece of information just yet. All part of the fun and games of the evening.

Upon exiting the powder room, she came face to face with the hulking man once again. There was that mischievous look again. That look mixed with the memory of his rough hands ignited a small flame of curiosity (and desire).

“Shouldn’t you be smoking cigars with Tommy instead of preying on little girls outside the powder room?” She asked.

Alfie chuckled, “I’m waitin’ on a beautiful, curvy lass that has been eyein’ me fondly all night.”

She smirked, “By the sounds of it, you’re the one who has been doing the eyeing.”

As she took a step away from him and towards the party, she was surprised to feel his hulking presence and hear the scrape of his cane as he stepped behind her. She stopped and turned on her heels to face him once again, “Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Solomons?”

“Alfie,” he corrected.

“Mr. Solomons,” she repeated, “I don’t know you personally enough to call you by your name.”

“We can change that right quick,” his smirked could only be described as sinful.

A blush flushed her cheeks, and it fueled Alfie to keep up his pursuit. The hallway, though grand in stature, was empty. The bear of a man stepped towards her until her back delicately hit the wall, and she was trapped between him and the solid surface. Her pulse picked up as the smell of him finally hit her for the first time of the night.

Cologne. Earth. Bread.

An odd combination of smells, but when mixed with his naturally manly musk, it had great effect upon her senses. It was the smell of a man that’s worked hard and fought for everything he has. He leaned a hand next to her head against the wall, face becoming inappropriately closer to hers. “Come with me,” he whispered, gravelly voice reverberating through his chest.

“And why should I?” Her confidence returning as she stood up a little straighter, “You and I are both aware the gossip that would ensue should we be seen leaving together without an escort.”

“Right, we sneak out through the servants entrance, yeah? I’ve got a nice bottle o’rum waiting at my office that has been beggin’ me to crack ‘er open,” he persuaded.

She should say no. What they were doing now was scandalous enough to get everyone talking…if they were caught. It wasn’t easy for her to admit to herself that Alfie had an effect on her she hadn’t felt yet. She was a proud woman, and this had her feeling a different kind of adrenaline high than sneaking cigarettes from the servants and ease-dropping on private conversations. This…Alfie was a curiosity she wanted to explore more.

Alfie could see it in her eyes before her pretty lips whispered her answer.

//

His office was dimly lit, floorboards creaked under their weight as the two walked across the room. Alfie gestured for her to sit before walking behind his desk and rummaging around. He set his cane and hat on the desk before discarding his coat over the back of his chair.

The bottle of rum and two glasses tinked together as he set them on the desk surface. “Ya prefer neat? Cuz that’s all I got,” he remarked as he pulled the cork out of the bottle and poured the amber liquid into the glasses. “Neat’s perfect,” she replied as she reached for a glass.

Alfie’s eyes watched as she swished the liquor in the glass. As the burly man sat down, he took his glass in his hand and propped his feet up, “What shall we drink to?”

“Do we have to drink to something?”

“S’bad luck not to,” he smirked.

She bit her lip as she thought a moment. Alfie would love to feel those lips on his. He’d been staring at every part of her anatomy since he first saw her talking with Tommy. It wouldn’t be a lie if Alfie admitted he felt a small flare of jealousy seeing her talking and laughing with Tommy, but once speaking with her, he knew she was made to give him a run for his money. “How about…to a new friendship?” he asked.

“We’re friends?” she raised a curious brow.

“For now,” he smiled.

Butterflies fluttered in her stomach watching his wicked smile. Both clinked their glasses and took a drink. His groan was damn near animalistic after slamming down the glass and wiping the remnants of the liquor from his beard. She cleared her throat to keep from coughing and set the glass back on his desk. Her eyes began to wander and landed on his cane sitting between them upon the desk. Alfie saw her studying the piece of wood, a question most likely brewing in her pretty head.

“Souvenir from my days in the war,” he said breaking the silence, hand patting his leg. She met his gaze, guilt passing her features a moment for being caught staring at it. He chuckled, “You can make it up to me by bringin’ yer pretty self right round my desk and sittin’ down,” he took his feet off the desk to pat the spot they’d just been, “right ‘ere.”

She hesitated, staring into the playful gleam in his eyes before standing. Alfie removed his hands and sat back as he watched her round the desk and slip herself on to the worn surface. “If I knew any better, Mr. Solomons, I’d say you were a down right cad,” she smiled sweetly.

He smirked playfully, “Am I now?”

Her eyes flicked down to his glass, running her pointer finger along the edge still slick with rum, “Sneaking a lady off to drink isn’t gentlemanly behavior. What would people say if they caught us in such a….compromising position?”

His eyes watched her finger for a moment before looking into her eyes again, “They’d say, ‘He’s one lucky sod.’”

She laughed. She went to bring her finger up to her lips to lick off the rum, but his burly hand quickly grasped her small wrist. Her eyes went wide as he brought her hand closer to his face, inspecting the liquid on her delicate finger before letting his lips kiss the rum away. Alfie noticed her skin ripple with goosebumps feeling his mouth against the pad of her finger. He released her hand with a nonchalant look on his face, as if what he had just done didn’t send electricity through her, before looking at her with a suspicious (more mischievous) look, “I thought I told you to call me Alfie?”

It took a moment for her to regain her composure, but her voice betrayed her, “I only call those by their first name that have earned it.”

A challenge.

Alfie stood, towering over her and leaning against the desk with arms on either side of her, “And how, pray tell, does one earn it, treacle?”

She was at a loss for words knowing the outcome should she continue this game with him. Fall into the darkness hidden behind that mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Cause I know a way I can get you to remember to call me by my fuckin’ name,” he almost growled.

His body pressed against her crossed legs like he was asking permission for entrance and bring their bodies closer. Her eyes ran down his body before looking back into his eyes. She suddenly touched his left hand with her right hand, slowly dragging it up his arm and feeling the hard muscles until she she held the side of his neck delicately.

‘Oh Lord, save me.’

He was completely opposite to the men that had courted her in the past. All well-bred, silver spoon heirs to fortunes that would never come close to eliciting the feelings Alfie was giving her. He was a hard man that worked hard, a man that would scare her former suitors out of their skins. She didn’t know what it was going on between them, but she wanted to revel in him, “Then show me.”

Alfie crashed their lips together as he took a handful of her curls, and she uncrossed her legs, allowing him to step forward and press their bodies closer. His other hand came up holding the side of her face, his rings and calluses grazed her skin and she shivered thinking of how they’d feel all over her body. Her wish was granted as the hand on her face traveled down her neck to feel the rest of her body that he’d been craving.

She wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him further into their bruising kiss. Alfie bit her lip causing her to squeal so he could slip his tongue against hers more. She pulled his hair and pressed her chest against his, needing to feel his hardened body more. Alfie pulled her lips off his with an obscene pop, licking his lips at her taste.

“Fucking minx. What’s my name?” he smirked as he stared at her swollen lips and flush face. He ran a finger down her body and between her breasts, clearly eager to see her dress gone.

Her eyes full of lust and a playful smile on her lips, she replied, “Solomons.”

He didn’t like that answer, “You’ll regret that, love.”

Before she could give a witty reply, the hand in her hair was gone and suddenly threw everything off his desk. He man handled her to lay flat on her back before pulling up his chair. Alfie was an animal as he shoved her dress up her hips and ripped her panties off her body, too impatient to bring them down her legs. She yelped and he growled as she now lay bare, for the first time ever, in front of a man.

“Wh-what are you doing?” her legs tried to close instinctually, but Alfie held them open, fingers digging into her thighs as he stared into her lust-blown eyes.

“Never had a man give you a proper lickin’?” He asked coyly.

She shook her head, embarrassment of admitting she was a virgin taking form as a hot blush creeping into her cheeks. His eyes softened a bit as he remembered she was a high-class lady kept under lock and key, virginity and all. “I’m going to devour you, treacle,” he purred. Before she could question what he meant, he pushed his head forward and his lips met her dewy center. He lapped at her from entrance to clit. Her back arched off the desk as she moaned out, her body quaking at this incredible new feeling.

She couldn’t decide whether to pull away or push further into him, but Alfie made that decision for her as he held her hips steadfast to his mouth. Her hands flew into his hair as she squirmed and writhed, the pleasure so foreign and so delicious all at once. Alfie took her clit into his mouth making her sing out her approval in the form of moans and whines. He wouldn’t relent now. Not while this beautiful angel sang his praises.

Her orgasm was fast approaching. One greater than any she has given herself, so she desperately gave her body to the mercy of his mouth and hands. She nearly screamed as he stuck one thick finger into her channel. Those rough fingers felt better than anything her imagination could cook up. Alfie took note of how she keened even more when he let his beard and mustache scratch and rub against her soft petals. He shook his head like a dog and growled, adding a second finger that led to her explosions.

Her legs and hands had him in a vice grip as her body shook with orgasm. She wasn’t able to form words as her brain went fuzzy and the tingling spread from the bottoms of her feet to behind her eyes. Alfie lapped at her gently to let her ride out the high she was on. He released her hips and ran his hand, the one that wasn’t still inside her, along her trembling body, rings slightly snagging on her clothing only raising her dress further up her body. She thought he’d release her, but instead Alfie sped back up.

“W-what are you…oh fuck! What are you doing?” she stuttered.

Alfie pulled his mouth away, “What’s my name?”

He didn’t care to wait for her response as he was drunk on her taste. Her moaning had him going mad and all he wanted was to hear and feel her cum over and over again. Tears fell from the corners of her eyes as the pleasure was almost unbearable. Alfie was driven by an insatiable need to consume her. Her walls fluttered around his fingers and her orgasm wet his face once again. Tremors racked her body as she screamed, “ALFIE!”

She felt drunk, body buzzing and whimpering pathetically as he pulled his finger out and slowly stood up. Whatever he couldn’t lick off, he wiped away with his hand before adjusting his trousers to make his hard on more comfortable. “Right, you okay then, treacle?” he asked, leaning over her to wipe away tears. She placed her hand over his that was resting against her cheek. Turning her face into his hand, her lips grazed against his thumb before sucking it between her lips.

Alfie set his jaw, internally chastising himself to be patient, “Do ya want more, darlin’?”

Her eyes fluttered open and looked into his own, she made her decision. Repercussions be damned, “Yes, Alfie.”

He didn’t need anymore clarity. Her shaking hands were suddenly at his trousers, pulling his shirt untucked in a desperate manner. Alfie was quick to throw away any piece of clothing she wanted. Sitting her up, he let her greedy hands run along his naked chest while he shimmied her dress and slip over her head. Seeing her naked flesh was like seeing an angel in its purest form. The swell of her breasts as they heaved from her panting caught his attention first. The true nature of her curves had been hidden under her clothing, and Alfie felt he could run his hands along them for hours. Looking at her flush face and disheveled hair, he couldn’t help but wonder how he was lucky enough to be in her presence.

She was a stunning beauty. An angel among men that was allowing a mere mortal like him to gaze upon her. “You’re fucking beautiful, love,” he muttered to her as he stepped closer again, hands delicately holding the sides of her neck and lips ghosting hers, “Do you want me to stop?”

Her mouth was slightly ajar, breathing in his air and hands feeling his tense abdomen muscles, “No. Please, Alfie.”

Alfie gently laid her down on the desk, bringing himself to hover over her, “A lady like you should have her first time in a marital bed.”

“If you don’t take me now, I’ll burst into flames,” she nearly pleaded.

Alfie’s laugh was wicked, looking down to undo his trousers. Her eyes watched intently as he revealed his cock. Shock was evident on her face when she saw what would be going inside her. The man leaned down to pepper her cheek and neck with loving kisses, “I’ll take good care of ya, treacle. Don’t you worry that prettily lil mind about it.”

She flicked her eyes back up into his and wrapped her arms around his neck, fingers delicately playing with the ends of his hair at the nape of his neck. The feeling made the gangster shiver and rut his hips against her center. A gasp left her lips at the feeling of his warm cock rubbing against her clit. Their foreheads pressed together, sharing each other’s air as he teased them both.

A pathetic whine slipped from her throat as she thrust her hips towards his. He was quick to respond, grabbing his hard on in hand and pushing the blunt tip against her weeping center. As he pressed into her, he felt her tense at the much larger intrusion.

“Easy, treacle. Relax ya self. There’s a good girl,” his gruff voice comforted, coaxing her body to accept him.

Alfie saw the tears misting her eyes. He reached up and held the side of her face to stroke away what fell, “Just say the word, and I’ll stop.”

She shook her head, “Please, don’t. I…need you…inside me.”

Alfie continued his efforts. He released her cheek to lick two of his fingers and reach down to draw circles around her pearl. The more his rough fingers toyed with her, the further he could push inside her. She felt so full of him. He took over all her senses to the point that she couldn’t think of anything else if she tried. When he bottomed out, she cried and tightened her legs around his waist. Alfie growled at the feeling of her soft walls clinging to him in a death grip.

In a loving gesture, Alfie smoothed out her hair and began to pepper her face with kisses. When he began to kiss under her ear towards her neck, she began to squirm her hips and making a desperate sound she was afraid to let out. Their bodies responded to one another at a slow pace. Drawing out slowly then pushing in, Alfie cursed in her ear as he felt her cunt trying to suck him back in.

“F-fuck, girl. Your little cunny feels like heaven,” Alfie moaned into her ear.

“I’m so full, Alfie,” she whimpered desperately, “Keep going.”

Who was he to deny her? The man set a slow and gentle pace, stretching her out to get accustomed to this new feeling. Her lips were next to his ear, so all the pretty little sounds he drew from her he could hear. If he looked at her, he would have seen how lust drunk she was. Enough so that she turned her head, wrapping her lips around his ear lobe and nibbling on it. A shiver ran down his spine and his hips harshly thrust inside her. The sharp moan she let out drove him wild.

She stared into Alfie’s eyes as he pulled away from her neck to watch. Her face contorted in pleasure as he began to drive sharp, slow thrusts into her. He was determined to find every little spot that would make her moan and squeal.

“You’re fuckin’ beautiful, yeah. Especially with my fat cock stuffed in ya,” he rasped.

She could only respond with a whine as she let the man do as he pleased her with body. Her head was fogged with lust, nails raking red lines down his muscular back to spur him on. Fuck whoever heard her. Fuck whoever might see her like this. As long as he kept making her feel this way, fucking her this way, she’d do anything for him.

“Let’s see those pretty eyes roll back and feel that tight cunny explode,” Alfie groaned as he sped up.

She could have sobbed at the thought of him stopping. Limbs clutched tightly to him, ankles digging into his ass to urge him deeper. God in Heaven, he wasn’t going to last much longer, but he willed himself to hold off. He picked up the pace of his thrusts, repeatedly hitting that little spot inside that had her voice becoming higher and higher. “I-I’m…I’m…oh god!” she babbled, “Fuck, Alfie!”

“Found it, didn’t I? You seein’ stars, love?” he chuckled arrogantly. Her nails dug into his shoulders, whimpering and panting. The tension was building in his lower abdomen which prompted him to quickly slip a hand between their moving bodies and circle that little wet nerve. That was both their undoings. The moment his rough fingers touched her, she cried out in purse ecstasy, back arching eyes rolling, and limbs shaking. The way her inner walls clamped down on him made it nearly impossible for him to move. A better man would have pulled out, but he wasn’t a better man. He was a gangster. The growl that left Alfie’s chest was animalistic, the tension finally releasing as he came along with her.

“Fuckin’…hell,” he groaned as he rested his forehead to her shoulder, hips still unconsciously rutting into hers. She trembled in his arms as the remnants of her orgasm flooded her body. When heavy panting turned softer, the man sat up to look into her glassy stare, “You alright, darlin’? Didn’t hurt you or nothin’?”

She shook her head, fingers still clutching on to his shoulders, “I don’t…I don’t think I’m going to forget your name.”

Alfie could stop the belly laugh and smile spreading across his lips. Even when she’s just been fucked to the moon and back, she still had enough brains left to tease him.

//

It had been near a week since their secret endeavor at the distillery. Not a day went by that her mind wasn’t occupied with the Jewish gangster. Alfie drove her home and kissed her goodbye before she left the car. As she watched him drive off, she found herself hoping she’d see him again. Many times she had thought of calling Tommy to ask about him, but she didn’t want to let anyone else know about her sinful little secret.

