Inside, the atmosphere was equally grim. The asylum's corridors, long and narrow, were bathed in a dim, flickering light from the aging fluorescent fixtures that barely pierced the gloom. Each flash of lightning revealed glimpses of the asylum's interior: the scattered, old furniture, the barred windows, and the heavy, locked doors. The harsh light highlighted the grim details of the inside — rusting fixtures, peeling paint, and the long shadows cast by the iron bars on the windows. 

The nuns had decided to host one of the famous movie nights. It was a tradition they upheld during every stormy night in an attempt to calm down the residents who would become agitated by the loudness that came with the storm. 

The main common room had been transformed for the occasion. The dim, oppressive lighting was softened by the warm, flickering glow of a makeshift projector setup, casting a gentle, almost nostalgic light across the room. The walls, lined with faded, institutional artwork and peeling paint, were obscured by heavy, tattered curtains that had been drawn over the windows to shield the patients' wandering eyes from the storm's fury outside. The dusty curtains hung in uneven folds. The nuns had also arranged a selection of worn, overstuffed chairs and mismatched couches in a semi-circle around the small projector that sat on a makeshift table. The screen was a large, slightly yellowed sheet stretched taut across a wooden frame and its surface bore the scars of countless previous showings. 

You sat on one of the overstuffed couches positioned in the back row of the common room, your figure partially hidden by the shadows cast by the dim light of the projector. The couch you occupied was a faded, floral-patterned relic, its cushions soft and sagging from years of use. The upholstery, once vibrant, had long since dulled to a muted palette, its once-bright colors now blended into the overall gloom of the room. Everything was dull here in Briarcliff. Your posture was relaxed because of the warmth the man beside you provided. 

Kit Walker, a kind man once you got to know him, was the sanest person in the whole building besides yourself and you were glad to form an alliance with him. Although, there were feelings nestled deep inside you, ones you didn't have to say out loud for him to see and feel. That man had a strong jawline and high cheekbones that gave him a chiseled, almost heroic appearance and that alone gave your knees the right amount of shake to fall for him. You found out he had a natural ability to really listen and offer comfort and he carried himself with a quiet dignity, not seeking validation or praise but simply remaining true to himself despite the circumstances. 

Kit Walker was the man of your dreams.

The screen was currently displaying an old, black-and-white film, its grainy images flickering in sync with the erratic flashes of lightning outside but you couldn't force yourself to pay any amount of attention to the supposed entertainment. The film's dramatic scenes, with their exaggerated gestures and artificial emotions, seemed almost absurd compared to the thoughts that were dedicated to the man sitting next to you. 

And the same could be said about Kit. The way the occasional light from the projector cast soft highlights across your features, emphasizing the curve of your cheek and the depth of your eyes, made you seem almost ethereal and Kit was losing it. None of the workers could force him to sit on the moldy couch and torture himself with boredom when you sat quietly beside him, distracting him with just simply being there. 

He noticed your subtle, distracted glances toward the screen, but your eyes lingered more on him than on the film.  Kit could feel the way your eyes followed the play of light and shadow across his face, how you seemed to be drawn to the warmth he provided rather than the outdated drama on the screen. He found himself smiling softly to himself at your distraction with a knowing look in his eyes. You wanted him as badly as he wanted you. 

Leaning slightly closer to your body, Kit's voice was low and warm as it hit the side of your face, barely above a whisper to avoid breaking the fragile atmosphere that had settled around the two of you. "You know," he began and a hint of playful amusement appeared in his tone, "we don't really have to stay here if we're not into the movie." 

"What do you mean?" you asked in the same tone as him, your voice a gentle murmur that barely competed with the distant hum of the projector. When you exhaled, the warm air hit Kit's face. 

Kit's honey-brown irises shimmered in the darkness, and he subtly nodded toward the exit of the dimly lit room, where the storm outside was barely audible against the noise of the film. "I was thinking . . . maybe we could sneak away, find a quieter spot where we can actually do whatever we want. What do you think?"

