get up, cowboy!

  You wake up, sometime late afternoon the next day, with a blistering headache and the sweet sting of rejection simmering beneath your skin. You don’t need to look out the window to know Chris has left and returned in the time you’ve been dead to the world. Chris. Memories of his soft lips and the taste of his hot mouth, contrasted by the scratch of his stubble, flood your body with white-hot shame. Fuck, why did you have to kiss him? It was one thing to harbor a crush for the man; it was another to make things weird with a coworker. Is he really a coworker, though? You wonder aloud to yourself. 

You suppose it's better this way. At least he’s not waking up next to you, regretting following you up here. Sitting up in your bed, you draw your knees to your chest and hang your head between them. This is better than waking up to him gone. You let the nausea and the regret roll over you and sigh. It's time to start the day. Grabbing your phone, you find yet another not-so-friendly reminder from your boss about the upcoming week. Don’t forget about the gala on Wednesday. Dress nicely. 

Fuck! You had completely forgotten about the stupid gala, too focused on making eyes at your bodyguard to get a dress. You press the heel of your palms to your eyes, frustrated. Glancing sideways at your closet, you groan;  you know what lies in there. Everything you own is simple business professional, and you were told this event was to be strictly black tie. In a normal scenario, you would just run to the mall and pick up something cute, but that has now been complicated by the ever-looming presence of Chris. You feel him outside, even now, as you sit in your bed reeling in self-loathing and guilt. Looking at the empty expanse of sheets next to you, you can't help but wonder, would it have been so bad to spend the night?

You shake your head, ridding yourself of the thought as you get up to start your day. Chris was right, you were drunk. You made a bad decision, and you should be thankful that he is enough of a gentleman to know when to say no. You just hope you're enough of an adult to keep your feelings at bay from now on.  

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Chris is chain-smoking again. He barely slept the night prior. Everytime he closed his eyes, he felt your touch, your smaller frame between his large hands, your gentle sigh as he kissed you. Chris is now a tortured man. In some ways, he always has been, but this is somehow worse. It was one thing to have a stupid crush on the asset he was supposed to be protecting, but it’s a whole different field to know that those feelings are reciprocated. At least, they were last night. Once more, Chris’s mind is assailed with images of the night prior. Spending the night at the bar, listening to you talk and laugh, the face you make when you’re concentrating, the look in your eyes when you asked him to come upstairs– fuck.  

He’s torn, unsure if you actually had feelings for him or were just drunk. He feels, deep in his bones, Piers laughing at him from the afterlife for getting himself in such a predicament. Hell, even Wesker may be looking up at him from the pits of hell, cackling at Chris. 

Taking another deep gulp of his lukewarm coffee, he calls the only person he could talk to about something like this. Claire. He’s always called her when faced with girl trouble. He has the numbers memorized, his fingers moving before he can think. The phone rings for a moment before a groggy, familiar voice fills the speaker. 

“Hello?” Claire sounds like she’s still asleep.

“Hey sleepyhead, did I wake ya?” Chris can barely contain his smile at the sound of his sister's voice, the closest thing he has to a home now. 

“No, no, I've been up. It's only... 9 am… on my day off.” She slurred. Chris can hear the sound of sheets ruffling over the speaker, Claire shifting as she fully wakes up. 

“Sorry, I can let you sleep if you want.” Immediately, he feels guilty for waking her. Claire worked just as hard as he did to save the world from bioterrorism; she deserved a day off. 

“No, it's fine. I'm up now. What's up?” She huffed, slightly annoyed, slightly curious.

“I just,” Chris falters. Now that he has Claire on the line, he feels silly for calling. Hey Claire, I’m assigned to bodyguard detail because the agency doesn’t think I can handle the field, and the asset kissed me last night. Oh, and I have a massive crush on her too. He clears his throat.  “I missed you. I wanted to hear your voice.” 

“Aw, you sap. I miss you too.” She sighs into the phone. “How’ve you been?” 

“Oh, you know, the same. I’ve actually got a new assignment.” 

“Yeah? Anything crazy?” 

“No, the exact opposite, actually. Bodyguard for the prosecutor going after The Family.” 

“Bodyguard?” The surprise in her voice makes Chris shift in his seat. He knows where this is going. “You’re on timeout from China, huh?” 

“Yeah, seems like it.” He sighs. Claire could be pretty blunt with him sometimes, always good at telling him exactly what he needed to hear, even if it hurt. He hadn’t told her the full extent of what went down, but she could gather. 

“Who's the mark? Is he cool?”

“Well, she, and she's, yeah. She's cool.” He can hear Claire sit up. She could always tell when he had a crush on someone. 

“Oh my god, you like her. That's why you’re calling me, isn’t it? Spill, tell me everything!” Chris shakes his head, smiling like an idiot. He loves these moments with Claire, no talk of bioterror or the walking dead or the end of the world. No pressure, just silly gossip between two normal siblings. 

Chris pauses before speaking. He could tell her about how beautiful you were, about playing speed in the bar together (just like he and Claire did as kids), about your smart mouth and beautiful eyes. For the first time in a while, Chris wasn’t sure what to say. “Well, she's an attorney.” He starts. 

“So she's smarter than you.” Claire quips at him, snickering. 

“Definitely, you should see her in court. She's fiery, and beautiful, and funny, and spontaneous, and –” Claire cuts him off. 

“Damn, you’ve really got it bad for her, huh?”

“Yeah.” Chris stops to sigh for a moment. Here comes the hard part. “ And she kissed me last night.” Chris sighs, rubbing his face exasperatedly. 

“Chris!” Claire practically shrieks. “What’d you do?”

“I kissed her back, but we’d been drinking and –” 

“Oh my god, did she invite you in?” Chris drags a hand down his face, reliving the embarrassment of having to say no to you last night. 

“She did.” He practically grunts out, like he’s in pain. “I told her no, she went inside like a sad puppy, and now I feel like the world's biggest asshole.” Claire hums while she mulls the situation over. 

“Well, you did the right thing. But her pride is probably hurt. I know mine would be.” She finally concludes. It wasn’t anything Chris hadn’t thought of himself, but it was reassuring to hear.  

“What do I do?” He finally asks, stuck in his dilemma. 

“I don’t know, Chris. You like her, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but the B.S.A.A. basically told me this is my last chance before they're done with me, I can’t fuck that up,” Claire grumbles in agreement, obviously upset her brother can’t chase the woman he seems to be pining over. 

“You’re between a rock and a hard place, aren’t you?” Chris sighs, smiling. Movement out of the corner of his eye catches his attention. Your front door is opening. The very woman he is calling his fucking sister over is stepping outside and heading straight for him. 

“Damnit, she’s coming over. I love you, Claire. I’ll call you later?” He rushes out as he starts to hang up. 

“Follow your heart!” Claire calls before the line disconnects. Chris sighs, trying not to look nervous as you approach. He’s sure he’s failing; his heart's in his throat. 

You look stunning, and he’s sure you’re doing it on purpose. You’re wearing a simple tank top and leggings, and Chris feels himself fighting to keep his gaze respectful. He rolls the window down as you approach, watching you lean in, resting on your forearms. His resolve can only take so much when your cleavage is inviting him to smother his face in your soft skin. 

“Mornin’,” he calls, maintaining his cool composure. “How’re you feeling?” He watches a flush rush across your chest as you hang your head in embarrassment. He hadn’t meant to make you feel bad; he was genuinely concerned about you. He should’ve picked up dinner for you on the way home last night. 

“Not too great, but I’ll live, Captain,” you chuckle, shaking your head. Chris inadvertently bristles at that; he hates hearing his rank come from you. Something about you makes him want to be just Chris. It feels like his rejection last night has destroyed your friendly relationship. “I’m sorry about last night. I guess it's been a while since I’ve been out.” You won't make eye contact with him as you speak, tugging at his heartstrings. His guilt is eating him alive for making you feel this way. 

“Hey, don't worry about it, counselor.” He says lightly, hoping to make you smile. You do, slightly. Small victories. 

“Well, I need to get a dress for the mayor's gala this week. Did they give you a heads up about it?” You still won't look at him, but he doesn’t wanna push it. “Yeah, the agency got a suit for me and everything.” His pulse quickens at the thought of doing something so casual like dress shopping with you. He could pretend he’s just your boyfriend, helping you pick out something for a date night. 

“Those poor tailors, making a giant suit for a giant man.” You jest. Chris can’t help but feel a little proud whenever you mention his larger size. Usually, he feels like a freak bumbling around. He barely fits in the passenger seat of your tiny sedan. Hell, he breaks the office chairs. Only in the field, fighting bio-weapons, does he feel good in his body. In the field, he’s strong, he’s capable. Something about the reverence in your voice, the hunger there, reminds him of all the other ways he’d like to prove he’s capable. “So, anyway, I’m about to head out to the mall, just wanted to let you know. You don’t have to come with me or anything; I shouldn’t be gone longer than an hour or two.” You start rambling, and it’d be cute if Chris weren’t a little hurt. Claire's words run through his mind once more, reminding him that you're probably more hurt and embarrassed than he is.  

“I don’t think my bosses would  look too kindly on me letting you go somewhere public alone.” He eases out, afraid of making you uncomfortable. He doesn't want to be a creep, but a mall is a pretty busy place. Anything could happen in a crowd of people, and the thought of it happening without him makes him uneasy. 

“You wanna come dress shopping with me?” You raise an eyebrow, challenging him. 

“You think this is my first time? Get in, we’re going to the mall.” 

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You weren’t expecting things to go this way. You sit awkwardly in the passenger seat of Chris’s beat-up truck as he drives you to the mall. Dad rock plays softly on the stereo, filling the silence between the two of you. As always, you’re the first to break. 

“Who were you on the phone with?” You ask, hoping you don’t sound too nosy. 

“My sister. I just wanted to hear her voice.” He sounds almost guilty in the way he rushes out the second part, almost as if there was a different reason for calling her. Ignoring it, you smile at his soft side. 

“How sweet. Is she the one you’ve been dress shopping with before?” You watch him as he drives. One hand on the wheel, the other resting on the rolled-down window. You have the strangest urge to bite down on his big bicep. So much for being an adult and keeping your feelings in check.

