#dawn writes

Jack's head whips up at the question. You've never seen that man look so confused. He's almost dumbfounded. The papers he'd been thumbing through slip away from his thick fingers as his eyes dart around. You assume he's trying to find the audacity for your question.

"Where the hell did you hear that from?" You note how the response isn't a denial. Though his confusion is certainly no question when he looks at you with a cocked brow. 

"Robby told me. Said you do nude yoga at sunrise."

Jack huffs a disbelieving laugh at that. He shakes his head and the lines around his eyes crinkle with his toothy smile. "Robby told you that..?" He rocks back on his heels and shoves his hands in the pockets of his scrubs. "Guess he goes around spilling secrets."

You weren't oblivious to the sarcasm in his voice. "Well, for the record," you clarify with a wave of your hand, "I didn't think he was being serious. You don't seem like a yoga guy."

He makes a sound at that. Just a short hum of acknowledgement. "Yeah..." Jack shakes his head, sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, "I wouldn't exactly call it yoga."

"What, you actually do nude pilates?"

He laughs again, not quite as breathy. The tips of his ears flush pink as he looks down at the floor. "Ah, no...not quite. Just...a lot of stretching."

"Stretching." You repeat, testing the word between the two of you. "But...nude?"

"Is that the part that matters..?"

"No, it's just...you're not denying it."

Jack straightens, rolls those big shoulders beneath his scrub top. He looks down at you under heavy-lidded eyes. Smirking with a look so filthy it makes you feel exposed.

"If you're that curious, you should stop by after work. Easier to just show you."

———

"Fuuuck, Jack, s'too much..."

Your whine lands sweet on his ears, landing somewhere with your gasp when he'd first pushed in. You'd barely taken the head of his fat cock when you pitched a fit about him being 'too big'. Your slick cunt dripped wet around him—sensitive where he'd already made you cum twice trying to prep you—but you still hugged him tight.

"Mm, you can take it, baby," he groans, rolling his hips to sink another inch inside you. His hands push your thighs wide, fingers sinking into the plush skin, keeping you open for him. "Just a little stretch, c'mon."

Jack reveled in the sight beneath him: you, all flushed and panting, sweating with effort, and your cunt stretched out around his dick, clit all hard and puffy where he'd played with it to get you off. The Pittsburgh dawn streaked golden light over your sweat-slick skin where it snuck through his curtains. He could surely die happy with this as his last memory.

"Little stretch?" You pant out, throat dry. Your hands scramble at the flushed skin of his chest as he leans in. "Fff-uck you...you're too big—ah!"

He cuts you off with a firm push that sinks his cock down to the root. His hips rest heavy against your ass where he presses his weight into you. "Y'keep saying that..." those big hands slide up your legs, guiding your ankles to the broad set of his freckled shoulders, "...but you're taking it just fine."

His body rocks forward just enough to draw another whine from you before pulling back. It's not a lot—barely an inch or two, only to sink back in. The groans that rumble in his chest are just as filthy as the sounds you make, keening and whimpering at the girth of his cock. He rocks back only to press back in, somehow reaching even deeper, forcing your cunt to mold around the shape of him.

"There you go...Yeah, let me in, baby." Jack's mesmerized by the sight of your cunt swallowing every inch of him, leaving his skin slick and creamy with your cum every time he pulls back. "See, look at that. Fits just fine."

All you can offer is a shaky, breathless moan as he presses deep. Your hands brace on his thighs where they bracket your hips, nails digging into the meat and muscle with every push.

"Jack..." you whine, brows knit tight on your sweaty forehead.

"I know, sweetheart. But you're doing so good..." One thick arm bands over your thighs while his other hand slides up your ribs and over your breast, palming the weight there. "Think you can stretch a little more for me?"

You didn't know how he could stretch you any more than this. Every time his hips pressed flush, it pushed the air out of your lungs in a pathetic whine. He'd already filled you completely.

