#bottomless pitt

It shouldn’t be surprising, but you genuinely were shocked you managed to last this long. It had been well over six months of his flirting whenever you’d stop by to drop off Parker’s lunch, insisting he join girls nights as ‘protection’, and mysterious deliveries arriving at the door with the same scrawled script attached. 

You were resolved to not become one of his pursuits, turning a blind eye and cold shoulder to each attempt. Ellis had told you stories in passing, Shen, who was a frequent guest at your shared apartment, had filled you in on his dirty details. And you, you had an imagination that could supply the rest. 

Jack Abbot, the hot-shot emergency medicine attending, loved the chase. He liked to pick the women who were obstinate, focused, and borderline repressed. He liked the way they crumbled beneath his sly approaches. He liked the blind admiration he can garner when they do fall into step with him. He craved their borderline obsessive eagerness. 

It hadn’t always been like this. Once upon a time, Jack Abbot was someone’s husband. He was someone’s very attentive, loyal, devoted husband. One who yearned for the whole package, the white picket fence, the huddle of small children running around, the soccer games and dance recitals. Life did not sway in his favor. So now here he was, down half a limb, down a wife, and all he had to show for his life was a boatload of traumatic experiences. 

The first girl he pursued was earnest and genuine, he thought maybe this was the next phase of his forsaken life. The morning after, walking up in his marital bed, turning over to the warm body on the other side, and not seeing his beloved wife was a punch of betrayal in his gut. 

So, he had resigned to a life of celibacy. Until the next girl crossed his path, and he found himself at mercy to this vicious cycle. 

You came into his life similarly enough to his others. Ellis had mentioned her roommate more than once, and how she was doing her a solid paying rent while she completed her residency. Abbot hadn’t thought twice about you, until he saw you at the annual picnic he’d been practically dragged to by Dana. 

You were glowing under the midsummer sun. Your smile presence was smooth and easy around the team that seemed to operate as a machine without effort. He admired you at first, just from afar, and that was enough to warrant Parker’s harsh warning that you were off limits. 

Unfortunately for everyone involved, that was what cemented Jack’s need to have a taste of you. 

Six months of heavy flirtation later, he couldn’t seem to figure out what it is he wanted from you. Or, he could, and that’s what scared him. He wanted to sleep with you, but he also knew he wanted to take you to dinner every Friday night. He wanted to tuck the stray hair that falls out of your ponytail. He knew your likes, dislikes, fears, aspirations, and he couldn’t believe how well they seemed to fit against his own. 

This blind pursuit of pleasure for him had spiraled into something much headier, affection. Dare he say it, but Jack Abbot was starting to feel the violet throws of love. 

It all came to a head one Saturday afternoon. He knew Ellis would be working a double that day, so she was out of the house. He also knew you liked to take advantage of having the house to yourself for the rare occasions. 

So, Jack, seemingly an expert at your preferences, picked up your favorite flowers from the elegant florist in his neighborhood, and made his way to your place. He had a plan, one that was going to win you over for good. Or at least he thought he did, until he knocked on your door. 

You had swung it open expecting to see an amazon delivery truck pulling away from the curb, or maybe at most some sort of solicitor. You hadn’t expected Jack, or better yet Jack standing behind a giant bouquet of flowers. 

“Oh!” You startled, “Jack! Hi!” 

“Hi.” He said simply, trailing off. His eyes scanned over you dreamily. “Hi.” He repeated himself. 

“Hi?” You laugh, short and angelic, the sound washes over him deliciously. “Um, to what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“I wanted to give you these,” He offers the large bouquet, laying them in your arms gently when you do take them. “And I wanted to ask you to dinner tonight.” 

“Thank you Jack,” You brought the flowers up to your face to admire, “You really didn’t need to.” 

“No, no” He rocked back and forth slowly, “I wanted to. I know you like them.” 

You smile up at him sweetly. “I do. They’re my favorite, but I’m sure you knew that.”

He smirked in response. 

“Jack, I...” You trailed off, “I’m not going to sleep with you.” You declare softly. 

“Well, that’s forward, Sweetheart. I believe I asked you to dinner.” You shoot him a nonplussed look. 

“It’s never just ‘dinner’ with you, though.” He sighed dejectedly, “Is it Jack?” 

He grunts in frustration, just barely audible. “I’m not messing around here,” he raises three fingers, “Scouts Honor.” 

“Were you even a Scout, Abbot?” You shoot back. 

“Eagle,” He puffed his chest out, dropping the salute, “And just think of it this way. If I do anything untoward Ellis will have my head hung over your fireplace before dawn.” You bark a laugh at the image, which did inspire confidence.

“It would be a good look.” You bite your lip, imagining him in about a million other scenarios in, around, and next to the fireplace inside. “She does know where you live.” 

“Right.” He brought his hand to lean against the door jam, until his head was level with yours. Perfect to give you a dose of his intense eye contact. “So, what do you think? Dinner at 7?” 

You pretend to think for a minute before relenting. “Don’t be late, Abbot.” 

You hardly miss the triumphed look he shoots you. You expect more of a gloat from his victory, but he doesn’t. He straightens out, smiles politely, and speaks softly. “I’ll see you at 7:00 sharp, Sweetheart.” 

Watching him walk down the steps back out to his truck, you tried to quell the butterflies that began their swarm. It was too late, when Jack peaked back over his shoulder back at you with a brilliant smile, you knew he had you right where he wanted. 

The date itself was a testament to how well both of you had gotten to know each other throughout this dance you’d been doing. Dinner was intimate and romantic, low candle light and endless conversation set the tone for the rest of the night. He was dependably himself, but kept you on your toes at the same time. 

He’d told you stories of his late wife over dessert, listened to you lament about your frustrations while he laid his card down for the bill. Subtle, but absolutely pointed. He was sending the message loud and clear. 

As long as you’re mine, I’ll be taking care of you. 

“Okay, if you did stick to that plan, where would you be?” He asked, swirling the last few sips of wine around his glass. 

“Honestly?” Your cheeks burn, and you stopped trying to figure out if it was the wine or how hard he made you smile. “I thought I’d be married by now.” You admit coyly. It takes Jack considerable effort to stay calm at the admittance. 

“Really?” He raises his eyebrows, “Are the Men in Pittsburg so bad you can’t find a single one to settle down with?” He throws the line out and watches you circle it, once, twice, and then finally you sink further into the leather seat. 

“Well, I thought so for a long time…” You bite down. “But now I’m rethinking it.” 

He nods slowly, casually, even though the moment feels heavy between you. “What makes you say that?” 

“I think you know, Abbot.” Your foot stretches out until it sits just next to his. 

“Jack, please,” He inches his good leg to brush against yours. “I want you to call me Jack.” He blushes at the confession. 

“Jack,” you test the waters, even though you’d said his name a thousand times. “S’a great name.” you mumble, earning a dry chuckle from him. 

“So,” He deflected, “Married. What else?” He refocuses you. 

You squirm under the weight of the question, you knew exactly what you wanted. And you also knew, with his reputation, Jack was the last person likely to give it to you. You hesitate, shying away from the vulnerability. 

Jack, for his part, senses your unease and offers you his hand in reassurance. You let a moment pass before slipping into his grasp easily. His calloused palms are soothing, you let your fingers explore the planes of his palm, past his wrist and dance across his forearm. 

“I want to be a Mom.” You admit, softer than you could imagine. Jack nearly misses the secret shared between you. He thanks every God in existence that he hadn’t. That you trusted him with it, that you said the just exact right thing as always. He felt his blood pounding through him. 

“You will be,” He wraps his hand around yours, and gives it a soft squeeze. He catches your eyes with an earnest intensity you’d never seen before. “ You will.” 

You're nodding before you even realize it, and he nods with you. You sit in this trance where all you can do is imagine if every right thing were to happen tonight, if the pieces just fit the way you wished them to. If Jack stayed, you could see a world of lovely things happening to you. 

“C’mon, Sweetheart,” he nods to the door, “let’s get out of here.” 

The drive home happened in the blink of an eye. Jack was the perfect gentleman, the only touch being his hand safely draped across your thigh. You can hardly think until you’re both standing, again, at your door. He’s respectful, walking you up, but not pushing you to open the door. 

