A Little Ditty...

His tongue works absolute magic between your folds, and the chorus of whines and moans he draws out of you are his favourite of the dark hymns he's heard in his time.

He's been at this for over 30 minutes, made you cum twice already and shows no signs of tiring, despite his age.

Frankly your head was hazy and you could barely string thoughts together, curses and praises flowing freely from loose lips...

So that's why you didn't register when it slipped out. The only thing you noticed, was Primo's tongue disappearing.

When it dawned on you, panic rose in your chest.

"What did you say, fiorellina?" He hasn't moved, but his eyes are on yours while you look down at him between the valley of your breasts. There was no hiding it now.

"I-I... I'm sorry... but I love you, Primo."

He rests his cheek against your inner thigh, his eyes softening and a smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

"Why do you apologise, fiorellina?"

You begin to tear up, overwhelmed with fear and regret but Papa turns his head and beings to press kisses to your inner thigh.

"Never apologise, amore mio... non puoi immaginare quanto ti amo (you cannot imagine how much i love you)" he say as he mouths at your thigh, leaving open mouthed kisses as he spills his adoration right back to you.

He showers you with the most beautiful of prose, speaking nothing but pure poetry about how much he loves you, how he has since the day he met you, that you were a blessing from the Dark One... all while still between your legs, his lips and tongue working their dark magic on you...

Secondo

'Sessions' with Secondo often included hours of teasing, of orgasm denial, of working you up until you couldn't take it anymore...

And then, finally, he'd take you as his.

Much like tonight, where he had you spread out on your back for him, and he was relentlessly hammering his hips into yours after over an hour of nothing but toys and teasing.

You hadn't meant to say it, but when he'd told you tell him exactly what you were thinking, landing a harsh spank to the underside of your thigh that he pressed against your torso, it just... escaped.

Secondo stilled immediately, his eyes wide and crazed as they bore down into yours.

Suddenly his hand was around your throat, pinning you to the mattress beneath you.

"Say that again," he growled, daring you.

You knew better than to argue or disobey a command, and even with his hand wrapped around your throat, you stuttered out a weak confession one more time.

Now, Secondo had a rule about your sessions - he never kissed you. You were here to play, to be subservient. That was the agreement.

So when he lurched himself forwards and all but swallowed your lips with his own, you couldn't help the squeak of surprise that got lost between the hand around your throat and his lips moulding with yours.

"You do not lie, vero? (right?)" he asked, his forehead pressed to yours as his still-angry looking eyes searched yours. But it wasn't anger, it was desperation.

You shook your head as much as his grip allowed, and he dove in for another kiss - one that you could better anticipate, yet was no less aggressive than the last.

He released his grip on your throat and redistributed it to your hip, starting to pound back into you over and over as he kissed you.

He let you wrap your arms around his shoulders, holding him closer, suddenly more intimate than you had ever been together.

It didn't even bother you that he hadn't said it back immediately. You knew. Just from his behaviour, you knew.

It wasn't until you had both climaxed and found yourself being pulled into an embrace between his sheets that he finally said what you'd longed to hear for too long.

"Ti amo, dolcezza... By Satan, I swear, ti amo..."

Terzo

Your relationship with Terzo was exclusive by this point. He only had eyes for you, still in the beginning phase of a relationship that was exciting and fresh.

You knew you loved him, there was no doubt in your mind, but telling him was another story.

Did he love you back? You were sure of it. He doted on you like no other. But you knew it would be hard for him to say the words, given his inability to handle emotion and have a half-serious conversation about feelings.

Not to mention the fact he found it difficult to believe he was worthy of a love like yours...

You figured you'd have to be the one to say it first. Terzo was too insecure. You had to give him the confirmation he needed.

You just didn't expect it to rocket out of you as he was buried inside you from below you...

You saw the concentrated expression on his face vanish, and he looked up at you so fast you half expected him to bolt from beneath you and hide.

"You do, eh?" he asked, his eyebrow quirking up and his smirk lifting the corner of his lips. "You love your Papa?"

You stopped rolling your hips and swatted his arm playfully.

"I'm serious, Terzo... I love you..."

Terzo's smirk softened into in blissful grin, and he sat up to come face to face with you, wrapping his arms around your back to keep you connected.

"I love you too, tesorino," he told you plainly, honestly. All he'd needed was the affirmation.

You sealed your confessions with a kiss that would make the circles of Hell envious, his hands roaming your skin as if he couldn't leave a single square centimetre of it untouched by the love you deserved.

Suddenly, he flipped you onto your back, not once disconnecting himself from you.

"You're mine now, no take-backsies..." he grinned, bowing his head to suckle and nibble at your neck while his hips began to piston his cock in and out of you once again.

Copia

You don't know what's got into him tonight, but nothing seems to be enough for Copia.

Never enough kisses, never enough flesh to grab or suckle at, never enough of you... He needs more, he seems so desperate.

There's this urgency you can't explain, like there's something missing.

You think you know what it is, the feelings between you lingering in the air but evading capture like smoke.

He's becoming agitated, like it's frustrating him that he can't find what he needs from you tonight. He's growling into the swell of your breast as he fills you.

"C-Copia stop... stop..." you pause him, pushing on his chest until he's hovering above you, his Baphomet pendant swinging from his neck between you. He's coated in sweat, his paints melting under the duress.

"What's wrong?" he asks, panicked.

"I was going to ask you that..."

His head droops as he lets out a deep breath. He swipes his hand over his face, smearing what's left of the melting paint.

"Mi dispiace... I just... something is missing..."

You take his face in your hands, and he looks distraught... It's all you want to do, to comfort him. To reassure him, give him what he's missing...

"It's because I need to tell you something, Copia. And I need you to hear me, no matter the consequence..."

He waits for you to go on, his heart thundering in his chest from his exertion and the fear of whatever you were about to say to him.

"I'm in love with you."

The change in him is almost instantaneous. His eyes turn glassy, and his shoulders relaxed as if the tension dissolved in them.

"Anch'io sono innamorato di te... (I'm in love with you too...)" he cries, tears spilling and dripping to your own cheeks, painting them with grey streaks while your own drip down your temples.

Any fear you had that your feeling weren't reciprocated, that he would panic and leave; well, they made you feel ridiculous now. Of course he loved you too.

"Make me yours, Copia..." you told him, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips and threading your fingers into his hair. "Give me everything you have."

With a new fire in him, the embers stoked by your confession and flames roaring to life again, he slammed his hips into yours over and over.

"You have all of me, amore. I'll give you every last fucking drop of me..." he lifted his hand from beside you where he held himself up, and flattened it against your abdomen, "until everyone can fucking see that we belong to each other."

You step into the chapel like you have so many times before. The same familiar smell of the old but well taken care of wood and the incense burned during the weekly rituals invades your nose and almost calms you down enough to slow your heart which begins to thump harder in your chest as you approach the large door to the side of the building. Papa's office.

"I…I can do this…" You mutter under your breath.

You knock twice on the door, gently.

"…Yes?"

"Papa…it's Sister [Y/N]. May I speak to you?"

You listen for an answer but before you know it, the door opens and there before you stands Papa V Perpetua. He looks down at you inquisitively with a slight smile that creates a crease in his face paint. He's in one of his casual outfits - fitted black jeans with a lace up crotch, his beloved black belt with a bat-shaped buckle, a black turtleneck and black silk shirt. His ebony curls are messier than usual, framing his half-masked face and brushing against his shoulders. You're never quite prepared to meet his gaze - his left iris is pure white and gives the illusion of a cold stare. His right is a deep green with hues of hazel and blue in the right lighting. You could spend eternity counting the colours in his eyes.

He's beautiful.

"How can I help you, Sister? Are you unwell?" There is a sense of urgency in his tone.

"No, no, I…I need to confess. Is it a bad time?"

His eyes search your face for a moment and recognise your distress.

"Of course not. Take a seat in the booth and I'll be there in a moment." He says softly, before disappearing behind the door.

You slowly make your way over to the confession booth and sit down, drawing the curtain in front of you. Your hands and legs are both a weak and shaky mess as your thoughts race circles around you. A few moments later, you hear the steady but calm footsteps approach the other side of the booth. Papa sits down, draws his own curtain and turns to the confession window between you both.

"I'm here…what is it that you'd like to confess, Sister?"

"Papa, I…" Your eyes begin to swell with tears. "I'm sorry, this is hard to say out loud…"

"It's alright," You think that you hear him place a hand to the window, the closest he can get to comforting you. "There's no shame here, no sin…only an ear to listen."

