#commander graves

Phillip is a man of many faces, gliding through missions with carefully constructed façades. All those hidden insults are painted behind that cocky laugh. Unless, it’s you, of course. You know what he is, who he is, and he isn’t afraid to hide it either—showing his true colors, a dark possession—a keen form of secrecy that hides. Manipulative enough to keep you roped around. Safeguarding his fleeting touches tightly, bruising at times and needing constant stimulation. In many ways, you’re like his hot cigarette after a tiring day.

Unlike most, you aren’t boring. A sharp, new liquid he grew to crave. Sharing such a desire that eclipses all other thoughts until the next fix– you. A necessity, not a choice.

Though, your attitude is the prime action, still and all. It’s something that lured him in — a shy demeanor that had you revolting back when he came near. Or a passive-aggressive fiery temperament. He genuinely took a chuckle at your jabbing remarks. Despite which one, he liked it, far more than he’d ever admit. Civilian or not, Phillip is truly infatuated. It doesn’t help that he’s persistent to a stubborn extent.

Once he has his eyes on something, he rarely ever departs. Fixating till it drives him insane. Guzzling him whole, whilst using every resource he can. Examining all types of security cameras, including the ones he has placed; abusing his rank, and fully seeing what you are up to. It’s been like this since the start, and will continue to do so, till he has you in his very arms.

In Phillip’s mind, he was already your partner—your husband—way before you two even became “official”. He, despite his mighty lack of emotional sense, isn’t cruel but most importantly, isn’t stupid. He grasps a solid piece of comprehension on how nerve-wracking it must be to accept him. Yet, it causes him to hold a false belief; that maybe, just maybe, if he engages more, you’ll fully commit to him faster. That you’ll agree to be his spouse. He knows deep down, you do like him.

Even though you may act difficult, rather awkward in the beginning, you’ll fall as he once did. Your eyes are focusing on him, just as he does. Within weeks, he’s stopped looking at other people, much less thinking, and fantasizing about them. For Graves, you are it.

And he’s a deeply rooted man, dedication shooting through the roof, and fiercely loyal for a reason. Phillip makes every effort to have you, igniting a fire on the way and becoming more grueling, as the road continues.

Any type of attention you give him, negative or positive, he takes personally. It makes him immensely arrogant, way too confident. Entirely pleased with his prying behaviors, secured fondling, and acts. He’s breathing down your neck at every given chance. And it makes him insufferable.

Especially if you’re a civilian, working as a possible bartender. The vamp Commander is a chronic regular. Everybody knows where he is, pointing and finding him sitting across the flat stand, visiting you with those eyes.

If anything, it’s his favorite thing to do—gawking away at your magnificent form, always pleased to wait till you are available, wanting you to pour his drink. His preferred and favorite bartender, one who mixes his drinks correctly. Leaning against the counter, wooing with that sweet tongue of his. The drunker Phillip gets, the filthier he hounds about, slurring his words with rich promises; you’d never have to work another day in your life with him. Just let go of your job, allow him to put a ring around those pretty fingers, and be finally his.

However, his harassment gets incredibly more demanding if you work for or under him.

Meeting under the work line isn’t too much of a hassle, except for the fact that he favors you a bit too much. If anything, that sentence is an understatement. You are his favorite compeer. Everyone can tell. Most of the time, it leaves you stumped, perhaps embarrassed. It’s frustrating. As your headman, he has significantly more control. Far advanced invasive ways to know you.

During the many briefings you attend, Phillip calls on you without fail. Voice whooping your name, gratifying your judgments over any others. Robust hands resting on your shoulders when you interject, nodding dazed, and using you as an example of a good deed. If you’re within the same room, he’s blazing paths between his own men like a heat-seeking missile to get to you. During any missions, he has you clasped to him—your safety is his number one priority, as well as sharing playful remarks. Your rolling eyes, or flushed face make him more than just chuckle.

As expected, it’s a given that personal space doesn’t exist. The word alone is a mystery to the man. Naturally gravitating to your side like a protective Dobermann, taking a seat next to you like a date. Trying to subtly but surely touch you like a boyfriend. Too close for any easement, having his arm tightly wrapped around the back of the chair, fingers tauntingly brushing up and down your forearm like a husband.