She was sat in the library, absentmindedly doodling on a piece of paper when the door suddenly opened. Her mother stood in the door way as she called to her, “Your father wishes to see you.”

Rising to her feet, she smoothed out the skirt of her dress and quietly followed. Her mother’s tone gave way that they wanted to discuss another marriage proposal with her. It was a tone laced with kindness but held warning to be polite and behave. One would think they were eager to get rid of her with how often this transaction happened. Approaching her father’s study, she could hear the muffled voices from the other side of the door. No doubt discussing her dowry and pulling out every stop to convince the man to take her off their hands. She knew her parents meant well, but at times, it felt they were more worried about saving face than her happiness.

As the women entered the room, her father looked from the gentleman sat in front of him to the door, “Ah! Here she is!”

Her father came round his desk as the gentleman stood from his chair. She didn’t get a glimpse of the stranger before her father stood before her, eyes glancing over her to make sure she was in proper and presentable order. Once satisfied he stepped to her side, “My dear, this…gentleman is…”

“Al…Mr. Solomons,” her breath caught in her throat.

The gangster of her sinful dreams stood before her with a playful smile.

“Have you two been acquainted?” her mother asked confused.

“We have, my lady. We met at a formal affair a week ago. Mr. Shelby introduced us, as it were,” Alfie answered.

She was no doubt blushing as she stared in awe of her secret lover. He stood tall and proud without his cane, gilded hands clasped in front of him. “Why didn’t you tell us you were acquainted with Mr. Solomons, dear?” her father asked.

She tore her eyes to her father, “It had slipped my mind. Mr. Solomons was a pleasant companion to me throughout the evening.”

“Was that why you returned so late?” her mother questioned.

Flashes of that night played in her mind before she decided to answer, “I’m afraid we were having quite the time socializing.”

Alfie cleared his throat, hiding a chuckle, “Right, we did. I do so enjoy your daughter’s company.”

The innuendo went right over her parents’ heads, neither catching the mischievous glint in Alfie’s eye or her blush. “If it’s alright with you, yeah, I’d like to speak to your lovely daughter in private,” his eyes didn’t look away from her, request directed towards her more than her parents.

Her parents shifted a bit uncomfortably behind her before agreeing to the gangsters request. It wasn’t until the door closed and the sound of feet retreating did either of them speak. “Alfie,” she spoke a bit breathlessly, “Wh-what are you doing here?”

His smirk made her stomach fill with butterflies, “Seein’ as I made a woman out of ya, I came to make you my woman.”

Her eyes went wide, “And what makes you think my father would agree to such a match?”

Alfie unclasped his hands and stepped towards her, “Because he already has, treacle. I’m the suitor that’s come a-calling who’s not going to take no for an answer. And considering I may have put me child in ya, well that makes me want ya more.”

She bit her lip as he towered over her now, unable to look directly into his eyes, “What makes you think I’d say yes? Sounds like you came out of obligation instead of infatuation.”

“Infatuation has everything to do with my proposal,” he grasped her chin between his fingers to tilt it up and stare into her eyes, “The babe would be the sugar on the cream, treacle.”

In that moment, she’d let him put ten of his babes in her if it meant he’d take her as his wife. Delicate hands rested on his broad chest, “Would I have to convert? I’m sure your mother would hate to have a non-Jewish girl in the family.”

“Shiksa or not, I’ll have you to wife,” releasing her chin, he rummaged in his pocket.

With a groan, Alfie fell to one knee and produced a velvet box. He flipped open the lid to reveal a diamond ring bigger than any gem she’d seen her mother wear. Alfie nearly chuckled at the shock on her face but barked with laughter at her response, “I would say you were compensating, but we both know that’s a lie.”

“That we do. I thought, right, if my cock couldn’t convince ya, maybe a nice big diamond would,” his cheeky remark made her giggle, “Marry me, treacle.”

It was past midnight when Eddie’s phone buzzed. He was lying on the couch, the TV still on but muted, the flickering light casting soft shadows over his bare chest. His sweats rode low on his hips, he had a hand resting lazily over his stomach, he wasn’t asleep, not really, just…drifting, letting his mind go blank, trying not to think about you, but failing miserably at it.

His cock had been half-hard all day, twitching at nothing, at the memory of your body. He hadn’t even tried jerking off, not without you, not without that look in your eyes when you took him in your mouth like it belonged to you.

You were out of town on a work trip that felt more like a punishment the longer he stayed alone in that bed, everything smelled like you, but felt empty.

The phone buzzed again, this time louder. He squinted at the screen and immediately sat up like he’d been electrocuted. You’d sent a photo… a nude. It took a second for his brain to catch up with his eyes.

“OH MY GOD,” Venom screamed on full volume, rattling around in Eddie’s skull. “BLESSED BE TECHNOLOGY. WE ARE GRATEFUL TO THE DIGITAL GODS.”

Eddie couldn’t even answer, couldn’t speak. His mouth went bone-dry as his eyes locked onto the screen like it held the secrets of the universe. You were laid out on a hotel bed, topless, the sheets a mess beneath you, your perfect tits on display, nipples hard and aching. You had one hand between your thighs, your fingers slick and glistening.

“Shhhit,” Eddie muttered, dragging a hand down his face.

His cock twitched instantly, half-hard, painfully straining against his boxers, already leaking, a fat bead soaking through the fabric. He was pushing his waistband down before the thought even registered because it fucking hurt to keep his pants on, like his cock was pissed to be contained. He shoved his sweats down, not bothering to untie the waistband. His boxers got shoved under his balls, catching on the base of his cock, and then his length slapped hard against his stomach with a wet sound.

Pre-cum smeared across his abs, a slick trail that glistened as he looked down. His member jumped in his hand the moment he wrapped his fingers around it. The head was glossy, flushed a deep red, and when the air hit him, he shuddered.

No time to think, no time to breathe, just stroke, just fucking relief. He moved his fist slowly at first, squeezing just under the head, milking the sensitive ridge.

“ASK FOR MORE. SEND HER A PICTURE OF OUR DICK.” Venom snarled in Eddie’s head.

He sat forward, still holding the phone, his thumb hovering over the screen. His chest rose and fell too fast, he could feel the blood rushing between his legs, the ache already blooming.

He typed:

You trying to kill me?

You replied instantly:

That depends Is it working?

Fucking yes it’s working Eddie hissed to himself, licking his lips.

He sucked in a breath, dropped his eyes again to the screen… to your picture.

“Look at her,” Venom purred. “She’s so wet. Because of us. She wants you to stroke it. Do it, Eddie.”

He curled his fingers around the base of his cock, like he was trying to hold back a dam ready to burst. He jerked his hips without permission as he fisted himself in one slow stroke, dragging his palm over the slick, pulsing head, smearing the hot pre-cum across his fist.

“She’s gonna make you cum with a fucking selfie,” Venom said, his voice almost giddy. “You pathetic, desperate man. You’d hump the couch if she told you to.”

Eddie didn’t even argue, he just moaned as he typed again, slower this time:

You touching yourself right now?

Your reply came right after:

Only if u are

“WE ARE. WE ABSOLUTELY ARE.” Venom purred in Eddie’s mind.

Your next message read:

Wrap ur hand around it Slow first I want u to describe it for me

Eddie rushed to reply:

It’s hard baby So fucking hard I’m stroking like you said Feels good but not enough without you

He groaned again, and the couch creaked as he leaned back further, spreading his legs wider, like he needed space just to handle how fucking hard he was. His cock twitched in his fist, pulsing with every pump of his hand. He stroked up slow, cruelly slow, just to feel every bit of the burn, every clench in his abs as he edged himself again.

You’re driving me crazy My hand isn’t you It’s not your mouth Not your pussy.

You typed slower now, savoring it:

Grip tighter and stroke all the way down then squeeze the head. Imagine I’m on my knees in front of u looking up at ur face

He dropped his head back on the cushion, and then he let himself imagine it. Your mouth licking across the head, teasing his slit with the flat of your tongue, tasting him while you looked up with that smug, sinful expression like you knew he was about to lose it. He could see it, you kneeling between his legs, taking him slow, wrapping your lips around the tip, stroking with your hand what your mouth couldn’t reach, you’d moan around him just to feel the way he jumped on your tongue.

Fuckfuckfuck baby I can see it I’m dripping already Everywhere My hand’s a mess.

He grunted, jerking his hips, his grip faltering from how slick he was. He worked his hand faster now. His mind raced, picturing you dropping down on his cock, inch by inch, taking him deep, so deep you fluttered your eyes shut, your mouth going slack around a moan when he bottomed out.

Venom snarled in his head, practically writhing with amusement. “WE’RE GONNA CUM THINKING ABOUT HER PUSSY AND SHE’S NOT EVEN HERE.”

Shit baby I’m close Say something Tell me what to do

Don’t cum until I say Edge yourself for me

His phone buzzed again. A video this time. You, laid out like a fucking fantasy, your skin flushed, gliding your fingers over your slick cunt, teasing your clit in slow circles, rolling your hips in these lazy movements. And the sounds… your moans were so soft, breathless, just barely audible through the speakers, but filthy enough to make his cock jump in his hand like it wanted to crawl through the screen.

He fumbled his cock in his hand. “Fuck, baby. Fuck.”

“Zoom. ZOOM. Enhance. Again. Again. AGAIN.” Venom was practically vibrating in his skull, like a rabid animal clawing to get closer, to get in. “I WANT TO BE IN THE PHONE. LET ME IN THE PHONE.”

He hit replay. Again. And again. And again. Every second was burned into his brain, the way your thighs trembled, your brows pinched, that breathless little “fuck” you whispered when your fingers pressed in deeper. The way your other hand cupped your breast, your nails grazing your nipple.

Please, baby Please let me I can’t hold it anymore.

The sounds you made played on a loop in his head. Your breathy whines, the wet suck of your fingers working your cunt, fuck, he could hear how soaked you were, and it only made him tighten his grip on his cock. Eddie was barely hanging on.

Alright Stroke for me, baby Fast. Don’t hold back. I want u to cum hard for me

He arched his back off the couch like he’d been electrocuted. “F-Fuck—” he jerked his hips uncontrollably as his cock throbbed in his hand. Soon, warm and sticky streaks painted up his stomach in white. He quivered, hitching his breath. He was cumming so hard it felt like a punishment.

After he came back down from his climax, silence followed, just the flickering from the TV, the rise and fall of his breath, and the ghost of your moans still echoing in his head.

Then, another message.

Ur turn Show me the mess I’m missing

Eddie stared at the message like it might combust in his hand. He was still half-sprawled on the couch, with sticky fingers, his cock twitching even after he’d already cum, but already starting to harden again.

“CAMERA. CAMERA. TURN ON THE CAMERA—”

He wiped his hand on his pants and typed:

You really want to see?

You replied:

Yes I showed u so now u gotta show me

“YES. YES. WE ARE SENDING A VIDEO. SEVERAL. PERHAPS A LIVE STREAM.”

“Shut up,” Eddie hissed.

“NO. YOU SHUT UP. SHE ASKED. WE OBEY. NO TIME FOR BITCHING NOW.”

Eddie blew out a shaky breath and looked down at himself. His cock pulsed, dragging across the sticky mess cooling on his abdomen. He was hard again at just the idea of you watching him, of your eyes on his hand. He grabbed his phone, flipping the camera to record.

“SHOW HER. SHOW HER THE COCK.”

At first, he just filmed the aftermath, just his stomach slick with cum, his muscles taut, barely recovering. The camera picked up everything: the way he clenched his abs, the jumping of his cock when he drifted his fingers lower. He smeared his release slowly, dragging the mess over the flushed head of his cock, playing in the slick, making it wetter, coating himself in the evidence of just how badly he needed you.

The words slipped out before he could think. “You watching, baby?” he whispered into the phone. “You like this? Like seeing what you did to me?”

“Yes, Eddie. Show her. Stroke it for her. Show her what she did.” Venom said out loud.

He angled the camera with one hand, as he worked his cock with pressure, curling his fingers tightly around the base, dragging upward with just enough friction to make his hips twitch in response.

“Fucking ruined me. You didn’t even touch me, and I came for you.”

Then he tilted the camera lower, just enough to give you the full and obscene view: The thick veins running along his shaft, the way his hand glided, already shiny with cum, the steady roll of his hips lifting off the couch, chasing more pressure, more contact, more of you.

“GOOD ANGLE. YES. SHOW HER THE VEIN.”

“Shut up, V.”

He dragged his thumb slowly across the angry, swollen head of his cock, smearing the last slick bead of cum in with a shuddering breath, then squeezed tighter near the base, just enough to make his hips buck with the pressure.

“I came so hard thinking about you,” he breathed. “And I’m still fucking hard. You gonna help me with that, sweetheart?”

“Of course, our little temptress will help us.”

“You want more? Want me to cum again just for you?”

The screen shook slightly with each thrust of his hips, his thighs tensed and spread wider, grounding him as he rutted up into his hand, the veins standing out in his arms as he tried to hold himself back, to give you a show instead of just giving in.

Then he whispered. “You make me so fucking hard. Wish it was your hand.” Another breath. Another stroke. “Wish it was your mouth. Want you to see what you do to me. Want you to ache for it.”

Sent.

Immediately regretted it. His cheeks were flushed, still warm with arousal and shame, his chest still rising and falling in uneven, post-orgasmic gulps.

“Fuck me,” he whispered. “I can’t believe I filmed that. I—what the fuck is wrong with me. That was so embarrassing.”

“YOU WERE PERFECT. A TRUE SPECIMEN. YOU SHOULD HAVE SENT MORE. ANGLES, CLOSE-UPS, PERHAPS A LITTLE FLEXING—”

Eddie just lay there, arm flung over his eyes, lips parted. “You think she liked it?”

“SHE’S PROBABLY DEAD. OR SCREAMING. OR DEAD AND SCREAMING.”

Not even a full minute passed. Then:

Holy fuck Eddie U look so hot I wish I could lick it off u All that mess for me?

Eddie replied:

Always for you Fuck I can’t stop thinking about you riding me

You:

I wish I could ride you right now Sit on ur cock and make u beg

Another photo, this time your fingers between your legs, two of them disappearing into your soaked pussy, glistening in the dim light.

I’m so wet looking at ur cock Please send a video cumming And be loud for me

Eddie hit record again and he stroked himself slowly, teasing, dragging his hand up and down his slick cock with languid precision, groaning out your name like you were right there, kneeling between his spread legs.

“Fuck, baby… I miss you. I miss this. I wanna be inside you so bad—”

“Angle down. No, lower. LOWER. We are showing her the main event, not your sad couch.” Venom instructed.  “Groan louder. She wants the sound. Don’t be a coward, Eddie.”

He didn’t even make it thirty seconds. The orgasm ripped through him without warning, a guttural gasp left his chest, then a deep, broken moan as he bucked his hips up hard, spilling cum across his stomach in thick pulses.

“Fucking—oh my God—baby—”

He cried out your name again and again, as his body shook with the force of it. The camera caught everything, from the twitch of his cock, to the way his cum shot out of him, making another mess on his stomach.

Your reply came a few minutes later:

Fuck it looks so good baby Came so hard watching it

“YES! WE MADE HER CUM,” Venom roared in triumph.

Eddie groaned, still catching his breath, lying flat on the couch like he’d been flattened by a truck. His stomach was a mess, and his right hand was still sticky. He could barely move.

“Holy shit,” he mumbled, scrubbing his clean hand down his face. “We? You didn’t do shit.”

“I was the artistic director of your little film,” Venom said smugly. “YOU THINK YOU CAME UP WITH THOSE ANGLES? THAT FLEX? THAT DRAMATIC SHOT OF THE CUM DRIPPING DOWN YOUR STOMACH? NO. ME.”

Eddie ignored him and just stared at the screen for a long time. Then typed:

You win I’m officially ruined

You replied a second later:

Good Now go to sleep baby. See u tomorrow

Eddie had his arm heavy around your waist as you curled against him in bed, splaying his fingers protectively over your hip like he never wanted to let go. Venom’s head was hovering next to the two of you, focused on the movie you were watching on Eddie’s laptop, and on the chocolate chip cookies you’d baked the night before.

“Missed you so fucking much,” Eddie mumbled into your hair.

You laughed into his shoulder. “You said that like twenty times already since I arrived.”