The suggestion was simple, yet it carried the promise of a more intimate and personal escape from the boredom of the asylum's common room. The thought of stepping away from the dreary atmosphere was an enticing one. Yet, the fear of feeling Sister Jude's sick pleasure held you back. Sister Jude, with her sharp eyes and ever sharper tongue, seemed to delight in catching the patients of the asylum in any moment of weakness or rebellion. Her authority was absolute, an iron hand that loomed over every corner of Briarcliff, and the idea of stepping out of line — even for a brief moment — carried a weighty sense of risk. You could already imagine the way Sister Jude's eyes would narrow in satisfaction, her lips curling into that smug, almost sadistic smile she reserved for moments when she exerted her control. 

You still remember what she did to Grace. What she did to Lana. 

And yet, the allure of escaping with Kit, even just for a little while, was difficult to resist. 

"I don't know, Kit," you whispered in a trembling voice as you voiced your worries to him. "What if we get caught? You know how Sister Jude is. She'd make an example out of us, and I — I don't think I could handle that. I don't want to give her the satisfaction."

He could see the fear in your eyes, the way it held you back, and it only made him more determined to protect you. "[Name]," he said gently, his voice low and reassuring, "nothing's going to happen. I promise you that. We'll be careful, okay? And even if something does happen, even if Sister Jude catches us, I'll take the blame. She won't lay a finger on you."

"Kit..." you began but he cut you off with a slight squeeze of your hand. You didn't question when he took hold of your palm. 

"Trust me, [Name]," he murmured, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles repeatedly. "I won't let her touch you. I'll take the heat if it comes to that. But right now, let's just get out of here, even if it's just for a little while. We deserve that much, don't we?" 

There was a warmth in his voice, a quiet strength meant to reassure you in ways nothing else at Briarcliff ever could. Kit was right — both of you did deserve this. And you could use the sweet release from the asylum's cruel grasp. 

You took a deep breath, nodding slightly as you made up your mind. "Okay," you whispered into the darkness. Kit could feel the touch of your words against his lips. "Okay, let's go." 

His hand was firm and reassuring as he helped you to your feet. Every movement of his was carefully done, as if even the slightest noise could shatter the fragile veil of secrecy he had cast over the both of you. The dim light of the common room flickered weakly, casting long shadows across the floor, but you moved with purpose, slipping quietly through the rows of seats, avoiding the eyes of the staff and the other patients who were too engrossed in the film to notice your departure. Sister Jude should hire more responsible staff. 

Once you reached the doorway, Kit paused, glancing back to ensure no one was watching before gently guiding you with a strong hand against your lower back into the darkened corridor beyond. The heavy wooden door closed behind you with a soft creak, and the two of you were finally alone, the distant sound of the movie a only faint hum behind. You moved quickly through the long, lonely corridors of Briarcliff Asylum, footsteps barely audible on the cold, tiled floors. The rain continued its assault on the windows with no sight of stopping. Kit led the way, his grip on your hand never faltering. 

As the both of you rounded a corner, the sound of distant voices reached your ears — staff members making their rounds. Kit's fingers tightened his hold on yours, pulling you closer as you pressed yourself against the wall, breaths held in unison. The voices grew louder for a moment, then faded as the staff continued down another corridor, oblivious to the two figures hidden in the shadows. Relief washed over you along with the vivid pictures of Sister Jude's punishment. You needed to find a place to hide, somewhere quiet where you could steal a few moments of peace away from the watchful eyes.

Finally, you reached the heavy metal doors of the kitchen, pushed open just enough to allow a sliver of light to escape into the dark corridor. Kit glanced around to ensure you were alone before gently pulling the door open wider, gesturing for you to slip inside first. He followed right after you. 

The kitchen was quiet, dimly lit by a single overhead light that cast a soft glow across the industrial steel countertops and rows of neatly organized utensils. The scent of cleaning supplies mingled with the faint aroma of fresh bread that had long since been cleared away. 

And before either of you could think or second-guess, you were drawn together like magnets. Kit leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both tender and filled with urgency. The kiss deepened quickly though, passion flaring between the two of you like a wildfire as everything else faded away — the asylum, the storm, the fear. All that mattered was this moment, this connection. His hands found their way to the small of your back for the second time this evening, pulling you closer as his lips moved against yours with a hunger that matched your own. You responded in kind, slender fingers threading through his hair, tugging him closer as if afraid that letting go would mean losing this fleeting moment of intimacy. 