When spending time with you, he looks fixedly, humming when you talk. Gradually touching you, adding pressure, watching your limits and body language while using the excuse of picking off hair—his hair—of your shirt. And every time you take a step back, awkwardly and uncomfortably laughing, he takes three forward, guffawing at your tense reactions.

He acts fully stupid and dogged on purpose. To see if he irritates you, let alone open to talking to him.

And when you do, regarding your boundaries or his behavior, it’s swept off the table. Missed and ignored. Of course, he’ll agree to ease off the touching, perhaps the flirting, nodding his head at your limits. But, it’s who he is as a character.

And a day later, he’s right back at it. Moreover, when bringing it back up again, Phillip is hurt; his touches are meant to be playful, close, so why are you taking it too seriously? Every time he calls you his girl, his gent, his good-looking partner, he’s just informing the damn truth. Everyone around the table laughs at your rants, assuring you that he’s just messing around. A jokester. Yet, you know deep down, he isn’t. He never is.

The type of situations that he forces you into, cracks away at everything you once knew. It’s awkward. Unfair. Nearly unfathomable as nobody believes or decides to help you. Your friends cackle at his sweet compliments, awing when he calls you his special bartender. Sweeping your worries under the rug, telling you he’s just a cherry tongue-tied guy. His written phone number drops off every time he leaves, which is certainly a sign you should take.

Or when he’s applauding through the comms within a mission, telling you he’s never doubted you a second in exciting him, your other comrades congratulate you. Teasing you in the barracks that Phillip fancies you, and how that’s truly a compliment.

You end up crumbling, and of course, you do. Who wouldn’t? The pressure of staying near him, talking to him, can be a lot. Your commander is a total snob. A dick. Phillip, the frequent customer, fills your tip jar like his life depends on it. Every dirty word, every flirtatious compliment, every single touch and wink, is directed at you for a reason.

But, ignoring him is playing with things you shouldn’t. He finds you, even if you avoid him like the plague—tsking at you, tapping his foot and finger on your cheek, whispering how of a bad darlin’ you have been. Now, you wouldn’t wanna upset the Commander, let the poor guy get upset, would you?

No, of course not. You’re gonna agree to the date he so nicely offers. Bringing you to a nice, rich scenery of life. Proving just how well he can treat you, if only you say yes. Just that one word. One single noun, to be whispered, to have your entire world transformed.

In that, your first kiss is deep, dominating, and truly greedy. It’s an impulsive performance, his boots alerting his looming presence upon finding you alone, and vulnerable—using that chance to lean in, thumb absentmindedly stroking your jaw. Palm gently squeezing your back globes, squeezing a gasp out of you to follow his lips onto yours, his teeth nibbling. It’s the type of kiss to leave you breathless, hot, and well steamed in the face.

Rejecting him, denying his very proposal, leads to waking up in a different room. He isn’t above kidnapping you, drugging you with the appease of getting too drunk at a party. Stirring awake, too drowsy, with your head pounding—finding a note with a pre-made lunch, the door shut tight and locked—telling you to be good as he left for an errand. Like much above, he is persistent. Will continually dig away at the dirt, pushing every boundary, every button, isolating you completely. Making you more dependent. So why not make it easier, for the two of you? You know he hates making you upset.

Like his accent: thick and unrestrained, it deeply represents how he is with you. Boredom isn’t something that exists. Phillip keeps you on your toes, pulling you along for the ride. Showing you off like a rare piece of glistening jewelry.

Yet, dangers are worldwide. After what happened to General Shepard, he knows what will happen to him. Thrive to see those British quicks of a whip. Still, he lives his best to the fullest, with you, and with an upkeep of heightened security. As he continues his plans, multiple bodyguards are assigned to watch over you despite your preference. You need to be safe, even if you view him as a present threat. All he asks for is an understanding of what he needs to do for you, including a kiss of thankfulness.

Spoils you rotten. Not just with gourmet dinners, but also giving you foot massages. A planned weekend away in the southern afternoon. Getting you customized clothing, necklaces, and rings that fit comfortably. As if he already knew your ring size.