But at the sight of your nod and soft mm-hmm, Jack doesn't pull back. He leans in, pushing your legs with him as he brings his face close to yours. Your knees nearly meet your own ears, legs pinned down with the full weight of his body draped over yours. And somehow, with the movement, his cock burrows even deeper. The fat tip of his cock hits something deep inside that makes you shiver underneath him.

He groans shamelessly, right into your face, as your cunt pulses desperately around him. "Fuck, there you go..." His hips rock against yours, chasing the pulse of your slick cunt.

"Jack—! Mm, fuck..." Your face scrunches up as you keen. "You're s-sooo deep..."

"Oh, I know," he coos with mock-sympathy, "you're doing so good, baby. Taking me so well..." If it were even possible, he seems to sink deeper when his arms move to brace right by your head.

His cock kisses that spot deep inside, the one that makes your legs shake on his shoulders. The pleasure zips up your spine and into the base of your skull until it's all you can think about. Every movement makes you clench tight around him until you're panting into each other's mouths. You feel yourself dripping around the thick base of his cock, slicking his heavy balls with every press.

"Gettin'...really tight on me, sweetheart," he huffs—almost laughs—against your lips. "Gonna cum for me again?"

"Yeah..." He forces the word out in a breathless whine when he grinds into you.

"Yeah, just stretching you out's enough to make that pretty pussy cum, huh?"

Anything you could've hoped to say is immediately interrupted by your own moans as he ruts into you. Like an animal, short and quick thrusts, still buried to the hilt inside you. His cock grinding against that spot so deep you, bullying the sensitive nerves until you can't take it anymore. Your muscles pull tight and he feels it immediately; those slick, hot pulses around his dick only motivate him to stay buried deep as you ride the high.

By the time you settle, Jack's still rocking in and out of the hot pull of your cunt. He savors the little twitches, the whines that slip from your lips, when he pushes in. His hands move inward to cradle your face, heavy palms resting on your cheeks and forcing you to look up at him. He manages to lean in just enough to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth, its gentleness in complete contrast with the ache of your muscles.

"Felt good, huh?" You barely manage to nod in the clasp of his hands. He hums a sound that you feel more than hear. "Yeah...this is a lot better than yoga, isn't it?"

Somewhere between the jumbled thoughts of pleasure, you remember the conversation at work that started the whole thing. How Robby had nonchalantly tossed the words around last time you saw him. Yeah, Abbot does nude yoga in the mornings, at sunrise. A stupid joke meant to embarrass Jack.

Well, he was anything but embarrassed. Looking up at him now—with his face flushed, dripping sweat, head still framed by your ankles in the air—he never looked so smug and proud. You didn't know if you wanted to kiss him or slap him.

Because there you were, in all your naïvety, putting on the open green where anyone could see you. In a little white tennis skirt and an equally tight shirt, no less. You were lucky Titus was there to watch over you. And he was courteous enough to stay out of your way; a little cart parked on the edge of the green just out of view, obscured by the trees that lined the grounds, shadowed by the approach of dusk as the sky turned a hazy pink. Binoculars in hand, he watched you putt and move around the turf, completely oblivious.

And, yeah, maybe the lenses dipped lower when you prepared for another swing. That tennis skirt would ride up the backs of your thighs ever-so-slightly as you gripped your golf club. And he'd watch, with a hand sliding over the front of his pants, feeling himself thicken behind the fabric. His cock swelled picturing that perky ass draped over his lap, red with his handprint as he scolded you for being so reckless, letting anyone see you posed like this. He wondered if that would be enough to make you come to your senses, or if you'd thank him for the safety lesson.

He palmed the growing bulge in his pants with a low huff. His hand itched with the urge to press down between your shoulder blades and bend you over properly. He wanted to see the curve of your spine as he put that pretty ass in the air. He could almost picture how soft your skin would've been in his grip. The plush of your curves would've spilled over between his fingers as he pulled you onto his fat cock. He'd squeeze your hips tight, bury himself balls-deep, and feel you tremble as he stuffed you full. The thought of all your muscles shaking as you took every thick inch of him made him dizzy.