The heat of the kiss spread through you both when Kit's strong hands slid down to the bottom of your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. The feel of your body against his was intoxicating, and he moved with purpose, carrying you to the nearest counter. With a fast and urgent motion, he set you down on the cool steel surface, hands brushing aside utensils and making space for you, painting his hands with flour in the process.

Your heart raced as Kit's hands roamed your body, exploring with both desire and respect. His touch was precise as if he was memorizing every curve, every inch of your skin to remember for the rest of his days. He kissed you again, this time slower, savoring the taste of your lips as his hands moved from your waist to your hips, then slowly up to your back, pulling you closer to his body and hiking your knees up even more, leaving white fingertips in their path.

You responded in kind, hands tracing the sculpted lines of his shoulders, down his chest, feeling the muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt. There was something so raw, so real about the way he touched you — as if this was the first time in a long time he had felt truly alive. Your fingers danced across his skin, exploring the planes of his body with the same amount of desire. Kit's hands slid up your sides and under the hem of your gown, his thumbs brushing against the soft skin just above your underwear, creating a shiver that traveled down your spine. You arched into his touch, breath hitching as you felt the tension coil tighter within you. 

"Kit . . . I—" you couldn't finish your sentence, the words lost in a breathless moan as his hands wandered lower, his touch sending waves of pleasure through you. 

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his breath hot and ragged against your lips. The intensity in his gaze was undeniable, a mixture of raw desire and something deeper, something that made your heart pound even harder. That look — told you how much he wanted you, how much he needed this, how much he needed you — made you tighten your legs around his waist. "I've got you," he whispered, his voice rough. It was a look that made your heart race and your body ache for more. 

The door swung open with a suddenness that shattered the intimate bubble you had created, the sound echoing off the cold, sterile walls of the kitchen. Kit froze, his grip on your hips tightening instinctively as you both turned toward the intrusion. The harsh overhead light of the corridor spilled into the room, illuminating the figures standing in the doorway.

A tall, stern-looking man in the uniform of the asylum staff stood there, his eyes narrowing as they fell upon Kit and you. His presence was imposing, his broad shoulders blocking out most of the light from the hallway, but it was the figure behind him that sent a jolt of fear through your chest.

Sister Jude.

She stood in the doorway like a dark omen, her presence dominating the small, dimly lit kitchen. The air around her seemed to chill, as if the very atmosphere cooled from her disapproving gaze. She didn't need to raise her voice to command attention; her mere presence demanded it. The rosary beads hanging from her waist clicked softly as she took a measured step forward, the sound eerie in the tense silence of the room.

The staff member followed the head of this asylum, his eyes flicking between Kit and you, the disdain in his expression unmistakable. "Found them, Sister Jude," he said with a cruel satisfaction. "Just like you suspected."

Kit quickly released you and his hands dropped from your hips to tug at your gown. The least he could do was to save your modesty as much as he could. The man stepped back, positioning himself slightly in front of you as if to shield you from the inevitable wrath of Sister Jude. Your heart pounded in your chest, the warmth of the moment disappearing into the cold reality of the situation just like Kit's hands. 

Sister Jude's icy gaze shifted from the staff member to Kit, and then to you, her brown irises narrowing further. "Well, well," she began loudly, her voice echoing in the silent room, cutting through the tension easily. "I always knew you had a penchant for trouble, Mr. Walker, but this . . . This is a new low, even for you." She took a step closer to you, her heels clicking ominously against the tiled floor. "And you, Miss [Last name] . . . I expected better." 

The weight of her words pressed down like a leaden shroud, suffocating any remaining trace of the warmth and connection that had filled the room just moments before. It was as if the very walls of Briarcliff had closed in around you both, trapping you in.