Out of his uniform, Phillip acts and is almost different– exhaling a relaxed sigh into your lap, shoulders slumped as he’s finally allowed to be truly vulnerable. Have the full knowledge of your surroundings, not having to rely on that stupid phone but with his own two eyes. Not act and chat as an overseeing Commander. But rather a husband. Your sweet, rewarding husband.

Rewarding you with phenomenal food, that is sure. While food made by you is his second favorite, nothing beats making you something. Hamburgers, hot dogs, and t-boned steak are amazing, but breakfast is always preferred. Seeing your sleepy face, awakened by the smell of sizzling bacon, sunny side up eggs, morning coffee, and rising pancakes. Even if Phillip burns a few, he loves seeing you eat.

When Phillip holds you, it’s always with intent. His kisses are slow, warm, and consuming. Touches lingering, even if he’s sitting in the living room, watching the football game. Yelling out when scoring, pulling you into his lap for a celebration. Calling you his good luck charm. It’s what you are, right?

—

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It happened when he had finished work, but instead of heading home, he took the route where your flower shop was. Closing time was ten minutes ago so he knew you’d be waiting for him at the cafe next door, probably nursing a cup of your favourite drink or nibbling on a pastry.

He hated it whenever he couldn’t reach you on the dot or before, no matter how many times you’ve reassured him. 

Reaching the neighbourhood shops was like a breath of fresh air, enjoying the sense of familiarity and the breeze as he turned the corner, passing by the cafe first.

But with a glance, his brows furrowed, seeing that you were nowhere in sight. He quickly took it as a sign that you were still working, though a thirty-minute overtime was almost uncommon of you.

He parked his convertible close to the entrance of your shop but still out of view, and for a brief moment, he caught sight of you through the window. 

And just his mood lifted, ready to greet you with open arms, his smile dropped.

You were dealing with a customer, a man likely in his 30s and dressed, well, if one were told to dress formally, and they did it haphazardly, then that was exactly what it was. His body language was a little awkward, almost unsure what pose may look alluring in your eyes.

Though Phil had a knack for judging certain people by their looks, if and only if their personality rubbed him the wrong way, he didn’t have an issue thinking of the worst insults about the man, if not for the uncomfortable smile on your face.

So, leaning against the wall, away from you or the man’s sight, he listened in. 

“So, your husband’s in the military, huh?” He asked, but Phil wasn’t dumb enough to think it wasn’t a sneer in disguise. Probably thought he held some rookie position, “Must be hard not having someone to hold to every night.”

Phil didn’t bother hiding the scornful look on his face.

“It’s not bad,” He immediately perked up at the sound of your voice. The gentle sound that could heal even his worst wounds, “He finds time to check up on me.” 

Whether or not you were telling the truth or if you were downplaying your thoughts if his absence really did bother you, he’ll ask you later, but for now, he wanted to tell you how proud he was. Not letting some schmuck stick their nose in someone else’s business, and your marriage, no less.

“Well, sure, but look at you! I don’t know about you but if I had a girl like you? Shoot, I don’t I’d ever get any work done,” The audacity. Phil’s jaw tightened, listening to him weakly defend himself when you didn’t respond, undoubtedly displeased by his unnecessary opinion, “But that’s just me, y’know.”

“Right, um,” You turned to the row of flower pots, using the second to roll your eyes to the back of your head before showing him the bunch of bluebells in your hands, “How about some bluebells?”

The man pretended to think, “Nah, I mean, they’re cute but I’m looking for something… more,” He then leaned in, resting his arm on the counter, “A little bland, if I’m being honest with you.”

You forced a smile, but Phil, oh Phil.

He wasn’t smiling. 

Who was this man, no, who was this kid to not see how uncomfortable you were with his god-awful ‘flirting’ skills and judge your taste in your very own store?

“That’s fine, I’m sure we can find something else.” Oh, that pitiful tone of yours. Just how long has this man been bothering you?

You bit down a sigh, placing the bluebells back into their pot before walking back to the back of the counter. You knelt, possibly looking for something else, though Phil wouldn’t blame you if you were doing so to drown him out for a bit.

Phil had listened long enough. Moving off the wall, he clicked on the lock button of his car keys. He spun his keys on his finger as he entered the shop, the rattling sounds prompted the man to follow his figure. His eyebrows knitted further, more so when Phil casually stopped right in front of the counter as if used to coming over.