It’s you who makes the first move, as Jack takes a step back to end the night your hand finds itself curled around the fabric of his shirt, pulling him back to you. You pull until he’s flush against you, and he responds immediately. His hands wrapped around your back and his lips against yours fervently. 

Jack kisses like he’s starving. His stubble scrapes deliciously against your soft skin, letting your mind wander to other tantalizing ways it might rub against you. Your lips collide with clumsy passion. Your senses are overwhelmed by him, his cologne, the sound of his subtle groans, the steady presence of his hands keeping you anchored to reality. 

“Come inside?” You ask innocently. He bites back a comment, yes, I will. 

“I thought you weren’t going to sleep with me, Sweetheart?” He teases, trailing his kisses down your neck until he finds your pulse point and attacks. Your head falls back against the door. 

“Shut up,” You pull him by the grey curls until his mouth slots over yours again, “Don’t make me ask again.” 

He nods against you, taking a moment to watch your eyes, to see if there was any lingering hesitation. He had to brace himself against you when you matched his eyes, the same wanton longing burning you alive. 

So, now you find yourself sandwiched between Jack and the mattress you’d had since college. He’d pressed you down under him minutes, hours, days, years ago? You had lost all sense that wasn’t the wonderful sensation of him pulling pleasure from you. His erection digging into your core, a burning that once lived as an ache inside of you threatens to consume you with every touch. 

“Jack,” You moan out, “Please I need you.” He pulls away, looking at your blissed out expression. “Yeah?” You nod, he backs off of you, planting his feet back on the floor. His hands grip your hips and pull until you’re at the foot of the bed, laid in front of him. 

“You’re so fucking pretty for me.” He murmurs, propping your feet up so that he has a better view of your soaked underwear. His thumb traces the outline of your clit, you shudder at the feathered sensation. “So responsive.”

“Please,” you flop your knees apart, “Please, I need to cum Jack.” You declare.

Jack drops to his knees, pulling your panties down with him. He hardly takes the time to fling the offending garment somewhere behind him before he’s licking you entirely. 

Your mouth drops open, letting a symphony of sound through freely. Jack’s tongue finds every peak and valley of your sex, every appendage and nook before settling home with a long suck to your clit. The button pulses beneath his ministrations, blood pumping so violently through your body you forget how to respond outside of primal instinct. 

Blindly your hand finds his hair, your hips twitch against him for resistance until you're practically gliding against him. His hand slips easily to penetrate you in the madness. You feel the stretch passively but he plays against your nerves like some kind of prodigy. He brings the precipice of madness to you on a silver platter, slipping another finger in.

Your fingers curl, your heart pounds, the impossibly tight coil in the pit of your stomach becomes even lighter, pleasure zips through you entirely. Somewhere far away from yourself you hear the babbling coming from you, something reverent and beautiful. Jack, Jack, Jack, Jack! 

He crooks his fingers experimentally, and doesn’t relent in positioning until he finds the exact right place inside of you that makes you go limp and brainless under him. You think you’ll fly away, and right when you think the pleasure can’t heighten further, he hums approvingly against that forsaken bundle of nerves. 

You reel in all at once, your back arches off the bed, in near possession of pleasure. You cry out completely, your body sucks him in greedily, he takes the opportunity to scissor your opening out further. The pleasure that rocks over you is euphoric and spiritual, like shooting stars and becoming one. 

It’s a long moment before your body is yours again. Jack waits, with reverence, for your body to subside its dance. He watches without blinking, how could he miss a second of this privilege. 

“You’re so fucking good at that.” You whisper to no one and nobody. His laugh brings you back to sitting up, your dress pooling around your hips. 

“You inspire greatness in me, Sweetheart,” He kisses you resolutely, “You’re perfect.” He whispers against you. 

Neither of you waste time, he fiddles with the buttons of his shirt, you with a tug on your dress. It’s not long before both of you are bare before each other, spare Jack’s underwear. The snug fabric that reveals the outline of his impressive erection. 

Your hooded gaze wanders over the impressive feature. You reach your hands out to touch it delicately, he hisses at the contact, but doesn’t move to stop you. 

“I-” He gasps out when you tuck your hand into his boxers to wrap your hands around him. You watch him as you trace your fingers over the leaking tip. “I need to be inside of you, please.” He grabs your wrist softly. Your nod of approval is the last thing he needed before tugging the fabric down. 

He lays you down, admiring you spread beneath him so sinfully. You return the sentiment, enjoying the carnal flush that’s spread over his broad shoulders and thick arms. He might be older than you’d usually date, but he was twice as handsome pulling your legs until you were practically folded in half under him. 

“Is this position comfortable for your leg?” You ask genuinely. He groans, biting lightly at the ankle just by his head. 

“So sweet to me,” he soothes the bite with a kiss. “It’s perfect.” He brings his cock up against you, rutting experimentally against your sex. The tip smears pre-cum against your clit, it twitches underneath the attention. 

“Jack-” You start, fully intending to reach into your bedside for the little silver condom that sits for this exact reason. You mean to, you do, but you catch his eyes, and it’s like you can both feel the shift in the moment. 

You wanted Jack, fully, entirely, completely, you didn’t want anything to sully the sensation. Jack locked his eyes fully onto yours before his tip caught your hole and he pressed in, slowly. 

The stretch was immense, an expansive pleasure consumed you, he filled you deeper than anyone had ever done before. His girth inspired your body to come alive with sensation, and even more you could feel every ridge, vein, and contour of the member filling you. 

Passively you thought, this is a bad idea. Jack could get you pregnant. But the thought only inspired your hole to flutter around him in pleasured spasms. 

He kept moving into you slowly until you felt the familiar greeting of course hair tickling against you. He leant over, taking the moment to share an open kiss, checking in on you without words. 

“S’deep.” You mumble against him, drunk on the feeling of fullness. 

“Yeah?” He mocks, “So deep in you Sweetheart. No one ever been this deep?” He asks.

You shake your head quickly, “Never felt this good, Jackie, please move!” You all but beg. 

Jack complies, setting a dangerously delightful pace, pulling almost all the way back before pushing down again, filling you completely. The air is knocked out of you, pushing little mewls and moans with it. Jack’s pace never faults, steady and strong through you. 

“Feel so tight around me,” He grunts, “My tight pussy, yeah?” He mocks. You whine at the notion. “This my tight pussy?” 

“Yes!” You can barely think, he shifts again, pushing against the deepest part of you. “Yes, yours Jack!” 

He speeds his thrusts, a redness dawning over his shoulders, and blooming over his chest beautifully. Little groans and moans tumble past his lips every once and while, you savor each one like it’s gold. 

“S’my pussy, I’m gonna make it mine.” He moves your legs until he’s got you perfectly angled for his thrusts to brush your cervix. “Little pussy loves me. Listen to her sing.” The sounds of slapping skin echo out. 

“Jack! Jack, need you-” You gasp and writhe, pleasure tumbling through you, “Need you to come inside me-” You can barely get the words out before his pace becomes punishing. 

“Fuck-” He breaks into maddening animalistic thrusts, “Want me to cum in your pussy, baby? Want me to make you a mommy?” He mocks, but the effect is instant. Your pussy flutters around him, the pleasure taking you away. 

“Want me to fill this little pussy,” he can’t help himself anymore, the words tumble past his lips, “Want me to fill you up, get you pregnant. Want me- want me-” He trails off. 

You simply accept his tirade, letting the everlong sensation of forbidden lust carry you through. Jack leans in until your lips are pressed against each other, breathes exchanged. 

It’s surprisingly intimate given the filth he’d been spewing just seconds before. He watched you, and you returned the same, his thrusts begin to falter, your orgasm creeps dangerously close. 

“Want to have your baby, Jack.” You declare suddenly, only moments before you’re sucked away into your second orgasm of the night. Liquid gushes around the base of his cock, making the sensation of your adventure that much more heightened. 

Jack has about three more good thrusts before he’s slamming himself into you and letting himself empty deep inside of you. Your hips tilted upwards, the mess leaking further and further inside of you with every pulse of his cock. Your muscles are still contracting him closer and closer as you begin to return back to your body. 