Kit stood his ground, though every instinct screamed at him to protect you from the storm that was about to break. His jaw clenched tightly, the muscles in his neck tensing as he fought to maintain his composure. His hands, which had just moments ago been tenderly caressing your skin, now curled into fists at his sides. But beneath that facade, there was also a flicker of fear — not for himself, but for what you might endure at the hands of Sister Jude if his plans failed. He squared his shoulders, drawing himself up to his full height, and locked eyes with the cold woman before him. "It was my idea," Kit declared, his voice firm and unwavering despite the tension that crackled in the air like a live wire. "Leave her out of this." His words were a shield, a desperate attempt to keep his promise, to protect you from the consequences that he feared would be far worse for you than for him.

Sister Jude's eyes flickered with something that you couldn't quite place — an emotion that lingered somewhere between suspicion and a twisted, almost predatory satisfaction. Her thin lips curled into a faint, humorless smile, and the cold glint in her eyes seemed to sharpen, as if she were savoring the moment. She took another slow step forward and her gaze shifted from Kit to you, who stood just behind him, face paler than usual.

"Oh, I have no doubt it was, Mr. Walker," each word was enunciated with deliberate precision, as though she were savoring the power she held over the two of you. "But both of you will be held accountable for this . . . indiscretion."

"I'm the one who's responsible," Kit's voice cut through the oppressive silence with a determined edge. "It was my idea, and I should be the one held accountable. Leave [Name] out of this."

Sister Jude's expression flickered with a moment of surprise, but it quickly settled back into its usual look. Her eyes narrowed as she took in Kit's words, her mind no doubt calculating how best to respond to his unexpected act of bravery. "Very well," she said, her tone clipped and devoid of sympathy. "If you insist on taking the blame, then you will be the one to bear the consequences." The woman turned her attention to the staff member who had followed her into the kitchen. "Go to my office. Fetch the cane. The one I reserve for my favorite patients."

The staff member's brow furrowed slightly, but he didn't hesitate. He gave a curt nod and turned on his heel, disappearing through the door with a purposeful stride. The sound of his footsteps echoed faintly down the corridor as he made his way to retrieve the instrument of punishment.

Sister Jude's gaze returned to Kit and Dahlia, her expression unrelenting. "You've chosen to make this difficult for yourself, Mr. Walker," she said, her voice dripping with a cold satisfaction. "And while I commend your misguided sense of honor, it changes nothing about the punishment that awaits you. And you, miss [Last name], shall watch what happens once stupidity takes over the mind."

Your heart ached at the sight of Kit standing his ground, his body tense with the weight of his decision. You wanted to protest, to beg Sister Jude to reconsider, but the words caught in your throat, choked by the sheer weight of the situation. Instead, you reached out, your hand trembling as you grasped Kit's arm, trying to offer some measure of comfort and support.

Kit looked down at you, his eyes softening just for a moment before he turned his attention back to Sister Jude. "Whatever you're planning, I can take it."

"Your bravery is noted. But bravery will not protect you from the consequences of your actions."

The staff member returned, carrying the cane with a deliberate and solemn expression. The cane was an old-fashioned implement, its polished wood gleaming menacingly under the kitchen's harsh lights. It was a feared symbol of discipline, one that had seen many hands and many uses over the years, and its presence in the room only heightened the sense of dread.

Sister Jude took the cane from the staff member, her fingers tracing its surface with a possessive, almost reverent touch. "This is the cane I reserve for my most . . . memorable patients," she said, her voice low and chilling. "It is reserved for those who require a lesson in obedience. You will stay and watch. This is part of your lesson as well — understanding the consequences of defiance."

Kit's pants were pulled down by the staff member, exposing his bare bottom to the cold air of the kitchen. The sight of his exposed skin, vulnerable and waiting, was a sharp contrast to the determined set of his jaw. He braced himself against the edge of the kitchen counter, his knuckles white as he gripped the surface for support.

The cane was held firmly in her hand, and Sister Jude raised it with a practiced ease, preparing to deliver the first stroke. The sharp whoosh of the cane slicing through the air was followed by a resounding crack as it made contact with Kit's bare skin. The sound was a brutal reminder of the severity of the punishment, and Kit's body tensed, a muffled grunt escaping his lips as the sting of the cane seared into his flesh. The printed redness flared bright against the pale tone of his skin. 