He speaks softly but lowly in an Italian accent. He has the kind of voice that could soothe the most panicked of people. You catch your breath, and try again.

"Papa, there's someone I can't stop thinking about."

"Oh?" His soft, concerned tone now contains a hint of curiosity.

"It's distracting me from my duties. I can't get him out of my mind…and…the thoughts are often…not pure…" You start to feel tears coming again.

"I understand," He pauses. "Now, Sister, why do you feel that you would ever need to confess to something so natural and innocent?"

"Because he's my boss."

You can barely believe the words that have just come out of your mouth. There is silence. You can't focus enough to count but it feels like an eternity.

"You've…been thinking about me?" You can feel him lean in closer to the window.

"Yes, Papa." Tears are now streaming down your cheeks. "I can only ever think of you…"

Papa gets up and makes his way over to the closed curtain in front of you.

"Can I see you?"

"Yes, Papa…"

He gently opens the curtain and kneels in front of you, reaching up to hold your face. With his gloved hand, he wipes any falling tears away. "There's no need to cry, dear one…" His tenderness turns you into a puddle in front of him, and you wonder if he pities you.

And then…

"I think about you, too."

You look up to meet his captivating eyes. With a hand still holding your face, he closes the distance between you, placing one knee on the seat and steadying himself with his other hand. He lifts your chin so that your lips graze his.

He pauses for a moment to smile at you and you close your eyes to let him know that you're ready.

The kiss starts off soft as he takes your bottom lip between his. The way he tastes is intoxicating. You place a hand on his firm chest and bury the other in his curls.

"Papa…" You moan between kisses.

"Mm?…" You've never heard his voice like this. A deep, breathy growl that stokes the fire burning in the deepest parts of you.

"I want you," You breathe, barely able to articulate any words yourself. Papa deepens the kiss, tightening the grip he has on your face and starting to explore your mouth with his tongue. You can feel him smile into you each time he makes you moan with only his kiss.

He pulls away from you and returns to a kneeling position on the floor of the booth, between your legs. Placing a hand on each of your knees, he plants soft kisses up to your thighs until his face is pressed up to your wetness. You instinctively open your legs and he lifts them up to rest on his shoulders.

"So wet for me…" He mutters, pecking you through your panties.

"Only for you, Papa…"

You place your hands in his hair again as he expertly slides your underwear down and off with two gloved fingers.

You arch your back slightly to give him more access, desperate to feel his touch. He smirks again as he gently parts your folds with his thumb and index finger.

"You're beautiful,"

He takes in the view of you spread out in front of him one more time before leaning in to suck and gently lick at your clit. His warm tongue feels like heaven, easing all of the aching and tension you've been holding for him.

"V…" You moan.

"That's right, baby." He growls from between your thighs; turned on by hearing you moan his name rather than his title.

He pulls away from your pussy which has now created a pool below you on the seat. He swiftly removes both gloves to reveal his strong but slender and perfectly crafted hands. His hands were something you fixated on but you so rarely got to see them.

He teases your entrance, running a finger up and down your slit before inserting it and stroking at your sweet spot which has swollen from arousal. The waves of pleasure course through your entire body as your grip on his hair tightens. He barely notices, keeping his eyes on you, relishing in the pleasure he's delivering with a single finger motion.

Your fluids begin to soak his hand and he inserts another, repeating the same motion but with a gentle forward motion, fucking you with his beautiful fingers.

You're a flushed, wet, gasping mess on his hands and you can barely form a thought. The pleasure is too much to bear and stars explode in the corners of your vision.

"V, I think I'm going to…" You gasp.

"[Y/N]…It's okay, darling. Let go," He moans.

He leans down and gently nips on the flesh of your thigh with his sharp canines, sucking ever so gently. Leaving his mark while being careful not to do too much too soon.

"Cum on my fingers, baby." He growls, muffled by your flesh.

His command sends you over the edge and your legs tremble atop his shoulders as you cry out in pleasure and relief. He continues to fuck you with his fingers while using a thumb to rub soft circles over your clit, guiding you through the waves of sheer ecstasy.

When it's over, you lean forward and pull his head closer to you. His lips are glistening with your cum and sweat and he smiles at you as though you're the most breathtaking view - even though you're sure you must look a mess. You tenderly kiss him and feel a strange sense of pride tasting yourself on his lips.

Papa tastes like my pussy.

You chuckle to yourself and the inquisition takes over the look of lust on his face.

"Something funny?" He caresses your bottom lip with his thumb.

"I taste good on you."

How the hell did you let it get to that point? How did you allow this to happen?

You had a bad habit of falling back into old memories whenever Mike hit you. You always wondered where you went wrong and what you could have done differently. Now? It felt like there was no escape. Even if you ran away, where would you go? He could find you anywhere. He told you that, once. And if he were just some run of the mill, blue-collar drunk, you wouldn't have believed him.

It was maybe ten years ago when he accidentally left the door to his office in the basement unlocked. You were doing laundry and saw the door was cracked, so you poked your head inside. He had told you before that it was nothing special, that it was just a quiet place for him to focus on work. He said he locked the door because the equipment on loan from his office was expensive and he couldn't risk anything happening to it. But what you saw was... not the type of equipment a man in finance would need.

Weapons were perched on the walls, sparkling clean and ready for use. You couldn't count how many computer monitors were mounted on the back wall, how many hidden cameras were placed around your home. But what drew your attention the most were the monitors that displayed a view from another house. Or, houses, as you would come to learn later.

His desk had high-tech looking equipment, tactical gear, files on men in a foreign language. Ten different cell phones were stashed away in a drawer along with countless fake passports and a whole duffel bag filled with a mix of foreign currency.

Mike was not the man he claimed to be.

And when he caught you snooping in his office, that was the first night he hurt you. Really hurt you.

You met him when you were a teenager, taken by the fact that he was a couple years older and seemingly wiser. Youth and naivety kept you from seeing who he really was. He was rough and possessive, but you thought you liked it. Before you knew it, he had proposed to you and almost fifteen years later, you were stuck in not only a loveless marriage, but a violent marriage.

And you had no way out. No means of escape.

When you finally stopped shaking, you stood to gather some ice for your face, pressing it tenderly against the bruises when the same inevitable thought crossed your mind:

Dave never would have done this.

Dave York. The boy who grew up next door to you. Who you went to school with all through high school. The boy you had a painful crush on for as long as you could remember, but who only saw you as just a good friend. Someone to hang out with over the summer. Someone to tag along with to the movies when he was bored. Someone to ride bikes with all over the neighborhood. Someone who gave you your first kiss after he convinced you to sneak out in the middle of the night but then made you swear not to tell anyone.

You had convinced yourself the kiss had meant nothing to him. Why would it, if he made you promise not to say anything? It broke your heart, but the idea of losing Dave as a friend hurt more, so you kept your mouth shut and pretended it never happened.

And you were okay with it. For a while. When you were eighteen, you met Mike, and for the first time, you had feelings for someone else other than Dave.

You were so excited to introduce them. Your closest friend meeting your first real boyfriend. But, of course, they clashed the moment they were introduced. Like two animals who sniffed each other out, they knew the other was bad news and from then on, things changed.

Mike asked that you didn't see Dave as much. It felt like being torn in two, but Dave was already applying to colleges out of state anyway, and it didn't take long until he was accepted.

Against Mike's wishes, you went to Dave's going away party. Alone. It was that day when Dave pulled you aside and confessed his feelings for you. Told you he was in love with you and begged you to come with him. Said that you had so much potential that you would just be wasting if you stayed home, with Mike. That he could take care of you.

And foolishly, you turned him down. At the time, you had convinced yourself what you had with Mike was real. He didn't try to hide you the way Dave did. He proudly had you on his arm from day one.

So, you made the biggest mistake of your life. You said no. Accused him of being jealous and ran home to Mike.

When Mike found out where you had been, he grabbed you by the throat and pushed you up against the wall. Spit obscenities in your face and told you never to lie to him again.

The next morning, he apologized. Said he had been drinking, that it would never happen again. You believed him, and he didn't do anything for another year. After that, the aggression slowly built up. It started with the verbal abuse, the accusations, and the lies. Then he grew more physical.

There wasn't one particular day when it all changed, it was a slow progression, but stumbling across his private office was certainly a bad day. The physical abuse was always linked with something big. Something big and terrible that you felt you did wrong. Over the years, that changed, too.

And now, present day, anything could set him off.

That particular evening, you had burnt the chicken for dinner, so he backhanded you across the jaw before grabbing you by the back of the neck and slamming your face into the refrigerator.