His eyes darted from Phil’s attire; simple yet sophisticated, and how he carried himself, then the convertible behind him. The sudden insecurity forming in the guy’s mind was a no-brainer.

You must’ve heard the extra pair of footsteps and the keys, “I’ll be right with you!” 

He didn’t respond, opting to eye the man—Chad, which he would later learn—with full of judgement. The latter flinched when their eyes met, though he tried to act cool soon by clearing his throat.

But the stare may have been too much for him, as he asked, his voice less confident than before, “Do I know you?” 

“You tell me.” He responded loud enough for you to hear, and just as he hoped, you straightened, visibly lighting up at the sight of him. 

“Phil!” You cheered, already forgetting about the customer as you rushed over to your husband for a hug, “I thought you wouldn’t be back until tonight?”

He shrugged, wrapping one of his arms around you while he caressed the apple of your cheek with his free hand, “Change o’plans. Drove here as fast as I could.” He gave you a lazy smile, more so when you jutted out your bottom lip, pouting at his statement. 

“Phil, you know how I feel about you speeding home,” You sighed, despite leaning into his touch, “But I’m glad you’re back. Safe.”

You couldn’t stay mad at him, not with that cheeky smile of his before he pressed his lips onto yours. You could feel the upturn of his lips when you yelped, and he didn’t even bother hiding his amusement—his delighted huff when you returned the kiss.

But before he could feel you, before he could melt into your hands as they held his face, you broke the kiss, almost hiding in his chest for a moment before motioning to the man watching—his face that of panicked realization.

“Phil—Customer…”

Ew.

Well, at least he learnt he had messed with the wrong married woman.

Phil suddenly grinned, and a painfully fake one, judging by the lack of positive emotion, or any emotion in his eyes as he looked at Chad.

“Y’here for an arrangement?”

“U–Uh, no. I’m just… looking around. Thinking of buying one for my, uh, girl.”

The man wasn’t dumb enough to think the smirk on Graves’ face wasn’t the face of mockery. A man who has done enough interrogations to know just how much he was bullshitting.

“Huh, Y’must be lookin’ for a special one if you’re makin’ my girl workin’ overtime,” He glanced at the clock just hanging by the door, his arm not leaving you once, “Y’sleepin’ in the dog house or somethin’?” 

“Phil.” You hissed, and ever so cutely, might your husband add. You briefly apologised to Chad, even if you wanted nothing more than to send him on his way.

“Sorry, sorry,” If you noticed his lack of sincerity, you didn't call him out on it. Graves held his hand out, the corner of his lips twitched when Chad took a step back, “Graves. Commander and CEO. Proud husband of this pretty girl right here.” 

Chad accepted, albeit hesitantly, nearly squawking when Phil purposely squeezed his hand. He had a feeling he wouldn't mind breaking his arm if it weren't for the obvious repercussions and well, you being there. 

“Mr Thompson was just looking for a bouquet for his girlfriend. It might take a minute so you can hang around for a bit while I help him.” You explained, standing close to your husband, now that he was with you.

“Or,” Phil spoke, and you should’ve suspected something was up just by his tone, despite his so-called generous offer, “I help him look for what he needs, while you go ahead and close up, get your bag, lock the back room and all.”

You raised your brows, “Phil, are you sure?”

He hummed, “C’mon. ‘Bout time I put my flower knowledge into good use. And who knows?” He glanced at Chad, sharply. With his eyes on the unwanted customer, he leaned to your side, as if whispering, despite making sure Chad heard him loud and clear, “It’s probably nothin’ more than a lil’ trouble in paradise. Nothin’ I can’t sort out, man to man.”

You thought for a moment. You had your suspicions when Chad stopped by the same time your shift ended. And while you wouldn’t have minded, he wasn’t exactly helpful about his request either. Giving you doubtful answers such as his supposed girlfriend’s favourite colour or the occasion. 

Plus, you were a little eager to be away from Chad, even for a short while.

In the end, you nodded, much to Chad’s horror.

“Okay, I just need to organize a few boxes in the back,” You squeezed Phil's arm, “Thank you. I won’t take long.”

Sliding his hand down your arm, he raised your hand to his lips before letting you go.