The fantasy fades in favor of reality when you plant your feet in the turf and shift your weight in a way that sways your hips. Fuck, it was like you could read Titus' mind and wanted to thank him for being so worried about you. His eyes follow the curve of your body as you lean into the swing. He focuses on those pretty thighs he couldn't stop thinking about spreading apart to sink between. How soft they'd be pressed against his ears as he tasted you and how they'd shake when his tongue licked circles on your clit. His hand flexed, digging the heel of his palm into the outline of his cock, wishing he was grabbing your thighs and pushing them towards your chest as he fucked you into his mattress.

The binoculars' lenses floated upwards, his attention landing on your hands gripping the golf club. The same hands he so desperately wished were sliding up and down the length of his cock. Your nimble fingers with their painted nails wrapped around his dick would be so much softer than his own hands. He shuddered imagining you spitting in your palm and slicking him up until your strokes were sloppy and wet, pumping him quick with a tight little fist because you wanted to make him cum. You'd probably guide him right to your chest, begging him to paint your tits—the same tits he was currently staring at in that tight little shirt you wore that hugged them so perfectly. He couldn't believe you were skipping around the green like you weren't driving everyone crazy. With the binoculars focused right at your chest, he rocked his hips into his own hand, rutting through the fabric of his pants. Blood pumped thick in his veins, pooling low in his gut. A curse left his lips that felt foreign to his own ears.

Then, you were moving. A smile on your lips as you marched over to your ball, calling out to someone ahead. He didn't bother trying to make out whatever it was you said. He just focused the binoculars on your curved lips and gripped his throbbing dick through his pants. He pictured those lips right where his hand was, nuzzling at his crotch until he fed his cock down your throat like you clearly wanted him to do. Those pretty eyes would look up at him, big and wet after he'd fucked your mouth, silently begging. And as the fading sunlight hit your face, splaying golden, his balls drew up tight when he imagined painting those same features with thick drops of his cum.

Right at that moment, as if fate itself had intervened, you turned towards the wooded brush. You didn't see Titus slunk back in the small cart humping his own hand. You weren't close enough to hear him panting like a dog over your body. But for a split second, even if you didn't realize it, your eyes met his stare. His whole body tensed when it happened. His cock kicked where it was trapped in his pants, throbbing as cum pulsed thick against his thigh. And still, he sat there and rutted against his palm, drawing out waves of pleasure until they became sharp jolts up his spine. You were already preparing another swing, entirely unaware, as he was coming down from the best high he'd ever felt.

And indulge he did. His handprint marred your ass every time he had you bent over. He couldn't get over the way you tightened around his cock every time his palm met your skin. Bites littered your throat and chest, even the insides of your thighs bore the mark of his teeth. When you'd given him too much lip while you sank to your knees only to revel in the sting of his palm on your cheek. Or when his hand closed around your throat and squeezed just enough to take your breath away and your cunt seemed to choke his dick out in return. 

The pain ignited something in you that he'd never witnessed before. More than pleasure. He saw it, and understood it more than he'd ever admit. It was like Le Bail had sent you directly to him. 

And Titus had never felt that to be as true as he did right now. 

You were on top of him, knees planted on his expensive sheets right by his hips, fucking yourself on his cock like you owned it. (And as far as he was concerned, you did). Your ass was already raw where he'd groped and grabbed and slapped. The sting sent shockwaves up your spine as you bounced off of his thighs. Your hips might already have bruises from the sheer grip of his hands, though they didn't stay there for long before slipping down to palm your ass again. 

"Look at you," Titus growled as your hips slammed down against his, "wanted it bad, didn't you, sweetheart?"

You nod frantically, looking down to where your hands plant on his chest. "Yeah, fuck…Needed it…" His hand squeezes your ass and you yelp. "Hah…harder, Titus, please…" 

He follows your plea with a sharp crack of his palm. The sharp jolt of pain makes you flutter around his cock. Another groan pulls from his chest that vibrates through your palm. "Needed it?"