No, Dave York certainly would never have treated you that way. Your life could have been completely different had you not turned him down.

Little did you know, you would find out exactly how different soon enough.

You stared blankly at your computer, one eye still swollen but hidden pretty damn well under a thick layer of your best concealer. Thank god it was a slow day. Even if you didn't get much sleep the night before, allowing yourself to rest by pretending to work was enough to make you feel a little better.

The double espresso in your latte didn't hurt, either.

You had managed to become an expert at faking being busy at work. Zoning out was your speciality. So much so that you hardly heard the front doors of the bank swing open and shut, and only faintly heard the quiet tap of dress shoes on the tile making their way towards your general direction.

"Excuse me?"

Your body jumped at his voice, startling you out of your daydream. With your heart hammering in your chest, you narrowed your eyes at your computer, hoping to convey the look of someone deep in the middle of a very serious work issue.

"Sorry. Have a seat, I'll be right with you," you said without looking up. If you gave up your fake task too quickly, it would prove you weren't really working, so you opened up a few random files and pretended to jot down some notes, some random numbers and names, before clearing your throat and finally giving the man across from you your full attention.

Your jaw dropped. Heart plummeted to your stomach. Body rigid with shock.

It was him. It was Dave York. After fifteen years and never laying eyes on him, you could still pick him out of lineup. Those deep, brown eyes. Thick, slightly wavy hair. Chiseled jaw and angular nose. He was unmistakable.

"H-hi," you stammered, feeling your face warm instantly at your weak greeting. He just cocked his head at you, confused. Then you grew even more uncomfortable when it became clear he didn't recognize you.

You pointed meekly to your name tag, his eyes following your finger and watching as his face slowly filled with recognition.

What you had hoped would be a warm welcome turned out to only be a tight lipped smile and nod.

"Oh. Didn't realize it was you."

You waved him off and briefly looked back at your screen, unable to stand the embarrassment.

"How have you been, Dave?" you asked, pulling your focus away from your computer and back onto him. "Are you home visiting your family? Oh... it's your father's birthday next week, right?"

Something shifted behind his eyes. Something softer. Like he was taken aback but trying to hide it. Your suspicion was correct when he stumbled over his next words, the confidence and cool demeanor he strolled in with temporarily gone.

"How - you remember that?"

You nodded. "Of course, I do. How could I forget?"

The day Dave's father passed away, it was raining. Not just raining, but down pouring. Streets were flooding and everyone stayed huddled in their homes, safe and dry.

But not you.

When you heard the news, you had rushed to the abandoned tree house by the train tracks two blocks from your home. It was a safe place for you both. Whenever your parents were fighting, Dave would find you there. And when Dave's father got sick, you would find him there, too. You had scrambled up the wooden ladder, sheets of rain pelting your face, cascading down your shoulders and soaking through your thin raincoat. But when you hurried into the treehouse and found him, huddled and shaking in the corner with tears streaking down his cheeks, you forgot all about your discomfort. You rushed to him, pulled him into your arms and let him cry against your chest for an hour without saying a single word. The only noise was the distant rumble of thunder and the steady sound of harsh raindrops pelting the wooden roof.

You were both sixteen at the time.

Dave blinked and cleared his throat, shaking off the sudden warmth that filled his chest.

"No. I'm here on business."

He pulled out his badge from his suit coat and your eyebrows raised in surprise.

"C.I.A?" you said, "Wow. I mean, I thought I had heard something-"

"Need you to look up a couple accounts for me."

You clamped your mouth shut, trying to hide your dejection by looking across the lobby floor, but his icy tone and steely demeanor stung. You couldn't blame him, really, given how things ended the last time you saw each other, but you had held out hope that he had forgiven you at some point in the past fifteen years.

Seemed as though you were wrong.

"Y-yeah, sure. That - I can do that," you said, straightening up in your chair, determined to keep things purely professional, same as him. "What are the names and socials?"

He didn't even pull out a file or notepad, he had them memorized so he could keep his eyes locked on your face, studying you, watching for any glimmer of recognition or surprise when he told you the names.

"James Victor Turner."

You typed away on your keyboard, completely unphased by the name, much to his relief. He rattled off the social security number and waited a moment until you found the right person.

"Do you want me to email the account detail or something? That's usually what the feds have us do," you asked, turning back to him. He let your words hang in the air for a moment, searching your eyes for any sign of deceit. Finally, he nodded and slid his card across your desk.

"Email's on there."

Your gaze jumped from his face to the card, noting immediately his cell number was listed, as well, and suddenly the thought of having his cell phone number filled you with a deep sort of comfort you couldn't explain.

He gave you three other names, and every time he waited for a shift in your brow, a flinch in your cheek, or for your breath to quicken in alarm, but every time you remained completely indifferent and calm. He had learned how to read body and facial tells in the academy. He was very fucking good at it.

These names meant nothing to you.

Thank fuck.

"Is that all?" you asked when you emailed the last file. You thought you hid your hopefulness from your voice, that maybe he would say no, let's get a drink, let's catch up. But instead, he nodded and muttered his thanks. Then leaned to the side to slide his wallet back into his pants.

"You taking care of yourself?" he asked casually as he went to stand. "Husband treating you right?"

Now that got a reaction. Your brows tilted slightly, your gaze shifted away and you swallowed nervously. It was then he felt his blood run cold in his veins.

He was very fucking good at reading body language.

"Yeah," was all you said, then pretended to read something in your email. Dave stalled, heart beginning to thunder in his chest when he noticed. How did he miss it before?

"What happened to your eye?"

Your lips briefly pressed into a thin line before you forced a fake smile.

"I was cleaning over the weekend and something fell from the top shelf of my bathroom. Some luck, huh?"

Your tone was practiced. Disarming. He saw right through it.

"What fell?"

"Huh?" you asked.

"What fell from the shelf?" he repeated, watching as you tried to hide the panic behind your eyes. You were used to people not questioning your rehearsed excuses.

"Um, it - I think it was toothpaste."

"Toothpaste caused a shiner like that?" he pushed. He had places to be. He had to report back in less than ten minutes with his findings. But he couldn't seem to give a shit.

"It was still in the box. The corner caught me just right," you replied smoothly, pleased with your quick thinking. Dave slowly nodded, deciding to drop it and not make your day even worse.

Besides, he knew all he needed to know, anyway.

His hands fidgeted at his sides. His gaze slid around the lobby while he tried to think of something else to say. You watched him curiously.

"My number's on the card-"

"I know," you replied, cutting him off. He met your eye and you gave him a small smile. He bit the inside of his cheek and nodded tightly.

"Don't be afraid to use it."

And before you could react, he was halfway across the lobby. When he disappeared through the doors, you looked back down at his business card. Your finger traced the blue numbers indented into the card stock, the small rectangle somehow acting like a talisman. Settling your nerves, calming you.

Dave York came back to you.

An entire week went by and your thoughts rarely drifted from Dave. Every time the doors opened at work, your head snapped up, hoping to see him again. When you laid in bed at night, your husband sometimes there, sometimes not, you would lay awake staring at the ceiling, thinking of him. Wondering what he was doing, where he was staying.

If he was thinking of you, too.

Friday was your anniversary. Mike had promised to be on his best behavior after feeding you apologies for his bad mood lately. It was always the same, you knew he wasn't actually sorry for what he said and did, but you smiled and forgave him all the same.

He had gotten a reservation at a French restaurant, and even though he knew French cuisine wasn't your favorite, you still tried to appreciate the gesture. You had gotten dressed up to celebrate. You wore a mauve dress with a slit up the leg and thin straps that rested delicately over your shoulders. The bruises from the weekend before had faded. Your hair actually cooperated. You were feeling rather good about yourself.

Until it became clear Mike had picked the restaurant for another reason.

His gaze shifted all over the room whenever he thought you weren't looking. He was waiting for someone, you thought. His fingers tapped mindlessly on the cloth covered table while you sipped your wine and picked at your food, doing your best to finish what he ordered for you, too scared to rock the boat.

"How long's it gonna take for you to eat?" he snapped quietly, so as not to cause a scene. You looked up in surprise, poised to answer, when you froze. Over his right shoulder at the bar sat Dave York, nursing a short glass of amber liquid. And his eyes were pinned directly on you.

Mike must not have liked how you took an extra moment to answer because his arm shot out to grab your wrist, fingertips going white from the pressure he was applying. You hissed, attention refocused on him and his hand, as you tried to squirm out of his grip. In the corner of your eye, you saw Dave stand, but he didn't make a move towards your table.