“Take all the time y’need, pretty girl,” And as soon as you were out of sight, his voice dropped, the upturn of his lips now in a manner that Chad knew this was going to be anything but a quick talk amongst men about which apology flowers were the best, “Take all the time y’need.”

His smile was nowhere to be seen as he leaned against the counter, crossing his arms as he watched Chad pinching a leaf of random flower in the guise of interest.

But by the third flower, Graves had enough, surprising Chad with his authoritative tone.

“Y’just gonna stand there and ruin my wife’s flowers or are y’goin’ to buy somethin’ and get out?” 

“I’m…” Chad began but Phil didn’t give him the satisfaction to explain himself. He didn’t need to.

“Look. I’m really fuckin’ tired, and my girl is, too, but I’m sure you’re too busy trying to look down her dress to notice that.”

“That’s—”

“Cut,” He didn’t even need to raise a single finger as the tone he normally used on his team on a bad or serious day was enough to shut the man up, “... the bullshit, alright? Y’can buy all the flowers you want to impress her, save a puppy as soon as you see her coincidentally walk by at the park. Fuckin’ pick-me.”

The impatient smile plastered on his face told Chad everything about the commander’s patience.

“I know a degenerate when I see one.” Chad knew not to trust how calm Phil sounded, “And I know she can defend herself just fine. Hell, I taught her everything she needs to know t’deal with boys like you. But I can tell y’one thing; I’ll do so much worse than what she’s already capable of.”

Graves’ heavy footsteps sounded like a disaster waiting to happen in mere seconds before he stood in the middle of the shop.

“Might wanna get out while y’can.” He gritted out, and Chad didn’t waste a second to find out what would’ve happened if he didn’t that very instance, whether it was from you or your husband.

You returned just in time to find Graves appreciating the tulips, though, unbeknownst to you, he was also slightly miffed that some were stained by Chad’s hands alone.

“Oh, did he find what he needed?”

“‘Guess so. Took off as soon as he figured it out. He didn’t buy anythin’ though,” He swiftly carried the bag for you, pulling you in for a kiss on your forehead, “Sorry he wasted y’time.”

“That’s alright,” You grinning, not expecting him to apologize over that, “I just need to keep the flowers in the back. Mind helping me?”

Of course he didn't mind.

He moved with you, carrying much more stock to the cool room where the unsold flowers were kept. During his second run, he lightly tapped you on the ass, stealing a kiss before telling you to lock the register instead. You did just that, carefully organizing the cash and coins before locking it.

Phil worked with ease, pushing necessary pots and displays to one side and pulling the blinds down like the tasks were at the back of his hand. But he didn’t draw the blinds close all the way, though, leaving a small opening at the bottom of the windows where you and Graves could see the sun shining through and the feet of passers-by. 

But unbeknownst to you, he locked the front door and with great care, avoided the usual click.

He shamelessly glanced at you at every possible moment, watching you sit prettily as you focused on your task behind the counter. 

Once his side was done, he approached you, stannding in between your legs as soon as you locked the register.

“All done.” You smiled, crinkles forming in your eyes.

“Perfect.” He opened up his arms, closing the space in between as you embraced. But just as you basked in the wholesome reunion, you froze up, eyes wide at a familiar tent prodding your stomach. He didn't bother concealing his amusement, his smile grew at your giggles, showering one side of your face with kisses to hear more of you. 

“Thought he'd never leave.” He murmured against your skin with zero shame, which prompted you to pull back.

“You threw him out?” You asked in disbelief.

“He threw himself out,” He shrugged, not exactly lying but telling you the whole truth either. He cooed at your little frown, even holding his hand up in a saluting manner, “I’m serious. Scout's honour.” 

“Were you even a scout?” 

“Nope,” He responded without missing a beat, “But I do know how to tie a knot.” 

“Phil!” You smacked his arm, but it did nothing to deter him, “I wasn't even gone that long.” 

“Four minutes was all I needed.” He brushed his nose against your neck, looping his arms around you. You couldn't help but melt, sighing but more so in contentment than disappointment. Granted, you were anything but the latter, but who knows where your business would be if Phil did, well, whatever to your customers the way he did to Chad.

“He was bothering ya.” You knew it wasn't a question and there was no point denying it, so you hummed in confirmation.