“Hell yeah, who do you think took her dress shopping for prom?” He turns to look at you and fucking winks, flashing you that gorgeous grin. That, along with the thought of a young Chris awkwardly standing outside the dressing room while his sister picks out a dress, makes you giggle. “Oh, you like that, huh?” He challenges, shooting glances at you from the driver's side. 

“It's cute! That's all.” His smile breaks even wider, ears turning pink at your words. 

Half an hour later, you’re in the dressing room of some random store trying on the forty-fourth dress of the day. Thats an exaggeration, but still, you’ve tried on a lot. You sigh, slipping off the sparkly red number you grabbed at the last minute off the rack. It's cute, but way too sexy, and surprisingly itchy. Sliding your tank top back on, you throw your head back, frustrated. The pain of being a woman in a dressing room has found you today. The sound of Chris’s deep voice calling your name softly breaks you from your trance. You stick your head out from behind the door, watching the man pad over to you softly. He has what looks like a bunch of long black dresses in his hands. 

“I found this one, it's nice, if you wanna try it on.” His voice has a quiet shyness to it, like he’s embarrassed to show you. You bite your lip as you look up at him. He’s picking out dresses for you now?  “I wasn’t sure what size you are, so I grabbed one of each.” 

Meeting his colored eyes, you match his sheepish grin. Taking your size, you thank him, stepping back into the dressing room so you can try it on. Closing the door, you’re met with your reflection in the mirror.  You see exactly why Chris looked so embarrassed; your ass must have been on full display. Your face turns bright pink in your reflection, and you take a deep breath to keep from freaking out. You had just stuck your head out, maybe he hadn’t seen anything? 

Sliding the dress over your head, you pull the fabric into place as you hear Chris’s footsteps tread away, replacing the dresses you didn’t take. As the fabric falls into place, your attention is quickly captured when you realize that Chris has good taste. Black, off-the-shoulder cowl neck and slit on your right that lands mid thigh. It hugs your curves wonderfully. Did he imagine you in this? Did he think you would look good? Did he imagine what it’d be like to take it off–. 

A quiet knock signaling Chris’s return breaks you from your thoughts. Cracking the door open, you let him get a full view of his pick. You do a little spin, eyes anxiously landing on his face for his reaction. The look on his face confirms this is the dress for you. 

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

It's not until Monday afternoon that your curiosity about the big man is piqued yet again. 

“I’ve never asked, but where's home for you? Where are you from?” You look up from the motion you’re drafting at the man before you. 

“Those are two separate questions. I grew up in upstate New York, but I haven't been back in years. I lived in Raccoon City, before…” He trails off, and you know exactly why.

“The Raccoon City? Like the original bio-terrorist incident?” You had seen videos and pictures of the aftermath and heard the stories survivors told on the news, but you had never met anyone who actually survived it. 

“Yeah, but I wasn’t there for all of it. My sister was, though.” Chris is typing away on a laptop that he makes look like a toy. You’ve grown accustomed to his presence in your office while you work, keeping you company. Your thoughts turn to Claire, fighting for her life in the waking nightmare that was Racoon City. You had seen enough to know how bad it was, but living it must have been something else. 

“I can’t imagine. She survived Raccoon? What a badass.” Chris grunts in agreement. You ponder for a second. “But where is home now?”

“Wherever they send me after this.” His casual tone strikes you. 

“What do you mean?” You turn to face him, confused by his response. 

Chris shrugs, setting his laptop down on the chair next to him. “Too busy to really settle down, always off on another mission.” He leans back, relaxed, stretching his arms behind his head, flexing those gorgeous biceps. Don’t stare, Don’t stare, Don’t stare!  

“So after this, you’re just off on the next assignment?” You can’t imagine living that way, like a nomad. Moving from hotel to hotel, mission after mission. Does he ever get time off? 

“Hopefully.” He chirps. You bristle at that. Hopefully, he’ll be gone soon? You turn back to your monitor quickly, pretending not to be upset by that little comment. It's stupid, but so are all of your feelings about him. 

“Not,” Chris stops, sighing. “Not like that. I just –” He stops again. You turn to him, watching the pensive look on his face. He looks like he wants to tell you something. 

“You’ve asked me before why I’m here, on this detail. Truth is, I made some pretty bad decisions on my last few assignments, and that's putting it lightly. I was told if I fucked this one up, I’d be done at the agency. So I just hope I don’t. That's all. I didn’t mean anything by it.” His gorgeous eyes hold your gaze, pleading with you to believe his sincerity. 

Something about the way he’s overexplaining himself makes you feel warm on the inside, like it mattered to him that you were upset. It mattered enough to notice you were upset. Guilt slowly creeps into your mind at his words. He just wants to do a good job, and you’re complicating it by falling for him. Of course he didn’t want to come up with you the other night. Let him do his job. 

“I’m sorry to hear things haven’t gone well on your last few missions. You’re killing this one, if it means anything.” You say softly, glad he felt comfortable enough to tell you the truth. He meets your eyes for a moment before speaking with conviction. 

“It means the world.” 

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Wednesday comes sooner than expected. Chris trades off with the rookie after work so he can get ready, leaving you to get dressed on your own. You can’t help but feel nervous about it all. The last time there was a public event like this, you were shot at. Chris was there then. He’ll be there tonight. The thought does make you feel a little better, but the nerves still eat away at you. 

Putting the finishing touches on, you can’t help but admire your reflection. The dress Chris picked out is stunning, making you worry if it's too much for a work-related event. The less rational side takes over; at least you know he likes it. Sliding your heels on, you push your feelings for the man down for the millionth time today. As you head out the door, you sigh. It's gonna be a long night. 

The rookie drives you to the gala, letting you know Captain Redfield was already there, scoping the place out. After a little while in silence, you decide to get some insider info on your Captain. Putting on your best disarming voice, you ask the rookie. 

“So, what's Chris like at the BSAA?” You look out the window while asking, pretending to be as nonchalant as possible. 

“Oh, Captain Redfield is the best. He’s been with the BSAA forever, and I’ve never heard any bad things about him – except for the fact that he’s broken a few office chairs.” You snicker to yourself at that. You’re a little sad you haven’t had the pleasure of witnessing that yet.  

“So, what's he doing here?” Pretending not to know the answer, you maintain your light and cool tone. You meet the rookie's eyes in the rearview mirror. He shoots you a sympathetic look. 

“Between you and me, ma’am, he’s had a bad slew of missions lately.” The rookie's eyes shift nervously in the rearview mirror, like he knows he shouldn’t be telling you this. 

“How bad?” You raise an eyebrow. He takes a deep breath before confessing.

“They say if you're assigned to Redfield's team, you’re probably not coming back alive.” His voice is grim when he speaks, and it shakes you to the core. His words come back to you in this moment. I made some pretty bad decisions. The rookie won't meet your eyes anymore. 

“I thought you said no one had anything bad to say?” The alarm is evident in your voice, despite your best efforts. 

“Well, it's not really his fault. Redfield's sent on the top secret stuff, y’know? He’s on the front lines. He’ll survive because he’s, well, him. But everyone else…” He trails off. “He’s a good guy. Cares a lot. Hell, I heard he punched a boulder once to save a team member. But his track record… It's not great.” You think about the look on his face when he found you after the shooting, the panic across his face. Was he thinking about his fallen teammates? Was he afraid of fucking the mission up, never to return to the field again? 

Suddenly, you feel sick. If the wrong people find out, your drunk kiss with Chris could cost him his job, his livelihood. Chiding yourself for being so reckless, you turn to look back out the window. You will be on your best behavior tonight, and all eyes will be on you after the previous attack. Chris can’t risk it, and that means you can’t either. 

The rest of the ride is in silence. 

The Gala is being held at City Hall, and it's all done up for the event.  The rookie, whose name you learn is Marco, pulls up front. He gets out to open your door, making you feel like a princess. You leave Marco and make your way inside, dreading the whole thing. They've got a deep, red carpet draped across the front steps. You force yourself not to roll your eyes. This has to be Justin. He’s up for re-election this year, after all.  

Stepping inside the large, open doors, you are immediately drowning in the ocean of chatter around you. Just past the lobby, you find the room packed. There might be music playing, but it's swallowed by the noise of the ball attendees. Immediately, you are overwhelmed. Your pulse quickens, worsened when you spot your boss, Justin, approaching rapidly. He has that election-winning smile plastered across his face, but his eyes scream murder as they trail up your figure. You repress a shudder. 

“Don’t you look stunning.” He practically seethes at you. The more the two of you interact, the more it seems like he straight-up hates you.  “Where's that brooding bodyguard of yours?”

“I don't know, he should be around here somewhere.” You say, looking around for him so you can leave this conversation. Justin ignores you. You see the back of what might be Chris’s head, but it quickly disappears in the swarm of people. 

“I need you to introduce him as your date, don’t go telling people the BSAA assigned a bodyguard to you.” He mutters, lowly. His eyes dart around, scanning to make sure no one heard. Everyone knows Chris is your bodyguard. Why would it matter? You wonder to yourself. 

“What, why?” Your attention snaps back to him. Why would he want that? Why does it matter if you have a bodyguard? 

“Because I don't need people thinking my office is under threat.” His voice is still low, but it carries a warning in it. 

“Your office is under threat.” Justin narrows his eyes at you, making you back down. Looking away, you raise your hand. “Fine, whatever you say.” You say, shrugging it off. It's not like you have any other option when your boss is telling you to do something. 

He struts off, once again flashing that election-winning smile and heading to speak to someone else. You sigh, making your way to the bar to get a drink. Chris is still out of sight, making you uneasy. You hate that in the week and a half since he’s been assigned to you, you’ve become so attached. His presence is comforting, like a big safety blanket. 

Approaching the bar, you rest your hands on the counter, waiting to catch the bartender's eye. A presence next to you breaks your focus. 

“Hoping to avoid getting shot tonight?” A gravelly voice calls from your left. 

“Excuse me?” You ask, turning to meet the man next to you. You’ve never seen him before. Brown hair and brown eyes, he looks like any other person in the crowd around the two of you. Immediately, you’re uneasy. 

“Sorry, you’re the prosecutor who was attacked a few weeks ago, right? I probably shouldn’t have opened with that.” He smiles, embarrassed. He’d have a nice smile if you weren’t so put off by his choice of opening move. The bartender finally makes his way to you, taking your order and setting off to make your drink. Unfortunately, your newfound companion next to you doesn’t take your silence as an answer. “You’re pretty brave, y'know. Going after the family and all.” He concedes, taking a step closer to you. 