"I did something nice for you and you can't be bothered to pay me any attention? On our anniversary?" he seethed. You wanted to tell him his attention had been elsewhere the entire night, that you weren't stupid and you knew something else was going on, but you bit your tongue. As usual.

"I-I'm sorry," you stammered, giving your arm one quick yank backwards, pulling away from his grasp. "I'm just not that hungry. My stomach hurts."

"Which is it? Not hungry or your stomach hurts?"

You rubbed your wrist under the table and looked into his eyes. You saw the anger bubbling up, just under the surface, and you knew then and there how the rest of the evening was going to go.

"Both," you shot back with a clipped tone.

His eyes widened and he leaned forward, no doubt about to unleash every horrid threat he could think of under his breath when he spotted something or someone behind you. Whoever he was waiting for all evening finally showed up.

Mike stood from the table and buttoned his suit coat.

"I'll be right back. Just saw an old golfing buddy." Then he pinched your chin between his thumb and forefinger, flexing the digits harshly into your skin, making you wince. "I suggest you finish your food. We're leaving when I get back."

Then he was gone.

Your chest heaved and you took a shaky sip from your glass, looking to calm your nerves. Your eyes darted back towards the bar, but Dave was no where to be seen. Your heart sank. Just as you were resigning yourself to another evening of being on the receiving end of Mike's anger, you felt a gentle brush against your arm.

"Bathroom," Dave muttered as he walked past, heading towards the back of the restaurant.

You didn't even think. You tossed your napkin onto the table, standing up so fast you nearly knocked over your chair to hurry after him. The restrooms were down a short hallway and around a corner. Soft, classical music drifted from the speakers above you, the only other sound besides the click of your heels against the hardwood floors. When you turned the corner, Dave's arm immediately shot out to wrap around your waist, pulling you quickly out of view of the dining room.

He had swiveled you around so your back was against the wall, just past the two doors leading into the restrooms. If anyone exited the bathrooms, they would see Dave's body caging you in, clear as day.

The thought made your pulse thrum steadily in your throat.

"You need to promise me something."

Dave's voice was urgent. Like he was pressed for time.

"Huh?" you asked dreamily, lost for a moment in the warmth rolling from his body and the cloud of his cologne, engulfing you.

He opened his mouth to speak, then annoyance flickered across his face. He yanked out a nearly invisible earpiece, letting it dangle over his collar, and your eyes widened.

"A-are you... working?"

"Promise me," Dave said, grabbing you by the arms and ignoring your question, "that tomorrow night, you won't be home. You need to go out in public. Preferably with friends or family."

"What? Why?" you asked fearfully. You were snapping out of the spell he had managed to put you under. Lust was being replaced with alarm. The hairs on the back of your neck were rising.

"And use a credit card once or twice," he continued, staring deep into your eyes. "Can you do that? Hm?"

Slowly, you found yourself nodding. You had a million questions but you didn't bother to ask - he wasn't going to answer them anyway.

"Good," he breathed, looking visibly relieved. His shoulders relaxed and he let his hands drop from your upper arms to your wrists. His eyes flickered down to where Mike had grabbed you, light blue circles already developing before your very eyes. Dave's jaw twitched. "Good girl," he murmured, dragging his thumb over one of the marks. Your breath stuttered and your knees went weak, the energy between you dissolving back into something else. Something hungrier.

When his eyes met yours again, you could tell he felt it, too.

You were certain you moved at the same time. You pushed off the wall and titled your chin up just as he took a step forward and wrapped his arms around your waist. Your lips met for the first time in almost twenty years and just like that, you felt transported back in time. Anybody could have come down that hall and seen you, including your husband, but in that brief moment, you were safe inside your treehouse again. You were in the arms of the man who had been there since the beginning. Who knew you better than your own husband.

"He won't come home tonight," Dave whispered once he tore himself away. But he didn't go far. His hand had risen to cup your cheek and his forehead pressed gently against yours as he spoke. "Keep yourself safe. Go home, lock the doors, don't leave until tomorrow."

"Okay," you replied shakily, hands coming to lay flat against his chest. You could feel his heart pounding just underneath.

"Tell me what you're going to do tomorrow," he demanded firmly.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. "I'm going to go out with my friends. Somewhere public. And I'll use my credit card."

"Good," he breathed before kissing the tip of your nose. "When it's safe, I'll come get you."

"How?" you asked, gazing up into his dark brown eyes. They looked just as you remembered them. No longer were they cold and distant. Now, they were soft and warm and kind.

"I'll find you."

It was all he managed to say before you had to spring apart, the echo of footsteps tapping down the hall interrupting your moment. He turned away and pulled out his phone, pressing it against his ear as if he were taking a call. You ran your thumb under your lip, hoping to fix any smudges, and forced your feet to move past the other restaurant patron rounding the corner, back into the dining room. Away from Dave.

Even though there was definitely danger swirling somewhere around you, you knew you were safe, because Dave would be watching.

You didn't have many friends. Mike purposely made that difficult for you. But you did manage to have two friends from work who you occasionally went to dinner with or saw a movie together. So that was what you did. The three of you got dinner, where you used your credit card to pay, and then walked around the mall. One of your friends had a wedding coming up, so she dragged you from store to store as she hunted for the perfect dress. At one point towards the end of the night, you bought a tea with your card, claiming you felt a sore throat coming on.

Obsessively, you checked your phone. For what, you weren't exactly sure. Maybe a call from Mike, or something from Dave. You didn't give him your number but you had a feeling he had ways of finding that out for himself. But all evening, your phone remained silent. No texts. No calls. No news alerts. Nothing.

You dragged the night out as long as you could, but eventually your friends wanted to go home.

In the dark parking lot, you waved goodbye before turning in the direction of your parked car. It was almost eleven. That had to be enough time, right? Whatever it was Dave was trying to protect you from had to be over by then.

You fumbled for your keys in the dark, pulling them out of your purse nervously as you approached your car. You were all alone in that corner of the lot, but of course one sleek, black car had chosen to park right next to you.

You tried to keep your breathing steady as you approached, but right when you were a couple feet away from your bumper, the door to the black car swung open, startling you.

"It's me," a familiar, deep voice said. Then Dave stepped out of the car dressed in all black and your shoulders sagged.

"Oh, my god," you breathed, dragging in a ragged breath before leaning against your car. "You scared me."

Then you noticed a strange man unfurl himself from the passenger seat and you stiffened.

"It's alright," Dave assured you, glancing back at the other man for a moment. "This is Kovac. He's gonna drive your car to the hotel."

You furrowed your brow and clutched your keys to your chest.

"Why? Why can't I drive?"

Dave sighed as Kovac casually leaned against the trunk of your car and lit a cigarette.

"Because... I would prefer you drive with me. Just being extra cautious."

You considered it for a moment, looking around the empty parking lot as you shifted your weight from foot to foot until finally you relented and handed over your keys.

"I'll take good care of her," Kovac promised you, stubbing out his cigarette before unlocking your door and sliding into the driver's seat.

Dave rounded the front of his car and opened the passenger door for you. When you passed him, the scent of sweat and gunpowder flooded your senses. You slipped silently into the seat and he gently shut the door.

The hotel Dave took you to was not far away from the mall. You watched in the sideview mirror as Kovac tailed you both in your SUV.

"Don't you have any questions?" Dave finally asked, breaking the silence. You turned to look at him, his breathtaking side profile illuminated by the streetlights.

"I have probably a thousand."

"So... are you going to ask?"

You shook your head. "No. You wouldn't tell me, anyway."

The corner of his mouth twitched in amusement as he safely pulled into the hotel parking lot.

Kovac picked the spot directly next to Dave's car, turning off your SUV and joining the two of you in front of Dave's bumper.

"All set," he said, dropping the keys into Dave's palm.

Dave nodded and gave a subtle tilt of his chin towards another car parked a few spaces down. The headlights turned on and Kovac slipped into the front seat without another word or glance in your direction.

You looked up at the unassuming hotel as Dave led you into the lobby. It was middle of the road, average at best, affordable but not trashy. For some reason, you imagined Dave picking somewhere much swankier.

Dave immediately ushered you past the front desk and towards the rowdy sports bar just off the main entrance. He found a small, open spot against the bar and held out his hand.

"Give me the credit card you used earlier."

Without even questioning it, you handed it over. He bought your favorite drink and two shots of tequila, then handed it back to you. You smirked and pocketed it before taking the glass from him.

"How did you know my favorite drink?"

He shrugged and tossed back one of the shots. "Part of the job."

