#bbasdrabble

He had walked thousands of steps to get to you. 

It’s your turn to throw your head back as a mouth as hot as summer shine sears your jaw. Passion sinks its claws into your core, flooding it with want that spirals into the fingers that you rake into your lover’s hair. When a lovely weight pushes into your stomach, one of your arms shoots behind you for balance, knocking a stack of books and parchment paper to the ground. 

Rays of dawn stretched over the rolling hills behind him, throwing lines of light on his heavy but determined shoulders. 

As you stood in the field outside of your house, you thought it an illusion; your mind had deceived you just as he had, multiple times. Your judgment proved to be the one that caused part of the deception in the first place, but your pride was too inflated to admit any wrong.

The thumps and flaps snap him out of his heated daze, only to spur him to shove the rest of the items off his executive desk. Clinks of sturdy glass and the tiny hits of quills reach your ears right before your body is pushed onto the wooden surface, and before you can protest the choice, a strong body burdens your own and lips crash back down onto yours. 

You remember your reddened eyes struggling to recognize that it was indeed him. That it was Namjoon in his telltale long coat encasing his favorite white linen shirt, sleeves cuffing the hands that you had only touched once before. They couldn’t grasp that it was his light grey hair, now a slicked dark silver from accumulated sweat and drizzle, a few stray strands swooping over his sharp eyes.

Your shoulder blades war with the solid surface of the desk, but you don’t care in the least. As you drink in everything that Namjoon is giving you, boldness in the form of your tongue shoots into his mouth, eliciting a low groan that leaves you shuddering. The hands that grabbed your dress before are now pushing the faded grey fabric up your thighs. Higher, higher, not high enough. 

“Namjoon,” you gasp as he impatiently thrusts his weight between your legs. “Please.”

“You’re so beautiful.” Your lover—once your enemy—brushes a gentle finger down your cheek. He then cups your jaw with a hand while gripping your hip with another. “I can’t decide what I want to do with you.” 

Impending scenarios race behind your eyes, and all you can do is groan. “I know what I want,” you proclaim with a growing smile and demure eyes.

“And what is that, Mrs. Kim,” he responds, sending you careening into another plane. 

Your vision focuses for a second to observe his mussed hair, his dimpled cheeks, and the rest of his master bedroom behind him. Shades of redwood and amber engulf his form, and your eyes glide across the loose cambric hanging by his muscled shoulders. Entranced, you lift one of your hands to slide it off on one side, reveling in the defined body underneath its white material. “Why tell one another when we can very well show what we think?”

A warm breath rolls down your face as he chuckles—a low, honeyed sound that took you by surprise the first time you ever heard it—before he murmurs, “I figured you of all people would take any opportunity to speak what’s on your mind.”  

You tut before rolling your eyes heavenward. “Well, now I do have something on my mind, but you’re certainly not going to—”

Namjoon smothers your annoyance with his lips once more. He takes your arched back as an opportunity to slide an arm underneath your waist, kissing you deeper and rendering you thoroughly speechless. His mouth leaves yours only to descend down your jaw, trail down your neck, latch onto your pulse. 

Enthralled, your legs squeeze his hips. A mewl leaves your lips while your hands frantically skate across his broad shoulders, and when your nails leave tiny red roads on his skin, you feel his cock harden and push further into your center. 

There had been a hundred misconceptions between the two of you. 

Since the beginning, there wasn’t a time when either of you landed on the same page. Arguments or spats became a staple in your relationship, and everyone around knew there wasn’t any reconciliation in sight—especially after Namjoon had made some choice decisions that he had no business making on his own. 

But, if there was one thing you had in common, it was an innate stubbornness that refused to see things for what they truly were. That same attitude had created a rift between you that caused nothing but heartache and a constant, lingering burn in your throat. 

Until he had made the journey across.

You remember lowering your eyes to his boots—boots that were always shiny and pristine—only to see dirty, mud-riddled shoes that were falling apart at the seams.

I cannot endure this any longer, he had admitted. 

To which you replied, Then don’t.