“They’re bad people. It's what I do.” You mutter, looking away to scan the crowd. Where is Chris? You don't see the broad figure you're searching for in the bodies around you. 

“Yeah, but they tried to kill you.” His voice has an eerie edge to it, like he knows something you don’t. It's making the hairs on your arms stand up. 

“Yup.” You state, still looking around the room for anyone you recognize to help you escape the creep beside you. 

“They might try again. Maybe even tonight.” Your head snaps to the stranger speaking to you. Narrowing your eyes at him, he just smiles back, like he said the most normal thing in the world. 

“Are you threatening me?” Trying to make your voice sound as stoic and scary as possible, you stare him down. You’ll be damned if some creep is going to scare you tonight. You’re in a room full of politicians, police, and prosecutors. Fuck this guy for thinking he can scare you tonight. 

“I just think you should keep an eye out.” He says, taking a step away from you. Before you can respond, you feel a hand at the small of your back. You know immediately who the large man behind you is. Looking over your shoulder, you meet Chris’s mismatched eyes behind you. You turn back to respond to the strange man with his strange words, but he’s vanished. Chris leans down to murmur something in your ear.

“Did you see him?” You look over your shoulder again, still letting Chris stand close behind you. Noticing your heart is racing, you lean back a smidge, enjoying his solid, safe body behind you. Chris doesn’t move away. 

“See who?” He leans down, murmuring in your ear. For a moment, every thought leaves your brain. The chatter around you is gone, replaced with your thudding heart and Chris’s hot breath on your ear. Letting your eyes flutter shut, you take a shaky breath. You have to break this trance. Stepping forward, you spin to face him. You’re still close, too close for coworkers, but the immediacy of the situation returns to your Chris-hazed mind. 

“That man who was just talking to me, he threatened me. At least I think he did.” You notice Chris’s hand never left, now resting on your hip as you talk. His hand was tracing an idle pattern on your clothed skin; he stops as you speak.  

“Tell me everything, now.” You obey his command, relaying what just transpired. His expression steels, but you can see the worry plain in his eyes. His hand moves from your hip to grab yours.  

“Come with me. We need to talk.” All you can do is nod and let Chris pull you across the ballroom. Even in his rushed state, he’s incredibly gentle with you. He guides you through an open doorway to a hall. A few straggler groups of attendees populate the hallway. They pay the two of you no mind as you pass. Chris stops at an office door and ushers you inside. 

“Is everything okay?” You ask as Chris shuts the door, your voice a little shaky. You lean against the wooden desk, facing your bodyguard. He runs his hand through his short hair, huffing in frustration.

“I got a call from a friend in the DSO. There's chatter about an attack tonight.” Your blood runs cold. Again? 

“Are you kidding?” You ask, exasperatedly. That guy from before was threatening you. 

“I wish I were. I told Justin a few hours ago to tell you not to come–” You cut him off instantly. 

“I just saw him! He didn't say a word about an attack.” Your hands reach up to rub your temples angrily. Why wouldn't he tell you? 

“He didn’t?” Chris’s voice takes on a tone you haven't heard before. He sounds angry. 

“He told me not to tell anyone you were my bodyguard. He said it makes the office look bad. Said to tell everyone you were my date.” 

‘I –” Chris stops, looking puzzled. “I don't know why he would say that.” The silence between the two of you is thick, as you both piece together what's going on around you. 

“What kind of attack?” You ask, panic rising in your throat as the seriousness of the situation takes hold. Is that what that creep at the bar was talking about? Was he really threatening you? 

“We need to get you out of here.” Chris is using his captain's voice, ordering you around. In any other scenario, it would be pretty hot. Your first thought, however, is to shake your head at him. 

“What about my coworkers? What about everyone else?” You can't just leave them here to be slaughtered.  

“There's a chance there might not be an attack if you’re not here.” He takes a step forward, placing his hands on your shoulders. You look up at him, feeling helpless. Enemies might attack the gala tonight because of you. And there's not much you can do about it. “I need you to trust me. Can you do that?” Looking up to meet his concerned eyes, you nod dumbly. “No, words. Do you trust me?” The deep, commanding tone sends shockwaves through your body. At a time like this, you shouldn't be feeling this flustered, but yet, that is the effect Chris always seems to have on you. 

“I trust you, Chris. Always.” You state, barely above a whisper. There was no real reason for you to add that last part, but it was the truth after all.  

Suddenly, the room around you shakes with the force of an explosion. Stumbling forward, you are wrapped in Chris’s large arms protectively. Books fall from their shelves as the room rocks with the intensity. Chris crushes you to his chest as things fall from the ceiling and the windows shatter from the force of the explosion. 

When the shocks finally subside, Chris still holds you tightly. Though your ears ring, you can hear his heartbeat race through the hard muscle pressed to your face. His hand cradles the top of your head protectively. He swears, before pulling himself from you to make sure you aren't injured. That panicked look from the press conference flashes across his face, before he steels himself once more.  

“Here we go. Stay close to me and listen to every word I say. If I say run, you'd better run. Clear?” 

“Yes, sir.” You respond without a thought. You watch his broad shoulders tense at your words, and you wonder how much he liked hearing that from your lips. He stands before you, drawing his gun from its holster beneath his suit jacket. Clicking the safety off, he stands ready behind the office door. Giving you one last look over his shoulder, he nods and opens the door. The scattered partygoers from before have left the hallway. Shattered glass and fallen things crunch beneath your heels.  

 Chris is deathly silent, even for a man of his size. Distant commotion fills your ears as you follow him down the hall, heart racing with fear. Making your way to the door that leads back to the main room, Chris presses himself against the wall, peering in. You stand on your toes, trying to see over his shoulder. The room is a mess, full of dust and rubble. You see a few straggling bodies standing confused in the dust. 

You start to step inside to help them, but Chris is faster. His arm shoots out and stops you from moving further. You want to protest, but Chris shakes his head at you. He leans in, whispering.

“They’re not alive.” The words send fear through your whole body. As you watch closer, you realize he's right. The bodies stagger forward unnaturally, and the sounds coming from them are downright inhuman. 

“Fuck.” You squeak, stumbling backwards from the fucking zombies before you. “What happened?” 

“Gas, in the explosion. We need another exit. Now.” Chris grabs your hand, pulling you back the way you came. You run to keep up with him, afraid of turning around to find one of your undead coworkers chasing you. Nausea threatens to overtake your body at the thought. Is everyone infected? Will this spread? Are we already infected? You try to shove these horrible thoughts down as you run. 

As you reach a back exit, you find two security guards facing away from you, towards the door in front of you. A wave of relief falls over you at the sight. Chris stops suddenly, causing you to slam into his solid, muscular back. He doesn’t even flinch, instead raising his gun, aiming at the two guards before you. 

“Chris!” you call, shocked at his actions. They weren’t in the front; they couldn’t be infected, could they? The two guards hear you, turning around slowly to face you. To your horror, you see their grey faces and bloody mouths. Looking around, you see the bodies of other people who survived the initial blast, trying to find a way out. You take a step back, nauseated, again, at the sight. 

You’ve never been this close to infected before, and the sight nearly makes you vomit. They reach their decrepit, gray arms out towards you as they growl and moan horribly. Chris puts the first one down with two shots to the head, expertly. The first guard falls to the ground with a horrible thump, making you take another step back. A low, wet gurgle fills the room. You assume it comes from the fallen guard.  

The second guard dodges the bullet, still making its way towards you. Chris sinks another shot into its chest, but it doesn’t phase the zombie at all. You continue backing up as Chris continues shooting, eventually giving up and slamming the back of the pistol into the head of the guard with a guttural shout. 

Before you can think to stop, you feel the back of your heel sink into something soft. The sensation throws you off your balance, causing your heel to snap as you fall to the floor. You hit the ground hard, landing on your right side. To your horror, you fall onto the floor before a rancid, crawling, infected man. He lets out a horrible hiss as he crawls towards you, hands outstretched to grab your ankle. His gray face and dead eyes send panic bubbling up your spine. Briefly, you notice a syringe sticking out of its neck. You push yourself back and away, screaming as he gets closer and closer. You try to kick the creature in the face, but it's quicker. 

The infected man grabs your ankle, pulling his face closer to your exposed skin. You let out a scream as it looks like his teeth are about to sink into you, sealing your fate. A gunshot rings out from behind you, shooting right through the top of the zombie's head. Its grip on you relaxes immediately as it falls to the floor. You scramble backwards, right into Chris’s legs. He helps you to your feet, keeping you steady as you shed your broken shoes. His hands grip your upper arms tightly, like you're about to run from him. You try to catch your shaky breath, but tears start to well in your eyes.  

“Are you hurt? Did it bite you?” Chris grabs your face, checking you for injury. You shake your head, unable to form words. You would’ve been dead if it weren’t for Chris.  He continues. “Can you walk?”  

Sniffling, you take a deep breath before responding. “Yeah, my shoes are fucked, but I can go barefoot.” Chris shoots you a questioning look. You shrug, ready to do anything to get out of this damned building. Before you can say anything to argue, Chris leans down and throws you over his shoulder. You let out an inadvertent squeak as the air in your lungs is forced out by his big shoulder. Suddenly, the tears are replaced by your frantic efforts to keep your breasts from spilling out of your dress. 

“Sorry, this is faster,” he calls to you before taking off, out the exit, and into the night. You hear him fire off a few shots, but can’t tell from your position what he’s firing at. In another situation, you would probably enjoy being thrown over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, staring at his ass. But you hate this, feeling helpless while Chris fights for his life to get the two of you out of here. You watch the pavement as it passes, occasionally looking around to find bodies strewn about. You squeeze your eyes shut for the rest of the ride. 

He makes his way to the back lot, setting you down next to his truck. He opens the passenger door and all but shoves you in, running around the back of the car to the driver's side. He jumps in, throws his arm around the back of your seat to back the car up, and takes off into the night. You find it odd that there are no police at the event. 

You don’t even notice the drive home, shaken up by the events of tonight. Chris is calling people, barking orders into a phone, giving reports of what happened, but you can barely focus.  You have no idea how many people were hurt, were infected. Are you two the only survivors? Was the guy from the bar involved? Chris has to nudge your shoulder to get you to notice you’ve made it home. As you step from the truck, numbly, you shake on the way to your front door. Chris offers to carry you, but you wave him off. Making your way to the door, you feel like you’re floating somehow.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  

Trying to stick your key in the lock, your hands shake so badly that you drop the keys. Something about the simple inconvenience is the last straw, and you break down into tears, leaning your head against the door. 