“We missed you. He is pathetic without you. Always whining. Always hard.”

You snorted, shoving Eddie back just enough to see his flushed face. “Venom, stop tattling on him already.”

“We tell the truth.”

Eddie groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Don’t encourage him.”

“I got back less than twenty-four hours ago and you two are already fighting for my attention,” you teased, grabbing another cookie from the plate over the nightstand. The black, viscous mass of Venom’s face slithered up your side, pressing against your skin. His toothy grin widened, his long, slimy tongue flicked out, darting toward your shoulder with playful hunger.

“COOKIE. GIVE ME.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as Venom chomped down the cookie, curling his tongue around the crumbs. He let out a pleased growl, almost like a cat purring, before immediately demanding:

“MORE.”

Eddie threw his hands up. “Hey, hey, they’re not all for you, buddy! I get a few too!”

You bit back a grin, breaking a cookie in half and offering both sides, one to Eddie, one to Venom. “No fighting. I baked enough for both of you.”

Venom crunched his half in one terrifying bite, while Eddie lingered, chewing slowly.

“God,” Eddie sighed, licking chocolate off his thumb. “Marry me.”

Venom immediately snarled. “NO. She marries us. Not just you. We are a package.”

You burst out laughing, covering your mouth to stop cookie crumbs from flying, but only a few minutes later, you were kissing Eddie’s shoulder, then lower, pressing kisses along the slope of his chest until he chuckled.

“What’s that about?” he murmured.

You bit your lip and nosed at the dip between his ribs. “Well, I missed you, too.”

“That’s code for I’m horny, Eddie.” Venom clarified with an amused grin. “She needs our attention.”

You rolled your eyes at Venom’s remark, even though he wasn’t wrong. Yesterday had left you utterly drained from your trip, all you’d managed was to bake the cookies as a little surprise for them before collapsing into bed early. Days had passed since you and Eddie had last been together, and the dry spell was starting to ache. You needed him. Needed him more than ever.

“Eddie, can I ask you something?”

He twitched his brows. “Yeah, ‘course.”

You hesitated for just a beat, and then, almost like a dam breaking, the words spilt out, it was the confession of a fantasy that had been simmering in your mind for far too long. “Have you ever thought about me… like… fingering you?”

There was a beat of silence, and then you felt the way Eddie stiffened, how he froze his hand on your waist, and the tension rippling across his abdomen as he opened his eyes wider than they had been all day.

“Uh… what?”

Venom, unhelpfully, laughed. “She wants to touch your ass, Eddie. Don’t be a pussy and let her. I’m curious too.”

“Venom… don’t. Not now.” Eddie said, pointing a finger at the floating head.

You leaned up on your elbow, watching him with calm patience. “It’s not a big deal if the answer’s no. I’ve just been thinking about it.”

Eddie blinked up at the ceiling, clearly struggling. “You—you mean, like… actually in?”

You raised a brow, biting your lip. “I mean you on your stomach. Me with lube. My fingers. Your ass. Yes. But only if you want it. Only if you’re curious.”

He swallowed, bobbing his Adam’s apple, a rosy flush was already creeping up his neck, and it was spreading fast all over his face. His cheeks were flushed too, and you hadn’t even touched him yet.

“Have you… done that before?” he glanced at you nervously.

You smiled. “Not really.”

Venom was already losing his damn mind, screaming inside Eddie’s head. “YES. YES. WE’LL DO IT, LITTLE TEMPTRESS. EDDIE, YOU’RE CURIOUS. YOU’VE ALWAYS BEEN CURIOUS. EDDIE, SUBMIT TO HER.”

“V, it’s Eddie’s choice. Let’s not pressure him.” You said gently to the symbiote.

Eddie made a strangled noise, covering his face with one hand, he was blushing so hard it looked like he was being set on fire. “God, baby… You can’t just say that like it’s nothing—fuck.” But then softer: “Yeah. Yeah, okay. I trust you.”

You felt the fluttering of your heart inside you, like your chest was blooming just from hearing those words. “Yeah?” you whispered, kissing his jaw. “You trust me?”

Eddie nodded once. “Yeah. I do.”

You kissed him again, deeper this time, sliding your hands down his chest, tracing with your fingers the faint trail of hair down to where he was already starting to harden under his pants. His cock twitched under your touch, half-hard and growing fast. Eddie lifted his hips to help you slide his pants and underwear down, before wrapping your fingers around him. You stroked slowly, lovingly, the way he liked it, and he gasped against your mouth, relaxing under your touch, his nerves giving way to need.

“You’re so good for me,” you murmured. “So fucking sexy.”

You kept your strokes slow, using your free hand to slick up your fingers with lube from the nightstand, that one you'd brought to his place a few weeks ago, just in case one day you might need it. The scent of the lube drifted between you. Eddie looked surprised but also flustered, groaning as you leaned in to whisper in his ear.

“Tell me if anything hurts and I’ll stop.”

He nodded again, this time quicker. “I—I will. Promise.”

You kissed his neck, then trailed lower, exploring his chest with your mouth. You traced the curve beneath his pec with your tongue, feeling him shudder, his nipples hardening under the brush of your breath. You coated your fingers generously and reached between his legs, past his balls, slowly circling his entrance with featherlight pressure, just shallow touches at first, watching his muscles twitch and his breath catch, you didn't want to overwhelm him.

Eddie would be lying if he said he’d never wondered what it would feel like, but the sex he’d had up until now had been vanilla at best. Missionary. Lights off. Fifteen minutes. Done. Over. Safe. He’d never imagined he’d find himself here, trembling, completely unprepared for this kind of touch.

“You good?” you whispered.

He nodded. “Just… go slow.”

Venom was vibrating with anticipation as he kept his eyes on both of you. “RELAX, EDDIE. SHE’S GOING TO MAKE YOU SEE THE UNIVERSE.”

“V, give me a hand with this.” You whispered, curling your lips into a wicked smile. “Stroke him for me.”

Venom didn’t need to be told twice. He slithered down a slick tendril, wrapping it around Eddie’s cock with precision. He pumped him in perfect rhythm, making Eddie let out a guttural noise you’d never heard before.

You waited for him to relax, for the tension in his thighs to ease, and then you gently pressed forward, just the very tip of your finger, just soft pressure, barely there. He moaned when your fingertip slipped past the tight ring of muscle. It was a high-pitched, surprised noise, like it had been torn out of him, he curled his toes and arched his back off the bed involuntarily.

“Still okay?” you asked gently.

“Y-Yeah. Just new.”

“RELAX YOUR ASS, EDDIE.”

His hole clung tight around your finger, fluttering as you eased it in deeper, and the heat of him wrapped around you in a way that made your own breath hitch.

It felt strange, not in a bad way, just new, intense, and overwhelming. Not painful, you were so gentle, teasing him, moving your fingers just right, and the way you looked at him with that burning mix of desire and tenderness in your eyes made him relax and melt into your touch.

“Shit—that’s weird.”

Venom hummed encouragingly. “Weird and good. Keep going.”

You smiled against his skin. “Want more?”

He nodded shakily. “Yeah—fuck, yeah.”

You hummed, smiling, leaning down to kiss his lips as you worked your finger deeper. You kissed him until he sighed into your mouth, until his body relaxed under the weight of your affection. When you pressed deeper, just a little, he moaned like it was pulled from somewhere deep. You could feel him clenching around your finger, and the vulnerability in it made your chest ache with how much you adored him.

As the tight walls of his ass began to stretch around your finger, a shiver ran through him, every nerve ending was pulsing with a type of filthy pleasure he’d never known. This new and forbidden sensation was starting to feel fucking amazing, every movement of your hand was drawing out heat until it pooled in the pit of his stomach.

His hole was loosening now, and you could glide your finger deeper with every wet slide, feeling the trembling of his thighs from the effort of holding still. You moved gently, curling your finger just a little, watching how his hips twitched, and the way his cock leaked pre-cum on Venom’s tendril as you began to really finger him, still trying to keep your thrusts slow.

“Eddie. Eddie. She’s fingering you. YOU'RE GETTING FINGERED. And you like it. You little slut.”

You chuckled at Venom’s words, but instantly kissed Eddie’s temple, trying to calm him down. “You’re doing so good. You look gorgeous like this, baby. Taking it so well.”

He whimpered, tensing and trembling under your touch. Sweat started to bead at his hairline, he parted his lips, and they looked a dark pink from how often he’d been biting them.

“OH MY GOD. I DIDN’T KNOW IT COULD LOOK LIKE THAT. EDDIE. I’M PROUD OF YOU. DO YOU FEEL POWERFUL? DO YOU FEEL ALIVE?”

You leaned closer. “Do you want another one, baby? Want me to stretch you open a little more?”

He fluttered his eyes open, and nodded without hesitation. “Yeah… fuck—give me another. I can take it.”

"LOOK WHO'S A BIG, GREEDY BOY NOW," Venom pumped him steadily with his tendril, sliding up to the tip then back down, coating his cock in more of his arousal.

The sound you made was low and pleased as you pulled your finger out just enough to coat a second one in lube. Then you pressed both against his rim, circling gently so you could give him some time to breathe before slowly working them in. The stretch was deliciously obscene, you slid the second finger in beside the first with a wet squelch.

“Oh fuck—fuck. Oh God.” Eddie whimpered, digging his fingers into the mattress.

“Feels good like this?” you whispered full of desire. You’d never seen a guy as needy as Eddie, and you loved every bit of it. “God, you’re so tight, Eddie.”

“So sensitive,” Venom purred. “Such a perfect boy… ours.”

You worked the two fingers inside him with steady thrusts, curling them just a bit each time, rotating and scissoring them inside his tight heat.

You leaned down, pressing kisses along his shoulder, brushing your lips against his ear as you whispered, “You like that, don’t you? Feeling me inside you…”

“F-fuck… yeah… too much—” Eddie moaned, drawing up his knees slightly as his body adjusted. You could hear the lube-slick sounds of your fingers working him open, and the wet sounds of Venom working his pre-cum-covered cock.

You crooked your fingers just right until you felt him clench hard around you, pressing against his sweet spot, making him gasp loudly.

“Fuckfuckfuck—what the hell was that?”

You grinned, thrilled. He looked so fucking cute. “That’s your prostate, sweetheart.”

His breath came faster. “No one’s ever—fuck, fuck, keep—keep doing that, oh fuck—”

You did. Again and again, fucking him with your fingers as he writhed under you, sweating and moaning and falling apart.

Venom slid his appendage upward, pressing against the underside of his shaft, twisting gently as it moved. It slid up with teasing pressure, then slid down, lightly brushing the tip. It pulsed in a smooth, steady motion, jerking him slightly, circling the head lightly, then gripping the shaft with a wet, slick grip.

You watched his thighs start to shake, his abs trembling with tension, his cock jumping with every stroke. Eddie was trembling beneath you, completely undone, torn between embarrassment and overwhelming pleasure. His legs were spread wide for you now, no resistance left, just raw need.

“Fucking—gonna cum, baby,” he panted, hips starting to roll.

You leaned over him, breathing against his lips. “Then cum for me. Let go.”

“We like you like this… restrained, desperate… begging for release.”

Eddie’s breathing grew uneven. “Oh—oh God… you two… don’t—stop—please…”

You mirrored Venom’s pace with your fingers, curling inside his ass just enough to make him gasp. The combination of your firm touch and Venom’s rhythmic stroking was driving him wild. He rocked his hips involuntarily, trying to chase the pleasure that was building faster than he could handle.

He spilled with a loud, wrecked groan, his cock pulsing as hot and thick ropes of cum painted the black tendril in white, dripping across his stomach.

He clenched his thighs around your arm and his ass around your fingers as his body seized in pleasure. His whole body spasmed with the force of it. You kept going, easing him through the comedown, kissing his forehead and whispering how good he’d been for you, how pretty he looked when he came like that.

Venom purred with satisfaction, releasing Eddie’s cock only after the last spasm had shuddered through him. A tendril stroked his chest almost tenderly, wiping at the mess. “SO PROUD OF YOU, EDDIE. MY SWEET LITTLE BOTTOM BOY.”

You chuckled, but Eddie only rolled his eyes, and when he could finally speak, he rasped out, “Holy fuck.”

You curled beside him, wrapping an arm around his waist and pressing your nose to his shoulder. “That was okay?”

“Shit—that was more than okay, that was—” Eddie got distracted when he saw the way you were sliding down his body slowly, kissing your way across his abs, smiling as he gave a lazy groan. “What’re you—”

“Cleaning you up,” you murmured sweetly, and before he could protest, you leaned down and licked a slow stripe from the base of his cock up to the swollen head.

“F-fuck,” Eddie choked, twitching as you dragged your tongue over his sensitive shaft.

You grinned up at him, licking along the underside again before wrapping your lips around the head, sucking gently to gather the cum that was dripping down. His breath stuttered, jerking his hips involuntarily,

But you smirked, cupping Eddie’s thigh and looking over at the hulking black mass. “Come on, Venom. Don’t just stand there. Help me clean him up.”

Venom extended the tendril that had been stroking Eddie before, still glistening with a mixture of slick and cum. The thick appendage curled closer, hovering above you. Then, with exaggerated slowness, Venom extended his enormous tongue and dragged it along the length of the tendril. The reaction was immediate, he contorted his face, squinting his eyes like he’d bitten into something foul. “Disgusting!” he roared, spitting dramatically to the side. “Eddie, you are rotten inside. You taste like death.”

Eddie groaned, covering his face with his hand. “Oh, for God’s sake. It’s your fault for only wanting to eat tater tots and chocolate.”

You burst into giggles, nuzzling Eddie’s thigh before licking another line up his cock, deliberately slow. “Don’t listen to him, baby. He’s just being dramatic.”

Venom sniffed his tendril, then licked again, slower this time, as though double-checking his opinion. He twisted his face even harder, baring his teeth in a theatrical grimace. “Ughhh! It is even worse the second time! Sour, bitter, wrong. You need to do the pineapple diet. Yes. We will make you eat it every day.”

You laughed outright, nearly choking on a lick as you glanced up at Eddie. “How does he even know about pineapple?”

His ears were bright red, his jaw tight as he muttered, “He spends too much time on NSFW subreddits.”

“Well, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. You taste delicious.” You wrapped your lips around his cock again, sucking gently on the head, letting him watch you savor him. “See? I love it.”

Venom growled, shaking his massive head like a disappointed parent. “She lies to protect your fragile ego. You are poisonous.”

You chuckled again, licking the last streak of cum from Eddie’s shaft before kissing the head softly. “Ignore him, baby. He doesn’t get it. He’s not used to it.”

Venom muttered in the background, still sulking. “Rotten, Eddie. Rotten. We will order pineapples tomorrow.”

Eddie hadn’t even caught his breath before his cock twitched back to life, thick and hard again against his stomach. You laughed softly, brushing your lips over his jaw.

“Already?” you teased.

His eyes burned into yours. “Already,” he growled, pushing you onto the mattress with a thud and climbing over you with that desperate energy you knew so well.

His cock slapped heavily against your thigh as he pressed your wrists into the sheets. “You’re drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy,” he whispered, kissing you roughly and biting at your lips.

“Good,” you whispered back, arching up against him. “Then fuck me, Eddie. Show me.”

And he did. Eddie drove into you with one hard thrust, burying his cock to the hilt. You gasped, arching your back as the stretch stole your breath. He didn’t give you time to adjust, not that you needed it anyway, your body had molded to fit him perfectly, as if you were made for him. He snapped his hips forward again and again, like he wanted to claim every inch of you all over again.

“God, baby,” he groaned against your throat, his voice breaking as your cunt squeezed around him. “So tight... fuck—you’re gonna make me lose it.”

You clawed at his back, desperate and crying out with each thrust. “Yes—oh my God, Eddie—yes—”

You lifted your head just in time to see Venom unfurling his tendrils, as he slid his tongue from his jagged mouth. He spoke with an amused tone. “He gives you cock… but I can make it even better.”

“Not now. You had your fun, now leave us alone—oh fuck—” Eddie stopped mid-sentence, cursing as you clenched around him.

But the alien only chuckled, curling his tongue in the air like a serpent. “I will show her what I can do. We will make it so much better together, Eddie.”