A hand shoves your dress above your waist. Before Namjoon moves any further, his lips nick your ear and cause you to throw a moan to his vaulted ceiling. 

“Yes, love,” he whispers, pushing his mouth into your neck hard and making you bite your lip, “I want to hear you.” 

The groan you suppressed comes out in earnest, and your fingers dig into his shoulders at the same time. “I want to hear you, too,” you admit, earning a low rumble in your ear. 

“Open your legs for me.” 

The command alone makes you whine, but when you slowly spread your thighs only for Namjoon to shove them wider, a full whimper leaps from your throat. A few light taps on your thigh are what you get before your lover cocks an eyebrow. “I know my wife isn’t shy,” he says with confidence and a bit of suspicion. 

“But she is a bit… Intimidated.” Although your chest swells with pride at your husband’s words, your stomach still swims with anxiousness. You have never let anyone see more than what sleeveless dresses offer. 

Namjoon bends his body over your ruffled form sprawled across his desk. “I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs before molding his warm lips onto yours once more. Each kiss he had given before had been full of passion, but this one is different. There is nothing but comfort in his touch, and you can feel any stress drip from your body and tenseness dissolve from your bones. You barely resist the way his fingers glide under your dress before looping around your underwear, slowly peeling them from your wet core. You don’t register the way he has stepped far enough to close your legs together, slipping the panties off with ease, before widening them again. 

“Can I touch you now, love?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Namjoon kisses down your neck again, but he descends lower, his teeth grazing the slope of your bosom before his mouth picks one to kiss over your dress. A warm palm closes over the other, squeezing before pulling the material down, and when your breasts spill over they are enveloped with his tongue and large hands once more. 

“Namjoon,” you gasp, arching your back and digging your shoulder blades into the hardwood again. The pain is surprisingly adding to your pleasure instead of retracting, and you can feel the slick on your center multiplying at an alarming rate. One of your hands shoots into his grey hair, and your tug causes his grips on your hip and leg to tighten immediately. 

Latching onto a nipple, Namjoon gives it a hard suck while twisting the other enough to make you cry out, and you can already feel your legs shaking.

“Tell me to stop if you need me to,” your husband orders, “Because I might lose myself otherwise.” 

“Please do,” is all you can get past your dry lips, gripping his hair tighter. 

“God.” Namjoon abandons your breasts to the chill of the room as he drops to his knees between your legs. 

You have no clue how he is going to react once he sees you down there. So when your dress is fully bunched around your waist and Namjoon spreads your thighs apart, the pause that greets you is almost too much to bear. 

In a freight, you start to close your legs and apologize. Teeth nick your thigh, and the dark laugh you hear has your eyes widening incredulously. 

“I might drown in you.” 

You don’t know how to respond. But the fingers that slide across your folds tell you that you don’t need to, and you throw your head back in pleasure. The wetness you feel has pooled onto the desk beneath your buttocks and is now being coated on Namjoon’s long fingers, one after the other rubbing your center in tiny circles and sliding deliciously up and down its slippery slope. 

You start to shake in need, but a firm hand shoves your stomach back onto the desk. “Relax, love,” Namjoon orders. “You’re going to like this.” 

When you settle back onto the desk, you squeak as your hips are yanked forward. Abruptly, your body is pulled to the edge of the desk, and your legs are hoisted onto Namjoon’s shoulders to rumple his white shirt on one side. 

Words are lost on your tongue as his hot muscle dives into your center. You can feel the way your walls immediately flex, you can hear the wet laps and the sucks on your clit. Everything feels new and familiar at the same time, like you had already experienced this with him in a past life or alternate timeline, and the sheer intimacy has your eyes squeezing shut. Moans spill from your lips, constant. 

“Namjoon,” you gasp. Frazzled, your arms flail to find anything for purchase, only to settle on the edge of the desk above your head where your fingers grip tight. 

Your husband peeks with slitted eyes, groaning into your center when he sees your newfound position. Your lidded gaze drinks in his wet lips, and your foggy mind barely realizes that it’s your essence that coats his face until he dives back down again. 