You hear Chris reach forward, grabbing your keys from where they’ve fallen. He, ever so cartefully, reaches around you to unlock the door for you, pushing it open. You pull your head from your hands, looking at him through your blurry eyes. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.” He says before you can even ask. You nod, stepping forward into your dark home. You hear him follow you in, and the sound of his heavy footsteps calms you down for a moment. You watch as he checks out the rooms in your home, scanning for intruders. He clears the upstairs and downstairs quickly for you, giving you a sense of peace in this horrible, horrible night. He returns, and you finally feel safe, letting out a breath you didn't realize you were holding. The two of you look at each other in the dark entryway of your apartment, unsure of what to say after this hell of a night. 

“You might need to throw the dress out,” he says after a while. You look up at him, confused, before looking down to see the matter spattered across the bottom of your dress. That's not coming out in the wash. You nod, and before you can think, you begin to pull the dress off. Chris’s eyes go wide, and he quickly turns around. You laugh at his awkwardness, stepping out of the fabric. He reaches his hand out, promising to dispose of it quickly.  

You walk upstairs, in just your panties, to put on something clean and comfortable. You hope silently that Chris snuck a peek. 

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

After disposing of the dress in the bins outside, Chris sighs sadly. You looked really good in it, and he was hoping maybe one day you’d wear it on a date with him. The image of you taking it off before him flashes in his mind, and he shakes his head to rid himself of that. You've had a long, hard night. You might not be thinking clearly.  He heads back inside, finding you, dressed thankfully, on the couch, staring forward. He isn’t sure what to say to you now, having lived through so many of these events in the past. He can’t even remember the first time he’d faced the undead, the way you had tonight. As always, you break the silence first. 

“You wanna shower first?”

“Sure.” He says shortly, unsure of what else to say. You stand, showing him upstairs to your bedroom. Chris takes a deep breath as he steps in, flooded by the overwhelming scent of you. You show him to the bathroom, how to turn the water on, and grab him a towel. 

“I’ll see if I have anything that’ll fit you.” You call over your shoulder as you step out, leaving him alone in the bathroom. He sighs, rubbing his face in his hands before turning on the water and stripping down. The fear from earlier is finally subsiding; you are safe. Every time he closes his eyes, though, he can see the terror on your face as that thing crawls towards you. He should’ve seen it before it attacked, should've been quicker.  

Standing under the hot water, he tries to let the memory wash over him, down the drain. He stands there for a long while, enjoying the steam, before the sound of the door opening breaks his concentration. His whole body tenses at the noise. You’re in here now. He tries to tell himself all the reasons you could've come in, maybe you found something for him to wear. That's it, right?

“Can I join you?” Your voice is so quiet, he almost couldn't hear it over the sound of the water. He feels like he’s dreaming; he has to be right? He lets out a stuttered, “Y-yeah.”, without turning around. He hears the sound of the shower curtain being pulled back and feels you step in behind him. Chris has no earthly idea what to do in this situation. Is it weird if he turns around to face you? He chides himself for feeling embarrassed in front of you; you're the one who joined him. 

Before he can make a move, he feels you step closer and snake your arms around his middle. Pressing yourself close, you hug his large body to your smaller frame. For a moment, Chris is stiff, uncomfortable. It's been so long since he’s been touched by anyone else, let alone gently. Your hands are so warm, so soft against his tense stomach. Taking a deep breath, he wills himself to relax. He leans his head back, resting his on the top of yours. The two of you stand in the hot steam of the shower for a while, enjoying the feeling of each other's warm skin against the other. 

Chris finally builds the courage to turn around and face you. He spins, and you loosen your arms enough to let him. When he faces you, his hand reaches up to your cheek, tilting your head to meet his gaze. There are tears in your pretty eyes, and it breaks his heart all over again. He crushes you to his chest, cradling your head in his big hands. You hug him impossibly tight, as if you’re trying to carve a place for yourself in his chest. His hands tangle in your wet hair, trying to soothe you. Chris has never felt like he’s been good with words, so he chooses to hold you instead. 

He desperately wants to touch you, to soothe and comfort you, and make you believe it will all be better tomorrow. But he doesn’t know how. He has no idea what to do with the beautiful, naked assignment in front of him. So, he does the only thing he can think to do in a shower. 

Reaching over, he squirts a little bit of shampoo in his hands and begins to lather it through your hair, massaging your scalp. He runs his nails through your hair lightly, and you all but purr. You bury your face in his pecs, moaning quietly at the sensation. Chris can feel the blood running south, fast, and prays you don’t say anything about it. He’s only a man after all. How can he resist his natural reaction to your beautiful, naked, wet body? He spins you around to rinse the shampoo out, letting you separate from him to run your fingers through your hair. Chris is fully hard now, watching your gorgeous figure and your full, plump breasts bounce softly as your arms move. He’s fucked. 

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

It's sweet that instead of making a move on you, he’s washing your hair. It would feel like rejection if he weren't rock hard right now. You let your gaze fall as you rinse the suds from your hair, enjoying the view of the naked mountain of a man before you. He takes up so much room in your small shower, basically towering over you as he works his nails against your scalp. Fuck, this is so much better than sex. 

You turn, reaching for the conditioner and bending far more than necessary for it. You brush your ass against his hard member, feeling his hand fall to your waist to grip it tightly. A low growl escapes him, and you know you’ve got him right where you want him. You lather the conditioner in, letting it sit for a moment. You turn back to Chris, his eyes darker than ever as he drinks in your naked form. 

“Your turn.” You purr, now lathering shampoo between your hands. You step closer, pressing your chest against his. Standing on your toes, you reach up to run your fingers through his short hair, making sure to scratch his scalp with your nails. His head falls forward as he lets out a fucking moan. The sound runs straight to your core, making your breath hitch. He opens his eyes, looking right at you with a mischievous smirk. Before you can react, he reaches down to grab your thighs, hoisting you up. You let out a surprised yelp, wrapping your legs around his waist as your sudsy hands grip onto his shoulders. He shuffles you upwards, so your head is just above his, giving you perfect access to continue working on his hair. 

It also gives him perfect access to bury his face in your sopping breasts, kissing and nipping the soft skin. You sigh a breathy moan, enjoying the feeling for a moment. You’ve never been picked up like this, and it's kind of intoxicating. Chris makes you feel so small, and now he's picking you up like it's nothing. Heat is pooling in your wet core, pressed against his hard abs. You rock yourself forward, testing the waters. The grumble that rolls through his chest gives you the green light you need. 

Forgetting the task at hand, you begin grinding yourself against his hard stomach. Chris’s mouth makes its way to your hardened nipple, capturing it in his mouth as you throw your head back in pleasure. Chris hums against your sensitive skin, enjoying the sensation of you using him to get yourself off. Your fingers tangle in the short hair, tugging tentatively. He moans, switching to the other nipple as your rocking gets faster, more frenzied. There's not enough friction; you can’t cum like this. A needy whimper escapes your mouth, and Chris pulls back from your chest with a lewd pop. 

The two of you crash your lips against the other, tongues clashing as you each devour the other. His hands press against your back, pushing you impossibly closer to his hard body. You can’t get enough, dizzy with the lack of air and the taste of his hot mouth. He tastes like smoke and tobacco and mint, and you never want to stop. 

Eventually, the two of you pull yourselves apart long enough to catch your breath. Leaning your forehead against his, you laugh breathlessly at the situation you have found yourself in. 

“So you do like me?” You ask, cocky. 

“You drive me fucking crazy, sweetheart. It's a problem.” You watch his colored eyes drink in the sight of you in his arms. He’s gonna ruin you, isn’t he? 

“Yeah? What’re you gonna do about it?” Chris sets you down, smacking your ass. He takes your place under the water, rinsing off the shampoo and letting you get a long look at his gorgeous ass. You grab a palmful, once again pressing yourself against him. When he turns, you let yourself take a long look at his hard, throbbing member. The sight makes your mouth water. He probably has the thickest cock you’ve ever seen in your life. 

“Like what you see?” He has a teasing edge to his voice, and when you meet his eyes, his pupils are dilated. He steps forward, crowding you against the cool tile wall behind you. 

“I’m gonna dry off and let you take your time in here. When you’re done,” he stops, leaning in to nip at your ear. The sharp bite of his teeth makes your breath hitch. His mouth hovers above your ear, his hot breath sending shivers through your body. He has such an uncanny way of switching between goofy and sex demon, it's breathtaking. “When you’re done, you’re mine.” He punctuates his claim with a harsh bite to your neck, which he soothes over with a lick. He pulls back, pecks you on the lips, and steps out of the shower. You hear shuffling as he dries off, and then the door shuts, leaving you alone and hot and bothered. 

You stay leaning against the wall for a moment, catching your breath and reeling from what just transpired between the two of you. You don't know what came over you, stripping down and joining him, but you’re damn glad you did. Who could blame you after all, with a hunk like that naked in your bathroom? 

Finishing up your shower routine, you shut the water off and step out after a while. Drying off, you forgo putting on clothes, instead stepping into the darkness of your room. Your eyes adjust as Chris steps forward, cradling your jaw between his large hands. He leans down, stopping inches from your face. 

“Are you sure you want this?” He murmurs, barely louder than a whisper. 

“I'm sure. I want you.” You plead, hands finding his wet hair and pulling his lips to yours. Finally, you feel his resolve melt under your fingertips. He surges forward, picking you up again. You yelp into his mouth, surprised once more at his display of strength. He tosses you onto the bed like you weigh nothing, crawling over you to meet your mouth once more. 

You don’t know how long the two of you spend like that, naked bodies pressed against one another. Both of you still wet from the shower, you slide against each other sensually. Every moan and sigh that falls from your lips is trapped by Chris’s, every inch of your skin touched by his gentle yet calloused hands. You can’t remember the last time you were touched like this, and you're starting to think you never have been. 

When Chris pulls away, breathless with kiss-swollen lips, you see a reverence in his eyes that makes your chest tighten, and your heart swell. You stay like that for a second, breathing each other in. 