“Jesus Christ,” He pistoned his hips into you harder, battering your cervix every time he bottomed out inside of you. “Don’t—don’t you dare—”

But you couldn’t stop yourself from locking your eyes on Venom’s massive tongue, which was thick and glistening. You ached for it, you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought of the possibilities of what that tongue could do.

“Eddie…” you clutched his shoulders. “Let him. Please.”

He groaned as if you’d stabbed him, but the way in which you felt him twitching inside you betrayed him. “You’re gonna kill me,” he kept thrusting, lost in the enveloping tight heat  of your pussy around his hard member.

Venom didn’t wait for another word of permission. He darted his enormous tongue forward, dragging a stripe up your inner thigh, making you jolt, then gasp, and then clutch Eddie tighter as he slid the wet muscle up to your swollen clit.

“OH FUCK—” you cried out, shaking as Venom flattened his cold tongue against your clit, licking broadly with strokes that made your vision blur.

The sight of Venom devouring your clit as his own cock disappeared into your hole just inches lower, made Eddie growl above you, feeling every shiver and pulse of your body as you squeezed him so tight it almost hurt. He had to admit, watching you unravel like this was divine. You, the same person who’d always been bold, commanding, and in control, were now a trembling and whimpering mess, utterly consumed by pleasure as Venom and he moved in perfect sync.

The symbiote laughed, vibrating against your cunt as he circled your clit with his tongue, flicking it to tease you, then sucking hard enough to make you scream. “She loves it. She is shaking for us. Admit it, Eddie... we make a good team.”

Eddie cursed him and slammed into you deeper, fucking you so hard the bedframe rattled. You couldn’t even respond. You were convulsing under them, Eddie pounding into you deep, Venom lapping and sucking your clit with obscene precision. 

Venom swirled his tongue so fast you nearly sobbed. “So sweet… so wet… she loves us both, Eddie.”

You were incoherent, crying nonsense into the air. “I—I can’t—oh my God—”

Eddie kissed you roughly to swallow your moans. “Yes, you can. You’re gonna take it. Gonna let us ruin you together.” His thrusts grew relentless, stretching you deeper and deeper with his cock.

Venom pulled the sensitive nub into his mouth with gentleness so he wouldn’t hurt you with his sharp and pointy teeth. He never once eased up. “She is going insane. Our little temptress is begging to break.”

“Fuckin’ perfect. You’re shaking so bad, baby... so tight... so wet—” He ground his pelvis into you with each thrust, grinding his fat head against that tender spot inside you, making your cunt pulse tight around him, forcing you to rub your clit against Venom’s tongue at the same time he bottomed out inside you.

You could only whimper, you were quivering violently as Eddie’s cock and Venom’s tongue kept you strung tight on the edge, over and over, with no escape. Eddie’s thrusts were deep and brutal, he was splitting you open again and again on his cock, and the way Venom curled his tongue tight around you, squeezing the sensitive bundle of nerves before sucking it into his mouth, made an obscene sound that echoed through the room.

“FUUUCK!” you screamed, jerking up your body off the bed, but Eddie pinned you down instantly, growling into your ear as he pounded harder.

“Yeah, baby—feel that? He’s eating your little pussy while I fuck you full. You’re ours. You hear me? Fuckin’ ours.”

Venom purred, shooting the vibrations through your clit, his fangs glistening as he uncoiled and lashed his tongue across your soaked folds. “So sweet. So messy. She gushes for us.”

You felt it in every frantic thrust of his cock, every desperate growl against your throat. His cock throbbed inside you, swelling, twitching, begging to spill.

“Fuuuck—baby—I’m not—I can’t—” he pressed his slick forehead against yours.

From between your thighs came that guttural chuckle. “Lame. He is already whining. Be a man, Eddie. Hold it.”

Eddie snarled, grinding his teeth, pounding you harder. “Shut the fuck up—”

Venom didn’t stop. He squeezed your clit tight, then pulled back to slap his tongue against it with obscene wet sounds. “You will not finish before her. If you spill now, you are weak. Useless.”

You sobbed under them, thrashing as Venom sucked your clit into his mouth again. Eddie groaned into your neck. “I’m trying... fuck, I’m trying—” He panted. “She feels so good... she’s so tight… squeezin’ me—fuck—”

Venom stretched his grin widely, dripping saliva from his jagged teeth. “Excuses. Do better. Prove you are a man.”

You half-laughed, half-sobbed, clutching Eddie’s shoulders. “Don’t listen—oh God—don’t listen to him, baby—you’re perfect—”

Venom growled in mock offence, slurping your clit so hard your scream ripped the air. “She lies. She wants more. She needs us both. Eddie”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie kept hammering his hips, ramming your g-spot with bruising force. “I’m—fuck—I’m not lettin’ her cum without me—”

Venom was smacking your clit with wet lashes before sucking it back into his mouth like he was trying to swallow it whole. You convulsed violently, clamping your cunt down on Eddie so tight he nearly cried out.

“FUCK! Baby—you’re—oh God—you’re choking my cock—” he groaned, sinking his teeth into your shoulder.

Venom purred. “She is ready. She is going to explode. You better keep up, Eddie.”

“I’m holdin’ it—” Eddie closed his eyes and mentally counted to fifty so he wouldn’t blow too soon. Venom was right, he had to man up, he had to hold it. Prove he could keep up. “I’m holdin’ it, goddamn it—”

Venom pulled back only long enough to taunt Eddie. “For now.” Then he dove back, slurping and devouring you so hard the entire mattress was now a wet puddle.

You were gone, sobbing, trembling violently. “Please—oh my God—please—I can’t—”

Eddie hammered his cock deep, his thrusts getting more and more ragged. “Cum for us. Cum for us now.”

Venom coiled his tongue around your clit one last time, sucking it into his mouth with brutal force, and that was it.

You dig your nails into Eddie’s back. “Eddie—oh my God—Venom! I’m cumming! I’m cumming!”

Your orgasm crashed into you like fire setting your entire body alight. You clenched your cunt around him, squeezing him and trying to milk Eddie with violent pulses..

Eddie roared, losing himself, yanking himself off of you, pulling out before the intense twitching of your cunt made him spill too early. He’d learned his lesson before. Many times.

Venom licked your pussy, slurping your arousal as it gushed out, swallowing down the mess he’d helped create. “Good. Very good. She came. You did not completely embarrass yourself, Eddie.”

Eddie collapsed on top of you, sweaty and trembling, groaning weakly into your neck. “Go…fuck…yourself…”

Venom chuckled  as he flicked his tongue over your overstimulated clit just to make you whimper again. “Not necessary. I have you both.”

You stroked Eddie’s damp hair back, laughing breathlessly even through the aftershocks. “Don’t listen to him, baby… You were perfect. So fucking perfect.”

“She means us, Eddie.”

And with the way you still shook under them, Eddie couldn’t argue. He suddenly flipped you onto your stomach, making you squeal as he dragged your hips up, keeping your ass in the air, and pressing your face into the mattress.

“Needed to see this view,” he spread your asscheeks with his big hands, and then slammed his cock back inside you without any warning. The wet stretch of your used and overstimulated cunt made you cry out.

“EDDIE—fuck—”

He bent over you, pressing his chest into your back. “So fucking good from behind… watching this tight little pussy swallow me up... Holy fuck—”

His thrusts grew relentless and brutal, each snap of his hips got you digging your nails into the sheets, as the waves of pleasure tore through you again and again. You couldn’t help but wonder, was this how sex was supposed to feel for the rest of your life with Eddie? Endless climaxes, each one more intense than the last, a pleasure so intense it made you cry out. And… did you just think about spending forever with him? A lifetime together? Fuck, maybe you did love him too.

Venom kept his wide and white eyes focused on the place where your body and Eddie’s were joining. “Beautiful. But incomplete.”

Eddie froze for a moment, groaning through gritted teeth. “You’re still here. Of course.”

Venom slithered his hulking form closer, unfurling his tendril with a wicked smile. “You are already in her pussy. But she still has another hole.”

You clenched hard around Eddie’s cock at the suggestion, and he cursed, dropping his head against your shoulder. “Baby—fuck—don’t even—”

“Yes,” you said before he could argue more, turning your head to meet Eddie’s wild eyes. “Let him, Eddie. Please. Please. I want it.”

Eddie twitched inside you at your words, torn between his jealousy, fueled by the insecurity that maybe Venom was indeed superior, and maybe you'd come to realise you didn't need him anymore, and also the pure lust in your voice, which made him want to fulfil every single one of your fantasies. “Christ, you’re gonna fuckin’ kill me…”

Venom purred. “Wise choice.”

He slid a slick tendril between your ass cheeks, circling your tight hole teasingly. You jerked at the touch, moaning and burying your face in the pillow as Eddie resumed his thrusts, angrier, as though trying to prove something.

“Don’t—fuckin’—forget—I’m the one inside you,” he fucked you deep, slamming his cock into your g-spot with every thrust.

You could barely answer, too lost in the sensation of his cock and Venom pressing his appendage firmer against your ass, slowly working the tight ring of muscle until it slipped just barely inside.

“OH GOD—” you clenched your entire body around both intrusions in your body, a loud cry leaving your throat.

Venom pushed his tendril deeper, twisting it as he toyed with your ass. “Tight. Hungry. She loves it. Admit it, Eddie... you love it too.”

Eddie pistoned harder, and it made you son into the mattress, clamping violently around him while the symbiote curled his tendril inside your ass, stretching you in ways that made your vision go white.

Venom slithered out another appendage from Eddie’s back, stretching it until he circled your entire body, pressing the the tip of it against your pussy. He flicked out the tendril, rubbing your clit while he kept burying the other one up in your ass, thrusting it slowly.

“Fucking—hell. You’re—Shit, baby—you’re stuffed so full—”

You babbled incoherently, shaking, with both of your holes filled and used. While Venom massaged your clit in little circles, he also twisted the tendril inside your ass. You were trapped between both of them, and you didn’t want out.

“She is breaking. Two holes filled. Soon… she will beg for more.”

You could hear the slapping from Eddie’s heavy balls against you with every brutal thrust, and feel every push and twist of Venom on your ass. All of it only fueled you more, making you clench down on Eddie’s cock even tighter.

“Jesus—fuck, baby—you’re so tight—you’re choking me—” Eddie gave you erratic but merciless thrusts.

Venom filled the room with purrs full of satisfaction as he kept toying with your pussy like he wanted to devour you. “Perfect little holes. Stuffed full. She’s dripping, Eddie. She’s ours.”

Your scream tore from your throat, and you clawed at the sheets, shaking from too much pleasure. You were full, stretched, fucked in both holes, so stimulated you couldn’t form a coherent thought. “Please—oh God—please, I can’t—”

Eddie growled in your ear. “Yes, you can. You’re gonna cum for us. You’re gonna cum so fucking hard—”

The rhythm destroyed you. You screamed Eddie’s and Venom’s names as your climax took over your body, fluttering around his cock so violently Eddie roared, slamming deep one last time, and spilling his hot and thick seed inside you, trembling with the force of his release.

Venom didn’t stop, he kept working you with his appendages, milking every last spasm from your shaking body. “Yes. Cum for us. Break for us. You are perfect like this. Our little temptress.”

Eddie collapsed over you, covered in sweat, still buried inside your pussy, feeling it it spasming around him. “Christ—baby—I can’t—fuck—I can’t move—”

Venom finally pulled back, sliding his tendril from your ass with a wet pop. “Weak. But effective. She came. You came. Acceptable.”

Eddie was too wrecked to argue. You laughed weakly through the aftershocks, stroking his arm softly. “Don’t listen to him, baby… You were perfect.”

Venom stretched his grin wider. “She means us, Eddie. WE were perfect.”

And with the way your body was still trembling, stuffed full and leaking, Eddie didn’t have the strength to disagree.

“Pathetic. Both of you are puddles. Look at you—limbs like wet noodles. Couldn’t fight off a kitten right now.”

You let out a broken laugh, reaching up to stroke Eddie’s damp hair where it stuck to his forehead. “He’s right. We’re wrecked.”

“Yeah, great, just what I wanted to hear,” Eddie rolled off you, collapsing onto his back beside you, throwing one arm over his eyes.

“I made her scream louder. My tongue made her twitch like that.” He sounded like a little kid about to stick out his tongue at Eddie to mock him.

Eddie’s insecurities crept in, uninvited. What if you preferred Venom? What if the day came when you only wanted the symbiote, and not him? He couldn’t blame you, after all, Venom had superhuman strength, tendrils that could stretch however he wanted, and that tongue… Eddie couldn’t compete against that. The alien could go all night, never tiring, while he, human and flawed, needed a protein shake after fifteen minutes of doggy. It wasn’t just jealousy. It was fear that he might never measure up.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie dragged his hands down his face. “Can you not—just for once—just shut the hell up about it?”

You rolled onto your side to face him, brushing your fingers over his stubbled cheek. “Hey… don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Get all in your head,” you said softly, nudging his arm away so you could look into his tired eyes. “Don’t start thinking he’s better. That’s not what this is.”

Eddie looked away. “He just—he’s got these tricks. Tentacles. That freaking tongue. And I’m just—” He sighed, slumping his shoulders. “I’m just a guy.”

Venom leaned closer to his ear. “Very well done, Eddie. The first step is acceptance. You’re a sweaty, weak, messy little guy. It’s a miracle she still lets you put it in her.”

You smacked Eddie’s chest lightly, earning a half-laugh, half-groan from him. “Don’t listen to him. He doesn’t get it.”

“Doesn’t get what?” Eddie whispered, still avoiding your eyes.

“That you’re all I need,” you pressed a kiss to his jaw, then another to his cheek. “You’re all I want. Venom’s just… extra,” you looked at Venom before he could protest. “Good extra,” You clarified before looking back at Eddie, pressing your forehead against his. “But you, Eddie… you’re mine. You make me feel good. You did from the first night. And I don’t want to change you. Not one bit.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, finally daring to glance at you. The insecurity there cracked your heart a little.

“Yeah?” he rasped. The way you said it,so convinced, so soft, so certain… he believed you. He saw it in your eyes, the honesty, the weight of your words wrapped in sincerity.

“Yeah,” you promised, kissing him slowly and lingering, until he sighed into your mouth and melted against you. “We’re all a team. I make you two feel good, Venom makes us both feel good, and you make us feel good too.”

Venom gagged loudly, mimicking throwing up, lolling his tongue as if he’d just tasted something gross. “Disgusting. Sickening. Lovebirds. Get a room.”

Eddie broke the kiss to snort, finally cracking a small grin. “We are in a room, you asshole.”

You laughed, nuzzling into Eddie’s chest, drawing lazy shapes over his ribs with your fingers. “Ignore him. Just stay here with me.”

Eddie wrapped his arm around you tight, pulling you flush against him, brushing your hair with his lips. “Yeah. I can do that.”

Venom muttered another jab, his voice full with mock disgust. “Ugh. You’re both so wrecked you’ll be useless tomorrow. Pathetic meat sacks.”

You tilted your head, looking up at Eddie. His eyes were half-lidded, his hair damp, his mouth soft and kiss-swollen. He looked so vulnerable and exposed, it made your chest ache.

“Eddie…” Your voice came out quieter than you expected, but he shifted, humming like he was listening with full attention. You swallowed, feeling the nerves curling in your belly, but then you just said it. “I love you.”

For a second, he froze, like his brain hadn’t caught up with what you said. His eyes widened, and he opened his mouth, but no sound came out. And then it hit him with full force. His face broke open into this wide, almost boyish smile, his eyes going bright and wet. You loved him too. You were saying it loud and clear. And you weren’t just saying it, you actually meant it.

“You—” his voice cracked, he laughed like he couldn’t believe it, and then he grabbed your face in his big, shaking hands and kissed you so hard your lips tingled. “You love me,” he whispered against your mouth. “Say it again.”

“I love you,” you whispered. “I just… I couldn’t deny it any longer.”

He groaned, pulling you into his chest, crushing you in a hug so tight it nearly knocked the air out of you. He buried his nose in your hair, his breath shaky and rough. “Jesus Christ, baby, you don’t know what that does to me.”

Venom’s growl was loud and irritated. His floating head, suspended by the writhing black goo that spilled from Eddie’s back, hovered in front of you both, studying you with pure disgust. “You two are revolting. Too much sugar. I will vomit.”