You took a sip from your glass, trying to hide your smile to no avail.

"I have to admit," you said, glancing around the crowded room. "This isn't the type of hotel I would have expected you to pick."

"No, it's not. But it's the type of hotel you would pick," he countered, fingers wrapping around the second shot of tequila. Your brows knit together in confusion while you watched him toss back the second shot. "C'mon. You don't have to finish that. Let's get you a room."

Your face fell, hoping he would have invited you to stay with him, but you quickly recovered. It had been so long since you had seen each other, and you were married, for fuckssake.

Not that it stopped him from kissing you in the restaurant the night before, but still.

Dave signaled for your card again when the receptionist was booking your room and you quickly handed it over. You rolled your head back and forth, working out the kinks in your neck while you waited. When she slid a piece of paper across the counter for you to sign, you did so as fast as possible. Dave's eyes lingered on your married name when the paper passed in front of him and he pursed his lips.

"Here's your key. Floor seven. Take a left when you get off the elevators and your room is around the bend," the receptionist said cheerily. You nodded your thanks and tucked away your card and receipt while you followed Dave to the elevators.

When you stepped into the car, Dave pressed the button for floor nine. You reached forward to press seven and he stopped you.

"The room's just part of the paper trail."

It took you a moment, but you caught up. Using your credit card at dinner, being with witnesses in a public setting, using your card at the bar and then again at the front desk. He was creating a rock solid alibi for whatever happened that night.

"Oh," you said softly, allowing your hand to drop back against your side.

Then, for the first time, Dave looked uncomfortable.

"Unless, of course, you want -"

"No," you said, cutting him off. "No, I want to be with you."

His eyes lit up but his mouth remained in a straight line.

"Okay, then."

You grinned and leaned next to him against the wall of the elevator, watching the little red numbers on the screen tick up, up, up, until it read nine.

"After you," Dave said, holding open the doors and ushering you out. You gave him a shy smile and stepped forward, then waited for him to lead the way. The entire walk down the hall felt like a fever dream. Your heart was pounding loudly in your ears with each muffled step against the worn out carpet. It was quiet, but when you passed by the other rooms, you could hear televisions playing or people laughing, completely oblivious to whatever it is you were about to do.

Dave tapped his plastic keycard against the sensor, the little light flashing from red to green with a loud click. When you entered his room, it was exactly like you had expected. Suits and shirts hanging carefully in the small, open closet by the bathroom. Suitcase laid out on the floor with his belongings neatly packed inside, not a single item out of place.

He flicked on another light and the lamps next to his king sized bed came to life, casting the deep green comforter and patterned rug in a warm glow.

That moment could have been awkward if you had given yourself a chance to take everything in, but your body moved faster than your mind. You swirled around and looped your arms around Dave's neck, pulling him down to your level, eager to feel the softness of his lips against your own again. And when his mouth crashed hungrily against yours, all of your questions and insecurities drifted away.

It should have felt wrong, being in the arms of a man that wasn't your husband, but not one shred of guilt entered your body. How could it, when his hands on your waist and his tongue slipping past your lips felt so good?

"Tell me you want me," Dave rasped in between feverish kisses. You took a step backwards towards the bed and he eagerly chased after you.

"You know I do," you whispered, head in a fog. His lips had dragged down to your chin, nipping there gently so as to give you a chance to speak. But words were hard to come by whenever you were in his orbit.

His fingers gripped your waist a little harder when he pulled away to look into your eyes.

"I need to hear it."

You slowly blinked up at him, both your chests rising and falling faster than a moment ago.

"I want you."

Dave swallowed and a muscle in his jaw jumped.

"More than him?"

Your knees went weak when you heard the possessive tone in his voice.

"Yes," you told him. He was already pushing you onto the bed, his mouth inches away from colliding with yours when you added, "I've always wanted you more than him."

He groaned into your mouth, a deep rumble you could feel in your own chest when you were trapped between the weight of him and the old mattress. You could taste the tequila on his tongue as he licked into your mouth with an urgency you didn't expect from a man who appeared so put together, and the thought of being the one to unravel him, to make him a little messier, thrilled you.

You whined impatiently when Dave pulled away from the kiss and shuffled back onto his knees.

"Need to see you," he mumbled, shaky fingers already working on the button of your jeans. You eagerly lifted your hips so he could strip them off with a grunt, then tossed your arms above your head when he pushed up the hem of your shirt.

His hands kept working, plucking at your underwear and bra, but he couldn't hold himself back from kissing you any longer, his tongue invading your mouth once again. The feel of his kiss grew more and more familiar with each passing second. You felt your bra come loose around your shoulders and middle, so you subtly shimmied underneath him, freeing yourself of the offensive fabric and letting it fall to the floor. His palm was on you in an instant, feeling the weight of your breast in his hand and rolling your nipple between his fingers before his eyes even had a chance to open and drink you in.

"You know how long I've been thinking about this?" he asked when your head tipped back towards the headboard, lungs filling with fresh air. His lips slowly dragged down the column of your throat, tongue flicking out occasionally to taste your skin. "Twenty years," he said, not waiting for you to answer. Your back arched and your fingers raised to get tangled in his hair. Nobody had ever spoken to you or touched you the way he did. It was intoxicating to be an object of his worship and desire. A small voice in the back of your mind wondered how you would be able to go back to your miserable life after that night, how you would be able to go on after experiencing Dave's lavish adoration like he didn't tilt your world on it's axis.

"You ever think about me?" he asked. His voice sounded a little sheepish, like he was trying to hide it, but you picked up on it. You lifted your hips when he slid your underwear down your legs with one hand and you said, "Yes. All the time. Especially-"

You cut yourself off with a bite to your lower lip. Dave's hands, which were in the process of caressing every soft curve of your now bare body, froze. His eyes met yours once again, searching them before he asked, "What?"

You shook your head and tried to pull him in for another kiss, but he resisted. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes and his brows furrowed. He didn't like the idea of you holding something back. Not now. Not when he finally had you, after so long. He wanted all of you, the good and the bad.

"Tell me," he urged. He needed to know.

You sighed and averted your gaze. "Especially... on really bad days. Those days I stay up at night, waiting for the pain to go away, and I think about you. How you would never lay a finger on me like that."

His jaw tensed. Anger boiled hot through his veins at the thought of you cowering in your bed or bathroom, in pain and crying and thinking about him.

"Look at me," he said through clenched teeth. You took a deep breath and did what he asked, gazing up at him with watery eyes, trying your best to put on a brave face. "That will never happen again, do you understand? He will never hurt you again. It's over."

You gave him a weak smile and shook your head.

"He won't let me leave. I've tried, believe me, but-"

"You're not listening to me, sweetheart," Dave said, pinching your chin and holding your gaze, trying to do his best to convey his message without implicating you. "You're safe. It's over."

You opened your mouth to argue back and then you paused. You scanned his face and he watched you try to mentally connect the dots. What did that mean? Was Mike arrested?

"Do you understand?" he whispered softly. Slowly, you nodded, and his mouth pulled into a smile. "Good. Now-" Dave unzipped his coat and tossed it on top of your abandoned pile of clothes. He rolled on top of you, caging you in for one quick, heated kiss that took your breath away. When he pulled back, he had a playful look in his eye. It made you smile, your anguish quickly sweeping back into the furthest recesses of your mind. "Let me give you a better reason to think about me."

When he began to move down the bed so he could settle his broad shoulders between your legs, a bolt of anxiety shot through you. You leaned up on your elbows, eyes all wide and nervous, watching as he got comfortable. His hands wrapped firmly but tenderly around your thighs, grip strong so he could fight your instinct to clamp your legs shut.

"W-what are you doing?"

Dave looked up at you with surprise. His eyes flickered between your face and your glistening center, then back again.

"Do you not want me to?"

Your heart was racing so fast, you felt like you were floating. Having a man go down on you was certainly not something you were used to, but if you gave yourself any time at all to think, you would have realized Dave was the type of man willing to give you everything and anything you could ever want or need, including something selfless like that. Something just to make you feel good.

"I-I don't know. It's been a while..." you trailed off, cheeks warming with embarrassment. "It's not exactly something Mi-"

"Stop."

Your mouth snapped shut, wilting under the steely look in his eye.

"Don't say his name," Dave said gently, realizing he might have been a bit too harsh at first. You nodded, understanding, but remained silent. He took a steadying breath and started over. "I won't do anything you don't want me to do. But if being shy is the reason you don't want this, I won't accept that."