Your eyes filled with tears as you watched, heart breaking at the sight of Kit's suffering. The sight of his reddened skin, the way his body flinched with each stroke, was almost too much to bear. Every crack of the cane seemed to echo through your own chest and you felt like throwing up. 

The punishment was relentless, each crack of the cane drawing a sharp gasp or low moan from Kit, his breath coming in ragged, uneven bursts. His eyes remained fixed straight ahead, and he tried to maintain his composure, though the strain of the punishment was evident in the tension of his muscles and the way his body shook with each hit. His only concession to the agony was the occasional clenching of his jaw and the muffled sounds that escaped him.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Sister Jude stepped back, her breath even and controlled. The cane was lowered, and she regarded Kit with a look of detached satisfaction, as if the punishment had been a necessary chore rather than an act of cruelty.

Kit's body slumped slightly, his breathing ragged and labored as he tried to regain his composure. His bottom was marked with the angry red welts of the punishment, the skin raw and tender from the relentless strokes of the cane. Your eyes were filled with anguish as you looked at him, the man who had taken the blame upon himself to protect you.

Sister Jude's gaze then turned to you, her expression one of stern disapproval, before she and the staff member exited the kitchen. "You've seen what happens when rules are broken. Let this be a lesson to you." 

Your heart raced, pulse pounding in your ears as you rushed to Kit's side. Your movements were frantic, driven by a desperate need to offer him some measure of comfort and relief from the suffering he had endured. Tears streamed down your cheeks, blurring your vision as you approached him, hands trembling more than ever as you reached out to touch him. "Kit, I'm so sorry."

You look around the kitchen before glancing at the clock, making a mental note of when to go and pick Thomas up after his football practice. He’s been playing a lot recently, so you hoped his dad wouldn’t mind if you went to his game on Saturday to watch him too. You’d become very close to the kids, and you felt like a part of the family, despite just being the babysitter. Or as Julia and Thomas called you, the Big Kid Sitter, since they hated being called babies.

You cleaned up dishes after making Julia and her new friend a snack, so you open in the fridge and start making dinner. The Walkers were pretty eco-friendly and mostly ate the things from their own farm and land, so you start cooking with the vegetables that had grown just outside the window.

You weren’t cooking for long before you heard the front door open, and Mr Walker walk in. He kicks off his work boots and takes off his work gloves. You turn around to smile at him.

“Good afternoon”

He smiles at you wide before throwing the gloves on the coffee table.

“Good afternoon”, he repeats back to you.

“Do you want me to put them in the laundry? I was going to do a load after dinner”, you ask, referring to the gloves. Kit did his absolute best handling everything around the house, but you wanted to help the most you could.

“Hey, you’re just the babysitter, let me worry about everything else”. You smile and nod, going back to cutting ingredients on the kitchen island, for the food you were still going to make.

“Although, dinner sounds delicious”, Kit says, looking at your body up and down. You look back at him blankly. You were never sure whether Kit meant to come off flirty and charming, or if he didn’t notice how he made you feel.

The dirty way he looked at you as he said delicious made your thighs tingle, but you ignore it, assuming he didn’t mean more than he said.

Kit walks over to your side and looks out the window.

“Where are the kids?”

“Thomas is still at school”. Kit nods. “And Julia is outside with a friend from school”

Kit nods once more. “Maya?”

“No, a new friend”, you look at Kit and hold back a smile. “Eric”

Kit raises his eyebrows, and looks out the window to look at his daughter running around with a little boy, chasing chickens in the backyard.

“Hope they ain’t kissin”. Kit’s accent came through the most when there was emotion in his voice. It made you bite your lip to hold back a wider smile. You turn around to him and put an arm around his shoulder to relax him.

“They aren’t, I’m keeping an eye on them”

Kit puts his arms on the sink and leans forward to take a good look at them, allowing all the muscles in his arms to reveal themselves. The muscles that every day turn wenches and pick up heavy toolboxes. You let your arm slide down his shoulder to touch his arm as subtly as you could.

“Although, they are playing mommies and daddies”, you say biting your lip once more, not sure whether Kit will like what he hears.

