#daddy af

At first, you took it seriously. I mean, why on earth would you want to be arrested for a murder you didn’t commit? But as soon as he walked in the room, looking as deliciously fuckable as he did this morning, you just couldn’t think of anything else but fucking him in this very room, on this very table.

"I don't know what to tell you, man," you said, your fingers dancing on the table. Two men were sat opposite you. One of them you didn't know and the other was your man, your lover. Maybe you could finally live out one of your fantasies. All you needed was the other guy to leave the room. And you had an idea on how to do that, "I was getting a good dicking at the time of the murder," you giggled.

The stranger's eyes widened, and he coughed, obviously not expecting such bluntness. But Hank Voight, the man you were referring to, remained stoic. He obviously knew exactly what you meant. He had been the one giving you that 'good dicking'. He leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. God you loved those arms. of course, the only thing that would make it better was no shirt, when those very arms are wrapped around you, pulling you closer to him whilst he’s pounding into you relentlessly.

You think back to that morning, before work, riding him on the couch, you just couldn’t help it. He was a drug, and you were addicted to it. Your thighs clamp shut as you remember how good he’d made you feel, how good he always makes you feel. Your bottom lip subconsciously sucked in between your teeth as you looked at him. His eyes never left yours, challenging you to keep it up. And you took that challenge. You leaned in closer, your voice dropping to a seductive whisper, "It was... so good,"

The room was silent except for the buzzing of the fluorescent lights above you. The other detective, clearly uncomfortable, shifted in his seat. He had been trying to ignore the tension from the moment Hank walked into the room, the way your eyes lit up when you looked his way, the way Hank's jaw clenched every time you spoke. It was more than just a suspect's usual taunting; it was a game to you.

"Alright, Miss...," the stranger began, flipping through his notes, "Miss (y/l/n). Could you be a bit more...specific?"

"You sure you can handle that?" you asked, moving to rest your arms on the table, a sweet smile on your face. When you didn't get a reply, you continued, "Okay, well it started with me on my knees for him, he loves that. Just as much as I love being on my knees," you whispered, your eyes locked on Hank's, "Anyway, he then wanted to taste me so, I lay down on the couch..."

The detective's cheeks reddened, and he cleared his throat, flipping his notebook shut. "I'm going to get some coffee," he mumbled, standing up and practically sprinting out of the room.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Hank stood, his palms flat on the table, hovering over you, "What do you think you're playing at?"

"You know I'm innocent," you smiled, looking up at him with doe eyes, you then bit your lip again, "Well, innocent of murder," you whispered, your voice a tantalizing purr.

Hank's expression didn't change. "I know you are," he replied, his voice a low rumble.

"Is anyone behind the glass?" you asked, your gaze flicking towards the one-way mirror behind him.

"(y/v), how did you know King?" Hank asked, his tone firm, ignoring your question.

"This table seems very sturdy," you said, your eyes never leaving Hank's as you leaned back into your chair, crossing your legs. You could feel the heat of his stare on you, his anger simmering just below the surface. You knew you were pushing his buttons, but you enjoyed every second.

"(y/n)," he growled, his voice a sound of warning. "Don't play games with me."

"I thought you loved playing with me, Daddy?" your smile widened, voice dripping with innocence.

"You're playing a dangerous game," he murmured, leaning closer.

"What you gonna do about it, Sergeant?" you asked, moving into a position where he had a better line of sight to your breasts.

His head dropped, his line of sight to the table, his eyes shut tight as he tries not to let you get to him, any more than you already had, "You're a suspect in a murder investigation,"

"What do you do to the ones who don't talk?" you asked, moving your finger to rest on your bottom lip as you looked up at him, the same look you give him when you’ve got him deep in your mouth. Hank's jaw clenched even tighter, "You get a little rough?"

The tension was palpable in the air, thick and heavy like the fog before a storm. Hank leaned in closer, his breath hot on your neck, "(y/n), you're pushing it," he warned, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver of excitement down your spine.

"Am I?" you teased, reaching out your hand to run it down his chest, "I thought you liked it when I'm...difficult."

Hank's grip on the table tightened, his knuckles turning white. "You know I do," he murmured, his voice low and gruff, "But not here,"

"You don't want to punish me for being a bad girl?" you whispered, your voice the sexy bratty tone that he loved, "You don't want to handcuff me to the table and fuck the brat out of me?"

Hank took a step back, his eyes darkening with every word that you spoke. You smirked because you couldn't help the way his body responded to your words, "You're not making this easy on yourself," he said through gritted teeth.

Your smile never wavered, "Since when have I ever wanted easy?" you challenged.

Hank's eyes narrowed.

Suddenly, Hank's hand shot out, yanking you out of the chair and pressed you against the table, your breasts flattening against the steel, you heart racing as his handcuffs clamped around one wrist, around a leg of the table and snapped around the other wrist. He was quick, efficient, and surprisingly gentle despite the force behind his actions. He knew you liked it rough, but he would never be too rough with you. His other hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you in place as he leaned in, his mouth hovering above your ear, "This what you wanted, baby girl?"

Your body responded immediately to the command in his voice. You could feel the heat of his body against yours, the hardness of his thighs pressing into you. "Yes, Daddy, please" you breathed, your voice stuttered whisper.

Hank's grip on your neck tightened, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin just behind your ear. "You know I'd never leave you needy, sweetheart," he murmured. He pulled you closer, his free hand sliding around your waist to the small of your back, pressing you against his body. You could feel his erection, straining against his pants, and you knew you had him right where you wanted him. You started to move your hips, your ass rubbing against him, the friction sending a delicious ache straight to your core.