"Mm-hmm…" Your hips rock back and forth on his lap, grinding your puffy clit against his pelvis. "Needed this…" Your hands slide up his chest and over his freckled shoulders as you lean down. Nosing at his jaw, your lips brush over his neck in a trail of kisses. "Needed you…"

Titus bands an arm over your waist as he hums in acknowledgment. You feel the sound against your lips as your mouth traces the line of his neck. When a rock of your hips pushes a moan from your throat, your teeth graze just slightly where his pulse thrums. You don't think anything of it, but you're all-too-aware of the way he shudders underneath you. How his fingers tighten on your skin and his breath catches.

A terrible thought enters your head almost immediately. Your teeth sink into the crook of his neck, holding firm against the muscle, feeling his skin give way under your bite. 

And Titus absolutely breaks. The sound that leaves him is unlike anything you've heard from him before. Guttural and absolutely fucking needy. He curses through gritted teeth, hips jerking to spear his cock into you. The tension doesn't leave his body until you pull away. And when you do, the first thing you do is ogle the indent of your teeth etched into his skin. 

You smile. Real and proud, you smile against his neck as you lean in again. Instead of biting, your tongue darts out to lap at the mark left behind. "You like that?" You purr into his neck. He doesn't respond outside of a jerk of his hips and a hum in his chest.

You bite down again, further up his neck this time. When he reacts the same way—panting, wanting, and fucking into you—you can't help but giggle as your teeth let go. The next bite is more playful, a nip right at his jaw that doesn't elicit more than a curse from him.

"Fuck, you're trouble…" His voice is strained, but you can't tell if it's from the bites or the effort of pushing his hips up into you. His hands are tight where they hold you in place. Until one slides up to grab your jaw, his thumb digging into the hinge under your ear, pulling your face towards his. "That damn mouth…" He spits, but there's no venom in it. 

It's not clear who breaks the distance, but somehow, your mouth ends up on his. The kisses are sloppy and wet, a mess of spit between tongues and teeth. You're panting into his mouth with each rock of his hips that pushes his cock even deeper. His hand slides off of your jaw and snakes down to grope your ass, earning another gasp from you that he takes as a victory. 

It's then that another terrible idea slithers into your brain. Between the sloppy kisses, you catch his bottom lip between your teeth and bite. Not too hard, but enough to sink into his soft skin. Enough for Titus to suck in a breath. But not enough to make either of you stop. 

The first thing you notice is the taste of copper. The second, when you pull back and see red splotched on his mouth, smeared messily where it's mixed with saliva. Your hips still as you stare down at him.

"You're bleeding." You aren't too sure why you feel the need to state it. Acknowledgement, maybe, that your teeth were responsible. That he was the one wounded this time around. 

A hand moves from his shoulder to cup his jaw. Your thumb runs over the bloody skin of his bottom lip, smearing the red liquid. You hold your hand up between the two of you as evidence. As if you needed to prove it to him. Sure enough, there was his blood, smeared and glistening over the pad of your thumb. You only hesitate for a second—making sure his eyes are on you—before bringing your hand to your mouth and sucking the iron taste off of your skin. 

This time, you know it's Titus who closes the distance. Your mouths collide roughly, panting hot and swapping spit and blood. "Keep going," his voice breaks on a rough sound as he grabs your hips. His fingers dig into the plush of your skin as he guides you to rock up and down in his lap. "Keep going, sweetheart, don't stop…"

Your lips—undoubtedly as bloody as his—curl into a smile. "Yeah?" You coo, slamming your hips down against his. You lean in, nosing his jaw, and feel his body tense in preparation. "You want my teeth on you, baby?"

A rumbled mm is all you get from him, but the way his cock kicks inside you tells you everything you needed to know. 

You sink your teeth into the base of his neck again, not too far from the first bite. You could almost call the sound he makes a whine. It vibrates harshly through your teeth, moving through you. Two, three other bites litter the space between his neck and his shoulder. The press of your teeth leaves his freckled skin raw and red. 

Titus groans something that sounds dangerously close to your name. "Shit, you…you're a mess." As you move in his lap, he reaches up to swipe his fingers over your lips. Blood smears from your mouth to his fingertips, bright and sticky. 