When Namjoon’s tongue fully presses into your core before his soft lips suckle your clit, you cry out in need for more. Instantly, that is what you’re given: long, deft fingers enter your folds to the knuckle, curling up to hit a spot that has your entire being soaring into the ceiling. Exquisite. You’re floating. There’s something inside of you winding and winding. 

“Come for me,” is the last thing you hear before your body obeys. A white light blinds you and curls your toes, snaps your limbs rigid and has your knuckles aching as you grip the desk even harder. The loud whine you hear is your own, you recognize, and you bite your lip to smother its volume. 

A mouth closes over yours, and there is a strange taste in the kiss you share. When you realize what it is, instead of disgust, you only feel another wave of want slam into your gut. 

“As much as I want your pretty lips around my cock,” Namjoon rasps into your mouth, “I can’t wait any longer this time. I need you.” 

“Yes,” you agree, your body already winding up again, “God, yes.” 

Your fingers are pried off of the edge—you hadn’t known you needed help with it until Namjoon assisted you with slick digits of his own—before your body is pulled off of the desk. “Go,” he commands with a wet pointer finger, signaling to the canopy bed on the other side of the room. “And I want you fully undressed before you get there.” 

You wordlessly thank him for being merciful in the change of surface, deftly unstringing your dress like you have done many times before. Shucking it from your body, you untie your bodice next, your legs wobbly with your coming undone the first time. The undergarment drops to the floor, and when you spin around, you take in the sight of your husband—jaw landing next to your clothes. 

His body is built like a king. Broad, rippling shoulders come down to a defined chest and stomach, and powerful thighs encase a cock so large and pretty that you can’t take your eyes off of its curve. 

Taking the length in his palm, Namjoon takes determined strides to your still form, eyes never leaving your body even when your arms come up to instinctively cover your front. 

“You’ll do no such thing,” he commands, his tone juxtaposing the tenderness he uses when bringing your limbs back to your sides. “I want to see all of you. Now get in.” 

Obeying, you hoist yourself into the plush sheets, gasping in surprise when a strong body immediately covers yours right after. “You really are impatient.” 

“I am.” Your arms are thrust above you, and you let out a quick mewl as your wrists are pinned together. “And you are going to learn why in a second.” 

As you gaze up at Namjoon’s rippling chest before landing on his look of lust and adoration, you remember everything that led to your wedding day: the day that you never thought was reserved for you. 

But after you had broken the chains surrounding the pair of you—the sheer difference in wealth and status, stubbornness, roaring pride—Namjoon had proposed that morning in the field without pause. 

The days following were a blur, but your betrothed had remained confident in his decision; soon, everyone had willingly or unwillingly agreed to your matrimony and the event took place in a garden that rivaled those of fairy tales. 

Months of tension, misjudgment, misplaced anger. All of them melted away at the sound of your vows and slipped into the soil under your matching, clean shoes. Your eyes gained stars that day. 

Which brings you here: not the night of the wedding, but the morning after. Namjoon had woken you from the first peaceful slumber you had in months, and he coaxed your grumbling form into a robe and into the back garden of your estate. 

Both of you wandered the grounds, listening to the early sounds of dawn and whispering as to not disturb the flowers into premature bloom. When you had stopped him only to kiss the knuckles on his dominant hand, Namjoon stared at you and professed his ever-blooming love for you before whisking you into the very room you exist in now. 

With the strong arms caging in your vision, veins prominent under their skin, Namjoon steadies himself as he slots his cock in between your legs. Your moan at the feel of his nakedness escapes in a soft puff, and your nipples pebble in anticipation. 

Your husband gazes unabashedly at your sex. When his lidded eyes come up to meet your curious ones, he swoops down to claim your mouth again, tongue rolling across your lips and jutting inside to tether his passion to your heart. 

You respond in kind, trying and failing to release your arms from his grip above your head. When your attempts prove futile, your whimper echoes into his mouth, and his deep chuckle stirs something primal within your core. 

Namjoon’s ravaging continues as he leans his sharp cheekbones into the side of your face, his tongue licking fire along your neck. Unbeknownst to you, one of his hands wanders down to your folds, and you jolt in shock when familiar fingers slide along their path. 