"But, Daddy," you panted, "I've been a very, very bad girl."

With a smirk, he released your neck and sat down in the chair you had been occupying moments before, pulling you closer until your ass was in his face. Without a second thought, he yanked down your pants and panties, exposing your glistening pussy to the cool air of the interrogation room, "Then I guess you need to be taught a lesson," he said, his voice deeper than usual, gruff with need. He pushed your legs apart, his hand on your waist keeping you in place.

Your breath hitched as you felt his warm breath against you, his rough hands spreading you open. You had dreamed of this moment so many times, of being at his mercy while you were handcuffed and vulnerable. Your body responded immediately, your legs quivering as he began to feast on you, his tongue delving into your folds, tasting your sweetness. You couldn't help but moan, your hips bucking against his mouth as he devoured you, his teeth nipping at your clit with just the right amount of pressure.

The room was filled with the sounds of your moans and his muffled growls of pleasure as he ate you out, his tongue swirling and lapping, his nose pressed against your ass as he held you in place. You could feel your orgasm building, the tension coiling in your stomach, your toes curling. Hank knew exactly how to touch you, how to make you scream.

Your handcuffed wrists were starting to ache, but the pain only heightened your pleasure. You pushed back harder, your body begging for more, your moans growing louder. Hank's grip on your waist tightened, his other hand reaching up under your shirt to pinch your nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. The dual sensation of pleasure and pain pushing you closer to the edge.

As you reached the peak, your legs began to shake, your moans turning into screams that were muffled by the tabletop. Hank didn't let up, his tongue flicking and probing, his teeth grazing your sensitive flesh until you came, your body convulsing against the table. He still didn't stop, though, not until you were a trembling mess, panting and gasping for air.

Slowly, he stood up, his eyes as dark as the night. The sound of his belt being unbuckled behind you was the only sound in the room. The wait was driving you wild, your body trembling with need. He was deliberately making you wait but pretty soon he couldn’t take his own torture.

With one swift movement, Hank yanked your hips back and slammed into you, filling you completely and making you cry out. The force of his thrusts was intense, pushing your body against the table, the metal handcuffs biting into your wrist. But you didn't care. You wanted this, you needed this.

He smacked your ass, the sound off the walls of the small room, leaving a sting that only added to the pleasure. You pushed back against him, urging him to go harder, faster, deeper. Your moans grew louder, mixing with his grunts of effort and enjoyment. His hands gripped your hips tightly, his nails digging into the soft flesh of your hips as he pulled you back to meet each thrust. You could feel the muscles in his arms bulging, his entire body taut with tension.

Your breath came in ragged gasps as Hank reached one hand down to your head, fisting your hair and yanking your head back, arching your back and pulling you up off the table, "You like that?" he asked, his voice a low growl.

"Yes," you moaned, your eyes squeezed shut as all you could focus on was the sensations he was giving you.

He yanked your hair again, "Yes what?"

"Yes Daddy," you breathed, the words leaving your lips in a rush of pleasure as Hank's hand smacked down on your ass again. He didn't hold back, giving you the rough treatment you had been craving, his cock pounding into you with a ferocity that left you breathless.

With each thrust, the table scraped against the floor, the room filled with the symphony of your moans and the slap of flesh against flesh. Hank's other hand was tangled in her hair, pulling her head back so he could see your face in the glass, the way your eyes rolled back in pleasure. You met his gaze in the one-way glass, and whispered, "More."

Hank didn't need any more encouragement. He pulled your hips closer, his cock slamming into you with an intensity that had you screaming his name. The pain mixed with the pleasure, creating an intoxicating cocktail that had you begging for more, that had your body writhing under his.

He leant down, tilting your head back, exposing your neck to his teeth. He bit down gently, his teeth scraping your skin as he fucked you harder, his hips slapping against your ass. You could feel the edge fast approaching, your muscles tightening around him, your pussy clenching. His grip on your hair tightened, his teeth digging in deeper, and you knew he was close too.

With a final, powerful thrust, Hank came inside you, filling you with his seed. He groaned, his body shuddering as he held you in place, his cock still pulsing. Your orgasm hit you like a wave, making your entire body spasm. Your legs gave out, but the handcuffs kept you on the table, your ass in the air with Hank's cock still deep inside you.

As you both caught your breath, Hank leaned over you, his hand still in your hair, "You ready to answer my question yet?"

You looked over your shoulder at him. As if you could remember anything right now, "What question was that?" you panted.

"How do you know King?" Hank repeated.

“He was my boyfriend in college. We had a fling, nothing serious."

Hank released your hair, letting it fall down your back in a cascade of (y/h/c) waves. He leaned back, his cock slipping out of your, and you couldn't help the slight wince as the loss of his warmth left you feeling empty. He leaned over you and unfastened the handcuffs, freeing you from the cold embrace of the table. He pulled your pants up, smoothing the fabric over your reddened skin. You slid down from the table, legs wobbly, and he caught you, pulling you into his lap as he sat back down in the chair.

"When was the last time you saw him?" he asked, his head resting on the top of yours as you snuggled into him.

"9-10 years ago, last I heard, he moved to New York. I don't know why he was here,"

He asks you a few more questions about King, before the two of you leave the room to find all the detectives looking your way. It was obvious they heard the moans and the screams, but none of them dare to say anything. Well, none except one.