Kit turns to look at you and you raise your eyebrows. “Julia told me herself, they’re pretending the chickens are their kids”.

Kit sighs and turns around, leaning against the sink and parallel to you. The tips of your toes almost touch with how close you’re standing, between the kitchen island and the counter.

“They grow up too fast”, he says and smiles sadly. “She’s way too young to be playing mommies and daddies”

“I don’t think it’s serious yet, they’re chasing the chickens telling them it’s bedtime”, you laugh, hoping for Kit to loosen up. Although, if he were mad at your remark, you had an idea how he could take it out on you.

Kit stays silent for a minute, not too amused by what you said, instead deep in thought. You respectfully turn around and go back to cooking, letting him think.

But only a few seconds later, you feel his presence even closer behind you. You feel his breath against your shoulders as he opens his lips to speak.

He hesitates, making you wait and the impatient butterflies in your stomach flutter around faster. When the tip of his nose is touching your temple, he finally whispers.

“If anybody is old enough to be playing mommies and daddies, it’s us, don’t you think?”, he raises his eyebrow in natural question, as if what he’s suggesting isn’t filthy.

Your lips part with a silent gasp as you turn your head to try and look him in the eye, wanting to see if he’s serious or not. But your gaze never makes it to his eyes, stopping at his lips and never going further. The longer you stare the more you notice the edges of his lip curving into a smirk.

The kids outside run away further, taking their giggles and footsteps with them, leaving the kitchen and house completely silent. Kit mirrors your eyes, looking down at your lips. You gently lay the knife down on the cutting board and gulp quietly. You wonder whether Kit heard how nervous you were, or how hard your heart was pounding, or how much your heat throbbed.

Your questions were left unanswered when Kit pressed his lips against yours, sliding his hands on your waist and pulling you close. He pushes you against the kitchen island and you obediently let him. He kisses you again, deeper and hungrier, sucking your bottom lip in and savouring the taste and warmth of it. You waver, moving your hands first to lay gently on his shoulders, but quickly pulling them around his neck, trying to bring him closer to you. You tug and pull on each other as if you yearn to become one, desperate to feel skin to skin contact already that is still being blocked by your clothes.

Kit’s hand roam your body as he engulfs you in his kiss, moving his hand to brush through your hair, holding the back of your head as he speeds up, sucking in your tongue and lips eagerly. He no longer holds his breath, panting against your lips, making you melt against his body.

Any apprehension on your side dissolves with Kit’s other hand sliding to your ass, cupping it and digging his fingers into your cheek harder than expected. You can’t help but whimper against his mouth as he does so, feeling the immediate affect of your noises on the buldge pressed up against you. His hardening cock rubs against your clothed thighs just enough for you to realise how wet you were for him already. Kit must feel the same, as he moves his lips onto your neck, kissing gently once or twice before sucking harshly.

“Kit”, you whimper. “I need-”

He barks against your ear, “What? What do you need?”

His deep voice and sexy accent made you stutter even more.

He brushes his lips against yours, repeating, “What do you need?”, before biting your bottom lip lightly and tugging on it. When he lets go and it snaps back to place, you gasp and look at him. The hungry lust in his eyes made them black.

“You”, you finally choke out. You pull at his shirt, so needy that you struggle to take it off yourself, just pulling and lifting it. “Here, now”

Kit pulls his shirt off and throws it on the counter before ripping your pants down with your underwear. When his hands make their way back up your body after taking them off, they meet the bottom of your shirt and pull it off in one quick motion. It ends up somewhere on the floor, but you don’t care where.

The hand that Kit had on your ass returns to its position, grabbing a fistful of your ass and turning you around. He pushes up against your bare ass with the buldge in his pants and kisses your shoulder.

“Is this what you want?”, he rubs his tent between your cheeks. You nod desperately.

“Are you ready for that?”, Kit teases against your neck.

“Mm”, you moan, nodding again.

Kit pushes the chopping board in front of you away, almost letting it fall to the floor. Once he has space, he picks you up and puts you on the counter, bent over for him. You accept, pressing your boobs against the cold counter making your nipples harden, and looking back at Kit slightly.