“Kinda figure that out after a while,” You shrugged, though you didn't want him to worry either, “I, uh, had my suspicion as soon as I asked him what he was looking for.”

“Yeah? What did he really tell ya?” 

“Just said he wanted some pretty flowers for a pretty lady, and then,” You mimicked the awkward eyebrow-wiggles he did to you, much to Phil’s amusement and disdain, “And then said no to all of my suggestions.”

Phil’s tutting was akin to a Southern mother's, being his blood and all. That, and he was having second-hand embarrassment—to think Chad thought he'd have a chance using that line on you.

Hell, on anyone.

“It was getting a little embarrassing, honestly.” You couldn't help but snort, only for your smile to grow when he, too, expressed his amusement. 

‘A little’ was putting it lightly.

“You and me, sugar.”  

You leaned your weight against him just as he did against the counter, figuring that this was one of those days where he needed to just relax. Be around you as if you exuded great energy, and in his eyes, you were.

A far cry from the more despicable chaos he and his partnering team have to deal with for a living.

You brushed your fingers along his stubble, smiling to yourself at the familiar, prickly sensation. Ever the perceptive man, he angled his face so your lips were pressed on his instead of his cheek.

It was much needed for the both of you as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss. Though, you tried not to go too far with it, your nerves rising as your eyes flitted to the door, despite Phil’s breathy reassurance that he locked it.

Noticing your hesitance, he broke the kiss to rest his head in the crook of your neck. His warm breath tickled you, more so when his hands languidly moved up and down your body.

But then, his hands didn't stop moving upwards.

He swiftly pulled down the straps of your dress, trailing his lips along your shoulder. Though the dress wasn't fully removed, the way you haphazardly held the front of it against your chest, amplifying your cleavage which was just as alluring as you were topless.

“Phil!” You choked out, and yet, he continued. Licking across your newly exposed skin with the tip of his tongue. Starting from the collarbone, down to your tits when he squeezed your breasts together, and then, sucking on the plush at random spots. Eager to leave a mark wherever he could with shameless sounds of suckling and pops, “Here?!” 

If the way your hand shot up to his hair, massaging his scalp and pulling his head close instead of pushing him away was anything to go by, he knew dead set on making you scream.

He took a step back, encouraging you to stand up before hooking his arms under your ass, lifting you effortlessly to seat you on the counter.

His bulge was snug against you, thanks to his taller stature. The way his hands slid down your thighs prompted you to wrap your legs around him, despite the growing warmth in your face at the lewd display. There was something about the sliver of possibility of being watched that raised both your worries and anticipation, despite the opaqueness of the cream-coloured window blinds.

Plus, the shop wasn't exactly soundproof either.

He leaned forward, forcing you to lie back on the surface. His lips hadn't slowed down since, enjoying your squirms and breathless moans as he peppered your neck in kisses before raising his head.

“My wife's a beaut, isn't she?” He whispered against your temple, rolling one of your tits in between his fingers before sliding his hand down to your thigh, squeezing the plush of it, “Got these boys actin’ stupid around ya.” 

You gasped when his hand slid further under your skirt. He toyed with the waistband of your panties, teasingly pulling them up and wedging the lacy material in between your sopping pussy.

“Even I can't resist her sweet lil’ charm,” He purred, pulling your panties to the side and then bunching the hem of your dress for him to delight in all its glory, “Y’know that, don't cha?” 

He swiped two of his fingers across your lips. Even the softest touch elicited the most delicious squelch he had ever heard. 

He hummed in approval, teasing you to his heart's delight, “But she's also so, so dirty, deep down,” He made sure you made the slightest mess, letting your juices drip bit by bit, down to your tight hole and the counter itself, “And this—this is only f’me to see, right, pretty girl?’ 

He captured your lips with his before you could even muster out a breathless ‘yes’, the kiss ending just as quickly as it happened before tapping your lips with his fingers.

You didn't need to be told, but that didn't mean it was any less embarrassing. But his approving hum at your first, kitten-like lick was encouraging. It had you chasing after his praises, verbal or otherwise. 

His cock was downright throbbing, wishing it was his cock you were eagerly drooling on instead of his fingers, but who was he to say he wasn't enjoying the view in hand either? 