“I’ve wanted you since the moment I laid eyes on you,” Chris mutters, running his hand down your cheek. Your breath catches in your throat at his confession. The words you’ve been wanting to hear for weeks are finally spoken, and you’re speechless. Chris continues in your silence. “So beautiful, so smart, so fiery, I was toast the second we met.” He kissed you again, briefly. “It broke my heart to say no to you.” He presses his forehead against yours, sighing. All you can do is watch, listen as he pours his heart out to you. “I’m not letting you go this time.” 

He begins peppering kisses down the column of your throat, biting softly at your collarbone. His tongue finds your nipple quickly, capturing the sensitive peaks in his mouth. You throw your head back with a moan as he nips softly. He gives the other the same treatment before trailing wet, sloppy kisses down your tummy. You twitch involuntarily at the attention he's giving you, getting impatient as he slows down to bite your hips. Your heart thunders in your ribcage, overwhelmed by his sweetness in the heat of passion. 

“Chris..” You whine, ready for him to get to where you need him most. He looks up with a teasing glint to his eye, moving down to your thigh to bite down hard. You start to cry out, but it quickly turns to a moan as Chris’s tongue finds your weeping entrance. He licks at the wetness pooled there, letting out a filthy moan at the taste. Your head twists against the pillow, fingers tangling in the sheets next to you. Chris’s hand seeks your other one out, lacing his fingers with yours as his tongue continues exploring your folds. He zeroes in on your aching clit, licking fast laps at it as his fingers prod at your entrance. You sigh out a wanton “yes” as his thick digits slide inside of you, stretching your walls. Your legs kick at the intrusion, and the stretch burns deliciously. 

You crane your neck, watching the large figure between your legs as he works his mouth against you. His mismatched eyes find yours, gaze hot and heady as he devours you. He picks up the pace, like a man on a mission. Your fingers fall to his hair, trying to tug his face to yours, but he doesn’t let up. You hear him grunt “uh-uh” into you as he works his tongue against you harder, crooks his fingers deeper. 

Pleasure begins to build deep in your belly, constraining your muscles. Your thighs tremble, hard as Chris rubs his fingers against a spot deep inside you that makes you see stars. Your eyes roll in the back of your head as your orgasm overtakes you completely, white-hot euphoria flooding your veins. It feels as if your bones have turned into mush as your orgasm wracks through your body. 

You finally come to consciousness long enough to realize your thighs have clamped onto Chris’s head, effectively smothering him with your wet pussy. You release him, pulling him up for a sloppy kiss. The tangy taste of you on his lips and tongue is intoxicating, and you can’t pull away. When you finally have to breathe, the look in Chris’s eyes is downright predatory. HE just devoured you whole, and now he's going to claim you. You wrap your thighs around his narrow waist, trapping him against you. 

“Hold on, angel. Let me grab a condom,” he mutters against your lips as he kisses you gently. You shake your head, an overwhelming need to feel him overtaking you.  You’ve pined after him desperately for so long that the idea of not feeling him breaks your heart.  

“I wanna feel you, baby, please? On the pill.” Chris growls into your neck, rutting his hard length against your thigh. 

“Fuck, baby. You sure?” You whimper out some semblance of a yes, and then he’s sliding inside of you. The fat head of his cock breaches your entrance, stretching your walls hard. A sharp intake of breath alerts him to your discomfort, making him still inside of you. You screw your eyes shut, letting out a shaky breath as you try to relax. 

“Breathe, baby, breathe.” He murmurs against your ear, kissing sweetly down your neck. You take a deep breath, willing your tight muscles to relax and welcome in his engorged member. Slowly, your body begins to welcome him in. You open your eyes, nodding as he slides in slowly, inch by thick fucking inch. When he finally bottoms out inside of you,  you can’t help but let out a high-pitched squeak. He’s fucking massive, making you feel fuller than you‘ve ever felt in your entire life. 

Chris lets out the most heavenly moan you’ve ever heard, biting down hard on your neck as he ruts against you an extra inch, punching the air from your lungs. Nails dig into the taut skin of his shoulders, surely leaving pink crescent moons in his skin. 

“Fuck, baby. Squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight.” His voice is deep, ragged with lust. His breath is hot against your ear, panting as he grinds himself deep. Your eyes roll back, overwhelmed with the feeling of him on top of you, inside of you, and around you. All you can think, feel, see, smell, and breathe is Chris. Muscular arms fall on either side of your pretty face, caging you underneath him. 

“mmhh, Chris…you’re so big.” 

“I know, baby, you can take it, though. You can take this big fuckin’ dig, angel.” Your eyes fly open at his filthy words. Gazes locking on one another, you take a shaky breath as he continues. “Yeah. You can take it, pretty girl.” He leans in to kiss you again, all tongue and teeth and panting in each other's mouths. You revel in the feeling of his hard cock, stretching you open to fit him. Soon, however, it's not enough. 

You lock your ankles around his firm ass, urging him to move with your heels. Getting the message, Chris draws himself out until just the tips remain trapped in your snug channel. Sliding in with an audible shclick, Chris begins to fuck you. Gentle rolls of his hips work you open for him as you sigh. His eyes never leave your face, hand on your cheek, watching your every sigh, every moan, and whimper. You’ve never felt so vulnerable, exposed like this. Sure, you’ve been fucked before, but you’re pretty damn sure Chris is making love to you right now. 

His sweaty forehead falls to yours as his cock strokes a particularly devastating spot deep inside you. Your mouth falls open as a wanton scream escapes your kiss-swollen lips, and Chris fucking grins.

“Yeah? Right there?” His voice high and thick with pleasure. You try desperately to answer yes! Yes, chris right there, don’t stop, but your brain is slowly turning to mush. You babble out nonsense, shaking your head like a madman. Chris pecks you on the lips, which would almost be endearing if he weren’t buried deep in your guts. 

Chris punches an especially deep thrust, falling to his forearms to crush you that much more with his body. Sweaty bodies slide against each other as Chris starts grinding deep, watching your face once more. You struggle to meet his intense gaze, eyelids fluttering with exhaustion and overstimulation. Your hands slide up from his muscular shoulders to his cropped hair, tugging him down to meet your mouth once more. You must’ve died in the explosion earlier. Died and gone to a muscular, sweaty heaven.  

His pubic bone begins to grind down on your swollen nub, heightening your growing pleasure. You try and warn him, but your words are useless. He knows, intrinsically, that you’re close. He leans back, rubbing his thumb against your clit as he watches you like a hawk. Your eyes roll into your head, legs clamping around his waist as a cry escapes your lips. 

 Your orgasm overtakes you much sooner than expected, flooding your senses with a heavy, deep euphoria. Waves crash through your body as Chris continues grinding himself deep inside of you.  He encourages you from above, but your pleasure addled mind can barely register his words. You pull him down, crushing him to your mouth. He kisses you through his whimpers, following you off the edge quickly. He quickly pulls out, to your +disappointment,  cumming across your belly. Thick, hot ropes hit your skin, causing you to moan. The obscene noises coming out of Chris's drive you absolutely wild. His hand grips your thigh as his orgasm subsides, and the two of you come down from your respective highs. 

As you catch your breath, you meet his mismatched eyes. He smirks before muttering, 

Chris comes over on a lazy Sunday afternoon, wanting to see his favorite girl. After greeting him with a long, deep kiss at the door, you drag him to sit on the couch before you. Standing between his legs, he draws his hands up your thighs to your hips, eyeing you curiously. You drag light patterns on his thighs with your nails, teasing him ever-so-slightly.

"What's got you in such a good mood, baby?" He'd ask, hands still lazily dragging up and down the sides of your body. His fingers would catch in your clothes, slowly dragging the fabric up to expose smooth skin. Just before he could expose too much, his hands are going right back down, teasing you.

"I got a new tattoo" You murmur excitedly, nerves thrumming at his gentle touch and proximity.

"Yeah? You gonna show me?" He leans forward, kissing your jaw. Slowly making his way down your neck, you feel yourself thrum with excitement and nervousness. You really hope he likes the new piece.

You shake your head in response, biting your lip. "uh-uh. You gotta find it." A wide grin breaks across his face at your challenge. His hands grip your hips, pulling you forward. Your hands steady yourself on his broad shoulders, nails digging into the tough flesh.

"Hmmm... looks like I can't see it with all these clothes on..." he whispers against your ear, tugging at your shorts gently.

"Guess you'll have to do something about that." You whisper back, breathless. He always has such a way of turning you to mush with just a little attention. It would be annoying if it wasn't so damn hot. His hands slide across your back, down to grab handfuls of your ass. You gasp at the feeling, and Chris takes that opportunity to shove his tongue in your mouth. You kiss him, deep and sloppy and desperately, while his thumbs hook in your waistband, pulling your shorts down agonizingly slowly. He lets them fall and his hands return to your ass, kneading the soft flesh there.

Stepping out of the discarded material, you pull away, meeting his heated stare. You watch his eyes trail down your form, looking for the fresh ink. Finding nothing new, his eyes return to yours, smirking.

"Guess I'll need this off too, huh?" Its all you can do to nod. He gently pulls your shirt over your head, finally revealing the fresh tattoo. You had gotten vines under your breasts, gently outlining the soft flesh there. You had a feeling he would like it, but seeing his reaction is something else entirely.

Standing before him, bare save for your simple black panties, you feel like prey. Chris is still fully clothed, heavy breathing in front of you. His hands move up to your waist, his thumbs resting just below the leaves of the design on your sternum.

"You like it?"

Chris’ relief shows up around 1:00 am. A lower-level agent knocks on his window, alerting him to the end of the shift. Chris rolls the window down to exchange codewords with the young man. He was on pretty much 24/7 detail, save for the few hours he had to sleep. They put him up in a pretty nice place, a few blocks from your apartment. 

“Captain Redfield,” The soldier barks, stiff as a board. Chris has to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Rookie. He wonders how old the man is before him, probably not much older than he was when he joined S.T.A.R.S. Probably not much older than Piers. Chris sighs; he really needed to sleep. The two exchanged codewords, finally releasing Chris for the day. 

“Take it easy,” Chris calls as he nods, putting the car in drive and taking off for his hotel.