You laughed into Eddie’s neck, but Eddie just shook his head, still smiling like a fool, kissing your temple, your cheek, anywhere he could reach. “Ignore him. Don’t stop, please. Just—God, I needed to hear that.”

Venom huffed. “You wanted so bad for her to love you back. You’re weak.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, still holding you like he’d never let go. “Yeah, so what? She does. She loves me. And I love her. So go sulk somewhere else.”

Venom made more exaggerated gagging noises. “Now what? Marriage? Babies? Because Eddie always wanted babies. He dreams of little humans running around.”

Eddie stiffened instantly, his cheeks going red. “Jesus, V, can you not—”

You pulled back just enough to see his face, shooting your eyebrows up, tugging a grin on your lips. “You want kids?”

Eddie rubbed the back of his neck, looking awayl. “Not—not like right now. Just… someday. It’s not a big deal.”

Venom, enthusastic about embarrassing Eddie a little more, just kept going. “He thinks about it more than you think. Pathetic little fantasies. White picket fence. Babies drooling on his shirt. You baking in the kitchen. Domestic Eddie.”

“Shut up!” Eddie’s face was now red as a tomato. He looked back at you, nervous, fumbling. “It’s—don’t listen to him, okay? It’s just—it crossed my mind. That’s all.”

The way you smiled so softly made his heart clench. You cupped his cheek, kissed him slowly, gently, full of all the love you had. “Eddie…” you whispered against his lips, “you’re all I want. Whatever we do, whatever comes… I’m with you.”

His eyes shone, and his breath was shaky as he kissed you again, slower this time, like he was memorizing it.

Venom made gagging noises. “I hate this. I hate both of you.”

Eddie broke the kiss just to laugh. “He just wants you to say you love him too.”

You looked at the symbiote for a moment, “I love you too, V. Don’t get jealous.”

Venom let out a pleased growl that made the bed vibrate, but he soon tried to cover it with a cough, pretending to act unfazed. “Whatever. Yeah. Thanks. You too.”

You could feel the way Eddie relaxed his body even as he grumbled, like everything he ever wanted had finally settled into place. That girl… the same one who’d once taken his phone charger and rewarded him with a blowjob, was now curled against his chest. She was the one he loved, the one he imagined a future with, the one who made every broken day worth it.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this.” He didn’t mean just you saying I love you back. He meant everything: your laughter, your presence, the way your eyes lit up at the smallest things. He’d waited his whole life for a connection like this, for this kind of intensity, for a love so pure it made the world feel lighter, even in the darkest corners.

You rested your hand on his chest, over his heart, feeling the way it slowly began to beat more steadily, calmer. “I meant it. I’ll keep meaning it every day.”

Before Eddie could get all teary again, Venom cut in with his usual flair. “Boring. Love confessions, cuddles, sweaty bodies sticking together. Enough. Let us think about something new.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. Of course Venom had to ruin the romantic moment. “Here we go.”

“Yes. New adventures. What is next for us? We have conquered the bedroom. The kitchen. The shower. We have destroyed one mattress already. This is the beginning. We need a change of scenery.”

You chuckled into Eddie’s chest. You’d never imagined, in a million lifetimes, to have this kind of pillowtalk. “What do you suggest, V?”

The alien hummed, as if thinking for a moment. “The beach. I want to see the ocean. Feel the wind in my hair. The sand on my feet. The seagulls. We will eat them.”

Eddie sighed from the absurdity of the request. One he’d heard many times already. “For Christ’s sake, you can’t, you don’t have fe—”

“I will feel it. And I’ll eat the seagulls. They are loud and stupid. But also, romantic! We will sit in the sand. Watch the sun set, do all those cheesy couple things Eddie likes.”

You laughed so hard imagining Venom with a beach hat and a pair of sunglasses, that Eddie’s chest shook with you. “He wants a beach date.”

“No,” Eddie said firmly, pointing at his face with one threatening finger. “We are not going on a beach date with you third-wheeling.”

“Third-wheeling?” He barked, as if insulted. “I am the wheels. Without me, you are nothing. Without me, you fall over.”

You bit back a giggle. “Honestly, I wouldn’t mind the beach. Just us… and him.”

“You’re enabling him.” Eddie run his hand down his face, he already knew he had no way out of it.

“She loves me too,” He declared smugly. “It’s time you accept it’s the three of us, forever.”

You smirked against Eddie’s skin. “I guess he’s right.”

A contented rumble vibrated from the alien. “Then it’s settled. The beach. We will swim. We will eat ice cream. We will build sandcastles. We will… bury Eddie in the sand. And then…” He locked his gaze on you. “…it will be just you and me.”

“Over my dead body,” Eddie mumbled, shaking his head from side to side.

You tipped your chin up, kissing him sweetly. “C’mon, baby. Could be fun. Not the part where you’re buried in the sand, obviously.”

Eddie sighed, but you noticed the twitching in the corners of his mouth betraying him. “Fine. But I swear to God, if he eats a seagull in front of you—”

“I make no promises.”

Your laughter filled the room, and even Eddie chuckled, shaking his head, pressing his lips to your temple. For the first time in a long time, everything felt light. You had Eddie’s arms around you, Venom’s ridiculous commentary, and a whole world waiting outside. Maybe Venom was right. This was just the beginning.

Updates account

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who read the series and supported me through it, you don’t know how much it means to read every single comment🥺

I honestly had low expectations writing for Eddie since he was the least-voted option on a poll I made, so I was really surprised (and grateful!) for how much love these fics got. I hope you enjoyed the series, and thank you for sticking around. I know it took me a while to finish it, and some people might’ve forgotten about it, but I really wanted to give them some kind of ending.

And a special thank you to @lafrancak for reading this last part and giving me suggestions, I appreciate it so much🩷

Also, it’s not just Eddie, Venom, and reader who are going to the beach, I’m going to Punta Cana this Saturday for a week😺 I’m finishing some of the fics I’ve been working on, so even if I won’t be super active here, I might still have something to post while I’m on vacation.

“He thinks he’s a fucking loss? He can barely cover your tuition! Who the fuck does he think he is?!” your mother spat, stubbing her nth cigarette into the ashtray perched on the windowsill. “Listen to me, sweetheart, be with a man who worships you. Who gives you the goddamn world.”

It was one of those nights. Again. You were packing. Again. Listening to her rant about ego-driven men who couldn’t afford the jewelry she wanted, because your mother couldn’t hold a relationship longer than six months. This guy? He made it to seven. A record. You’re probably wondering, shouldn’t she be past the age of hopping from one man to the next? Yeah. She should. But she’s also a firm believer that the universe owes her the finest things. And she’s not shy about collecting.

Your mother was barely twenty when she had you. You shared the same ocean-deep eyes, wild dark hair, and pointy nose so people used to call you her shadow or her twin especially once you grew into your own body. She obviously didn’t plan to get knocked up so early, but there you are. Not saying she was the perfect image of a mother, but she was your anchor, your hero, and the only person you trusted when everyone else ran—your “father” included. Or rather, the man who contributed biologically and then vanished like a fucking coward.

Sperm donor fits better. Cleaner. Less sentimental. You didn’t know him anyway.

Little old you did not have any father figure growing up. Mother had her own rotating cast of boyfriends. No one ever really sticks and you stopped learning their names after the third one. You didn’t even know how to address the man when you were carrying your suitcase out of his house, so you just said, “Thank you for letting us stay, Mister.”

So when mother said you were moving again, you didn’t flinch. Liverpool, Birmingham, Yorkshire—you'd seen enough wallpaper to know not to get attached. This time it was Camden Town. London. The house belonged to someone she called “a very busy man.”. He wasn’t home when you arrived and it seemed like she's been here a fee times to know her way around to unpack in his bedroom. You didn’t ask questions. Didn’t care.

You were in your early twenties, some would say in the prime of your libido, when you met him. You remember that moving in day vividly: you stretched out on the carpet of his living room, legs bare, fingers tangled in the fur of his dog named Cyril. The air smelled like old wood and something sweet, molasses maybe, with a sharp undercurrent of alcohol. Then, the man walked inside the house through the front door. Grizzly. Bearded. Sharp blue eyes that didn’t blink. Towering in front of you like a predator.

Man, he can hold a stare.

He smelled earthy like an old wood, and reeked of alcohol but he wasn't drunk. You swear you both held each other's gaze for a full minute, maybe more, before his mouth slowly curled into a crooked grin and the first thing he ever said to you with his gravel-drenched voice was:

“Well now, fuckin’ hell… you’re her, yeah? You’re her—but younger... Christ almighty, you’ve got her eyes and her bloody mouth and I swear to God if I didn’t know better I’d think I’d walked into a fuckin’ fever dream.”

That wasn’t something a man should say to his girlfriend’s daughter. But then again, Alfie Solomons had never been appropriate.

He was in his mid-to-late forties when you first clocked him properly. His words were uncomfortably vulgar, and it made you squirm, made you flush—but fuck, they were charming. It made you wonder what the hell was your mother thinking but then he said he owned businesses, plural, but never specified what kind, and that explained a lot. Just muttered things like, “I deal with the wicked way of our world, sweetheart,” and left it at that. People feared his name. You didn’t know why yet. You just knew they did. He was the least of your worries, honestly. Like her other lovers, this one would not stick that long either.

You knew the choreography: pack light, don’t get attached, learn to leave before they do.

Yet somehow, you ended up in a fucking synagogue, standing beside your mother in a dress you didn’t pick, cast as the maid of honor. Watching her lock herself into that man for life just because Alfie said there was no point in wasting time, and they are not getting any younger.

She became Mrs. Solomons. And you—by implication—became his child.

At one point, mid-ceremony, his eyes flickered to yours. Just for a moment, but enough to make your skin crawl, and you looked away before it could mean anything. They didn’t even book a place for their honeymoon. Just did it in their fucking bedroom, with your mother unapologetically moaning his name. You heard Alfie grunting something about her having his children, right at the moment you assumed he’d just come.

He and your mother were actively trying. You’d bury your head under a pillow whenever it was that time of night, but it never helped. Alfie’s voice always cut through, rambling about legacy, heirs, and how she’d be carrying his blood soon enough. It occurred each night to the point that you're honestly surprised you haven’t gotten a little sibling yet considering how fixated he was on having someone who would take on the family business in the future.

Mother's got a drawer stocked up with pregnancy tests she uses to check from time to time. At one point, you heard them fighting inside their bedroom because they were still unsuccessful in conceiving one.

It deeply upset her. She got knocked up with you when she didn't want to. And now, that she's desperately trying to give Alfie the legacy that he wants, she fucking can't. You were the proof that she could once, but not now. Month after month, test after test, drawer full of plastic sticks, peeing on it, and throwing it in the trash bin as a discarded hope. Alfie always looked at you apologetically whenever your mom would take her anger and frustrations out on you.

Sometimes, after she’d storm off, Alfie would linger, asking if you're alright and he'd say sorry on your mom's behalf. Then you thought, maybe he wasn't so bad. Maybe your mother was the problem after all.

You got to know more about him when you slowly accepted the fact that his house is now your home and you have to live by his rules. He was attentive. Strict, even. And not with your mother—with you.

Just when you're finally starting to warm up to him, he did this.

It happened one night when your date dropped you off just outside the gate. You lingered, laughing, flirting, his hand brushed your waist, and you didn’t move away. You were mid-sentence, about to lean in for a kiss, when the front door creaked open.

Alfie stood there. Barefoot. Shirt unbuttoned. That same unblinking stare.

Your date saw him and straightened up fast, but Alfie didn’t speak to him and walked straight down the steps, grunting, until he was standing between you both. You could smell the rum on his breath, but his voice was clear when he said:

“Right. Now, I dunno what sort of fuckin’ pantomime this is, yeah? But it ends right here. She’s home now.”

You stared at him in disbelief.

Your date stammered something polite, tried to shake his hand, pay his respects to your stepdad, but Alfie didn’t take it. Just stared into his eyes when he cut him off.

“See, I’m not your fuckin’ mate, yeah? I’m the man whose house you’re loitering outside with your hands where they shouldn’t be. And I’m the man who’s gonna remember your face if you don’t fuck off in the next five seconds.” He said with his crazy eyes.

The poor bastard got the message and backed off, muttering a goodbye that barely reached your ears.

You stormed inside the house and didn’t speak until the door shut behind you.

“What the fuck was that?” you snapped.

Alfie didn’t flinch. “You don’t flirt on the pavement like some cheap street girl. Not outside my house.”

You stood there, arms crossed, “You can’t just do that.”

He turned to you slowly wearing a wicked, somehow sarcastic frown on his face and said, “Oh, I can, sweetheart. I fuckin’ did. And I’ll do it again, yeah, because I don’t like the way he looked at you. Like you were something to unwrap.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are? You’re not my father.”

“No?” he said, stepping closer, “But I am. I’m also the man who keeps this house safe. And that includes you," then he leaned in, voice low. “Which means you don’t get to parade yourself like a tramp where I sleep and you obey my fuckin' rules."

Alfie had loud opinions about your dating life, your late nights, even your body and how you dress. Short skirts? Off-limits. Short-shorts? Only inside the house—“where it’s safe,” he said. Now to be fair, mother had lived with creeps before. Men who tried tacky and sleazy moves on you, wrapped in the excuse of “just being friendly" but Alfie wasn't like that.

And in some warped, feral way, he spoiled you the way he spoiled your mother. He claimed you like his own when you were slowly starting to get exposed in his world. He would introduce you by splaying his hand on your waist, directly on the skin under your shirt firmly, saying, “Oi, this one here,” his voice booming, “my girl, yeah? Sharp as a blade, this one. Don’t let the pretty face fool you.”

Everyone laughed and found it adorably sweet and paternal coming from someone like Alfie Solomons but his thumb slowly brushed the bare skin just above your hip then squeezed it enough to make you stiffen. Fuck. You did not know whether to scream or run especially when his fingers curled around the curve of your hipbone.

You felt something... somehow, branded.

Whether you liked it or not—that was another issue entirely.

Over time, he’d say random things out of nowhere like, “You’re fucking stubborn, just like your mum.” and toss you a wad of cash you hadn’t asked for just because he wanted to. Or he’d bark at someone who looked at you too long in the market, then turn to you and mutter, “They don't get to stare at you, sweetheart. You’re not for sale.” He did not like it when men orbited themselves around you. Alfie watched you when you weren’t looking. He was thoughtful enough to memorize your habits, your tendencies, even your silence and what it meant.

He saved your mother the trouble of scolding you herself, and she even justified it by saying he was being protective of family. You retorted he was overstepping, treating you like you were twelve and didn’t know how to use your own skin. Maybe you didn’t. Either way, it shouldn’t have been his business.

Then something disturbing happened one afternoon while your mum was at the market. She left you with a list of instructions, the kitchen, and Alfie. Standing in front of the stove top, watching the minced garlic sizzle with the olive oil, you felt both of his big calloused hands slide on your waist again, his fingers curled around the curve of your hipbone like he did before. His body pressed against your back, and you froze with a spatula still in hand, feeling the heat rising from the pan.

He leaned in, nose buried in your hair. “What’re you cooking, sweetheart?” he murmured as you felt his breath was warm against the shell of your ear.

When you tried to step away, his grip tightened. Nails pressed crescents into your skin. His chest locked you in place. Dear god.

“Where you goin’?” he asked, casual. Like he hadn’t just invaded your body and this was normal. You gulped. Didn’t know what to say. He was your stepdad. Your mum always said Alfie was protective, family-first, loyal to the bone. You weren’t sure anymore what that meant.

“You smell like rosemary,” he said, voice low. “From that beef, yeah? Makes a man think things.”

You stayed still on your place, watching the garlic burn in front of you as you felt his hand moved slowly over your hips, thumb grazing the bone like he was memorizing it. The other slid across your lower belly, rubbing slow circles over your stomach—territorial, almost absentminded, while your pulse tick so fucking loud, you could hear it in your ears.

Just as you think this couldn't get any worse, he leaned in, nose buried deeper into your hair, breath warm against your scalp. “Your stomach’s too flat, don’t you think?” he whispered.

You dropped your spatula on the ground and he didn't even flinch. His thumb grazed the edge of your waistband. You mustered your courage to ask, it fell short and barely audible, but you still said, “What are you trying to say?”