He looked up at you from between your legs, gaze heated as he tilted his chin slightly to brush his lips over the inside of your thigh. He maintained eye contact, watching you shudder from the sensation of his five o'clock shadow scraping your sensitive skin.

"What's it gonna be, baby?" he asked before doing the same to your other thigh. You gasped quietly and then swallowed before letting your legs fall open. Dave smirked.

"I want it."

Your voice was soft and meek. He wanted you to feel in control. He wanted you to know just how tightly you had him wrapped around your finger.

"Louder."

You dropped your chin to your chest, lips parted with anticipation as you watched his mouth hover over your mound. You could feel the heat from his exhale fan over you, making your cunt pulse around nothing.

"I want it," you said, voice firm, just as he asked. "I want you to make me feel good, Dave."

One corner of his mouth lifted and his eyes sparkled with excitement.

"Yes, ma'am."

Your eyes instantly rolled to the back of your head when he dragged his tongue through your folds for the first time. Fingers thread through Dave's dark hair as he licked at you again. Over and over and over until your head fell back and you collapsed into the plush pillow.

"Oh - fuck, Dave, that's -" you cut yourself off with a moan, head lolling to the side and eyes sliding shut. It felt too good. He was too good. His warm, strong tongue licked into you messily, flooding your body with rolling waves of pleasure you had never experienced before. Your muscles were limp, pliant and soft under his hands and mouth, allowing him to take and take as much as he wanted.

And he did.

You were helpless against him, helpless against the way he feasted between your legs, entirely at his mercy. Shaky fingers grappled for leverage in his hair but it was half-hearted, at best. Dave had reduced you to a whimpering puddle with every greedy lap of his tongue, and he loved it. He loved how soft you were for him, loved hearing sweet little moans filter past your lips. It was every one of his twenty years worth of wildest fantasies come true, and he couldn't be stopped.

When he pressed your thighs into your chest, tilting your hips to give him even better access to your cunt, you gasped his name. The sound made his cock throb painfully, still trapped behind too many layers of clothes. He rut his hips pathetically against the mattress, seeking just a sliver of relief as he continued to lick and kiss and bite at your folds. The roof could have been ripped off the building and he wouldn't have stopped. He was determined to memorize and map out every inch of you, draw out every possible sound and swallow every drop of your arousal. He wanted to smell you on him for days. He wanted his jaw to ache. Every time he closed his eyes, he wanted to see you writhing around in ecstasy underneath him.

He felt insane. Never in his life had he felt so wild and careless, but decades of being denied the only thing he ever truly wanted made him a madman.

"Dave," you moaned, back arching and collapsing repeatedly off the mattress. He peered up at you, tongue still swirling steadily over your clit, lips still suckling and teeth grazing your delicate skin in the same delicious pattern, not sacrificing an ounce of your pleasure when he dragged his focus to your scrunched up face.

Your eyes, wild and dark, found his. His name fell from your lips like a song as you watched his mouth eat at you with skilled precision. The sight of him like that between your legs, all wrecked and crazed and hungry, was the final push you needed.

Your orgasm forced you upright, sitting with your legs bent and spread. You could see Dave so much clearer that way, watching every purse of his lips and flick of his tongue as he guided you through it. One of your hands raked through his hair, holding him against you so you could grind against his mouth while the other supported your weight somewhere behind you.

With one last drawn out moan, your head tipped back and your eyes slipped shut. Your mouth hung open, pulling in deep gulps of air. A shudder ran through your body and your arm began to shake. Dave was still dutifully cleaning up the mess between your legs, but his licks were softer, gentler, as he worked.

"Oh, my god," you breathed, collapsing back into the bed. Your heart was racing in your chest, skin coated in a thin layer of sweat and your mind was blissfully blank. It wasn't until Dave withdrew himself from between your legs that you opened your eyes. The loss of his body heat made you shiver, and suddenly you felt painfully exposed. You weakly pulled at the bedspread, looking to cover yourself up, when he stopped you.

"Don't."

Your hand instantly released the comforter and you rolled your head to look at him. He had been removing his shirt when you were busy trying to cover yourself up. Your breath quickened and you forgot all about your earlier shyness when you drank in his bare upper half for the first time. Your mouth went dry and jaw went slack at the sight of his muscular, wide shoulders and chest, leading down to a soft but toned stomach. Dave smirked, flinging his belt off before working on the zipper of his pants.

You were out of your element. On one hand you could count how many times Mike made you come in the past fifteen years. You were bone tired and legs still shaky from the way Dave had torn you apart just minutes earlier, unsure if you had it in you to go again. But when he dropped his pants and boxers, revealing his thick, rock hard erection, you felt a second wave of energy hit.

"Shit," you whispered, scrambling to your knees on the bed. Dave's dark eyes skated up and down your naked body, cock twitching when he saw the wetness between your legs glisten as you shifted down the bed on your knees, towards him.

Your soft palms dragged down the sharp planes of his chest, your eyes wide and reverent, studying every inch of his skin. He held his breath, tight muscles twitching under your delicate touch. He flexed his hands at his sides, eyes boring into you, giving you all the time you needed to take him in.

"You've grown up, Dave York."

He chuckled, releasing a nervous breath. It was growing increasingly difficult not to touch you.

"A lot's changed since the treehouse," he murmured. Your eyes flickered up to his, hands still drifting slowly down his stomach.

"You remember."

He brought one hand up to cup your cheek. You leaned into his touch, your fingers stalling right above where he wanted you the most. Your fingertips grazed the coarse hairs there and he thought he might die if you didn't touch him soon.

"Of course I remember."

You closed what little distance remained, capturing his lower lip between your own. You could taste your release on his mouth, surprising yourself when you weren't repulsed by the flavor. You had a feeling it had something to do with the man it was connected to. The idea of Dave smelling like you awakened some primal urge deep inside, like you craved to mark him somehow.

You slid your hand down the rest of the way, fingers wrapping around the base of his cock. He pulled in a sharp breath against your lips, then groaned when your wrist slowly started to work him, up and down.

Dave cursed under his breath when your thumb swept across his slit, collecting the sticky bead of wetness pooling there. He kissed you deeper, tongue swirling frantically inside your mouth, his hips jolting forward, chasing your touch.

"I want you," he murmured, voice a little strained. He gripped the side of your face so tightly, like he was afraid to let you go. You bloomed with pride when you heard his breath stutter and you grinned before dropping your mouth to taste the skin covering his pulse point. It fluttered wildly under your tongue, the rhythm giving away his true feelings in that moment. He more than wanted you. He needed you.

"You have me," you said, lips trailing down his throat. "I'm all yours."

Desperate hands grabbed at your hip and the back of your head, laying you down flat under him with your lips still latched to his neck and your fist still pumping his cock. Once he settled between your legs, it was as if you moved as one: your hand paused, lining him up at your entrance, and a moment later he grabbed that same wrist, pinning it above your head at the exact same time he buried himself inside you with one deep thrust.

"Oh!" you cried out, the sudden stretch stealing your breath. Your head dropped back, abandoning the mark you left on his throat. It was hard to think, hard to speak, hard to do anything except focus on the way he opened you up, carving a spot for himself inside of you.

"It's okay, I got you," he gasped. It was the first time you realized he was just as much of a wreck as you. His mouth hung open, face buried in the crook of your shoulder, struggling to catch his breath. He still held your arm firmly above your head, pressing your wrist into the plush comforter. After a minute, once you both managed to clear your heads, his grip loosened. But instead of letting you go, he slid his palm up to press into yours, fingers lacing together lovingly when you tilted your chin and slotted your lips together once again.

The weight of him on top of you was stifling, the wide stretch of your hips to accommodate his broad torso already pulling your muscles, but it felt so good. With your free hand, you carded your fingers through his hair, deepening the kiss by slipping your tongue past his lips. There was nowhere else you'd rather be than pinned under Dave York's hulking frame, cocooned and protected by his strong body. You wanted him to possess you in every way imaginable, tangle and weave himself through every fiber of your being.

When he started to move, he was so much gentler than you imagined him to be. He took his time, feeding you his cock inch by inch, slowly dragging his hips back just to push back inside at the same excruciating pace. Your fingers squeezed around his with each thrust, tongues still tangled together, sharing soft sighs and gasps each time he moved.

"Good?" he whispered, breaking away and pressing your foreheads together. Your skin was growing dewy, sweat forming where your bodies touched.

"Yeah," you whispered back. His eyelids fluttered when you rocked your hips up to meet his. "You won't break me, you know," you teased. He grinned but still maintained the same pace, making you gasp when he shifted and brushed against a sensitive spot no one had ever reached before.