It isn't until he’s in the elevator on the way up to his hotel room that he feels guilty for leaving you alone. He hadn’t taken the threat seriously before, and then you were almost shot. Nothing happened tonight, but it’d be just his luck that something does the second he leaves. You’re not alone, not really. The rookie is posted outside, making sure nothing bad goes down. But, still, the guilt is there. It's just a job, he tells himself over and over. If that's true, why was he so scared when the gun went off? He groggily pushes his way down the hall and finds his room. Quickly stripping down and stepping into the shower, Chris sighs at the feeling of the water. Cold, biting, refreshing. As he scrubs, he tries to tell himself he’s washing away the thought of your smile, the smell of your perfume. He imagines the tug deep in his belly is washing down the drain, never to return. This is just a job. More than that, this could be his last. 

The feeling returns as he crawls into bed, wondering if you’re still up. He falls asleep thinking of the glimpse he got of you in the window. The snug, black fabric of your underwear hugging your hips and your ass – he’s still human after all. He tells himself it's normal to notice how beautiful you are. He just won't act on it. A brief, small glimpse of hope bubbles in his chest, hoping he’ll dream of you. Instead, he dreams of Piers’ mutated face. 

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Chris’ car is gone when you wake up. You knew he couldn’t stay out there all night; the man had to sleep at some point, but still, you couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Thankfully, your morning was ruined already. Justin had texted you at 6 am, letting you know he fully expected you back in the office on Monday. Dick.  

The rest of the weekend is spent in a daze; you swear it passes in the blink of an eye. Chris’ truck returns to its spot every day at 10 a.m. You don’t speak with him again, afraid of pushing too far again. He bristled hard when you called him a hero. You’d thought he’d have been used to it by now, the revelry that comes with being a decorated soldier. You couldn’t imagine the horrors he’d seen, hunting down bioweapons across the globe. Maybe he’s done things he’s not proud of, lost people he cared about.  Maybe he’ll tell you one day. You don’t wanna admit the thought of him still being in your life one day is comforting. 

Sunday night, you sit at your bedroom window, watching him for a change. See how he likes it. It's late, but not late enough for him to have left, it seems. It takes a few minutes before he feels your gaze on him. His big form shifts restlessly, uncomfortable at the sensation. His head turns on a swivel before finally looking up at your window, eyes locking on yours. Even from a distance, you can see his stare in the dark, one light eye and one dark. You hold his gaze for a moment before sticking your hand up, waving your fingers gently. Chris returns the gesture with a two-fingered salute. You swear you see the smirk on his beautiful, full lips, even from here. 

Bidding him a goodnight, you know he can’t hear, you close the curtains on your window. Making your way to bed, you ignore the voice in your head, wondering if he can see your ass from there. Wonder is too strong a word; you’re hoping the curtains didn't close all the way. 

As you crawl into bed, you grab your trusty vibrator. You can’t imagine you’ll get any sleep until you quiet your mind. Trying to steer your thoughts from the large man, stationed outside, possibly still looking through your window, is absolutely impossible. As you chase your orgasm, your mind locks on one thing: that man's sinful mouth. You wonder how pretty his eyes would look as he gazed at you from between your legs, tongue working softly on your folds. Would he moan at the taste? Would he bite your thighs to tease you? Would he make you taste yourself on his tongue? The last thought makes you cum, hard. Your legs shake, gently, as you imagine his strong arms holding you down, drawing it out. You drift off to sleep in your post-orgasm bliss, ignoring how awkward it’s going to be in the morning. 

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

After sleeping through your alarm and rushing to finish your morning routine before 7:45, you finally dart out the door without a thought of your new bodyguard. Locking your door, you turn to find Chris leaning against your car, thick, corded arms crossed like he’s been waiting for a while. He’s in a tight black tee, which hugs his arms like it's about to burst at the seams. Memories of cumming to the thought of what those arms could do to you flash through your mind, and you pray he can’t see it across your face. 

“Morning!” You call, trying desperately to act normal. For a moment, you just enjoy the sight, forgetting the realities that led this weapon of a man to you. You imagine he’s coming to pick you up for a date, one you both have been looking forward to all week. You imagine he’s taking you to a nice dinner, treating you right, before bringing you home to treat you the way you deserve. His rough voice breaks you from your trance. 

“Morning. Checked the car for you, no explosives found.” Your face falls as you are brought back to reality, to your possible impending murder.  

“That’s a possibility now?” You ask, incredulously. Chris just raises his brows at you. “Whatever, I’m driving.” You ignore the newfound fear that stirs in your stomach and step towards your car. 

 “I can follow you in my car.” 

“What's the point? We’re going to the same place, you're coming back here, just makes sense.” Chris gives you a skeptical nod. You wave him to get in the car as you start for the driver's side. You don't know why exactly you’re offering him a ride. Its not exactly professional, but neither were the thoughts you were having about him last night. He shrugs and slides in next to you, his big frame taking up so much of the space next to you. His big thighs spread as he leans back. Steeling yourself, you force yourself to look straight ahead and not at his frustratingly inviting lap. You let out a sigh. This is going to be a long few weeks. 

In the office, everyone avoids you like the plague. You figure it must have something to do with the large, looming presence of your bodyguard trailing you. You are probably the first District Attorney to be shot at during work, so, so hey, at least that's something. You spend an awkward elevator ride up with a colleague you had always been friendly with before. Chris’ stormy presence takes up the entire tiny cell, assessing the colleague for threats. Right. You have a target on your back.  

By the time the two of you make it to your office, you’re already ready for the day to be over. You check your emails, messages, and calendar, prepping for your day. Chris settles in across from you, watching. It takes about 15 minutes of Chris staring before you ask, exasperatedly, 

“Is that all you’re here to do? Stare at me?” You ask, leaning back in your chair to cross your arms. You know the real reason you’re annoyed, you’re flustered. You can’t focus, brain focused on all the dirty things your bodyguard could do to you while the two of you are alone. 

“Pretty much,” He shrugs. “You seem kinda jumpy this morning. Everything okay?” His brows furrow in concern, and he leans forward, like he’s anxiously waiting for your answer. You aren’t sure how to respond; every part of you is in overdrive when he’s near. Ignoring his interest in your attitude, you change the subject. 

“I have a hearing in an hour, wanna join?”

You knew he’d probably have come even if you hadn't invited him, but you really wish your bodyguard were not here right now. You stand before the judge, arguing your case for why the scumbag before you shouldn’t be released on bail. The hairs on your neck are raised the whole damn time. You can feel his presence, even as he stands at the back of the court. You can feel him stare at you, scanning for danger. You stutter a few times, but manage just fine through the rest of the short hearing. The judge ignores your pleas and lets the guy out. Great. 

You don't make eye contact with Chris as you leave. When you return to your office, you press your hands to the desk, leaning over it and sighing. The hearing you just lost might mean a woman gets hurt. And it's on you when it happens. You don't even hear Chris step into the office behind you. 

“Do you wanna get lunch?” The deep voice asks gently behind you.

“What?” You ask, calling over your shoulder with a surprised laugh. 

“Relax, let’s just get you out of the office.” Turning to look at him, he's leaning on the door, brows furrowed as he watches you. 

“Sure, I could eat,” You say, standing up and facing you. Ignoring the concerned look on his face, you grab your purse. “I know a good taco place down the street from here.” He hums in agreement and goes quiet, following you out the door.  

20 minutes later, the two of you are sitting across from each other in your favorite hole-in-the-wall spot, chowing down on chips and queso like two friends. It's nice, how easy it is to relax around a man like him. Chris is friendly, respectful, and even opens up a little to you. He tells you about his younger sister, how his parents passed away when he was young, and it was just the two of them growing up. Your heart tugs at the thought of a younger him, faced with grief and despair, left with a younger sibling to take care of. 

“You guys are close, huh?

“Yeah. She drives me crazy but, what's family for?” He cracks a goofy smirk at you, eyeing you across the table. You smile, but can’t agree. You don’t have much family left either.  He continues, “You know you never answered my question this morning.”

“You’ll have to remind me, it's been a long day.” You sigh, knowing where this is going. 

“Are you doing alright?” He has that look on his face, the same one from the office. You hate it, it feels like pity. 

“How could I not be? It's not like there's a hit out on me, or everyone at work is avoiding me, or I couldn’t keep some wife-beater in jail today and now–”

“Hey, breathe. Everything is fine.” He reaches across the table, grabbing your hand in a manner that should be reassuring, but just sends your heart rate spiking. 

“Everything is not fine!” You say, a little louder than intended. You take a deep breath before continuing. “I’m so tired of everyone acting like im crazy for being freaked out. This is crazy shit. I was shot at.” You pull your hand away, harsher than intended, to wave it around to amplify your point. 

“You’re right.” You weren't expecting him to be so agreeable so quickly. You were expecting the typical man's response; you’re acting hysterical. “You could’ve died last week, and I should’ve caught on sooner. That's on me. But I promise, nothing is gonna happen to you while I’m here, okay? You trust me?” You nod, unable to formulate words. It's weird, the care and sincerity in his voice. It surprises you, coming from the gruff, muscled man in front of you. The underlying implication of his words makes your throat feel like it's going to close, so you quickly change the topic. 

“Can I ask you something? What are you doing here?” You try not to sound like a prosecutor when asking. “Having lunch?” His brow quirks, confused by your sudden tone switch. “No, I mean, with me. I told you I looked you up, youre a decorated officer, Chris. Why are you playing bodyguard with someone like me?”

“Someone like you?” He sounds almost offended at your choice of words. 

“I don't know, someone not… important, I guess.” You utter, trying not to sound as self-depricating as it sounds. 

“You’re important enough for someone to take a shot at you.” He counters, tone serious.

“You’re avoiding the question.” 

“And you’re under-valuing your worth.” His words cut right to your core, combined with his heavy gaze. He doesn’t know you, not like that. Your mind tells you, but something else hears the truth in his words. He’s being honest, and you aren’t sure how to feel about that. 

Thankfully, the food comes to your table before you have to decide how you feel. You steer the conversation away, understanding that he does not want to talk about why he’s here. You don't push, for now. 

Instead, you entertain him with crazy stories of the trials you’ve won and lost over the years. You decide you love the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs. You head back to the office after a while, feeling lighter than you did before. 