Neither one of you said anything for a long time. Jack lays on top of you, his cock softening inside of you, enjoying the feeling of his skin painted against yours. He traces every line of your body, trying to memorize the perfect plane of existence. The gift beneath him, that could be the answer to the prayer he’d lost hope on. 

You feel similarly hopeful. There’s no doubt that Jack was going to take care of you, that he was going to make you feel safe and special. The lingering nag that reminded you that Jack’s track record didn’t rear its head until the morning after alerted itself. Before you can dwell on it, Jack’s pulling away and mumbling something about a washcloth. 

You forfeit your worries for the night, preferring to enjoy the view of the man bobbing through your bathroom naked as the day he was born aside from the mechanical limb that he hadn’t taken off. Once he returns there’s no room for doubt. 

It’s not until the next morning, when the door slams open and you can hear Parker calling for Jack from the living room. 

“Abbot you have two minutes to get your old ass out here and explain why your Truck is in my spot this morning.” She called out distantly. 

Abbot lets out a laugh, but tugs you closer, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck, his hand snaking around to cradle your midsection. He wonders if it stuck, if he’d need to flip you over and try again this morning. Either way was fine with him, he wasn’t going anywhere. 

Robby trickled into your life slowly, he saw you at the coffee place around the corner from your apartment. You saw him walking home from work. He helped you reach a box of cereal once in the grocery store. In turn, you ‘made too many cookies’ one evening and delivered them to the emergency room he worked at. 

You were acquaintances that teetered into something more, and every moment lingered. Conversations were mostly polite, him talking about the weather, you asking about work. You met serendipitously each time, both of you letting the pauses drift in favor of polite goodbyes. It was all too intimate for strangers and too strange for anything more intimate. 

He was old enough to be your father, but he didn’t seem to mind every time you ended up in his orbit. In fact, he spent most of your time together with a hungry look in his eye, trying to keep his eyes from lingering at the most intimate parts of you. 

Your intentions were far more subtle. He was a handsome man, no one was denying that, and you had always wondered what it would be like to let someone take care of you like that. You liked him, he was always funny in a sarcastic way, but he never let you open the door for yourself. He was a gentleman like the men you grew up watching in movies. Or- that’s what you had thought at least. 

The truth of the matter is that you had no experience falling in love. You had even less experience with lust. Growing up you were taught to wait, that your patience- virtuous and pious- would grant you something sweeter. You had hardly questioned the instinct to bury the feelings in favor of other’s approval. 

Obedience was always something you had leant into. The relief of guidance and structure kept you upright. You’ve always been diligent and good. But now in a world where you’re considered an adult, and have every opportunity to make these choices for yourself everything feels much more overwhelming. You had every intention of being a well-adjusted successful social butterfly but you just had no idea how.

You had watched your friends in their own situations, watched them give in to their primal desires, and you watched in horror as their hearts broke. It was that bubbling humbling anxiety that kept you firmly rooted to your solitude. 

There was little faith in your friend’s reassurances that one day you’d ‘find someone’. You had even less faith in the placating reminders that there is no right or wrong way to fall in love. Rationally, you understood this. Rationality had never been the issue, but the lingering pangs of longing fought against the brick walls you’d built yourself. 

Robby was the first person you could possibly imagine letting yourself go for. No one had ever taken your breath away quite like he did, even from across the street on a springy Sunday morning. If he noticed your girlish babbling around him worsened, he never said anything. 

You remember meeting him for the first time. A rainy afternoon in a packed coffee shop. It was one of those rain storms that started all at once, thunder clapped almost before the clouds deepened in color. An impossibly perfect seat tucked against the large bay window was secured. You had long since arrived, preferring to spend your afternoon cycling between watching the rain trickle against the glass and half-reading the book in front of you. 

Your routine was interrupted by a polite apology. 

“Is this seat taken?” The deep voice dripped with honey, the man dripping in rain. His old beat up hockey t-shirt and jeans betray his predicament. He quirks a polite smile, as he scratches the back of his neck. For the first time you notice the hoards of people who were slipping in for refuge against the storm. 

“Yes,” You say moving your things off the table, “I mean no, it’s not taken, yes please sit.” You tuck stray items back into your purse. 

“Thank you.” He sat in the plush leather armchair, setting down a large coffee and a well loved notebook. “It’s really busy here today.” Your eyes trailed his features greedily, lingering on the strong broad shoulders. Admiring the gray patches in his beard that made your heart skip a beat. You had to remind yourself to stay calm. 

“Yeah,” You trail off watching him timidly, half hidden behind the paperback. “I didn’t think it was going to rain.” You admit. 

“Same here.” And conversation was light from there. You hadn’t learned much from him, just that he was an emergency medicine doctor at the hospital around the corner, that he hadn’t remembered his umbrella, and his name was Robby. For your part he learned little about you, just your job and how you’d never met a doctor that wasn’t yours. 

It was such a shame that when the rain started to peter out he slipped away with a simple, “Hope I see you around again, Kid.” As if he hadn’t threatened your cocoon of safe indifference entirely by existing. 

It was embarrassing how much you already liked him. Had you liked him any less you probably would’ve run for the hills when months of unplanned meetings later he finally did ask you to come to his place for dinner. 

Robby was this mythic man in your eyes, he was a doctor which was as impressive as it was hot, but he wasn’t cocky or condescending. He always looked you in the eye, like he was catching you in the middle of something bad. He always smelled like musky cologne, even when you can also smell the antiseptic hospital on top of it. He never seemed to mind that you could hardly string two complete sentences in front of him. 

He was exactly the kind of person you’d wished for in every wishing well as a kid. 

It’s just that, you were sure he didn’t think very much of you. He clearly liked you somewhat, he wouldn’t ask you over if he didn’t, but you were sure he didn’t feel so intensely the way you did. You couldn’t imagine him staying up late, wondering if you had gone to bed already or if you were up reading some new book. Nor could you imagine him daydreaming between cases at the hospital the way you did at work. 

The floaty dreamy feeling of the fantasy of him seemed to keep you tethered, and the creeping sense that you were far too attached far too soon kept you alert. All the feelings jumbled into a mess leaving you feeling like a puppy tied up outside, waiting for their owner to come pat their head and take them home. 

You had agreed to dinner easily, and it was easy! It was easy until you had to pick out the right outfit. One that conveyed your personality, looked nice, but still didn’t suggest something more than you were willing to do. Your years of balancing this obedience and coy shyness reared its head until you were half-buried in your closet. 

It was easy until you were walking the steps leading to his townhouse, just two blocks away from your apartment. Easy- until you realized you were definitely still eagerly early. 

So you stood on his stoop, waiting, trying to not look too desperate. Checking your phone constantly, you felt the ripping anxiety shooting through your body with every breath. You could hear him on the other side of the door, distantly. So you stood and waited, closing your eyes and taking deep breaths. 

“I don’t want to scare you, but you can knock.” The familiar voice on the other side of the old wooden door spoke. You jumped, but before you had a chance to knock, he pulled the door open. 

Deep, hot, embarrassment swirled in your stomach as you peeked up at him. A meek expression surely, but he paid no mind. He simply ushered you inside, closing the door softly behind you. 

“I’m sorry,” you squeaked, “I got here way earlier than I thought I would, and then I didn’t want to be rude so I wanted to wait-” he laughed at your rambles, a dark deep rumble that settled in his chest. 

“I’m glad you’re here early, I was starting to get antsy.” Your body stops its frantic movements. Robby, capable steady Robby, was starting to get restless at your arrival. His voice moved behind you until it was directly behind you, his expansive chest pressing against your back. 

You didn’t dare turn your head, knowing he was waiting for permission to invade your space. He was patient but he knew he didn’t need many tricks, not when you were so frantic for his approval. You wondered somewhere in the back of your mind, could he tell what a short leash he had you on?

“Should’ve let me know when you got here, Puppy.” Oh. Oh. 

The evening from that point was simple. Once your brain started back up, your timid response only made him laugh.

He was cooking some pasta dish on the stovetop, an old vinyl record was playing from the living room, but it served more as reassuring filler than anything to actually remember. He was a lovely host too, he pulled your seat at the table out before you sat. He showered you with attentive questions.

“Would you like something to drink? I have a Wine Cellar downstairs.” He says with nonchalance, like that would be something anyone would just have. His smirk gives away the brag, he can’t help but puff his chest out at the accomplishment. 