His hand doesn’t stop moving when he hummed and said, “That maybe you ought to eat more,” he murmurs. “Put some softness where it counts. Round out the edges.”

Mm-hm. Bullshit.

“I thought you meant putting something inside to make it fuller,” you whispered.

His hand stills.

You felt his breath catch, just slightly, then heard the low rumble of a laugh in his chest. “Sweetheart,” he murmured then his tongue made a tutting sound before he continued, “you ought to be careful with words like that.” His thumb brushes your stomach again, slower this time.

The garlic was black but it was the least of your concern. You turn your head, slow and deliberate, nose brushing his. Breath mingling.

“Am I wrong?” you asked.

He doesn’t answer right away. Just studies you, like he’s trying to decide whether you’re bluffing or inviting. “No,” he murmurs finally. “You’re not wrong.”

You should've walked away this moment but you didn't. Instead, you tilt your head, just slightly, not breaking away from his gaze.

“My mom’s gonna be pissed when she finds out.” You said, thinking that sentence itself was enough to scare him off whatever he's thinking of. But no.

It was your first hard lesson. No one scares Alfie Solomons. It's the other way around. He did not even blink, just stared at you like you’ve said something he expected. “She won’t,” he said. “Not unless you tell her.”

“And if you do,” he adds, “you’ll have to explain why you didn’t stop me.”

Nothing happened between you and Alfie that afternoon but you did not tell your mother about the encounter either. Too threatened and convinced from what he said. You didn't come closer to Alfie again since that moment, keeping a safe distance. He acted fatherly around you, as if that conversation never happened. As if he hadn’t pressed against your back and whispered things that made your pulse stutter. You still heard him fuck your mother at night, and be all happily married during the day.

Speaking of which, your mother was graciously absorbed by Alfie into his chain of businesses. She got busy and took over some of his duties and works for him. He generously delegated tasks shared as husband and wife, and claimed he got more time to rest at home than he ever did before thanks to her.

Then she left.

Boston. Six weeks. Business transaction. You didn’t ask what kind. You just knew you’d be living alone with Alfie Solomons under one roof. He knew you weren’t fond of him. Knew you kept your distance. Breakfasts were quiet. You stretched in the garden instead of the living room. Your answers were clipped. One-liners. At night, you ate fast and locked your bedroom door.

It was week two out of six with your mother out of town when he finally reached for you.

No dinner. No pretense. Just a bottle of rum—his own brand, you’d learn later—and two shot glasses. One placed in front of him. One in front of you.

“Right,” he said. “So. We’re not gonna do the whole silent treatment thing for the next month, yeah? That’s not how I run a household.” You sat down slowly, cautious, waiting to see what the hell he was cooking up in that mind of his.

He poured the rum into both glasses, deliberate, slow, like it was part of a ritual. “Your mum trusts me,” he said. “That means somethin'. Should mean somethin' to you too."

“Now I ain’t sayin’ we gotta braid each other’s hair or talk about feelings or any of that sentimental bollocks,” he continued, eyes locked on yours. “But I am sayin’—you’re in my house, sweetheart. And I don’t like pretendin’ we’re ghosts just passin’ by. You’re… my child.”

His child he said.

That’s when he saw it. The smile you bit back as you picked up the glass. He leaned back, grinned victoriously, watching you walk straight into the trap he'd set for a long time.

You don’t know what got into you after you both finished the bottle of rum, but you found yourself riding the man who’d called you his child less than an hour earlier. Naked in his—and your mother’s—bed. Sharing slobbery, tongue-deep kisses. Legs wrapped around his waist, his hands roamed from your back to your hips, and fingers grazing your nipples. His cock deep inside you.

“Fuckin’ hell—look at you,” Alfie hissed. “You were made for this, weren’t you? Tight little cunt clenchin’ round me like the God himself stitched you together to sin.” His breath hot against the skin of your neck. "I'm halfway to hell, aren't I?"

“Don't make this fucking weird, Alfie.”

“A bit late for that concern, love,” he growled, lips brushing your jaw. “This—this is biblical, yeah? You love it when I say things I shouldn’t.”

“I should be fucking you,” you muttered, biting his shoulder.

“Oi, don’t start,” he hissed, gripping your ass. “You’re the one ridin’ me like you’re tryin’ to exorcise somethin’. Don’t start actin’ like you’re the victim of your own bloody appetite.”

You wish you could say you regret it. But fuck—it was good. The room filled with filthy noises, thank God no one could hear. He kept whispering how often he’d dreamt of fucking you while your own mother slept beside him. Kept calling you his princess, his beautiful girl—all while thrusting deep until your stomach twisted and his cock twitched inside until you both blew together.

Of course, Alfie was the first one to break the silence, his hands were still resting against your thighs while you were catching your breaths.

“Well,” he muttered, grinning, “that’s one way to break the fuckin’ ice, innit?”

That wasn’t the only thing that broke that night. You shattered whatever trust you had with your mother, and their marriage which was barely a year in. That night became the beginning of something complicit between you and your stepfather.

“You gonna tell her?” he asked.

You didn’t flinch. “Are you?”

He snorted. “No. I’m not a fuckin’ idiot.”

You did not ask him to name it. Because naming it meant admitting it happened. And admitting it meant choosing a side—victim or accomplice. And you weren’t ready to be either, or you won't admit to yourself which one you truly are.

The doors stayed locked. Curtains drawn. You stopped pretending to eat meals, just drank his rum and whispered things that should’ve never been spoken aloud. He kissed you in passing like it was habit. Called you “his girl” in front of Cyril. Watched you stretch in the living room and touched you in places he shouldn’t while you let him. He showered you with jewelry and gold and when you asked what it's for, he simply said it suited you. Then he started intercepting things. Calls. Messages. Visitors. You found out later he’d been screening everything, telling people you were unavailable, that you didn’t want to be disturbed. He justified it with a shrug.

“World’s full of bastards, sweetheart.” he said. “I keep what’s mine safe.”

He would watch you walk around his house after you take a shower, wrapped in towel, or sometime bare skinned. You let him want you, to touch you between your legs just to check if you were ready for him. You let him order you to kneel between his legs and engulf him inside your mouth until you choked in his size, eyes watering. You loved blowing him, tasting and smelling how tired he was from a long day of work, and catching a whiff of leather from his balls while you bobbed your head around his cock until he'd squirt his cum on your throat unapologetically.

"Swallow it." He ordered, staring down at you, his hand gripping your hair on the back of your head while his other hand held his half-hard cock dripping of semen. "Let your body know I own every fuckin' hole, yeah?"

You felt worshipped. You felt watched. Like a part of your brain had been unplugged—rewired to respond only to him whenever he rutted and came inside you like an animal each night.

It was disgusting.

But you saw what your mother saw in him. The way he made you feel like he owned every bit of you. Someone who will give you the world and showered you with all the luxury and attention he could give. Like every inch of you was his to protect, to ruin, to adore. And instead of pulling away, you leaned in.

He made you breakfast every morning, kissed you before heading to the bakery, he would brush your hair back when you read on the couch without asking, pulled you into his lap when he comes home from a long day of barking at his employees, tell you about how his meetings went with the 'god damn Shelbys', made you laugh so hard you are almost breathless, and he wouldn’t sleep unless you were beside him.

Every night after you two had sex, his hairy muscular arms would wrap around your waist, kiss your shoulders good night, and you would often fall asleep before him. Alfie would just watch you ease into sleeping until your breathing got more relaxed. You weren’t sure when it started but you heard him whisper "Mine" into your hair, feeling his fingers slowly run up and down your spine, when he thought you were asleep.

You didn’t know if he said it every night, but he said it enough that you stopped counting.

It was week four out of six that your mother was in Boston and you have been screwing her husband without her knowledge. You were halfway to the door to meet your friends for drinks. Coat and heels on. Alfie didn’t look up from his chair when he spoke.

“Where you goin’, girl?”

“Out.”

He nodded slowly, like he was humoring a child. “Out,” he repeated. “Right. And what exactly out there’s gonna give you what you already got in here?”

You didn’t answer right away. Just adjusted your collar, checked your phone. “I need air and I want to meet my friends."

He stood. Not fast. Not loud. Just enough to make the room feel smaller.

“You’ve got air,” he said. “Windows open. You want quiet, I’ll give you quiet. But you don’t breathe the same air and smoke from blokes who call themselves friends. You don’t need their noise.”

He's joking right? He isn't seriously making decisions for you now, is he?

“I need space.”

But no. There is no hint of foolishness in his face. He was dead serious. “You’ve got space. You’ve got my bed, even my bloody house, for whatever the fuck you need.” Alfie tilted his head and continued, “You don’t get to leave.”

“You don’t own me.” You muttered, staring straight into his eyes.

He smiled, completely ignoring what you just said, and you felt his thumb gently brush your cheek. “I lose it when you disobey me,” he continued like he was soothing a child. “It’s not ideal, I know. Not gentlemanly. But it’s the truth. I think about what you'd do out there, laughin’, wanderin’, forgettin’ what we are—and I go bloody mad.”

You looked at the handle. Then at him. “Don't test me, sweetheart.” he murmured. “Be good. Let me keep you.”

All you could think about was your mother's lectures that were carved into your memory about choosing a man that can provide you with everything you need and Alfie did. He devoted himself to you. You were drenched in expensive perfumes, silk robes, lingerie, and jewelry. Your feet were cushioned by your new velvet slip ons. Though you didn’t ask for any of it, it kept coming. And he knew enough to notice how sometimes you got quiet, or when you didn’t smile the way he wanted—he’d tilt your chin up, eyes searching yours and would say things like:

“You alright, then? Come here. Let me fix that.”

“I’d do it, you know. Anything if it meant you’d smile at me like that again."

You barely step your foot out of the house again for the remaining weeks of you alone with Alfie. By the time she came back from Boston, you were already liars. Very good ones.

Technically, you didn’t lie.

You didn’t stop either. You simply omitted the part about the reckless, fuck-filled nights. The shared kisses. The whispered promises Alfie made when the lights were low and the curtains drawn. Even with your mother back in the house, Alfie found ways: your bedroom when she was deep asleep, his back office at the bakery, the car parked under flickering streetlights, a motel he paid for in cash, even an alley once when he couldn’t wait another second.

And somewhere in the middle of it—pressed against mossy brick, legs shaking, his breath hot against your neck—you started to feel it. You felt like a whore. Not because your stepdad was thrusting his cock inside you until he came undone but because of the way you both came home separately, and walked through the door like nothing had happened just like how he instructed. She’d ask how you were and you’d say you were good.

Which, in its own twisted way, was true.

But the real lie came later.

Breakfast as a “family,” two weeks after she returned from Boston. Alfie poured tea into your mother’s cup like he hadn’t been inside you the night before. Like he hadn’t whispered promises against your skin while claiming he was out late checking inventory at the bakery. You’d said you were with friends. She believed both of you.

She was glowing. Talking about how well the transaction went. How grateful she was that Alfie let her go in his place.

Wait—what?

Something churned in your stomach. And no, it wasn’t metaphor. It was real. Sudden. Then you all heard the sound of your chair scraping against the wooden floor. Your footsteps thudding toward the sink and retched out of nowhere. Your cheeks burned but your spine went cold. So did Alfie's. Mother rushed to your side, hand on your back, asking you what happened.

And there it was. The lie.

“Stomach bug,” you said, weakly. “Must’ve been something I ate last night.” Then you forced a smile.

Oh, it was a bug, alright.

The one you and your stepfather custom-made and is due in nine months.

You should’ve known better. You should not have slept with Alfie Solomons—the man your mother married AND you should not have underestimated your mother's instincts, because a couple of weeks later, there you were: biting your lip, fully apologetic, staring into her eyes. Eyes you had never seen look that disappointed. Not once. Not ever.

It felt like a knife twisting inside your chest.

She was holding the positive pregnancy test found on the trash bin inside your room when she snooped.

Her voice was trembling, “You’re pregnant. And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I didn’t know how.”

"Who's the father?"

You blinked too fast then looked down. Your instincts were at war, one screaming to tell the truth, the other begging to protect the wreckage. Then the front door creaked open, just in time for Alfie to step in, he just came back from the bakery, and his eyes already scanned the room like he already knew.

“WHO IS THE FATHER?” Your mother's voice cranked up when she repeated the question you could barely answer.

He dropped the coat, walked in slow and annoying calm. “It’s her ex, alright?” he said. “That useless little prick I warned her about, yeah? The one with the motorbike and no bloody sense. Got her knocked up before he fucked off to wherever cowards go.”

Your jaw slackened as you stared at him. He didn’t even look at you. Just kept his eyes on her, like he was daring her to challenge the lie.

“You knew?” she asked.

Alfie nodded. “Course I knew, love. I ain’t blind. I’ve been keepin’ tabs, yeah? She didn’t tell you ‘cause she knew you’d spiral. Which, look—fair play.”

She turned to you. “Is that true?”

Alfie was looking at you now. Waiting for you to dig the hole deeper and bury yourself beside him.

So you nodded slowly. He gave you a faint nod in return. Then wrapped his arms around your mother like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t just rewritten the truth in front of both of you.

It was sick and... ironic.

The conversation about your pregnancy, whether you'd keep it or not, was not up to debate. Alfie made it clear when he slipped inside your bedroom when you were two months pregnant, sitting at the edge of your bed, and he knelt in between your legs while he cradled your belly and rested his forehead against it. He whispered, "Mine."

He kissed your belly like it was scripture, breath warm against skin stretched with secrecy. Then he sat back on his heels and looked into your eyes. “You’ll carry it,” he said. “You’ll birth it. You’ll raise it with me. And you’ll do it quiet, yeah? No fuss. No bloody announcements.”

He stood and cupped your face in both hands. His thumbs brushed your cheeks like he always does. “You think I forced this?” he murmured. “Nah. You let me in. You opened the door. You nodded to every vow I whispered in the dark, didn’t you?”

You swallowed, not really knowing what to say. You were pregnant, vulnerable, and he is the only person in the world who knew about the truth about your situation.

“And now,” he said, “you stay. You carry my child. You mother it. Because this—this whole mess—it’s yours as much as mine.”

He kissed your forehead. “You made the bed, love. Now you lie in it. With me.”

Your mother saw how attuned Alfie Solomons was to you as a stepdad and she saw it. The way he showed up for you without even asking like bringing home pre-natal vitamins, cozy blankets, your pregnancy cravings, and rubbed your swollen feet. By month five you started showing, Alfie was evidently nesting, and she thought, how lucky, yeah? To have a man so tender with her poor knocked-up daughter.

She did not notice the way you flinch whenever you called Alfie 'Dad' or how he takes time in rubbing your belly randomly throughout the day.

The secrecy of the situation was killing you and he saw it. So every night, he'd slip into your room, tug your shirt up and kiss your belly. Whispered all the right things your pregnant brain craved—validation, worship, and the truth only the two of you carried. That you were his. That this child was his. That he was finally gonna have an heir for his kingdom and Camden would have its prince.

Every night, his promises became your lullabies. Whispered against your skin, tangled in breath and heat. You nodded to everything he said. Agreed to every vow, every plan, every twisted dream he painted in the dark.

“You’re mine now,” he whispers, hand on your belly. “You and our baby. You're mine. I will build the two of you a fuckin' world where it's just us."

You nod like how you’ve been nodding for months because you’re holding onto him like he’s the only thing keeping you together. You whisper yes to anything he was saying, asking, or even proclaiming.

And then one night, late into month nine, he presses his mouth to your stomach and says:

“You’re gonna give me this one, yeah?” he murmured while rubbing your belly gently. “And then we do it again. We build more. We fill this house with noise and fire and little wrecked versions of you and me.”

Then he looks at you, dead serious, and half-mad.

“You want that, don’t you?”

Yes. Yes, you do.

-

Then came your child. A boy. Your mother didn’t bat an eye when Alfie insisted on a Jewish name, even though you weren’t Jewish. She just nodded, smiled, said it sounded strong. Your son called you Mama. Called her Nana. Called Alfie—Poppa.

Hosea Solomons was a year and a half now. Still breastfed. Still impossibly adored by your mother, who peeled apples for him like it was sacred duty. Sang lullabies. Called him her "handsome loaf of bread" which was painfully endearing, considering his biological father owns a fucking bakery.