“Please,” you gasp in his ear, tightening your arms again and bucking your hips to move anything, anything at all in response to the pleasure. “Namjoon, please.” 

“What do you want, Mrs. Kim?” 

Your first attempt at a response is cut off by his teeth nicking the pulse on your neck, and your entire butt leaves the bed and thrusts into his beautiful fingers, causing them to slide deeper into your cunt. Namjoon’s proceeding groan is enough to have you keening back for more, but you still have it in you to answer with, “You.” 

“You already have me.”

“No, I mean”—you gasp as he moves his fingers around, thumbing your clit and causing slick to gush from your center—“I mean, I need you.” 

“That’s the same thing, love,” Namjoon tuts, knowing full well he is being an ass. “I need you to be specific for me.” 

As you feel the incredibly hard cock against your thigh twitch in want, you wonder why the hell your lover is stalling. You try to jerk against his strong restraint on your wrists again, and he laughs at your feeble attempt. “You’re impossible,” you huff. 

“And you’re going to tell me what you want, or else you won’t be getting it.” 

The fingers in your cunt pick up in pace, swirling and diving and bringing you closer and closer to orgasm once more. The spring in your lower belly is tightening as much as the tension in your wrists. “You said you couldn’t wait any longer earlier,” you gasped through the pleasure coursing through your mind, “Change… Change of heart?” 

Namjoon shoves his hips down into yours, and the feel of his length presses into your core. You cry out in want, thrashing in earnest and groaning in a mix of frustration and pleasure. Smirking, he leans next to your ear and whispers, “No. I just like seeing you like this.” 

“Ass!” you harshly whisper in his ear, and when he leans away before you can bite his ear, you huff again. 

“When it comes to you? Always.” There is a brief, light slap to your cunt, and your body jolts up until your fingers knock the dark wooden headboard. “What do you want, love?” 

“For my husband to stop being an—” 

Another slap to your aching folds causes your back to arch again, your nipples grazing Namjoon’s firm chest. “Try again. Just say it.” 

You suck in a breath and exhale shakily, your legs straining with the constant pressure against your core and your arms growing beautifully sore above your head. 

“I want it.” You stare right into your husband’s eyes. Even though you have never done anything like this before, the sheer lust hovering around his visage provides you with enough courage to finally put your thoughts into words. “I want your cock, Mr. Kim.” 

“Fuck.” Namjoon slides his fingers in one long swipe up your cunt again before bringing them to his mouth. As he licks them clean, you let out a shuddering breath, wondering how there is still room for you to swoon. “I knew my wife wasn’t shy.” 

Instead of a biting retort, you only smile. Because though you not shy, you are incredibly nervous. But you trust your husband with your life, so you figure this shouldn’t be that much of a burden. 

Namjoon leans down slowly to kiss you once more, and you are grateful for it. It’s a chance for you to relay your nervousness as he positions himself, sliding his hardness against your slick and letting you feel just how thick he will be. 

His lips leave yours too soon, but it’s to tell you, “Just breathe for me, okay?” 

When you nod, Namjoon slowly enters, and the intrusion is nothing like you imagined: it hurts. You hiss at the feeling, and Namjoon is merciful again in the way he releases your wrists to sling an arm behind your head. His hold on the back of your neck is gentle, and he whispers, “Breathe, my love.” 

Your freed hands immediately look for purchase on his shoulders, gripping them while you follow his direction and take deep breaths. The intrusion starts to feel welcoming as your cunt adjusts to the newfound sensation, your walls fluttering around his length and starting to suck him in further. 

“You’re so tight…” When Namjoon is fully sheathed, he stays as still as he can muster to let you get used to the feeling. “So perfect.” 

You can absolutely tell the wait is torturous for him, which makes you love him all the more. As the pain gives away to sheer pleasure, you slide your hands into his hair and tell him you’re ready. 

Namjoon swoops in to steal a kiss from you again, and he digs an elbow into the bed for balance as he starts to move. You love the way his brows scrunch in concentration, the way he looks down to watch himself make love to you while in the act, the way he makes you feel nothing and everything at once. 