It’s a subtle reminder that Robby has money. Robby can take care of you. Robby wants to impress you. 

“I could let you pick out a bottle.” He offers, leaning casually against the counter. 

“You don’t have to do that.” You murmur quietly. “I don’t know that much about wine, actually.” You admit. “Your pick, I trust your opinion.”

He can hardly conceal the way the sentence punches the air from his lungs. “My pick then, baby.” He reaches across to his fridge where he has a bottle chilling. “I was hoping you’d say that.” 

“Do you need any help?” 

“No,” He answers confidently, as he pulls a cork from the bottle easily. “Just keep sitting there and looking pretty for me.” Your skin burns under his gaze, not sure how to signal him you’d give him anything he wanted if he just asked. 

“Are you sure, Robby?” You ask, eyes rounded out. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to do everything.” 

“I want to, baby, I promise.” He pours you a glass and delivers it to you at the table. “Relax, dinner’s almost ready.” 

“Thank you.” You smile up at him sweetly, and he has to concentrate on the task at hand to avoid getting hard right there. 

“How was your week?” He calls out, mixing together the last few ingredients over the stove. “Did you ever figure out what happened to the package that went missing?” 

The conversation flowed easily, despite your anxiety Robby was adaptable and quick to fill in any lulls in conversation. He always remembered little bits from previous conversations to discuss. He never talked about himself for too long, but he wasn’t obtuse about it. He offered small stories here and there, but he was an expert of deflection. 

Time passed easily while he finished his work, you hardly noticed time passing as you sipped the wine and chattered on. It wasn’t until the plate of food was brought over that you realized you’d been talking for the better part of half an hour. 

“It looks really good Robby.” Your cheeks burned. 

“Thank you.” He took his place across from you. “I hope you like it, I haven’t cooked for anyone in a long time.” Butterflies fluttered in your stomach, he always made you feel so special.

“Dig in pretty.” is said simply, no thought for what the nickname did to you. 

Dinner moves as easily as it could. It was remarkable how he handled you, with complete understanding and absolutely no hesitation. He knew how nervous you were, he knew you felt on edge about being in his space, and he hadn’t given you the space to linger in it. 

“So, what did you want to do after dinner?” 

“What do you want to do?” He rebuttals swirling the crimson liquid around the bulbous glass. When he takes a sip he watches you, just over the rim, carefully. 

You squirm, not unlike a child under the watchful gaze of an adult, not sure how to move or sit. Before you knew he was single you had kinda assumed Robby to be with someone a little more his speed. To have some elegant intelligent thing that doesn’t dangle off his arm awkwardly. Someone who knew what he meant when he talked about medical cases, or could at least understand the nuances of his adulthood. 

You still felt a little overgrown and underripe for the picking. Robby didn’t seem to mind either way, always coming back for another taste. 

Picking at the seam of your skirt you offered a juvenile solution, “Maybe we could watch a movie?” You half shrugged expecting him to laugh or maybe scoff at the idea of something like that. That he would maybe prefer more stimulating company. 

But he didn’t, his face lit up again, simply. Nodding before setting his glass down, making no move to stand just yet. “Anything in particular?” 

The movie title that tumbles through your lips is neither sophisticated nor popular. It was honestly the last movie your friends had mentioned in passing, one you had missed in favor of work. You don’t remember why you wanted to see it in the first place, maybe it had an actor you liked, or the director sounded familiar. Either way, Robby was nonplussed and eager to please. 

“Sounds good to me, sweetheart.” Your heart flipped, he stood and offered his hand to you. You take it, the calloused skin skimming against your own. He hardly thinks twice before dipping his head to press a short sweet kiss to the back of your wrist.

“Go get cozy, I’ll join you in a sec.” And there’s no room for argument. Ever the obedient puppy you trot to the couch and sit without so much as a word. 

Sitting pressed against him in the dim light of his living room was a test of strengths. Strength of willpower, yes, but also your cardiovascular health. The blood pumping through your system never slowed. The jackrabbit pace kept it’s intensity well into the first thirty minutes. 

You hoped he couldn’t tell, despite the warm strong thigh pressed against your own, and the teasing presence of his arm wrapped behind you on the back of his couch. You could feel his breath, steady and calm, against your shoulder when his eyes flipped to your face. He seemed intent on gauging your reaction. 

And it seemed to become an impossible task to act normally under his watchful eye. 

“Have you seen this before?” He asked quietly, but the volume still startled you. You shake your head no. 

“All my friends really like it,” He diverted his entire attention away from the screen. He’s devotional like that really, he isn’t one to be lost when something is in front of him. It could be something he’s picked up as his years in the ED grow, but it seems like such a distinctly Robby quality. He doesn’t ever do things by halves. “I- um - I never saw it in theatres or anything. After that I felt like I kinda missed my chance to watch it.” 

He doesn’t offer a response farther than a noncommittal hum of approval. His hand, the one wrapped around the couch behind your head, answers for him. The slow presence of his arm leaves goosebumps against your skin as his fingertips skim lightly against your shoulder. He fiddles with the hem of your sleeve, his gaze slipping further down, before snapping back up to your face with a sweet smile. 

“I’m glad you’re watching it then,” he dips his head slightly until he has to look up at you from beneath his eyelashes, “I hope you’re enjoying it.” And you are, but you don’t know how to express the real weight of your delight. 

His hand slips until his palm runs down your upper arm, tugging you closer into the crook of his shoulder. You follow until your head rests against his chest. From here you can feel the wiry brush of his beard against your head, you can feel the solid muscle rise below your ear, you can see the way his hips angle perfectly in sight. Just enough to tempt you, to show you what you could be doing, enough to wonder if this was a suggestion or if he was genuinely enjoying the feeling of closeness. 

These feelings bundle up in your chest, the thoughts moving a million miles an hour, and your hands start to twitch.

“Robby?” You peer up at him. 

“Hm?” His answer is passive, but his hand travels further down, using his newfound leverage to roam your side. The touch is innocent enough, he certainly didn’t go straight for the areas of yourself you’d expected a man to gravitate towards. He was enjoying the time spent just stroking along the lines of your silhouette. 

It was hard to understand what he was getting from this. You’d never really heard that guys liked things like this. Most of the stories your friends shared they had to practically beg their boyfriends to cuddle. Now you were cuddling on the first date, which you still weren’t sure if it was surely a date, with a man you’d been pining after for months. You’d half-expected him to tug you into his lap and stick his tongue down your throat, but when he didn’t it left you a mixture of confusion and relief. 

It crosses your mind that you should just ask if he wanted to be with you like that. It also crosses your mind that you’d never be able to work the courage to ask Robby something that brazen out of nowhere. Who were you to ruin the nice evening by making it something unnecessarily sexual?

On the other hand, his touch certainly carried the weight of his intentions. 

“Are you enjoying the movie?” You chicken out, changing the subject entirely.

“I’ll be honest, Puppy,” he chuckled, letting the vibrations travel against your neck and head. “I’m a little more occupied with something else.” 

His hand stopped at your waist, settling protectively across your midsection. Heat flipped against your ribcage as your heart danced with searing speed. 

“Oh?” Your voice squeaked out. “What are you thinking about?” 

You don’t mean to sound so small, and you don’t really even mean to act so naive. The feeling that Robby gives you just makes you feel like you’re a girl again. You’re not sure if it’s his age, or the way he carries himself, but he brings out an innocent edge you’ve been trying to hide for years. You need his reassurance, his validation, to move forward. You need his guiding instruction. 

The effect is felt with a low grumbling sound, escaping his throat, almost animalistic in nature. 

“Thinking about you.” He flexes his hand, squeezing the meat of your torso. Your mouth drops open in shock before you shift to face him. 

“What are you thinking about?” You ask again, this time you can see the way his eyes are lidded and dark. You can see the slight flush of blood rushing beneath his cheeks, and the way his teeth catch his lower lip without realizing. You watch him, like a subtle movement might give away his secret, like a deer waiting for danger to strike. 

“Can I kiss you?” is said simply, his head moving in before the question is really asked. Stopping though, just far enough away that you’ll miss him if you pull back. Waiting, patiently, for the permission only you can grant. 