He puts his rough hands on your thighs, spreading them to see your pussy. He groans when he sees how turned on you are, and gently blows on your arousal. The unexpectedly soft action makes you shiver and Kit chuckles, before quickly returning to his dominant self.

He spits on your pussy and uses his pointer and middle finger to rub it around you. Even the minimal touch finally in the place you want it, makes you close your eyes and hum in pleasure.

However, the tender caresses end when Kit plunges his two fingers into your pussy.

“Kit!”, you cry out.

Kit exhales in satisfaction at how soaked you are, before moving his fingers deeper into you. He points them up and curls them, digging around your walls. You rest your face on the counter, completely in his control as his slender fingers rhythmically curl. Kit clearly knows what he’s doing, purposely moving his whole hand, thrusting and probing his fingers at your sensitive ridge.

He suddenly slaps his hand down on your ass, making you yelp out in surprise. His tight grip on it adds another layer of pleasure, and he kneads and spreads it out, looking closely at you drip as he finger fucks you.

You can no longer hold in any noises, moaning incoherent swear words as Kit’s hand speeds up, hearing him moan too at the obscene sounds you make. Kit bites his bottom lip and the muscles in his arm flex as he fucks you, seeing how close you are to climax. Your fingers grip the edge of the counter in an attempt to hold yourself down, his fast digging making you move around the island.

Although you’ve masturbated and orgasmed before, an unfamiliar feeling spreads through your soaking pussy, making you lift your head.

“Kit”, you whine out between pants and moans that line up with the fast pace of his fingers, “Wait”.

“That’s okay baby”, he spits out, staring at the puddle you’re making. “Let go”

Your eyes wrinkle as you shut them tightly and your fingertips turn white as you hold on for dear life, Kit moving his entire arm, nearly vibrating his hand inside you, his stiff fingers deeper inside you than ever before. A long cuss leaves your lips.

“Fuuuuuck”, you yell out and rest your head, unbelievable arousal pouring out of you so fast that you can hear it on the floor.

“Fuck, baby”, Kit whines desperate, watching you squirt all over his hand. He slows his fingers down but doesn’t stop them, unzipping his pants with the hand that was on your ass.

When you part your lips to beg him to stop, too sensitive to take more, he takes out his fingers and replaces them quickly with his cock. The stretch makes you gasp and groan, only possible because of how wet you are. Kit puts his hand on your lower back, thrusting into you and moving your lax body towards him to meet his cock. He pounds you relentlessly, occasionally slapping his hand down on your ass, making you swear.

Kit groans through gritted teeth, panting as almost every thrust makes you clench around him. He leans towards you and brushes his fingers back through your hair, firmly but tenderly lifting your head off the marble island.

You struggle to keep your own head up as Kit’s massive length completely fills you, whining and trying to hold back another impending orgasm as best as you could, despite how tired you were getting.

“Kiiit”, you yell.

“Yes baby?”, he breathes out. He wraps his arm around your thigh, messily rubbing your clit.

Although a small gesture, it sends electrifying pleasure through your body, making your eyes open and hands grip the edge once again.

The extra touch makes you clench without even noticing, only clear by Kit’s loud reaction.

“Oh fuck- baby”, he groans. His sounds and thrusts get quicker in pace. You close your eyes tightly, feeling too full once again, attempting to hold in another orgasm. It becomes too difficult when Kit thrusts against something special, making you let go of your head and body and squirt over him again.

“Y/N, oh my god-”

“Cum for me baby”, you whimper out encouragingly and clench for him.

Within three more thrusts Kit yelps out your name, releasing into you, and attempts to ride out the orgasm, but immediately becomes too overwhelmed.

He pulls out but stays stood behind you, both of you too exhausted to move.

Suddenly, a certain thought gives you the energy to stand up and face him.

“Wait, you came into me?”, you ask.

Kit looks confused. “You told me to”

You widen your eyes a little, not wanting to show how nervous this made you, since you didn’t know how serious Kit felt about you. But he put his hand around your waist and smiled, making you calmer. He fakes an innocent voice and asks you a simple question.

“I thought you wanted to play mommies and daddies?”

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