The rest of the day passes smoothly, as does the drive home. Chris bids you a goodnight as you walk up your stoop. A part of you desperately wants to welcome him inside, but the more rational part of you knows that's a very bad idea. So, you will yourself not to turn around until you're inside, watching him walk to his car from your window.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

In the following week, the two of you fall into a comfortable routine. Chris is always waiting for you, leaning on your car for the drive to work. He hangs out in your office, now reading or working on something on his laptop, as you work on your various motions and plea deals. Sometimes he heads out, talking to the sheriffs at the courthouse for any suspicious goings-on, but there's never much to report. He accompanies you to your motion hearings and meetings with the defense, but since the press conference, everything has been quiet. 

Friday night, you make a bold decision on the drive home. 

“Let's get a drink.” You state, casually, trying not to make it sound like a date. 

“Yeah?” He turns to look at you, which never fails to make you nervous. 

“Yeah! We’re young and off-the-clock, why not go let loose?” 

“I am neither of those things, but sure.” He chuckles at your joking voice. 

“Whatever you say, old man, I’m sure one beer won't even have an effect on a guy like you.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” He responds with mock anger. 

“Nothing! Nothing just-” you squeak, trying to maintain your composure, “Youre just a big guy, s’all.” He turns his head, but he can't hide the flush creeping up his neck, turning his ears pink. You wiggle in your seat, cheering at the small victory of cracking his hard demeanor.

You pull into the lot a few minutes later, and step out into the afternoon. The sun is just beginning to set, and Chris looks good as ever in the golden light. You shake your head, maybe alcohol and he were a bad combo. He opens the heavy door, and you step into the darkness of the dive bar. The room is covered in a heavy, thick smoke and dim lighting – your favorite kind of bar. 

“What’re you drinking? First rounds on me.” You call over your shoulder, fighting the noise of the crowd and the music as you make your way to the bar. You don't hear his response; instead feeling him close behind you, his head inches away from yours. 

“I’ll have whatever you’re having.” He murmurs in your ear, his breath hot on the sensitive skin there. You shudder involuntarily, nodding as you catch the eye of the nearest bartender. Ordering two beers, you feel Chris shift back from you, letting some man shove into the free space next to you. 

“Can I buy you a drink, sweetie?” He slurs as he leans against you. You shove him off, telling him as nicely as you can that you’re fine, you just ordered. As you try to turn away from him, you feel his hand grab your upper arm tightly, 

“S’jus a compliment.” He slurs, more aggressively. Before you can even react, Chris is quicker. His hand clamps down on the back of the neck of the drunk next to you, ripping him back like a scared kitten.  The man's eyes fly open, his hands up and off of you. 

“Hey man, I didn’t know she was yours. I was–”

“She shouldn't have to be mine for you not to lay your hands on her. Get the fuck away from her.” He seethes, shoving the man away from the two of you. The drunk stumbles away, heading to a dark corner on the other side of the bar. 

“You okay?” He asks, concern in his mismatched eyes. 

“Yeah, perks of having a bodyguard, huh?” You quip at him, watching him roll his eyes while smirking.  The bartender returns with your drinks, and you pay quickly before finding a spot for the two of you to sit. Immediately, you reach into your purse to reveal your trusty deck of cards. Chris raises his brows at you as you begin shuffling the deck with a smirk on your face. 

“You know how to play speed, big boy?” 

You swear Chris must’ve let you win the first few times, because he absolutely decimates you in the rest of the rounds you play. He’s competitive, but in a quiet, strategic way. He teases you every time you lose; he’s just quick. You throw your hands up at the umpeenth time he beats you, grabbing your third beer and throwing it back. Chris doesn’t seem to feel a thing, but damn youre tipsy. 

“You mind if I smoke?” He asks after another win. You shake your head, watching him pull out his pack. You watch, shamelessly, as he slides the cig between his lips, lighting it quickly and taking a long draw. He, noticing you're staring, offers the pack to you. In the haze of the alcohol and the smoky air of the bar, you take one. He lights it for you, leaning across the table. You lean in too, holding his stare as he lights the cigarette for you. You don't lean back as he retreats, propping yourself up on your elbows. You can feel the way your cleavage is exposed like this. Chris’s jaw clenches, and you swear he's trying not to look down. A thought pops into your head and out of your lips before you can think. 

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

“What?” If his eyes bulged anymore, they’d have popped out of his head. 

“Job like yours, dating’s’gotta be hell, huh?” Youre slurring your words at this point, but you lost the ability to care an hour ago. Damn, when was the last time three beers got you this drunk? “S’okay, same here. You think men want to date a woman with more degrees than them? Loooooosers.” 

Chris cracks a smile at that as your head droops, lost in thought. You don’t know why you’re telling him this. Part of you just wants him to know there's no one else in your life. 

“Should probably get you home.” He decides, sliding from the booth and taking your arm gently. You let him guide you out into the night. Opening the passenger door for you, he takes your keys from you. As he closes the door and makes his way to the other side of the car, you close your eyes. 

Ignoring the spinning, you let yourself fall back into the daydream that this is just a date. Chris isn’t your bodyguard; he’s just a guy you met at the gym. He’s taking you home to carry you up the stairs to your bedroom. You smile softly as you realize he probably had to do that for his younger sister growing up. The sounds of the door opening break you from your daydream. Turning your head, your smile spreads as you watch the large man fumble with your chair settings, finally giving up and squeezing in next to you. 

“Jesus, how short are you?” He grumbles, settling in. He finally catches you staring at him, grinning. “What are you smiling at?” He teases.

“Its cute watching you squeeze into this car.” You shrug, tongue loose from the beer flowing through your veins. For the second time tonight, Chris blushes. It's a short drive home, thankfully. Short enough, you don't have to fight back nausea. 

 As Chris pulls into the spot in front of your place, you quickly exit the car, making the blood rush to your head. You step back, nearly falling from the curb, but Chris is ever quicker. You feel him before you see him, his hands wrapping around your waist and pulling you forward. Forward into his hard chest. Your hands splay across his plush pecs, chests pressed against one another. 

Breathless, you look up into his gorgeous eyes. He should let you go, you’re fine now, but he doesnt. His face is so close to yours like this, if you just stood on your toes–

Before you can think better, you close the gap between your lips. Your hand reaches up, tangling in the soft, short hair on the back of his head. His grip on your waist tightens, hand snaking to the small of your back to press you closer. His tongue peaks out, swiping at your bottom lip. You grant him access, letting him explore your mouth gently. Sighing into him, you pull away, catching your breath. His heavy gaze on you sends heat licking up your spine. 

“Do you wanna come upstairs?” You ask, breathlessly. Chris squeezes his eyes closed, leaning his forehead against yours. He lets out a heavy breath before pulling back to respond. 

“I don't think that's a good idea, sweetheart.” His voice is devastatingly gentle, hand on your cheek, thumb rubbing idle circles on your skin. The heat building beneath your skin turns to an icy shame, weighing on your chest. You turn away, far too quickly for someone unaffected by the rejection. 

“You’re right, sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I’ll see you on Monday.” You mumble as you stumble away, towards your door. 

“Wait, I just–” Chris trips over his words as he calls out to you. The tears begin to build in your eyes, the sting of rejection overtaking you. You shove your keys into the lock. 

“You’ve been –” the door slams shut before you hear the end of his sentence. 

“Drinking.” Chris sighs, finishing his sentence to no one in particular. Fuck, Redfield. Way to go. He stands there, dumbly, for a moment. A part of him, the impulsive, reckless part, wants to bang on your door until you answer and pull you into his arms again. He wants to hear the pretty noises you make again, see your stare full of desire for him. He wants to feel your pulse race beneath his hands and know its his effect on you. The rational part of him, however,  tells him to go sit in his car and do his damn job. Kicking himself, he lets his head fall as he walks to his truck, just up the street. He feels like a fucking asshole. 

But he’d rather feel this than your regret, your disgust, if he followed you upstairs and you woke to regret it. You had been pretty tipsy at the bar, and he wasn’t going to take advantage of you – no matter how badly he wanted you. He knew now he had to admit it to himself that he had a little crush on the person he was supposed to keep safe.  

And now here he is, sitting alone in his truck, feeling guilt and regret eat away at his resolve until the rookie finally shows up and relieves him for the night. Chris drives home in silence, fingers gripping the steering wheel so tight he can hear the material creak. Fuck. 

He heads straight for the gym, praying there's something he can hit, hard. His prayers are answered when he finds a punching bag hanging heavy from the ceiling. Without even changing from his ‘work clothes’ (a tee and trousers, nothing fancy), Chris takes his stance in front of the bag and works out his frustration with himself. Every punch lands with a satisfying thud and a searing pain in his unwrapped knuckles. He doesnt fucking care. Not when all he can see is your crestfallen face and your teary eyes as you shut the door. Fuck. 

 ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

If you asked Chris Redfield what his favorite position was, he probably would tell you some sappy shit about how he likes any position where he can see your pretty face. He’d tell you he just loves making love to you, and you’d roll your eyes at his goofy grin.  

The truth is, he’s tied between two. On one hand, he’s not lying when he says he likes to see your face. But he loves the positions that give him total control over your pleasure. If he thought about it, it probably has something to do with his job. Everything and everyone is out of his control at all times, but you, soft and supple and oh-so-fucking sweet, are on your back, pinned beneath him, taking every thrust he gives you. He loves watching you take what he gives you, unable to do anything but moan and gush around his thick member.  

He likes you on your back, legs pressed as far back as he can get them, in a downright mean mating press. His hands are tangled in yours, trapped against the backs of your knees to keep you absolutely helpless. Chris can see your tits bounce with every heavy thrust, he can see your lids low, eyes blown with lust and pleasure and desire, and it's all for him. You get wet in this position, evidenced by the obscene noises coming from where the two of you are joined. He likes to shuffle closer on his knees, getting just that much deeper and forcing those delicate, high-pitched noises from your pretty lips. It makes his chest swell, watching you stutter out gibberish, attempting to tell him how good he feels. He likes knowing he can fuck you into mindless pleasure; it fills him with masculine pride. 

When the need gets too much, when he feels his balls tighten as pleasure threatens to overtake his whole body, he reaches a thumb past those pretty lips. On instinct, your mouth closes around his digit, suckling softly. He can feel the vibrations of your moans on his thumb, inadvertently sending a rumble of approval through his chest. He rips the finger out of your mouth to press on your aching clit, ready to force you over the edge with him. In these moments, Chris doesn’t care if he’s overwhelming you. He doesn’t care if you think you can’t take it; you will. In fact, he hopes he is. He hopes the only thought passing through that pretty head is how good his big dick feels deep inside of you. The pretty look of helplessness on your face as you give in to him just makes him thrust harder.  