"I know. Just - don't want to rush it. Been thinking about this for too damn long." He nibbled playfully at your chin before finally releasing the hand above your head. He cupped the back of your thigh, lifting your leg so it hooked over his lower back, burying himself even further inside your tight cunt. You moaned his name, brows knitting together and face flushing with arousal and maybe a little bit of embarrassment when you whined in his ear, "So deep. You're so fucking deep."

There were times in the past twenty years where Dave thought he might be deranged. The way he could never let you go, never get you out of his mind, bordered on obsessive. Time didn't dampen it, like he thought it would. Distance, either. Not a single day passed where you didn't cross his mind and he wondered what the hell was wrong with him. When your husband's name crossed his desk, his next target, with your name next to it posed as a question, he didn't sleep for three days. Panic seized his entire body, morning and night. If you were guilty, if you were privy to anything your husband did - or, god forbid - assisted him with any of his dealings, he knew he wouldn't be able to pull the trigger. Yet he still came back home, because he couldn't pass up the opportunity to see you again. The relief he felt when he confirmed you were clueless, that you were pushed into the darkness by your husband's cruel hand, was unmatched. It might have been the only good deed that bastard ever did for you.

And then the obsession grew ten-fold. Because he knew finally, when his work was done, he would get to have you.

Mania took hold of his mind. The question did he ever fuck you like this? Did he ever make you feel this good? This loved? sat on the tip of his tongue. He wanted to know. He wanted to hear you say he was the best you'd ever had. But he didn't, because that fucking asshole's name had no place in that room. He didn't want to invite him into the sacred place where Dave was buried deep inside you, showing you all the ways he loved you without saying the words.

"You like it like this, baby?" he asked instead. "You like it nice and slow?"

"Yes," you whimpered. Your fingers tugged harshly at his hair when he brushed against that spot again and it made him groan. "Fuck - whatever you're doing, keep doing it," you said, mouthing at his cheek. Your lips burned from the sharp hairs that were already beginning to grow back across his jaw. He rolled his hips again, pulling another broken moan from the back of your throat, slowly fanning the flames of the warmth blooming in your belly. He could feel you pulsing around his cock, pulling him in as your orgasm began to steadily build. He cupped one of your breasts, clamping his mouth around your nipple, allowing his teeth to gently graze the sensitive skin, all in an effort to heighten your pleasure. Based on the way your back arched and you cried out his name, it sounded like he was pretty damn successful.

"You feel so good," he panted, breath coming quick and short. He could feel himself slipping. "So good. So beautiful - fuck," he said with a groan. Your fingers found his shoulder, nails digging into his skin.

It was so hot. Your hair was sticking to the back of your neck. You could feel drops of sweat sliding down the sides of your head. Dave was fucking everywhere. His entire body caged you in, his mouth alternated licking and sucking at your breasts, cock buried further than any man ever had. His hand held your ass, pulling you tight against him, helping you rock your hips in rhythm with his.

And then you felt it. Something deep inside, a pressure that climbed up the base of your spine that had you going rigid and you gasped.

"Oh, my god, Dave - I'm... I'm gonna-"

"Give it to me," he growled, mouth abandoning your sore breasts so he could see you. He wanted to watch. He needed to see the look on your face when you came again. He fantasized about what you'd look like coming on his cock for so long and he was finally going to witness it.

"Right there," you whined, then tipped your head back with a loud moan. He ground his hips against your clit, a grunt rumbling from the back of his throat when your soft cunt clenched down around him.

His dark eyes fixed on yours, feeling his own orgasm creeping up when you screamed out his name and fell apart. He locked his jaw, fighting it, determined to wait until your release swept through you. Your nails dug into his skin, legs pulling tight around his waist. You cried out until your voice cracked and his cock swelled inside you at the sound.

Your release coated his hips and the thick patch of hair that continued to rub against your clit. He looked down, jaw going slack at the wetness that smeared across you both, then moaned your name when your cunt squeezed him again. His head snapped up in surprise to find another orgasm rolling through you.

"Oh, shit," he chuckled, mesmerized. You writhed weakly underneath him, chest heaving with your eyes closed and mouth hung open in a silent moan, too tired and spent to find your voice. You were so soft and warm and fucking soaked, he couldn't hold back any longer.

He scooped you off the bed and into his lap, pressing you against his chest, burying his face in your neck and groaning your name into your skin. His body stilled, breathing a deep sigh of relief when his cock throbbed, spilling thick ropes of his seed deep within your walls.

Dave held you close, each of you panting desperately for air. A shiver ran down his spine and another burst of spend flooded your used cunt. He felt dizzy and out of control, the force of his orgasm taking him by surprise. But he should have known it would have been that good with you.

Your lips brushed lazily against his collarbone, a whisper of his name in-between kisses and he closed his eyes. A wave of peace washed over him: he had everything he could ever want. At last, he could rest.

"We should clean up," he murmured into your hair. You made a whine of protest and he smiled. "You made a mess, sweetheart. We'll be quick, I promise."

If you were embarrassed, you didn't show it. You tilted your chin up, head resting against his shoulder and tired eyes finding his.

"My biggest regret in life was not going with you that night."

Dave wrapped his arms around you tighter, emotion swelling in his chest. I love you, I never stopped loving you.

"I should've fought harder for you. Should've made you mine that night we kissed."

You gave him a sad smile and traced his bottom lip with your fingertip. "Guess we made up for it today, huh?"

"Oh, I plan on making it up to you for a long time," he said, hissing when he flexed his hips and slid out of your warm clutch.

He led you to the shower, let you lean against the wall while he gently cleaned you up. He shampooed your hair with the little bottle that was left next to the sink, thick fingers carefully scrubbing your scalp. You moaned and tipped your head back against his chest, closing your eyes while the warm water cascaded down over both your shoulders.

When his hand fell to clean between your legs, he pressed one finger inside. You tensed and made a little sound, wiggling in his arms as he shushed you. He kissed the shell of your ear and whispered, keep all that in there for me, okay?

"I'm on birth control," you said, wincing when he withdrew his finger.

"So?" was all he said. Then you understood. He wanted to claim you, the same way you wanted to mark him. It made your face flood with warmth.

That night, Dave took care of you. He got you fed and he made sure you weren't in any pain or discomfort. He fluffed your pillows, dried your hair with a towel, and rubbed your sore hips after he slipped into bed beside you.

When you drifted off to sleep, with Dave's strong, protective arm draped over your middle, you dreamt of a boy with dark brown eyes who promised to take you away from all your pain, to save you and care for you until your last breath.

Sunlight beamed through a crack in the shades, landing right over your eyes and stirring you out of the deepest sleep you ever had. It was no wonder, because when you opened your eyes and took in your surroundings, you found yourself still tangled up with Dave. His arms wrapped around you, his face buried in your neck. Your leg wedged between his own. The thought of having to move whatsoever was cruel, but you had to use the bathroom. Somehow, you slowly managed to extract yourself from Dave's hold with not so much as a change in his breathing pattern.

After you used the bathroom, you hurried back to bed, snatching your phone from the table along the way. You slotted yourself beside him and instinctually, his arms reached over to envelope you once again. It was pure bliss.

You tapped your phone to check the time and your face fell.

38 missed calls. Countless text messages from family members.

Your heart lurched into your throat and with shaky hands, you opened the notifications. There were several voicemails but you chose to call your mother in law first, as she was the one who was responsible for half of the calls.

"Oh Jesus Christ, finally!" you heard her sob when she picked up the phone. You swallowed and sat up in bed, Dave's arms dropping to your waist.

"H-hey, what's going on? Is everything-"

"Didn't you hear my voicemails?" she shrieked. You winced and heard some other voices in the background telling her to calm down.

"No, I just woke up and saw - just tell me what's going on," you said, voice shaking. Dave began to stir next to you.

"He's dead!" she cried, then began to wail nonsense while your vision narrowed and your ears began to ring.

"Hey, honey, it's Ricky," your father in law's voice said from the other end.

"Who's d-dead? W-what is she talking about?"

Dave propped himself up on his elbow, blinking away the sleep from his eyes so he could watch you.

"Mikey's dead, honey. I'm - I'm so sorry," you heard him sniffle and continue to tell you something about a car accident but you couldn't retain any of the details. Dave sat up in bed next to you and pressed a kiss against your shoulder, but you continued to stare blankly at the wall.

"Where are you? Are you home?" he finally asked, shaking you out of your stupor.

"Tell them where you are," Dave's voice whispered so only you could hear. You looked over at him now, panic etched across your face only to find his remained perfectly calm.