You nod your head, but steady your hand against the base of his throat gently. Not as a gesture of power but as a plea for patience. He brings his hand over to steady yours, keeping his eyes locked to your own. 

“Robby I-” He leans in closer, his hand twisting his fingers around yours, “I’ve never really done this before.” 

His nose brushes against yours slowly. 

“Done what?” You can feel the heat of his skin against yours. “Been with a man?” It would’ve been condescending if it were anyone but him. 

“Kissed anyone.” You rush out, feeling white hot shame rip through you at the implication. Your shoulders drop and curl in. You turn your head away, not wanting him to catch sight of your own embarrassment. 

In his defense, this does seem to catch him off guard somewhat. His hand going slack around your own, letting you escape from his grasp for a moment. The air was far cooler now that there was distance again, letting him feel the stark absence of your warmth.

He doesn’t react for a moment, and in your haze you feel the full weight of the silence. The confession was bitter, and you were hoping he would ease the pain by taking it away. Now though, in the moment of stillness you feel like every buried moment of shame is rising up your throat. Blood starts to rush through your ears and your eyes burn with unshed tears.

Of course you messed it up. You completely ruined the mood. He’s going to be so embarrassed. 

You hardly squeeze out the breathless apology around the lump that digs into your throat. It’s not until you start to lean back and away from him that Robby seems to snap back into himself. 

To be fair, he hadn’t expected you to be overly experienced, not in the way you’d carried yourself, or the skittish way you shifted around him. Hearing you had no experience was equal parts shocking and exhilarating. It was more of a confirmation of his newfound development brewing inside him. How he had never considered himself perverse until now. 

He relished the momentary lapse of thought, imagining you spread open in front of him, knowing  he would be your first. Possibly your only if he played his cards right. Peeling you back layer by layer until you’re just his. A little pup, eager and innocent, trained just for him, just for his pleasure. Closing his eyes, he let the lust consume him. 

He hardly noticed the wilt in your demeanor until it was almost too late. 

“Woah, woah, woah,” He sat up, chasing after your fleeting figure, “what’s wrong?” 

You shook your head, not wanting to look down at him, not wanting to see the disappointment you surely expected there. You couldn’t stand to see it happen in front of you like that. 

“Puppy, talk to me,” He murmured, bringing his hands to either side of your head until he could face you head on. “Am I moving too fast?” 

And suddenly the floodgates burst, the trickle of tears tethered over the edge of your waterline, and your body shook with unshed emotion. Robby, for his part, dutifully waited, wiping away tears and tucking your hair behind your ears. 

“It’s just-” you break off suddenly, almost frantic with energy and frustration, “I’m so embarrassed!” He doesn’t say anything, but he offers a sympathetic quirk of his lips. It treaded a fine line between empathy and mockery, but again it was something he wore well. “I’m fully an adult, and I have a job, and lots of friends, and a life, and-” you shudder out a deep breath. 

“And- and-” You can’t stop the whine that builds in your chest, “And I just want someone to love me!” You blurt. 

It could’ve been so pathetic, it probably was in some omnipresent view, but to Robby it was sinfully delightful. Here was his girl, the woman he’d been lusting over, pathetic and desperate in his lap just asking for him to love her. He could do that, he could definitely do that. 

“Let me,” He murmurs into your hair when he presses sweet chaste kisses to your hairline. “Let me.” He murmurs again, catching the erotic sight of you half dazed, half crying, looking up at him. You suddenly have nothing to say again, so you settle with an obedient nod of approval. That’s all Robby needs before his lips are pressed against yours. 

You’d imagined this moment before. Not this moment in specifics, but you had imagined the way everyone does. How it would feel to be pulled against someone in a fit of passion. How they might look or smell or touch. If they would be tender and sweet, like a nostalgic memory of playground love. Or perhaps something heady and twisted in some dank dark bar pressed against each other messily. 

Robby was all these things and none of them all at once. His beard added a contrast your imagination couldn’t have conjured. The coarse hair was a reminder of the fact you weren’t a child having a clumsy kiss after homeroom. This was a man, a successful handsome man who wanted to kiss you. He was warmer than you imagined. His skin was molten against yours. 

His lips were buttery soft against yours. The shock of being kissed lingered but Robby’s skill seemed to recover for the both of you. His hands steady against your head, angling you just the way you needed to be. His lust remained chaste with intention, until he pulled away to watch you take deep breaths. Your chest rises shakily. 

“How was that? Good, hmm?” He pressed another kiss to your lips in small bursts, overwhelming your senses. 

“Mmmm-” Your voice was high pitched and pathetic, “S’good.” The blood in your body coursed through rapidly leaving a dizzy float behind in its wake. He pressed another kiss to your lips. “Really good Robby.” 

His eyes crinkled affectionately taking in your love-drunk appearance. 

“M’glad.” he tugged you closer, pulling you into him. 

“I don’t know how to be good for you.” you whispered into the peaceful pocket he created.

“Puppy,” he pulled you until you straddled his thighs, “You’re already so good.” 

The euphoria that burst through you was enough to bolster the confidence you needed to surge up and connect your lips back to his, this time neither one of you held back. 

Robby was perfectly attuned to what your body was calling out for. He was an answer to the hushed prayers of your youth. His mouth parted, and yours with it until you felt the velvet caress of his tongue against yours. 

It was relatively tame, but it left you feeling breathless and wound up. His hands drifted to your hips where they squeezed and kneaded your flesh delightfully. He restrained himself from drifting further, but allowed himself the dalliance of feeling your response against him. 

You had a harder time with your composure. Gasps of surprise and hums of pleasure seemed hellbent on making themself known. You could hardly control the way you responded to his expertise. Your back arched until your chest pressed against him, your hands roamed freely between his biceps and the back of his neck. Desperation climbing up your spine until you couldn’t take it anymore. 

“Please-” his mouth tumbles down until he’s sucking gently against your neck, “Robby! Oh my god-” You feel like you might die, the blood that blooms under his touch burns delightfully. 

“Use your words Puppy, what do you need?” He taunts before scraping his teeth across the newly minted mark.

“Touch me?” You offer meekly, your hips begin to chase something underneath you that leaves you only wanting more. 

“Is that a question?” He stabilizes your rhythm, dragging you back and forth against his growing erection. 

“Touch-” He slows you down even further until you can barely feel the friction from before, just the effect you have over him in return. The words die in your mouth. 

“What do you want?” He asks seriously, meeting your eyes again. 

“I don’t know.” You admit sheepishly. “I’m not- I don’t think-” You grunt at your own insufficiencies. Why couldn’t you just be normal about this? Why does everything have to feel so much harder than it needs to be?

“I don’t think we should have sex tonight.” It's a relief as much as it is a disappointment coming from his mouth. Part of you wishes he would just rip the bandaid off and take you, but the larger more rational part relaxes. Robby isn’t one to mince his words. 

“Right.” You don’t mean to sound so disappointed. You don’t mean to feel the pang deep inside like you had somehow let him down. Despite the overwhelming relief you wonder if this could truly be something that he’d be satisfied with. 

“C’mon, don’t pout.” He tucks your mussed hair back in his large hand. “Just because we aren’t having sex doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun.” 

Curiosity strikes like electricity through your veins, igniting the flame that had burned through you just minutes before. A surge of passion that was built brick by brick, moment by moment restored with a simple sentence. 

“Let me touch you?” It's a question this time, a question of yes or no but also a how and where. You guide him the best way you can in your own limitations. 

“Will it be good for you too?”

“Of course it will be, it’s you.” And in one swoop Robby quelled your fears before his hand tucked itself under your skirt and into your panties to quell another part of you entirely. 

"You're my Puppy." He whispered just before you felt his fingertips glide over your clit and your eyes roll back in your head.

The first pass over the bundle is borderline experimental. He’s hesitant, you can feel his eyes boring down on you. The heat alone from his attention courses through your veins. Still, through the hesitance, you know the rough calloused pads of his fingers are incomparably better than anything you’d been able to achieve yourself. 

“Robby-” You mewl, your hand moving to wrap around his forearm for leverage. You lift your hips slightly, running from the blind pleasure that was possible from him. “I- I’m-” Your thighs shake in anticipation. 