You watched her with him sometimes and wondered what would happen if she knew that her husband was the father of your child. Would she still look at Hosea the same way? Would she still love him with that same unfiltered joy?

Alfie spent so much time with his boy. He'd rock him to sleep, carry him on his shoulders, play with him, check on him first thing in the morning, sometimes take him to the bakery to give you some time to catch sleep.

To put your son to sleep, Alfie would pull out the worn-out Torah that has been sitting on a cabinet from his office for a long time. He sat Hosea on his lap, and started reading.

“Right,” he said, flipping pages. “Tonight, we read about Lot.”

You were folding baby clothes nearby, listening and peaking at them from time to time. He was dramatic as usual, your son loved that about him. Alfie read it like it was his favorite bedtime gospel. Hosea barely understood, too young to track the words, but Alfie didn’t care. He read for himself.

“Lot lived in Sodom, yeah?” Alfie said. “City full of rot. Angels came to warn him. Told 'em to run and don't look back.”

He paused. Looked at Hosea. “And what did Lot’s wife do, little man?”

Hosea blinked. Drooled. Alfie smiled.

“She looked back,” he said. “Turned into salt. Just like that. Because she couldn’t let go.”

You stopped folding. Something in your chest twisted. Alfie kept going.

“And Lot? He ran. Took his daughters. Hid in a cave. Thought the world was gone. Thought they were the last ones left.”

He looked up at you then with sharp amused eyes, daring for you to answer. “And what did the daughters do, sweetheart?”

You didn’t answer. He did.

“They got him drunk,” he said. “Laid with him. Made children. Because legacy had to survive. Even if it meant ruin.”

He kissed Hosea’s head. “That’s what survival looks like, yeah? Messy. Biblical. Necessary.”

You stared at him. At your son. At the Torah. And you realized: he wasn’t just reading a story. Alfie was telling you how he saw the world. You looked at your son. His soft curls like his Poppa's, his sleepy blue eyes like yours, and you wondered how much salt you’d swallowed just to stay in this deluded family bubble of yours.

Alfie did all that while still playing husband to your mother and you hated every single thing about it. You love your mom but you hated every single day you had to watch and listen to Alfie act around her.

There's only so much you could tolerate.

At night, when your mom's deep asleep, you let him slip into your room without ceremony, eyes already locked on yours like he’s been waiting all day to look at you properly. You don’t speak. You just shift beneath the covers, make space, let him climb in like he always does. Then you kiss him first, deep and pathetic even if you're upset.

“There she is,” he mutters. “My bloody girl.”

You don’t respond. Just press your forehead to his, fingers curling into his shirt.

“You were quiet tonight,” he says. “Didn’t look at me once at dinner. Not even when I gave you the biggest bloody helping on the plate, yeah? Generous, I was.”

Like the smug prick he is, he grins. “Jealous again, are we?”

You nod. Barely. Of course you are. Even if you hated feeling it but Alfie has his own fucked up way of disarming you. “I hate watching you play house.” you muttered.

Alfie hums, already wrapping his arms around your waist and squeezing the cheeks of your ass once. “Yeah, well,” he said, “I hate pretendin’ I don’t want to bend you over every bloody surface in this place, so I reckon we’re both sufferin’, yeah?”

You didn't respond and just kissed him again slower and deeper this time. Alfie kissed you back and responded with much more longing than you did. His hand finds your belly, even though it’s flat again. His thumb traces where you used to carry Hosea. “You remember what we said, sweetheart?” he whispers, “After the boy—we do it again. We build more. You remember that?"

"Are you serious about this?" you whispered, searching for anything that would give him away from his eyes but Alfie was already moving on top of you, tugging down your knickers and flung it on the floor.

"You want it." he answered. He wasn't asking, he was declaring. His hand slides to your hip, his breath catching, and looking you in the eyes, waiting for you to reaffirm what he just said. You nodded. Another one. Another fucking legacy or another fucking lie when you could barely conceal the first one. But your body was cemented in place, you looked up to his scrunched up face, focused on aligning himself to your entrance that's habitually slick for him. It's like your body always know that it's Alfie.

He groaned when he slipped his cock inside you while whispering "Good girl." and kissing you through his thrusts. He fucked you so hard and took his precious fucking time with it too. Your knees were folded to any direction he could twist your legs to. Pounding on you mercilessly.

“Quiet now,” he murmured. “Don’t wake the house.”

You were sobbing tearing through your second orgasm of the night because Alfie has not cum yet. His hand clamped over your mouth once, then slid to your throat, thumb brushing your pulse. All you can think about how why you're letting him do this to you, and how you're the one carrying the burden of birthing his legacy instead of your mother who was still oblivious until now. Tears slipping down your cheeks and he doesn't stop thrusting even after he notices.

He leans in, forehead pressed to yours, voice low and wrecked. “Oi, what’s this then?” he murmurs, thumb brushing the corner of your eye. “You cryin’ on me, sweetheart?”

You nod. Barely.

He kisses your cheek. “Good. Means you’re feelin’ it proper. Means you’re not just stretchin’ for the sake of it—you’re stretchin’ for legacy.”

You’ve already come undone more times than you can count, and still, he hasn’t stopped.

You sob quietly, body shaking, voice cracking.

“Alfie—please.”

He leans in, forehead pressed to yours, breath hot. “Almost done, sweetheart. Almost. You’re doing so well taking me all in.”

You gasp. “It’s too much.”

“Small price to pay for our little ones, right? Don't worry— I'm fuckin' close.” he groaned.

When he came, your eyes fluttered shut, feeling ropes of his thick hot cum paint the inside of your fucking walls. Heart thudding. Breath shallow. His weight pressed into you, cock still pulsing inside you, milking himself dry, leaving you stuffed full of him.

His hand finds your cheek, thumb brushing the sweat and salt and wreckage. Your throat marked red with his fingerprints as you watch him catch his breath.

“You feel that?” he murmured. “That’s legacy, sweetheart. That’s blood and bone and fuckin’ permanence.”

God, you were exhausted. But Alfie kept bombarding you with soft kisses when your head lolled to the side from fatigue. “Oi,” he murmurs,“Look at me.”

His thumb brushes your jaw, coaxing your gaze to meet his, never failing hypnotize you while at it. “It’s done, yeah? I came. You took it all. You’re fuckin’ brilliant.”

You nod, breath catching, and he kissed you again. “Tell me you’re alright, sweetheart. Say it. I need to hear it.”

“I’m okay.” you whispered.

“Good girl. That’s my girl.”

You’re curled into him, breath slowing, skin still humming from everything that just happened. The room is quiet now, no noise, no sermon, just the soft rhythm of your heartbeat against his chest.

“Are you gonna sleep here?”

Alfie doesn’t answer right away. Just brushes your hair back, kisses your temple like he’s sealing something sacred. Then he exhales, faint smile tugging at his mouth.

“I can’t, love,” he murmurs. “Your mum’ll be up soon, yeah? Wantin’ her bloody tea and her bloody husband, and I—well, I’m still playin’ that part, ain’t I?”

No need for a fucking reminder.

“You know I’d stay if I could. You know I’d sleep here every fuckin' night if the world weren’t built on secrets and lies.” he continued.

You press your forehead to his. “I hate it.”

“I know." He sighed and continued, "But we’re good at it, innit? The lyin’. The pretendin’. The legacy.”

He’s halfway out of the bed, already pulling on his shirt, already slipping back into the version of himself the house expects. You whispered, “I wish we could be alone again.”

His fingers paused from buttoning his shirt back and tuck himself back into his pants when you sat up and met his eyes. “Just for a little while. Like when she went to Boston. When it was quiet. When it was just us.”

“Yeah, I know, love. I know.” He walks back to the edge of the bed, leans down, kisses your forehead. “We’ll get it again. I’ll find a way. You know I always do.”

He took your silence as yes, because you can never object to whatever he puts his mind onto.

He grins faintly. “You think I’m gonna let this go? Nah. You. Hosea. And the possible little one you're cookin' inside you. I'll find a way."

Alfie provided everything you and your son needed. He built a warm little bubble where you believed you did not have to worry about anything as long as he was there by your side and you believed every single word he said. He earned the title of being “the most devoted grandfather Camden's ever seen" given by those who didn’t see the way he looked at you when your mother wasn’t watching.

Night after night he slipped into your room and worked you until there was no doubt in his mind, or yours, that you’d be carrying his second. Sometimes slow, sometimes rough, but always with the same end—staying inside you, holding you there, whispering against your ear.

“That’s it, sweetheart. That’s mine. That’s us. You’ll see.”

By the third week, you stopped counting the nights. By the fifth, you stopped pretending you didn’t want it. Your fertile young body did not stand a chance when your period didn’t come, Alfie didn’t even ask. It was on your second pregnancy when everything started to unravel.

Because how could you, a person who barely left the house and was always busy caring for her son, be pregnant again? It was harder to hide from her this time. Hosea already looks like Alfie—same wavy hair and color, same flared nose when upset, same fucking temper. Jesus, the eyes were unmistakably his. But your mom kept saying he did look like your ex. It was a lethal combination of denial and delusion from her end, and you took advantage of that. How could you tell her that the man she still called husband had already planted another legacy inside you?

Your mother watched you with Hosea lately, you kept every pregnancy signs concealed but she noticed some things.

Every night, Alfie would always bring her a cup of chamomile tea in bed, two sugars, no lemon, a splash of milk since it calms her down and helps her sleep through the night. That night, she took it but did not drink it while it was still warm, and he noticed her spacing out with her face evidently concerned.

“You alright, love?” he asked.

For a moment, your mom hesitated. She was still doubting the suspicions in her mind but said, “I think she’s pregnant again.”

Alfie slowly inhaled through his nose, his mind is already calculating and crafting what to say next. “Oh yeah?” he said. “And what makes you say that?”

“She’s been retching before sunrise. Can’t stand eggs. She’s exhausted. And those shirts—she’s hiding something.”

He nodded. “Could be stress,” he offered. “Could be hormones. Boy's a handful.”

He tried to be charming, which worked most of the time, but this time your mom didn't laugh. “No,” she said. “This feels familiar.”

“You want me to have a word?” he said. “See if she’ll cough it up.”

She nodded, finally sipping the tea, and falling deep asleep eventually.

He wouldn't have conquered Camden that easily if he wasn't too calculating and manipulative for his own good. Alfie never proclaimed himself to be above lying, tricking, and deceiving people for his own gain, especially when the future of the Solomons name was in the line. Any form of hindrance be damned, and he saw your mother sniffing around the area she wasn't supposed to.

So he pivot.

A week later, he was to resettle the agreement with the East Boston Jews but a couple days before that, his sciatica flared up dramatically and he could barely get up from bed and asked your mom to go in behalf of him, convincing her that it will be better if family went instead of Ollie or another one of his men. In which she agreed, reluctantly.

The day before she was set to fly to the States, she snooped around Alfie's office, looking for the paperworks she'd be needing for necessary briefings and negotiations. You were out with Hosea for a quick check up with the doctor and Alfie was at work. Folders, ledgers, envelopes, contracts, she took whatever she needed. In his desk, there was a photo of him and Hosea framed, which wasn't surprising because he was always fond of the little boy. She stared at the photo longer than she meant to and kept digging, following the itch her gut was telling her she wasn't done looking.

His desk was spotless even after checking the last drawer. Nothing. Said to herself that maybe she was just being paranoid then jerked hearing Alfie's car pull up the driveway and mistakenly nudged down the drawer and fuck... there it was.

A false bottom. She pried it open with trembling fingers. The first thing she saw was ultrasound pictures dated back when you were pregnant with Hosea. Polaroid photos of the boy asleep in Alfie's chest on your bed. Your son's birth certificate with a second page with a statutory declaration of acknowledgement of parentage signed by her own fucking husband.

Land titles. Business deeds. A notarized Will. All prepared by Alfie’s solicitor. All transferring to his son, Hosea Solomons, upon his death, if there are no surviving civil partner.

Her breath was heavy while she's elbow deep in the drawer and didn't even hear the footsteps nearing his office.

“You should’ve stayed out of the drawer.” Alfie said coldly from the doorway, holding her usual cup of tea, and locking the door behind him.

Your mother froze, eyes wide, seeing the monster in front of her. He looked completely fine. No cane, no sciatica. He stepped in slowly, and your mom scrambled to crawl back away from him.

“You were meant to take the papers on top,” he said, nodding toward the neat stack she’d originally pocketed. “The ones I left for you.”

Mother watched him slowly put down her usual cup of tea on his desk, crouching down a feet away from her. He did not look like Alfie the husband or the devoted lover, no. It was like unmasking someone who turned out to be the villain after all.

"Tell me the truth..." your mother whispered.

"Y-you're the fucking father?" She stammered. "Hosea is yours and n-now she's pregnant again, isn't she?! You fucking corrupted my daughter, you fucking animal!"

Her heart was pounding terribly in fear. There was no ounce of guilt nor remorse on his face. He wasn't even violent at all which scared her more. She did not feel the hot streaks of tears falling from her eyes, all she felt was anger and betrayal and everything else inside her.

Because it meant Alfie was not planning to stop with this monstrocity anytime soon. And that her daughter, Hosea, and her other grandchild inside your stomach was caught in the middle of it all. All within the palm of this man.

He took a deep breath and scratched his beard with unnerving calm. “No, no, no,” he murmured. “See, that right there—that’s where you get it wrong.”

“You think I tricked her,” he said. “You think I slithered in, yeah? Whispered sweet nothings, and corrupted your little girl like some fucking serpent in the garden.”

God, he was even smiling. Something that would make your mother swoon before but only finds maniacal now.

“She was ripe,” he said, voice rising. “Ready to carry my child because you fuckin' couldn’t!” His arms flailed, wild, erratic.

Then, just like that, he calmed. “And I saw it—I saw 'er. Not the version you raised. I saw a beautiful, lost young soul who wanted to be claimed.”

“She's young. She didn’t know what she was doing,” she whispered. “I’ll take her. I’ll take Hosea. I’ll burn every fucking paper in this drawer and make sure you never touch them again.”

Something snapped inside Alfie, his eyes narrowed, trigged by the phrase that you'd be taken away from him. So he stood up, nodded, then laughed like a mad man while pacing.

“Oh, you’re gonna take 'er, yeah? Gonna take my legacy, my blood, my fuckin' opera—and what, hmm? You think I wouldn't find ya?"

He stormed closer to your mother.

“You think I didn’t see this comin'? You think I didn’t plan for ya? You think I didn’t know you’d sniff around?”

He slammed his hand on the desk causing the tea cup to rattle, spilling some of it out on the saucer.

“You listen to me, yeah? You fuckin' listen. That girl—your daughter—she’s mine now. Mine. She gave me Hosea. She’s giving me another. She chose me. Not you. Me.”

He was looking at your mother with crazy, wide, unblinking eyes she's never seen before.

“You wanna ruin it?” he hissed. “You wanna rip 'er out of my bed, out of my house, out of my everythin' I built for 'em?”

He leaned in, looking past your mother then back at her, and said quietly,

“I’ll kill 'er.”

“Yeah. I’ll kill 'er." He was nodding as if he himself made sense of what he just said. "I think that's fair. If I can't have 'er then you won't either.”

“And I’ll take Hosea. Raise him proper. Raise him mine. And you—you’ll live your fuckin' miserable, measly life watchin' it happen. Rememberin' that you, the mother, are the reason your daughter is dead.”

Dead. The word itself froze your mother on the spot, unable to think of ways or things to say to get you all out of there. You were in it too deep, too far gone. And Alfie straightened his coat, smoothed his beard, and smiled again.

“Now,” he said, voice eerily polite, “why don’t ya sit down, drink your tea."

He placed a container of small bottle prescription pills printed with your mother's name on it on the desk beside her tea.

“… and take this. Two or three... or fuck it—four." He said then gestured toward the bedroom. "You’ll lay down. You’ll calm down. And you sleep."

-

Evening of the same day. You came in with Hosea on your hip, cheeks flushed from the cold air outside and the doctor’s waiting room, laughing as you kicked off your shoes.

“The little loaf is back home,” you sang.

Alfie was in the kitchen, his sleeves rolled, apron on, stirring a pot of Matzo Ball soup—your son loves having for dinner. He turned and smiled like nothing had happened.

“Look at that,” he said, wiping his hands. “M'boy’s back, yeah?”