The feeling is unlike anything you had experienced before, and when Namjoon’s small thrusts end up not being enough, you tell him to go faster. He only laughs before obliging. 

“I knew you would be like this here, too.” 

“Like what?” 

Instead of responding, your husband picks up the pace, his muscles rippling under his sweaty skin and his stray strands of hair bobbing with each motion. Your moans and mewls mix with his deep groans, and you have decided that those are your favorite sound in the world. Maybe even better than the soft turns of pages. 

Feeling full and complete is unrivaled. Your body is acting on instinct, moving with him and even wrapping legs around his built frame. The grunt and lip bite you get in return is a prize you sigh at, and when Namjoon claims your wrists above your head again, you revel in the restraint. 

“The death of me,” is what he finally answers your previous question with, and you immediately preen.

Your legs slide against his buttocks and the rest of his skin, but your muscles endure. His cock rubs against your walls in the best way possible—each stroke deeper than the last—and you know you’re close to euphoria. 

Lips come down to suckle your breasts, and you throw your head into the pillow beneath you. Everything from your hands bound above your head to the way his cock fills you to the brim is too much, and your legs finally give and slam back down onto the sheets. 

Namjoon takes this as a cue to take full command, settling on his knees and bringing both his hands to grip your hips. No words are exchanged between the two of you, but the feelings are conveyed perfectly. Passion, want, love. Everything unsaid even after the proposal and wedding day. 

Your body goes limp as Namjoon thrusts into you, hard fingers digging wonderfully into your skin and brows knitted in ecstasy. He continues to bite down on his bottom lip as he watches his cock enter you again and again, and your gaze is hazy as you watch his chest ripple with each thrust, enamoured. 

You feel it before you recognize the winding. The edge you toppled from before is in reach again, and after a mewl you gasp, “Namjoon! Namjoon, I’m close.” 

“Then come for me, my love,” he grunts, low and leaving no room for objection. One of his hands reaches down between you, a thumb rubbing your clit lovingly. The feeling is too, too much, and your vision blanks. Every limb in your body locks with pleasure. The ceiling is closer to you now. You can only describe the feeling as a constant wave crashing against your shore, slamming its powerful crests into you again and again. 

“You’re so beautiful.” You hear the words somewhere above you, but they’re blurry in your ears. 

Finally—slowly—your limbs settle back onto the bed. Namjoon smiles down at you before asking, “Did I lose you?” 

“You’ll never lose me,” you confess truthfully. 

Namjoon huffs in amusement before whispering something under his breath. You don’t have time to ask what he said before he starts back up again to chase his own high, and your body is heavy with content as you watch. 

He leans down and commands a kiss from you, using the same elbow for balance at your side. You pour your entire body and soul into the connection, and your husband’s thrusts start becoming frantic and jilted. His free palm grabs your hip to steady your quivering form; your hands swing behind his shoulders. Fingers rake love lines across his back, and Namjoon outright moans into your mouth before his thrusts are so rough that your body is shoved up the bed. 

You almost feel yourself reaching the third orgasm of the morning, but it’s him you want to come before anything else. 

And he does seconds later, his voice gravelly as he groans above your face—your list of favorite sounds forever multiplying. You feel strings of his essence shoot into your cunt, another feeling foreign yet familiar. As his forehead presses into yours, you hug him close, almost brought to tears from the emotions spilling from your chest. 

For a moment, nothing else exists. Only the feeling of his bare skin sliding against yours, the connection between your legs, and the souls dwelling within appear on this plane. It’s a strange thing to think. But it is yours to store away in your memory forever.

“I love you,” Namjoon whispers, “Most ardently.”

The words slip down your face and into your mouth, only to be thrown out again as you reciprocate. As you both pant in exhaustion, you already feel sleep start to claim you again as sunlight breaks over the tree line outside your large bay windows.

He had come with the morning sun. 

And since that day, you have wanted nothing more than to experience a million more dawns by his side. 

-

-

fin.

-