Robby takes the opportunity, sliding his hand around your back until it hugs you completely, chest pressed to his. You furrow your eyebrows, ready to question him, but before you can he maneuvers you so your back is settled against the cold leather of his couch. Robby’s wide frame surrounding you, until all you can think about is him. 

His hands make quick work slipping your painties off before you can even think about it. He makes a big show once they’re untangled from you, meeting your lidded eyes as he brings them up and takes a long sniff. 

The noise that escapes you is something you’d never heard from yourself, you had no idea you were capable of this. Robby let the sound settle over him like a grounding chill, especially as your legs flop open desperately in front of him. 

“So pretty for me.” He compliments. “Smell so good, so sweet.” He cants back until he’s sliding up your legs. The short skirt rides up as his hands glide along the outside of his thighs until he’s sitting between them comfortably face to face with your pussy. 

“Robby-” You try to close your legs, shy from the front row seat he has to your most intimate place. 

“Ah-” He tuts, taking hold of your thighs, pressing teasing kisses to both. “If you want me to stop, then say so.” He waits. When you don’t respond he continues his pathway. “Good pup.” 

His lips get closer, he switches legs. His hands are grounding, but the closer he gets to your center the less you can think properly. You wish you could sear this view into your mind forever, but at the same time you can’t bring yourself to watch. The conflicting feelings rage within you, and Robby, like some psychic, seems to understand perfectly. 

“I’m going to eat you out,” he explains softly, “Is that ok?” 

You nod quickly, reaching out until your hands cover his for reassurance. 

“Will you use your words Puppy?” A chill zips down your spine at the name, you have to bite your tongue to stop from letting an obscene moan through your lips. 

“Yes, sir.” You manage. It’s euphoric watching the words rush over Robby’s controlled demeanor. His head drops into the crook of your thigh, and you feel his teeth scrape lightly against your skin. You yelp out in surprise, and when you see his eyes again they have to be two shades darker than before. 

“Say it again,” he commands. “Call me that again, and I’ll make you Cum, Puppy.” 

You fidget, feeling the odd sensation of want bubbling against the fire of arousal. You could feel your mind floating away, the parts of you that were cynical and objective gave way under Robby’s watchful eye. 

“Please, sir!” You mewl out. “Please!” 

You can hardly get the last word out before his lips wrap around your clit. The feeling, somehow infinitely better than his fingers, is unlike anything you’d ever experienced. Your head flew back onto the couch, your spine curved, and your hands blindly reached for his head. Desperate to chase this feeling for the rest of your life, you hardly seem concerned with the sounds coming from you. 

All you know now is the alternating feeling of Robby’s sucks and soft licks as he explores the planes of your nerve endings. He’s expert in the way he can recognize each push and pull of your pleasure seemingly before you can. He watches you through his hooded eyes and chase his pleasure through him. 

He caresses you with his tongue, the coil in your belly starting to wind to the point of insanity, then he pulls away softly. He watches as you mindlessly writhe out in front of him. He wishes, absently he could see you bare in front of him. In due time. 

“That feels good, Pup?” He asks before giving a long suck, his teeth gentle and timidly scraping against your skin. 

“Please, sir-” You gasp when you feel his tongue dip inside of you for the first time. “I’m going to cum- please!” 

“Such a good puppy,” He mocks you, bringing his hand to circle your clit gently while he talks you through it. “Want to be my little pet? Hmm?” 

You flood with ‘yes, please’ and ‘thank yous’, losing your mind with anticipation. Your whole body tense with the thought of almost there, almost there, almost there!

“Yeah?” He asks rhetorically, “You want this old man to own you?” He speeds up his hand before his other one can stop himself, he’s sliding up your shirt. You hardly think before you reach up to pull the hem up for him. It’s only seconds before he’s tugging your bra down to wrap his lips around your nipple. 

“Yeah, Robby!” You buck against his fingers. His tongue swirls against your nipple and you think you might die. How this feeling could be wrong or bad, you had no memory. Everything was Robby’s eyes, Robby’s lips, Robby’s tongue, Robby’s hands, Robby’s mind, Robby’s words, Robby’s will. 

You’d gladly heel to his control. He had your leash and you could feel hims start to tug.

“Whose pussy is this?” He asks darkly before switching to the other breast before him. 

“Yours Robby!” You squeal, and suddenly something bursts, his fingers speed up, his other hand pinches your nipple while he sucks. You inhale possibly the last breath you’ll ever take before everything unravels. 

Robby pulls back from your chest, watching as you twitch, spasm, and wring your very first shared orgasm out. Your chest heaving, your mind spinning, your eyes squeezed shut and your mouth dropped open. 

He feels the gush of wetness release underneath his other hand, he revels in a slippery new sensation against your skin as he slows his pace. Your body is still twitching with pleasure. 

He doesn’t pull his hand back right away, he just watches as you catch your breath. He waits for your body to come back to your mind even a little bit. Then, and only then, does he slip his fingers away and bring them up to his mouth. 

“My pussy tastes so sweet.” He murmurs, savoring the sweetness against his tongue. “What do you say?” 

“Thank you, sir” You finally open your eyes to see Robby practically undone against you. You hardly have a chance to think before he’s pulling you up against him for a kiss. You taste your spend against his lips and it’s intoxicating the way you dip your tongue in for more. 

“You’re welcome, Baby.”

A/N: Hiii I hope you like this. I wanted to wait a little longer to post and then work got crazy so it had to delay even longer. LMK what you think!

You were never the kind of person who could sit at a bar alone.  You were never attracted to the dim light, sticky countertops, and endless top 20 hits. You weren’t built for that, but tonight, tonight you were going to sit on the very far end of the dingey dive a block and a half away from your apartment, and you were going to nurse a lukewarm shitty cocktail as long as you wanted. You were going to finally stop putting everything on hold, and you were going to re-join society.

Jesus Christ. Please get it together.

You were a grown woman, who had accomplished things, you didn’t live with your parents, you paid your own bills, you generally try your best to take care of yourself. The only thing you couldn’t seem to figure out is your job. The repetitive cycle of waking up, spending 8 hours a day mindlessly droning through work, being too tired to move, going to bed, and repeating again was unbearable. So, one random Friday morning, with too little in your savings account and even less left of your soul, you decided enough was enough.

There wouldn’t be any more morning chats by the coffee maker, useless one-on-ones with management, or special projects dumped on your plate. You were done. And it wasn’t the lingering fear of your own impulsivity or failure that greeted you when you walked home that night, it was the realization you had nothing else to show for yourself.

There were no boyfriends to come home to, kids to raise, or really anyone to call except for a few old college buddies that were nudging you to get yourself out there for months. The reality was finally dawning, you had put your entire life on hold for a job, and it hadn’t given you anything in return.

 So here you were, half-exhausted, half-terrified, begging the universe for a second chance to shape yourself into something. The stale lifeless reflection staring back was not the picture of happiness you were hoping would follow you home that afternoon but, rather than wallowing in your own mistakes, you decide to go out.

The walk to the bar had been nothing short of rejuvenating. The dulcet sense of your own freedom grounded the moment. Sunshine setting on your face reminded you of summer breezes flitting by and warm evenings under the stars. It had been years since you had allowed yourself this pleasure. The golden cast made the world vibrant again. You couldn’t help but stop for a moment, pressed against the brick facade on the corner of your street to feel the pulse of the city around you. Nothing seemed to move until the sun was tucked behind the tree line, and you didn’t dare disrupt the peace until the chill of the evening settled into dusk all around you, and the only place left to turn was the dive bar at the end of the street.

The bar itself is something that had never really tempted you before that night. The music always skewed a little too country for your liking, and the patrons always seemed to be on the wrong side of leering versus gawking. There was a clear view of a pool table in the back and the dark wood seemed to match the deep whiskey bottles that lined the back of the bar. At least, that’s what you could tell from the few moments the door was left just open enough for you to peek in when passing by.

Now though, now you had an unabashed view of the entire bar, and it was enough to remind you why you’re not usually in places like this. The crowd itself wasn’t too dense for a Friday, but you could tell it would only grow as the night went on. There were patrons scattered around, some sitting in booths exchanging stories of their weeks, others leering from dark corners. You scanned the room quickly, opting for a seat on the closer end of the bar, right against the wall. Completely isolated, a little pocket of stillness, you settled in for a night of true transformation.