Once he was sure they were wet enough, he slid them out of your mouth, crudely enjoying the string of saliva for a second before dropping his fingers to your cunt. 

He mirrored your parted lips, watching your face scrunch up as he eased in one finger. Your whimper was pitiful, and the slightly wicked side of him couldn’t help but coo at you almost condescendingly, knowing you could handle something much bigger than his mere finger, even if they were much thicker than yours. 

He set a torturing pace, taking in the way your body moved, rolling your hips in hopes you’d have his fingers knuckles-deep in you. The way you half-heartedly covered your face with one hand was endearing, probably too overwhelmed by his unapologetic stare.

Then, he cranked up the speed with two fingers, greedy for more of your juices leaking out each time he moved in and out. And by the time you were clenching around three fingers, he was ruthless with his pace. 

Unforgiving. 

He looked euphoric just from bringing the pleasure to you, tipping his head back as he listened to you struggling to hold back your moans and whines whenever he pulled out to tease and slap at your clit.

“Colour?” As casual as he tried to sound, he was just as breathless as you were.

“Green…” You whined, pleading him to continue, even if it felt like you were overstimulating, “Phil, please… Please…!”

You didn’t have to repeat, for he amped up his pace and chased after the climax when the pitch of your voice heightened, arching your back like you weren’t sure if you wanted him to carry on or push him away when you were getting close.

He didn’t falter, nipping on your shoulder just a tad harder just before you trembled, cumming and clenching hard around his fingers. He cupped your face with his other hand, soothing you from your high with praises and kisses. 

“Such a good girl, my good girl. Always so brave f’me, makin’ the sweetest faces. None of those boys gets t’see what I see.” 

It wasn’t long before he carefully slid his fingers out, comforting you each time you whimpered or twitched.

Opting to continue caressing your face, he took the chance to snag a taste of you. Savouring the one taste he had been dying for each time he was away for work.

But he didn’t finish it all. As much as he wanted to, he needed to save the rest for his cock, itching to have a mere feel of your wetness.

Speaking of, he was straining, standing proud and curved a little as the tip, just a hint of red, nearly touched his belly button as soon as he pulled his trousers down. It yearned to feel you, tight and hot, his extra-vulgar actions were the results of restraining himself. 

He shuddered a little—it was entrancing, holding one of your legs up for him to brush his lips against and seeing his cock slide up and down your pussy lips. 

Even after prepping you well, it felt like his cockhead was breaching your walls. You let out a breathy sigh, tilting your head at the upside windows, tensing up at the sight of passersby’s feet at the foot of the glass.

“What do y’think, pretty girl?” He murmured against your leg, still pushing into you, “Do y’think that Thompson guy’s around, wonderin’ why the window’s closed while the car’s still out there?”

The way your head tilted back against the counter in ecstasy, the last rays of the sun shining down on your skin. Even with the AC still on, it stopped neither of you from sweating. The thinnest layer of perspiration, especially gathering along your throat, down to the valley of your breasts—oh, what a shame it would be if he didn’t have even a single lick of it.  

And he did just that, leaning in to give one of your tits a teasing lick.

Those half-lidded eyes, that drunken smile—oh, he was losing it.

He felt like the most blessed man in the world.

“Eyes on me, bunny. He can listen all he wants but this—it’s you and me.”

And it wouldn’t take long for you to reach your peak, Phil kept his eyes on your facial expression because if it wasn’t the sexiest look he had ever seen before he, too, cums with you. In you.

Holding himself up with one hand beside your head, he used the other to caress your face, allowing you all the time in the world to catch your breath. But truth be told, he had fucked the senses right out of you.

“You alright?” “Mmm…” Your murmurs had him chuckling as he carefully gathered you in his arms.

“Can y'walk? Or do I have to carry you? Because y'know I don't mind either way.” Not especially the latter. He may not be as buff as some of his team but he feels good being able to prove the assumptions wrong. So wrong.

You shook your head, and though none of you were even certain what your answer was, Phil somehow understood, but not before letting you collect yourself for as long as you needed. There was no need to rush. Not now.

“Alright, pretty girl. I can do that.”