It's only when he feels your tell-tale clench, when he sees the shaking of your thighs and hears that soft whimper on your sigh that he lets go, lets himself cum with you. His hands fall to either side of your head, and he leans forward, letting his body cage you in from the outside world. He won't tell you (for a while at least) that every time he fills you up like this, he’s thinking about knocking you up, keeping you his for good. 

On the other hand, he likes to be pressed fully against you. His other favorite position is prone, fully on top of you, with his arms wrapped protectively around your shoulders. He can hear every fucking noise you make like this, feel every twitch and sigh and shudder. He likes the way your nails dig into his biceps like this, as you need him impossibly closer somehow. He can press his mouth right against your neck and bite as much as he wants. He can whisper filthy things in your ear, tell you just how good your hot, wet cunt feels wrapped around him. It's this position where he starts muttering things that make you blush, as if he wasnt buried deep in your body. 

“This fuckin’ pussy was made for me, wasn’t it?”

“This is what you needed, huh? Needed to get fucked like a good girl?”

“You like this? Being stuffed full of this dick?

Your orgasms always come out of nowhere when he talks like this, taking you by surprise as you gush around his hard length. When he cums, he’ll let a little more of his weight crush down on you. Still afraid of actually hurting you, most of his body weight is balanced on his knees and elbows. But after months and months of you begging to lay his whole weight on you, he gives in a bit and crushes you when he cums. It makes you feel safe, trapped beneath his hard chest, wrapped in his strong arms. He presses a long kiss to the side of your forehead, resting his there as you both catch your breath. 

You had noticed it one day, the lasso hanging on his hip. It was part of his hunter outfit, complete with his heavy black coat, dark hat and all his weapons strapped to his hulking form.  Asking him what he used it for revealed that yes sometimes he needed to bring someone in alive and yes that meant sometimes he would need to lasso a running man. 

“Can you do it while riding a horse?” You ask, eyes sparkling with the possibilities. He shoots you a pointed look, as if he’s offended you would ever think he couldn’t. 

“Can you lasso me?” You ask, suddenly warm at the thought of him, hunting you down, catching you. 

“You done somethin’ wrong, little lady?” He drawls, his voice thick. 

“Maybe.” You sing, putting your hands behind your back, taking a step closer. “What’ve you heard?” His gaze is focused on you as his hands find his lasso, cording the rope through his big, rough hands. 

“Heard theres a bounty on your head.” he says, smirking and playing along with you. You puff your chest out as you inch closer, watching his eyes trail down to your exposed clevage. His eyes come back up heated and hungry. “Say you’ve been causing trouble ‘round these parts.”

“Oh yeah?” You ask, inches from his face, voice breathy. “Like what?”

“Stealin’ hearts. Lewd activities. The usual.” He’s got that smirk on him, the one that always lets you know he’s up to no good. 

“You gonna catch me?”

“Start runnin’ little lady.” He all but growls at you. You take off, getting all of about three steps before you feel the rope coming down over your head. It cinches quick around your midsection; the force nearly knocking the wind out of you now that your momentum has come to an abrupt halt. You teeter, trying and failing to regain your balance without the use of your arms. You feel a harsh tug backwards, and you fall into the hard muscle of Franks chest, a strong arm coming around you to brace you against him. His free hand trails from your belly button up, between the valley of your breasts to catch your exposed throat in a light hold. 

Your body shudders as you feel his head lean down, nose brushing against your hair before finding your ear. He lets out a hot breath, causing your shudder to turn to trembling. 

“Gotcha.” He purrs in your ear as your eyes roll to the back of your head. You’ve never been this turned on before, feeling vulnerable and exposed in Franks strong grip. You had thought you’d make him work for it, but damn, he was trained. The arm braced against you moved to press his palm just below your navel, just above where you want him most. You feel wetness pooling in your hot core, needy at his brazen display of skill and strength. He continues, still breathing heavy in your ear. “Think I’ll collect my reward now.”

Reaching down, he gathers your dress in his fist, handing the bunch to your hands, still trapped at your sides, to hold up for him. You gather the skirts best you can with your limited movement. The rope still tight against your arms – caught between the press of his hard chest to your back. His deft fingers find your now-soaked panties, roughly pushing them to the side to slide through the slick gathered at the crux of your thighs. You let out a deep breath, throwing your head back against his shoulder. The hand on your neck slides down, under your dress to grasp your breast roughly. You gasp at the sensation, and Frank takes the opportunity to bite down, hard, on your now exposed neck. Letting out a loud, wanton moan at the feeling of being touched so obscenly out in the open, Franks fingers find your aching clit. 

The rough pad of his finger rubs circles achingly slow on your sensitive nub, eliciting whimpers to fall from your lips. He’s still kissing your neck, slow and hot, while he paws at your tits. His fingers find your peaked nipple and pinch, making you whine. 

“Frankie, baby I need more.” You plead, his fingers continuing their tortuously slow pace on your needy clit. 

“Fuck, what’d I say? Lewd acts?” He pulls his face from your neck to whisper in your ear again. “Beggin’ me to fuck you with my fingers out in the open like this? Naughty girl.” The deep vibrations of his voice send you buzzing, hands shaking as they white knuckle your dress to hold it up for him. His fingers quickly slide down, finding your entrance and sliding in deep to the knuckle. Your knees buckle, threatening to give out but Frank, ever-faster, catches you against him. One arm braced against you, the other knuckle deep and fucking your wet, wanting pussy. 

The wet schlick of Franks hand is audible, sounding even louder in the silence of the valley around you. His palm presses down roughly against your clit. Pressure in your tummy builds, the buzzign growing at Frank brings you closer and closer to the edge. 

“Baby, M’close.” You whimper, trapped against him, helpless to his ministrations. 

“Yeah? Gonna cum like this, darlin’? Gonna cum out here, on my hand?”

Its all you can do to nod in response. Frank groans against your temple as he works his hand faster, pinching your nipple again. Your legs shake, threating to give out once more. 

“C’mon, baby, give it to me. Give me my reward.” Your eyes roll back and you crumple inwards as your orgasm overtakes your whole body. You hear Frank muttering in your ear filthy nothings as you rock your hips forward, chasing his hand. Broken moans and whimpers fall from your open mouth as you struggle to breathe from the force. Frank doesn’t let up, fingers still pumping deep against your fluttering walls. You keen, trying to his escape his overwhelming toch. His hand slows down, slowly retreating to find his mouth. He licks the taste of you off his fingers as your head falls back, trying to catch your breath. Frank lets you stand for a moment, leaning your weight against him. He’s still hunched over you, mouth close to your ear when he murmurs, low and heated, “I’m not done with you.”

His arms move, quick, pulling you up into his arms, bridal style. Its awkward, the lasso still constricting your movements and your muscles losse from your orgasm. He moves you quickly to the nearby wall of the barn, manuevering you so your back is pressed against it. He spreads your thighs wide, wrapping them around his hips as he quickly frees his wanting erection. 

Your breathing picks up again, still unable to move. The only thing you can do in your current position is spread your legs wider, pull your captor closer. Your pulse quickens as your eyes fall to his throbbing member, watching it slowly disappear between the crux of your thighs. You feel the stretch of his fat  head catch at your entrance before he pushes himself in, inch by fucking inch. You watch him through your heavy lids as he presses all the way in, crushing his chest to yours. Once agin, you are trapped. The lasso is loosened now, long forgotten in the heat of pasion. Your hands are free enough to dig your nails into Franks bulging arms as they hold you steady, keep you from falling. 

He groans at the sensation of the crescent moons forming under your tight grip. He’s still pressed all the way inside of you, not moving, keeping you trapped between his hard chest and the press of the wall digging into your back. 

“Frank…” you sigh, before leaning forward to capture his lips in a messy, wet kiss. His tongue tangles with yours. Pressing his hips forward, Frank sinks in that extra inch, hitting that spot deep inside of you, sending your thighs tremblign around him. 

“Yeah, I got you baby,” He sighs against your mouth, drinking in the sighs and whimpers that escape you. He starts a slow, tortuous pace, impossibly deep and fucking slow. He breaks away from your lips to watch your face as he takes you like this. All you can do is squeeze your thighs around him as he does whatever the fuck he wants to you. The feeling is intoxicating, pushing the pleasure higher, making you dizzy. You are completely at hism mercy, prey caught by a very hungry predator, being devboured alive. 

Slamming your head back against the barn, you cry out into the silence of the day, letting your cries echo around you both. Franks hand slips up from his hold on you to free your breatss from where they sit, trapped in your dress. You feel intoxicated on the brazenness of his actions, taking you like an animal in heat, putin the open. 

Your orgasm hits unexpectly as Franks pubic bone presses agaisnt your clit in one deep thrust, turning your body into an uncorntrollable shaking mess. Broken cries of Franks name ring out around you both, but he doesn’t stop. Its as if he’s kicked into overdrive, frenzied by the feeling of your walls trying to trap him inside of you. 

“Fuck!” He growls in your ear, continuing his deadly pace, ruining you completely. “Perfect fuckin’ girl, cummin’ on my cock like this, tied up? You like when I fuck you like this? You like being trapped?” He continues, muttering ffilth in your ear as he fucks you up the wall, chasing his peasure inside of you. Your eyes roll back up into your head, near-sobbing as his grip tightens on your waist –sure to leave bruises tomorrow. You nod to his filthy accusation, struggling to meet his heavy, hot stare. He presses his forehead to yours, breath fanning across your face. You want, no need, to overwhelm him the way he is overwhelming you right now. You need to destroy him the same way, need him to know that no matter what he can do to you, You can devastate him the exact same way. 

You tighten your legs around his waist, locking your ankles behind him. Your hands fly from his arms to desperately pull at his shirt, keeping him impossibly close. 

“You can’t pull out.” You declare, voice heavy with lust and desire. You shake your head no as you continue, “I won’t let you.”  His eyes go wide at your statement, before a choked moan escapes his lips, his orgasm overtaking him by surprise. His hips stutter inside of you as heat floods your core, hot ropes of him seeping inside of you. His head falls to the crook of your neck as his body shudders, filling you with one last hard thrust.