It wasn’t long before you realized you were probably a little in over your head. The thing about going out is, you’re sort of stuck with yourself when you get there. Your brain supplies the helpful commentary.

After sipping on a drink for a little over twenty minutes it was starting to feel like you were waiting for something to happen, that wasn’t going to happen. There wasn’t going to be a divine intervention nor was God going to part the crowd and hand you over the ideal life. You had hoped maybe someone would sit within three seats of you, or perhaps you’d get a chatty bartender. There had been no such luck, and you wondered if you were the weird one, cornered alone at a bar on a Friday Night.

This isn’t an episode of Sex in the City girl. The clock doesn’t strike 7:30 and poof you’re Samantha Jones. It’s pathetic, the feeling of shame that builds. The first time you really put yourself out there only to realize everyone else had been out here without noticing you were still stuck in your shell. The watery drink melts away from the heat of your hand and you really start to wonder, what am I doing wrong?

Had the doe-like naivety and melancholy so damaged your persona that people physically recoiled from your space? A million thoughts run through your head, and the ever-mounting urge to run home with your tail tucked between your legs only grows. As the clock struck eight behind the bar, more people wandered in. The crowd steadies out, steering clear from the aura of self-realization oozing out of you.

“Want another?” The bartender asks. It’s really a simple question, and this poor guy is really just trying to do his job. Frankly you really think you shouldn’t but just on the other side of the bar something catches your eye.

A man settles in your direct line of sight. A very attractive man. A very attractive, older man, who is definitely watching you. You feel your jaw go slack and your back straighten alerted to the danger lurking. Your eyes darted to meet his, then away, then back again in a cycle of curiosity and embarrassment. The man only smirked. Fuck me.

“Another round?” The bartender asks again. This time, with an edge of impatience, you just nod dumbly. You knew you were out of practice, but you weren’t expecting to be so bothered by a stranger just looking at you. Your eyes peel from the bar top to settle on his again.

Even in the smoked room the depth of his gaze is intense, like a magnifying glass under the sun. He was entirely concentrated, fixated on your singular point. He wasn’t staring at you; he was devouring you. You couldn’t remember the last time someone had even wanted to talk for longer than twenty minutes, and this was the first time a man had ever looked at you like that.

He seemed to enjoy the way you squirm under his watchful eye. He takes a sip of his beer slowly. Where the hell has this guy been? He’s gruff, the stubble tracing his cheeks only accentuating the sharp lines of his jaw. You feel your thighs press together, imagining the tender sting that he could make between them. He sits at the bar like he was made for it, and when he gives you his attention, you’re glued to it.

This man is a stranger. It’s meant to be a warning, a moment to pause and reconsider if that second drink was worth it. To turn back while you can, because you know if this man comes over, you’ll be going home with him.

And yet, it has the opposite effect. This man, this stranger, has more intrigue in his gaze than all of your past romantic encounters combined. The heat that had begun with small licks to the back of your neck was sweeping through your stomach and settling in for the night.  It's unlike anything you have ever experienced. It’s carnal, the need that floats to the surface. Years of pushing down the most basic desperation in favor of practicality shoot to the surface. You smile to yourself; this might be the most exciting thing you’ve done in years.

--

You feel him before you see him. He’s stalking you from across the bar, closing the distance easily. You can’t help but lean against the wall for support, but his presence doesn’t bring the wave of nerves you had anticipated. His approach alone is calm and clear and only serves to produce hordes of butterflies in the pit of your stomach. His confidence reveals a predation, a swagger that comes when the cat gets the canary.

“What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” He asks, a boyish smile racking across his face. He knows it’s all too much, just too unrealistic, too much pressure on the moment, so he pops it with the careful precision of a man in complete control. The line hits you in your stomach. He could’ve said anything, he already has you in the palm of his hands. He knows it too. But instead of some half-fumbled small talk or uninteresting humble brag, he’s funny.

You let out a laugh, and it wasn’t funny enough to laugh this hard, but the small shrug he gives in defeat is worth it. You feel your shoulders drop and the moment relaxes. He tilts his head to look at you, and from this angle, you can see the hazel flecks in the bar light.

“Ok, maybe too cheesy.” He accepts it with ease that drips with charm. What is he so handsome for?

“Not too cheesy.” You peek up at him through your lashes, thanking your younger self for her fleeting interest in Vogue advice columns. “And for the record, I’m not usually in a place like this.” He watches with vested interest, as you gesture to the bar’s surroundings.

“Well, I’m lucky. I caught you passing through.” He lets his eyes rake down without shame, and it leaves you twisting your legs tighter to keep them from dropping open.

“What’s your name?” He asks. When you manage to say it, he hums it to himself like it’s a secret.

“I’m Jack.” He takes a long sip of his drink, keeping his eyes trained on you, and you sit obediently across from him, letting him take all the time in the world. “So, who do I have to thank for getting you in here tonight?” He’s all listening ears, and it’s not fair how easy he makes it look. He was so at ease, perfectly in his element.

It was almost painful, to be in such direct contrast. His measured gravitas makes your chest tighten, it’s infuriating but hypnotic.

“My job- or maybe my boss?” you concede, feeling heat creep up in your face. He lifts an eyebrow and waits for you to continue. Following on your every word with amused rapture. “I finally quit my job and didn’t really feel like stewing over it in my apartment. So, I decided to come out.” He couldn’t help but let a chuckle past his lips.

It’s almost like he’s patting your head, saying slow down, enjoy the ride. That visual alone is enough to send a pulse of heat through your core. He latched onto anything you would give him. Drinking down your reactions and savoring them for later. As if you weren’t fully intending on making sure you were the only thing he was savoring later.

“Well, can I buy you a drink then?” He moved his stool closer to yours, still giving you enough space to slip by him if you really wanted to go. Not enough space to get out without inconspicuously brushing past him. Now you could see everything on him so clearly, his freckles shining through, the bags that sat pretty under his eyes, a small scar on his hairline, almost obscured by his hair. His cologne clouded your senses, drawing you in like a drug. The musk and smoke smell that sat on his skin was complimented by a lingering antiseptic note.

“To thank you.” He clarified, letting his hand slide around the bar, blocking out most of the chaos behind him. You nod again, and he flags the bartender down.

Jack, as it turned out, wasn’t just an older, attractive man. He was an older attractive doctor, who worked at the ER a few streets over. He spent all of five minutes on himself before turning the conversation back to you. Asking where you grew up, what you used to do for work, favorite songs, movies, and foods. He was invested in your every word, turning a simple question into a whole interview.

He wasn’t without his own commentary, interjecting just as many quick quips of his own life to make it seem like he wasn’t totally letting you dominate the conversation, even though he wanted you to. Where moments of silence would fall flat and leave both parties floundering with the need to fill awkward silence, Jack excels. His silence is never a lull, but a breath, a moment for both of you to steal glances, shaking each other down and building each other back up again.

“I haven’t done anything like this before.” You admit, after an hour of easy banter. He was steady and took the news without surprise. His eyes were the only tell that he had heard you over the blare of music from the speakers, darkening significantly.

“Do what? Talk to strangers?” He teases, leaving your ears burning. He reaches his hand up and tucks a little hair behind your ear, “You’re too good for me, sweetheart.”  

This was it, this is how you’d die. The blood circulating through your head is long gone, and the ache in your thighs clouds all judgment. Breathing was no longer necessary, the feeling of his heavy hands running through your hair was the tie grounding you to this moment. He read you like an open book and sat back with the satisfaction of guessing the ending correctly. He had you entirely figured out.

He takes the opportunity to throw a few bills on the bar, presumably freeing you both to slip out of the pulsing crowd of drunk coeds. You reach for your wallet, following suit, but he stops you.

“I got yours,” He lets his arm sit on your shoulder. He allows himself to rake his eyes down you entirely. You passively wonder what you look like, half-drunk on his attention, wobbly, and nervous. Perhaps a slightly pathetic sight, but Jack only steadied himself under your eyes. “Told you I’d buy you a drink.” He mumbled.

“Oh,” You froze, of course, he said that you smiled up at him earnestly. “Thank you, for the drink, and the company.” Finally, your words seem to knock him back, and it’s deeply satisfying to see him collect himself even for a moment.