The little lock to your collar clinks as you whip your head towards the double doors of the balcony that the rain hits and melts itself against. Though your entire body years to rush towards the glass barriers and push them open to let yourself out, you bite your bottom lip to help yourself concentrate on staying in place like you had been ordered to do so. 

Your Dom, the much older and experienced Commander Philip Graves, doesn't have to look up from his laptop screen to know the battle you're fighting within yourself. It's his order against your impulse and the attentive soldier catches your smaller form getting fidgety by the second right away. 

You struggle for a few moments as your try to bring your eyes back to the spot that you are supposed to stare at while you kneel beside his couch and wait for his command -any command- to act upon. But it hasn't rained in a while and the louder and more aromatic it gets, the more restless you grow. 

You nearly jump out of your skin from the shock and sensitivity -because you're extremely shy around him; something about his aura- when your desperate gaze bounces from the door to him and you find him already looking at you. Your heart leaps up in your throat and a thousand butterflies stem from the base of your stomach all the way up to your chest. A deep red burns into your cheeks and you whimper from the amusement that is on his face. 

“Well?” He speaks when you choose to remain quiet. The two of you have never really needed many words to communicate. “Go on, then.” The Commander loves the colourful light that flashes in your eyes and your nervous expression turns into a big beam. Being the kind of Dom that he is, you suspected him of denying or teasing you about it just because he had the power to do so and you loved to surrender it to him. And unbeknownst to you, if it were any of his older subs and not you, Philip would have. He knows it as well as he knows the sun exists, he would have.

You are on your toes before the next second can start. The older man sits up a bit straighter to undo the leash that is attached to your collar and he cannot help but let out a little smile when you mutter a cute thank you, Master before bolting in the opposite direction. 

But then you halt midway and spin on your heels. Though your body is half cocked towards the doors, your eyes eagerly find him and you smile. “Would you like to come with, Sir?” You question with a meek politeness, fingers shyly toying with the ends of the fancy lace underwear you wear for him. 

Philip is taken aback, as he always is with you. He has never had this kind of a bond with any of his subs. Sometimes it's strange to him how you behave and care beyond your place as his sub. Of course, he cannot and would never harbor any ill feelings towards his past partners for not being like you as the conditions are always clear and strictly to be maintained within the Dom-Sub dynamic since his line of work doesn't allow him the liberty of a lover. 

But Philip appreciates you nonetheless. 

“Uh…” He looks down at his own navy blue sweatshirt dark grey trousers and then looks back up at you. 

You understand. “Is okay!” Your links clinks adorably as you excitedly rush to him and hold a hand out. “I'll clean the mess! But you must come, it's really so fun, Sir!” When Philip tilts his head to the side and looks up at you in a contemplative manner, you do a series of restless mini jumps. “Please, c'mon!” 

You'll be the death of him. 

“Alright, alright” he puts the laptop aside and takes your smaller hand before pushing his heavy and broad body to stand up and tower over you. You squeal from delight and begin to pull his bigger form towards the balcony. The man shakes his head to himself. 

Philip is in so much trouble.

His eyes follow your feverish form as he slowly lets you drag him towards the glass doors before he helps you slide one open since you are holding his hand in yours and are too small to manage to do so with one. You squeal again and this time the Commander cannot help but snort under his breath as reaction to your childish antics. Quirks of having a younger partner, he guesses. 

“Careful” he calls firmly when you get too excited and start slipping and skidding about on your naked feet, the wet marble underneath your feet helping your play and Phillip's grip serving well as an anchor for your body. “Don't go hurting yourself now.” 

But you're exhilarated as the cool water hits your face and semi-naked body. You giggle -though you're usually rather coy around him- and jump, you twirl and spin, you do a silly little dance sequence while holding his hands and making him copy you. 

And though Phillip tries to be the responsible one, he cannot help but scoff out a chuckle at your antics, his heart erratic as it revels in the melodies of your pouty whines when he refuses to let you go off by keeping a firm hold on you. 

And then the Commander surprises the both of you -as he is not one to show much affection- by suddenly pulling you closer until you are pressed against him and his arms coil around your waist. The hot kiss he connects your mouths in steals the very breath out of your lungs and the manner in which he refuses to let go makes you melt into him.

Oh, it's trouble alright. 

. . .