"I-I'm at the Hyatt," you stammered. Dave nodded his approval and gave your shoulder another kiss.

"The - what? Why?"

"Tell them you had too much to drink with your friends and you didn't feel safe driving."

You swallowed the lump in your throat and took a deep breath.

"I was out with friends and I had one too many at the hotel bar," you began, licking your lips nervously, "I got a room, I didn't want to drive."

"Good girl."

You listened to your father in law drone on for another five minutes about the police stopping by later and how you really should be there, and you nodded numbly, unable to say much else.

When you hung up, adrenaline still buzzing through your veins and your heart thumping loudly in your chest, you slowly turned to Dave.

He looked at you expectantly, waiting for the inevitable question. But as he stared into your eyes, he watched the fear melt into acceptance, and then calmness blended into what he was ultimately waiting for, what you deserved to feel after years of abuse - relief.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked, his own heart rate spiking. He saved you. He did what he had to do and saved you, but he still worried you harbored some old feelings for Mike. He braced for revulsion. A look of horror.

"I'm thinking... I want pancakes for breakfast," you said with a small smile.

Dave thought he might collapse from relief. He took your hand and brought it up to his mouth, brushing his lips over your knuckles and making your smile widen.

"Pancakes it is."

“I love her, so you need to sign these, I won’t fight you on anything.”

You come back to reality and look up at him, staring at the man you love all you see in his deep brown eyes is indifference, coldness, not the man you married two years ago.

“Why?”

“What?”

“Was I not enough? I thought you loved me?”

Dave can’t stand to see you like this, afraid that you will burst into tears at any moment and he will change his mind.

“I don’t. I love her.”

It’s like he drove a dagger through your heart, you wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

“If it’s what you truly want?” You look him in the eye and you think you see a flash of hesitation in his eyes but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared.

“It is. You can stay here until everything is final, then I’ll sell it.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll be here for a few days, to finish packing, I’ll sleep in the spare room.”

You can’t speak now so you simply nod your head and leave. Dave stares after you, confused, he’d thought you would scream at him, he’ll even hit him, but this, he wasn’t prepared for this. Broken from his thought by his phone, he looks at the name flashing across the screen and rolling his eyes he answers.

“Hello.”

“Hi baby do you miss me? Did you tell her yet? I bet she’s in an awful state!”

“I did. Handed the papers to her this morning. And don’t talk about her like that, have some respect.”

“Are you coming over later?”

“Yeah, later.” With that he hung up the phone and headed to work.

You spent the day at home, having called in sick, crying under the duvet. It wasn’t until you received a phone call from your sister that you snapped out of it.

“This isn’t you Y/N, since when do you give up so easily?”

“He doesn’t love me anymore, what’s there to do?”

“Bullshit he doesn’t love you, I’ve seen the way he looks at you, the way he’s always looked at you. You need to fight for this, play him at his own game.”

“What do mean Kate?”

“Find out if he still loves you?”

“How do I do that? He’ll be spending most of his time with her.”

“Make him jealous. If he truly doesn’t love you, like he says, then you seeing other people won’t bother him. If he’s lying, he’ll get possessive like the Dave you know and love.”

“I don’t know.”

“Listen do you love him?”

“More than anything Kate you know that.”

“Do you want your marriage to end?”

“No!”

“We’ll then, what are you going to do about it?”

“I’m going to get him back!”

“There’s the sister I know and love. Now get up out of bed, shower and put on your sexiest dress. Your going on a date.”

He was exhausted as he entered the house. Throwing his keys and coat on the kitchen table he noticed the house was quiet, no smell of dinner, no loving greeting from you. Shaking his head he realises that would be ridiculous he just told you he didn’t love you anymore and wanted to be with someone else, you were not going to greet him warmly after work. It suddenly dawns on him that this will be his life now and a strange feeling washes over him. He’s broken from his thoughts at the sound of you coming down the stairs. Looking towards you he stunned at the sight before him. There you are looking…gorgeous….hair curled perfectly, make up done and your wearing the red dress he loves to take off you so much. His eyes scan your figure and he can feel himself harden beneath his trousers, the dress clinging to your curves in all the right places. Then he realises this isn’t for him and an anger sets over him.

“Where are you going?”

“Not that’s it’s any of your business, but I’m going on a date.” You grab your purse and jacket before turning to him, “oh and don’t wait up, I don’t think I’ll be home tonight, know what I mean.” You give him a seductive smile and without a second glance, leave. Dave is speechless as he stares at the door you just exited. He clenched his fists at his side before pulling out his phone.

“Hey baby…”

“I won’t be over tonight.”

“What why….”

He doesn’t wait to hear what she has to say, he has more important things to do now. Follow his wife.

Part 2

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Dave York: @pascalstheway @practicalghost @peach-child

You’re so close, almost there, nearly about to snap, your thighs trembling at Jack’s ears as he—

“Not yet, sugar,” Jack raises his head and spits, a string of saliva dripping down from his lips to your clit. He looks up at you darkly, then eyes your hands bound to the frame of the bed that’s covered in damp sheets beneath your back. The struggle in your wrists and the subtle shake in your lower belly make him smirk, shining through the sheen of your slick. “You’re not gettin’ out of there.”

“Jack, it burns.”

“But sweetpea,” he croons, “you taste so nice.”

The rope must have marked threaded divots in your skin by now— your arms have gone heavy being hung up like this so long, as Jack put his wet mouth where you want it, but he’s yet to let you come.

Languidly, he licks a broad stripe from your soaked entrance up to your clit, his eyes fluttering shut. His nose presses over top, breathing you in as you clench your thighs and mess his dark hair up into disheveled waves, falling to his forehead.

He groans at the pressure and rocks his head, slipping his hands over your thighs to tug himself up as if there’s any space left to spare. You’re thrashing now, bucking into his mouth like it would help— he sets you back down with a forearm over your stomach as his gaze snaps up. 

“Stop strugglin’ like that.”

“Stop teasing me like that.”

“You’re gonna come.” Jack wipes his rough cheek on the inside of your leg, relieving some of the excessive wetness around his mouth. “Just have to tell me you want it.”

“Can’t you feel it?” you reply breathlessly instead, as you feel a slick stream— the mix of your arousal and his mouth— slip through your folds. The last thing you should be doing is talking back, but the frustration boiling in your chest forces you to lash him with your own tongue.

“Oh, I can feel it,” he shakes his head, swiping the pad of his thumb over your opening, “but I want words, darlin’. What happened to those?” 

He waits with a smile, slowly sliding himself back down the bed until his breath fans over your clit. It hangs there like bait for you to speak again, and you do, with a warped voice.

“I—” you gasp “— please, Jack, I swear I’ll never let you in this room again if you leave me like this.”

It’s an empty threat, but his brow raises, and you’re breathing so heavy under such a visible sheen of sweat that he chuckles.

“You can’t keep me from you for that long.”

Huffing, you pull against the rough rope. It doesn’t give, not that you expected it to. Jack’s work is never faulty, and you’re reminded of that when you blink your eyes open to find his fingers reaching for you, then plunging in to stretch you open.

“Jack!”

“Yeah, baby,” he groans, staring at his hidden fingers inside your cunt, sliding out shining.

All that build up from the three other times he’d pushed you towards it piles onto you like a heavy weight, spreading thick over your limbs as he works his fingers, and your neck tenses with effort as you tilt it up to watch his mouth return to your swollen clit.

“You can do it now,” he says, his lips moving over your sensitive spot. A crease of effort appears in his brows as he starts to pump harder, leaning into the tight hug of your thighs. “You can come.”

“Fuck, Jack, oh my god, it’s too—”

“No, no it’s not, baby, it’s not too much.”

He lifts himself up and momentarily gapes at the way your back arches off of the dampened bed, your wrists pulling furiously at the binding to the post— and then you’re crying as his hand gets drenched in something more than just your cum, something so much wetter.

“I can’t...”

Breathe. It feels like you can’t breathe. Can’t do anything but keep coming on his hand.

“Good fuckin’ god,” he groans, his hand slowing to a leisurely thrust. It drips off his wrist as if you’d poured water over it. You’re still gasping when he looks at your face, then back down at your cunt. “Sweetest thing I’ll ever fuckin’ see on this earth.”

When you get a grip on what normal breathing feels like again, still staring up at the ceiling, blank, ruined, you’re vaguely aware of the way Jack is nestling himself up on top of you. “Always my good girl.”

He drops a kiss to your forehead, two beneath your eyes, then notches the tip of his cock at your opening.