He groaned under his breath and let himself invade your space until he was almost completely against you.

“Let me walk you home?” He offers, and you know it’s just words, but you feel your entire body buzz when your head bobbles yes. He takes a deep breath in through his nose, seemingly regaining his composure. Jack was barely hanging onto a thread, but just as soon as he was in your space, he pulled away. He had taken your hand, pulling you into him as you made your way to the dark street.

It only takes three minutes before you’re at the steps of your apartment, and neither one of you hesitates to climb the steps to your front door. It takes about ten seconds for you two to breathe before he has you fully pressed against him, crashing his mouth on yours carefully.

Jack kisses the way every girl hopes someone will kiss her. He kisses you like it’s his sole purpose in this moment, is to forget the rest of his life to make you feel this. His large hands always grounding, always centering your focus, while his tongue slips in with practiced precision. Jack was an exacting passion, that took no shame in pulling the most lewd reactions from your body.

You respond with equal enthusiasm, perhaps more impassioned and sloppier than him, but he only groans into your mouth and presses you into the door. His hands slip down to your waist while yours wind around his neck, pulling him down onto you, into you.

“Jack,” You groan against his mouth when you feel a particular hardness pressing into your stomach. “I really meant it when I said It’s been a while.” This only spurs him on, pressing your body to his closer, trailing kisses down your neck. His kisses, once rough now deadly, against your neck leave unapologetic marks you will question in the morning. Now, it’s liberating to feel the burn of stubble and teeth against the sensitive flesh of your neck. On a particular enthusiastic bite, your eyes roll back in your head with pleasure, and all other thoughts leave your body.

“You’re just so sweet,” he lets his breath trail up your neck until he steadied himself. “Need to taste you, see how sweet you really are.” He was lost in the pleasure of the moment, watching you blissed out in your hallway, waiting for him to ruin you. He cornered you again, letting your bodies slot together. “Need you to unlock the door for me, baby.”

And your body responded in kind like his words were a mission, you fumbled for your keys before slipping through the doorway. He can hardly wait for your door to shut behind him to pounce once more. Now that he had you, he wouldn’t stop until you were writhing around on his cock.

His kiss was all fire and urgency, little time to brace yourself against him before he slipped his hand under your shirt. Not quite wandering, but inching up, teasing you. You let out a pathetic whine, and he only laughs down at you, relishing in your frustration. You feel like you’ll die if you don’t get his hands on you right now, he said he wanted to, and you were past the point of waiting.

“Jack, please,” You beg, and in a moment, you’re dragging him to your room. He has you in pressed against your pillows in record time. Standing at the foot of the bed admiring your frame.

You take the moment to inch your shirt up until it’s sitting just below the line of your bra. Once you watch him a moment you pull the shirt and bra up and over your head, leaving your entire top half bare. Jack is frozen to his spot, his Adams Apple bobs, and his jaw tightens, but he can’t seem to tear his eyes from you for even a moment.

He admires you with quiet intensity, he revels in the pride that swells when you reach for him to kiss you again. He can feel you through the thin material of his own shirt, and it’s a useless task distracting him. Before you know it, he’s kissing his way down to your breasts and admiring them once more.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He worships your tits, sucking on one, drinking down the pathetic mewls that escape your mouth. “You’re so fucking ripe.” He lets his teeth scrape your skin until red welts bloom, admiring his own artistic signature. And you’re writhing under his ministrations, your panties were soaked by the time he finished. Desperate for more friction, you buck your hips upwards until you meet his thigh.

“I-I need-“You gasp as he anchors your center onto his thigh for friction. “I need you!” He guides you to rotate your hips against him until you’re fully grinding on his thigh.

“Shhh, let yourself enjoy this Sweetheart,” He encourages, his kisses only clouding her senses further, “I got you.” Your eyes roll back as he breathes into your ear. The firm denim perfectly rubbing against your clit. He ducked his head back down to watch you as you chased the pleasure relentlessly. When he notices a large wet patch collecting beneath you, he has to stop himself from rutting into you.

“Shit, sweetheart you’re so messy.” He admonishes, but when you let out a wine of protest, your hips pick up in pace. Jack watched as your face twisted in concentration, chasing a high, and he couldn’t decide what was more erotic, the noises coming out of your mouth or the feeling of your wet pussy dragging down the length of his thigh.

Suddenly he pulls back, dragging his thigh away, eliciting a sound that would’ve made you turn bright red if you weren’t so close to your orgasm. Jack doesn’t pay mind to your protests, tugging your panties down, laying you out bare before him.

“Am I the only one getting naked tonight?” you ask, coy, frustrated, and ready for the reckoning that was Jack Abbot’s dick. He sucks in a breath.

“I just want to warn you,” He starts to explain, and the shake in his voice has you closing your legs and sitting up. The eternally confident ladies’ man laid bare. “I have a prosthetic leg.” He says it and waits. You crawl to the end of the bed meeting him on your knees.

“Do you need to take it off?” You asked, and he furrowed his eyebrows, “Or is it more comfortable on? Or how do you normally do this?” You stuttered through, tugging him down to sit next to you.

“I don’t,” He laughs at you, “normally do this actually.” He shrugs, and it makes him just that bit hotter. Jack wasn’t trying to be anything but honest and reasonable, it only made you want him more.

 You lean your head up and capture his lips in a soft kiss, letting him take comfort in you. Letting him experience the scent of your shampoo as a gift, the sensation of your nails through his hair as a memory, and pressing him down to lie back on the bed as a command.

You swing your legs over his hips, letting your chests press to one another. You let his hand explore you, experiment as you made out like teenagers. Jack pressed his, still clothed, erection into you. You let your head fall back in pleasure, as he rocked into you, building you back up to something wild and dangerous.

You reach down and rest your hand on the zipper of his jeans, tracing the outline of his bulge. You work curiously, learning his anatomy, and swallowing any reactions Jack chokes out. Once Jack decided you were done playing games he interrupted to unzip his jeans slowly. You feel his chest hitch when your hands skim along the elastic of his boxers. He tips his hips enough to allow his pants to fall away, and you shove his boxers down until he’s bare.

Jack was a sturdy man, he was not insubstantial by any means, and you knew he would be sizable but the dick he pops is thick and rabid. You can’t quite fit your hand around him, and the veins just under the skin are throbbing with unrestrained need. Jack is only able to hold himself back until you open your mouth and let a glob of spit drop down onto his vibrant pink tip.

“Please baby-oh Fuck!” He moans out when he feels your hand lubing him up with your own saliva. His mind races, and he imagines the plush comfort only your throat could bring him. “Sweetheart, let me make you feel good first.” You continue your ministrations while pondering his request, savoring the newfound control he has given you.

You allow yourself a moment of temptation and press yourself down on top of him, producing pornographic moans from both of you. Once the fire picks back up you can’t stop yourself from allowing the indulgence of him sliding through your folds with ease. When Jack’s tip catches on your clit you feel your walls contract in a pulse, gushing a new wave of arousal on him. You begin to feel the tension build up your spine, warning you.

“Fuck, you’re so wet.” He murmurs, sitting up to suck one of your nipples into his mouth like a man starved.

“Need you, Jack, I’m gonna die-“He drops his thumb to rub at your clit and suckles harder. The once subtle tug now building into something more intense. “Need you inside, please!” Jack hummed before tugging you down to kiss him, his thumb picking up pace. It wasn’t long before you felt your walls tightening and your jaw drop. Jack grounded you as your orgasm crested, his thumb maintaining constant pressure until your body began to shake with overstimulation. You catch your breath as you collapse on top of his chest.

He smirks up at you, slipping you onto the bed to lay you on your stomach. He takes a moment to revel in maneuvering you back under his control. You whine for him to come and fuck you, but he doesn’t slot behind you as you had anticipated.

You turn your head lazily to catch a glimpse of him at the end of the bed removing his leg and setting it to the side, before shucking his pants all the way off. He peaks over at you, laying pussy out, already half-fucked just from rubbing yourself on him, watching him with rapture as he takes care of himself.

You reach out your hand to him until he’s back in your reach and you can take it. Raising them to his lips before placing a tender kiss on your thumb.

“You’re so sexy, Jack.” He chuckles before returning to you, lining himself up to your hole, ready to give you everything he has.