He kissed Hosea’s forehead, then yours. You pulled back instinctively, eyes flicking toward the hallway, worried your mother might see.

“Where's mum?”

Alfie tilted his head, amused. “Oh, she didn’t tell ya?” he said, reaching for the salt and sprinkling a bit into the soup. “Her flight to Boston got moved earlier. She left.”

“She didn’t say goodbye.” you muttered.

A million thoughts ran through your mind in that moment. Was she upset? Was it a business emergency? Would she be safe on that trip? All you knew was: your mother never left without saying goodbye. Even if she was just running to the market or getting her nails done, she always kissed Hosea and said a sweet goodbye, a gentle see you later.

Alfie shrugged, casual. “She was in a rush. Said she’d call once she landed.”

He leaned in again, kissed you slower this time. His lips lingering, hands gently rubbing your hips, thumb brushing over your belly as he whispered reverently, “It’s just us now, sweetheart.”

You smiled back at him, half-heartedly. Part of you was happy to be alone again with Alfie, to be one big unapologetic family.

But something tugged.

Still, you told yourself it was fine.

You fucking hated working the day shift.

No, it had nothing to do with the people or the hours. It just had everything to do with the terrible habits you spent years building up to work as a nocturnal being in a hospital.

“Holy shit,” you dug your head into your hands as you finished charting for one of your patients. After two weeks into your shift change, you still hadn’t become accustomed to the early mornings and the pounding headaches that came with them.

“You doing okay?” Dennis came to a brief halt as he spotted your hunched figure on his way to the restroom.

“Yeah, just a headache,” you waved him off.

Lifting your head, you saw the concerned look on his face, layering over his eternally pathetic appearance.

“I could get you some water? Do you want me to check you out in one of the rooms? I mean, I can—“

“It’s fine, Whitaker.”

You chuckled at his overly helpful behavior.

Dennis Whitaker was too kind and too nice to look at. You wouldn’t dare have him go out of his way to help someone like you. At least, not after weeks of already doing just that.

“No—really. Let me get you something to drink, okay?” Before you could offer a rebuttal, he was off.

“Oooh, he’s got it bad,” Trinity stepped up to you now. Nosey woman…

“Oh, I’m sure you’d know all about that, right?” You raised a brow to her, watching her expression fold from one of content to something much more dismissive.

Yes, you knew how Dennis was around you, and unfortunately, how he was without you. Trinity didn’t like to leave out the details of what she may or may not have heard on quiet nights in their shared apartment.

There may have been a few times when he may or may not have helped you out a lot more than you needed here at the ER. Offering snacks he surely didn’t have the money for, keeping Robby off your back, even going so far as to take a few nasty priapisms off your hands at the start of your transition between shifts.

You were flattered, really, how much he liked talking about you even when you weren’t there. How much he seemed to think of you, even if you were miles away. It made you feel perceived in a way you hadn’t ever really felt before. Less forgotten, more admired in a sense.

“I’m just saying that Huckleberry over there wants you so bad it’s almost sad. Everyone sees it.”

You could see Princess and Perlah whispering between one another out of the corner of your eye.

“Coming from a walking HR violation, that’s not very reassuring.”

“Oh, c’mon,” she rolled her eyes. “Since when do you care about rules and regulations? I thought Abbot drilled all that stuff out of you before your residency?”

In your defence, your work under Abbot as a student and then intern had been some of the most thorough lessons of your life. It wasn’t his fault that a lot of his life-saving measures could sometimes be considered unorthodox in non-military settings.

“Uhhh, since—“ you whipped your head around quickly, making sure the coast was clear. “Since Dr. Robinabitch has been on my case since the moment I got here. I have no fucking clue why or how, but it’s driving me insane, and I’d really like to get through these next few months without getting fired.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” shit. “He wouldn’t fire you. Get mad, maybe throw you a nasty look, but never fire.”

Dana leaned in, taking over the conversation. “And between you and me, Abbot would never let him do something like that.”

She patted your shoulders for extra measure.

Yeah, great. Cool.

As if that wasn’t the problem in the first place.

“I’m just saying that I feel like I’m walking a tight rope here and I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t—“

“Got it!”

All three of your heads turned to see Dennis standing there, proud, with a fresh bottle of water in one hand and a sandwich in the other. He’d managed to nab you one from the cart.

“What an angel,” Dana raised a brow at you before heading back to her station.

“A real southern charmer,” you agreed, giving Trinity a look before taking the goods from Dennis.

“Really, thank you, Whitaker. You shouldn’t have.”

You took the food from his hands gently, allowing the tips of your fingers to trace along the edges of his own.

“No, it’s okay,” he stuffed his hands into his scrub pockets, seemingly shivering at the light touches between you. “I just…like taking care of you, I guess.”

“That’s sweet, Dennis,” you smiled at him, sickly and with a certain amount of saccharine allure that had the boy’s adam’s apple bobbing up and down his throat.

You were so pretty, so delightfully sweet in your loose scrubs and rolled up sleeves. It was hard to look at you sometimes, and how you’d so casually been able to assimilate into the lives of the day shifters. Him especially.

He remembers you from the Pitt Fest mass casualty event and how you’d worked like a machine that night. Where he felt that he was barely keeping up with the patient intake, you moved through the ER like a soldier. If Abbot or Dana or even Robby told you to do something and be somewhere, you’d do it with a precision he hadn’t seen from anyone his age. It was inspiring, immortalizing even.

Maybe even a little hot.

Maybe really super hot.

Dennis gulped again at the memory of the first night you’d met.

Clearing his throat, he asked, “Do you, maybe, need some help with anything else? I mean—“

Mohan called your name abruptly, motioning towards the triage.

You stood from your seat quickly, looking back at Dennis with a smile.

“Come find me when our shifts are over, and maybe we can finally talk about something that’s not work, alright?”

Without so much as another word from him, you were off.

So.

Here’s the thing.

You really like Dennis. He’s a sweet guy, really does have that southern charm that you melt for.

But god, did you like him desperate, too.

You liked his sad puppy dog eyes and how they begged for your attention. You liked how he had a hard time focusing on your face, trying to keep his gaze contained to the one part of your body that was socially acceptable to stare at the way that he did. You liked how he trembled a little when you grasped at his elbow or tapped his knee.

That being said, you weren’t sorry for what you were about to do.

“Can I touch you?” Dennis groaned out, bucking up and hoping that it was a signal enough of how much he wanted you. “I promise I won’t cum, I promise.”

You grinned, teeth baring down at him like some sort of predator savoring the catch of its prey.

You, washed and showered, out of your scrubs and in a loose-fitted lounge set. Dennis, wearing a set of sweats you’d had on hand that you knew would fit him and nothing else. Comfortable in the warmth of your home and your arms.

He had been resting against the headboard of your bed, back slumped against the surface as every part of you consumed his mind.

Without speaking, you brought your hands out to cup his face, supple and flushed red with desperation. With your ass resting pretty over his lap, you ground down, giving him what little he asked for. To touch you.

He huffed, hips stuttering in an effort to chase the feeling of your pussy through the thin layers of clothing each of you wore.

His hands, the ones he wished were groping at every inch of you, were bound tightly behind his back with an old t-shirt, the promise that he’d get all he wanted and more if he listened to you carefully.

Gently, you swiped your thumb over his lip, trailing down his neck, and resting the palm of your hand at the center of his chest. He was so, so warm, so shaky and soft, ready for you in every way.

“I’ll make it worth your while, baby, I promise.”

Swallowing his nerves, he nodded hastily.

Your smile returned as your hand traveled the length of his chest, ghosting over his nipples and following your own trail across the planes of his stomach. He wasn’t ripped by any means, but he was soft, pliable, even. The type of man you’d just love to get to know more of.

He twitched at that, motioning for his pelvis to knock into your own once again, earning a delicious moan from him as he finally got to feel the direct warmth of your most intimate body parts over his own.

You decided you’d take your time with him.

Raising yourself over his lap, you stood on your knees, looking down at him with a dangerous look in your eye.

Leaning over ever so slightly, you brought your lips to his for what felt like the millionth time that night.

Your tongues clashed, his savoring and sucking you further into him, hoping to bring you down to earth, down on him. You, who took his motivations in stride, leveled yourself back down on his aching cock and bit gently on his bottom lip.

The sounds of your lips smacking with the wet essence of your own saliva spurred him on, forcing his body to rut into your own, practically begging for more.

His clothed cock bumped hastily against your pussy, pumped full with blood and need. He wanted you so desperately, you could feel it with every hump and between every ridge of him.

Dennis broke away with a sputtering gasp. “I—I wanna feel it. Please.”

And only because he was so pretty like this, his lips swollen and eyes beading with tears, did you oblige.

You raked your fingers across his torso once more, though this time, you went much further south.

Your hand cupped over his bulge, rocking against it gently to feel the hot outline he’d left in his wake. Hard as a rock, you felt along the tip, gauging just how pretty you’d know it be. The reveal was taunting you at this point.

In the sweats, he was already twitching, leaving behind a wet spot you knew was a mix of your wetness with his own. The perfect combination of want and desire. Of you and him.

Fuck, you couldn’t take it anymore, and you were sure he couldn’t either.

“You wanna feel it, Dennis?” Your eyes, half lidded and glazed over with arousal, peered at him.

He nodded, sweat beading down his neck.

“Alright then.”

You shimmied out of your bottoms, leaving only your thin cotton panties on.

Before settling down on his lap once more, you pulled at the drawstrings of his sweats.

The reveal of his cock was just as you’d imagined it. It was pretty, flushed pink at the tip, a long shaft on the thinner side with curly blonde hair neatly trimmed at the base.

Fuck, this guy was picture perfect.

You let him indulge in your hand for the time being, wanting to get a feel for yourself.

“Feel better?” You asked, smiling coyly.

Dennis let out only a breathy sigh as a reply, finally relishing in the feeling of your delicate skin rubbing against his own, even if it was just your hand.

You jerked him off, precum coating your palm just enough to earn a few egregious moans from him. He was leaning into you now, forehead pressed against your shoulder, lips nipping at the connection between your neck and shoulder. His tongue soothed over the snippier bites he took.

Gently, you pulled yourself over him, lowering your still clothed cunt over his cock, and started rolling your hips.

“fuhh—feels so good.”

Dennis met your movements with his own, rocking against your soaked panties with a renewed vigor from having finally been let loose of his bottoms.

His arms strained against the t-shirt latched behind his back. He wanted to touch you, to feel your skin, to get rid of your panties, and hope and pray that you’d let him go where he’d never thought to go before.

For now, he could feel his cock slipping between the slit of your cunt, dragging against the sensitive nub at the top before making it all the way down to your hole. All through the near translucent cloth that shielded you from his heat.

He rolled his hips in sync with your own, meeting you halfway as your own moans and breathy sighs began matching his.

Sooner than he would have liked, he began feeling that familiar tug in his gut, forcing him to begin the erratic movement of his hips, losing its perfect sync with your own.

He was close. So close.

“Can I…?” He trailed off.

You thought about it for a moment, feeling his pulsing cock grind against your clit in ecstasy. It was perfect, warm, and wet all in one. You could feel him, smell him even.

Your hands moved to push your panties to the side, leaving his bare cock to finally, finally rub against your silken skin.

“Want you to finish like this,” you whispered into his ear, letting your teeth drag along the shell as you went.

He shivered under your touch.

Like nothing he’d ever seen before, you began moving as though you had perfected the craft.

Lying your pussy flat on his dick, he could finally feel the direct warmth of your core alongside the pooling slick that collected between the folds in his brief absence.

As you began to drag yourself along his length, you all but milked the orgasm out of him.

For what you were sure were the few final moments of your shared pleasures, you gripped his shoulders and moved vigorously. So much so that the tip of his cock began catching at the lip of your opening. He was so close, he could feel it, taste it even.

So close. So so—

His body convulsed violently as he came, hips rocking into yours as warm cum splattered across his belly and your thighs.

His eyes were rolled to the back of his head, your hands gripping his shoulders, pulling him into your chest to suckle on the exposed skin from your top, which you realized now that you’ve yet to shed.

“Feel so good, Dennis…” you breathed out with a longing sigh, inching your hands behind his back and to the knotted shirt.

“Want more…”

He looked up at you, out of breath and spent.

You hadn’t cum yet.

At this realization, he nodded his head as fast as he could. Unable to form the words, especially after what was the most intense orgasm of his life, he made his devotion to you as clear as day.

He’d do anything for you, to you, with you. Whatever it took, he’d be there.

“I think,” you took a breath, releasing the shirt from his wrists. “You can finally touch me now.”

Like a bat out of hell, his hands sprang to pull your body even closer to his. His aching cock, begging for the release of any and all sensations, had been spent. Even so, he slipped his hands down the length of your back, gripping your ass and hauling you directly over his length once more.

At the risk of feeling overstimulated, he groaned in frustration.

“I think you have to give me a few minutes.”

He tucked his head by the collar of your shirt, leaving his hands to trail up from your ass and under the cusp of your bust. He was cupping your tits now, gently massaging the tender flesh of your torso.

Your eyes shone with a sick sense of anticipation. He seemed to be getting a sense of confidence in himself now.

“I got another idea.”

Dennis looked up to you with your words, his natural expression taking over with those shiny puppy dog eyes and natural tiredness all over again.

Dennis. Your Dennis.

You urged him to scoot further down the bed so that his head was just below the headboard and so that your core rested prettily over his chest.

On his way down, you couldn’t help but sneak a peek at what you’d left in your wake. His cock, though not entirely soft, was clearly spent and flushed from all the rubbing. His torso gleamed with his own cum, and his face, well, his face was now resting comfortably between your thighs.

With the new inclusion of his hands, he was finally able to get a grip on the softer parts of your body. Roaming over the expanse of your thighs and ass, pulling at the lips of your slit to get a better look at what he’d been pushing up into just moments before. He wasn’t examining you with some latent sense of curiosity, no, he was analyzing the most sensitive parts of you. Locking the formation away in his mind so that only he would ever know just how precious you were under all those layers.

“Having fun?” You chuckled at his surprise. So cute.

With your head, you motioned him to continue.

Apprehensively, he nodded and continued to poke and prod at the finer parts of you.

It only took a few moments before you got impatient.

“Look up here for me, Dennis,” you ran a hand through his curls, bringing his face to look up at your own.

“Huh?”

“Open up, yeah?”

You could see him gulp before carefully opening up his mouth. You tilted your head down ever so slightly before letting a glob of spit fall between the plush skin of his lips and directly onto his tongue.

He whined at the contact before finally, finally bringing himself to face your cunt and licking a thick strip from your hole to your clit. Your saliva meshing with his, all draped across your pussy in one long pleasurable movement.

Your back arched, feeling his tongue probe at your hole while your clit nudged against his nose deliciously.

You began rocking your hips back and forth, not so much unlike what he had done earlier. With as much energy as you could muster, you met his sloppy muscle just as he had previously met your wet pussy.

At your movements, he hastened his pace, devouring your cunt rather than simply eating or licking at it. He was going in with something to prove.

Pulling another hearty moan from you, he enveloped his lips around your pretty button and sucked harshly.

“Fuhckk,” you ran a hand up your shirt, pulling it off and gripping your own tit.

Dennis, with enough mind to finally look up at you, was blessed with the prettiest sight of all. You, in all your blissed-out glory, groping at your own tits, rubbing your fingers around your nipple, and pulling.

He knew then when it was finally over, when he could taste the essence of your desire on his tongue in tandem with the harsh bucking of your hips.

His hands, though trembling with excitement and adrenaline, eased you off of his face as you had finally come down from your high. He had enough mind to lick you clean before finally pulling away at your sudden gasps of overstimulation.

You took the spot next to him on your bed, both of you out of breath and covered with enough bodily fluids that it warranted another shower.

“You know,” Dennis spoke through a few heavy puffs of breath. “I’d do anything for you.”

“I know.”

“And…I really, really like you. A lot.”

“I know.”

“And I don’t do this often, but I want you to know it meant a lot to me and…and I don’t know where I’m going with this.” He let his palm fall over his reddening face.

“How about,” you turned on your side to face him, head resting heavy in your right hand as your left began rubbing circles on his chest. “I get you a water bottle and a snack this time.”

With a tepid sigh, Dennis smiled.