Without thinking, you chase his hand. Your lips close around his bloodied fingers and suck. You moan softly against his fingers from the coppery taste and the feel of his cock punching deep. That seems to do him over completely. 

A soft oh, fuck, a desperate rut of his hips, and Titus is done. His cock pulses inside you, buried as far as your cunt will take him, pumping thick and hot. His free hand squeezes your hip tight. Even though watching him was nearly enough to tip you over the edge, you don't stop rocking in his lap, not even when he starts to hiss and writhe under you. His hand falls away from your mouth, slipping his wet fingers between your legs.

Your hips jerk into his touch to grind your clit against his touch. He winces again when your cunt squeezes his softening cock. "C'mon," he urges, a tinge of desperation in his voice. "Use me, sweetheart, don't stop until you cum for me."

It's hard not to stare at the evidence you've left on him; the blood smeared over his lip, the bites on his neck and shoulders. His cum seeps out of you with every downstroke, dripping down to the sheets below. His hand, wet with your saliva, swirls your clit with an almost tangible need. You were using him to work yourself over the edge. And it comes quicker than you anticipate. 

When it hits, it's hard enough to make your legs shake around his hips. Titus doesn't stop, even if he's trembling and panting underneath you, jaw set tight as your cunt milks his sensitive cock. He works you through the high, through the little aftershocks that jerk your hips. And even though his hand eventually moves away, settling tight on your hips, you never stop grinding in his lap. 

You couldn't go anywhere without his hands on you. His hand in yours, a palm splayed on the small of your back, his mouth teasing your sensitive skin where he knows it'll make you shiver. It didn't matter where you were. It didn't matter what you were doing. Titus was there, alongside you, finding any excuse he could to get his hands on you. You still weren't sure if it was the desire to show you off or a deep-seated need to keep you in his clutches. He'd perch you in his lap—shameless—squeeze your hip with a heavy hand, and tell you to keep him warm while he bored himself to tears over meaningless conversation with faces you didn't recognize. Other times it was his nose buried in your neck, stubble grazing your soft skin, while he inhaled whatever scent you spritzed behind your ear for the evening. He recognized it every time—wouldn't pull away until he could mutter the fragrance's name hot against your ear.

And when he got you in bed, away from all the propriety and formality? That's when he was at his worst. You'd lost track of how many bites he'd imprinted on your skin, how many times his grip was firm enough to leave little bruises, or how often he wrapped his arms around you because he couldn't stand the thought of not feeling you with every inch of his body. It was like he needed to suffocate your senses with nothing but him.

That was the hardest thing to get used to: just how relentless he was when he wanted to feel you. It certainly wasn't a bad adjustment, just unexpected from a man of his demeanor. The feel of his hands, his mouth, his stare—it was constant.

Which is why it was a bit of a surprise when he didn't slide into bed alongside you once you retired for the night. Titus may not have been the most romantic about it, but he never let you sleep in an empty bed. The thought of you, vulnerable and lost in sleep, all by yourself without his body pressed against yours was nothing short of a nightmare in its own right. But sometimes the High Seat demanded more of him than he wanted to give. Sometimes it meant he had to prioritize responsibilities before desires. And for a man of impulse, that was damning.

It was odd, dozing off without the heat of him next to you. To have nothing but soft, expensive sheets against your skin. The room felt quieter somehow. Stiller. Try as you might to stay up and wait for him to join you, it was a fruitless endeavor. Sleep had pulled you under before you could feel the weight of his body settling on the other side of the mattress. You were long gone, lips parted against the pillow, curled into yourself underneath his sheets, with no clue he'd slipped under the same covers and inched up next to you.

If he were a polite man, he would've let you rest. But 'polite' was never a word used to describe Titus Danforth.

You groggily awake to the feeling of a strong arm, banded across your waist, pulling you back and jostling your body. In the incoherence of exhaustion, you barely register the heavy palm sliding up to cup your chest or the solid weight that crowds your back. It all happens so quickly that you can barely register it. But even through the haze of sleep, you can't mistake the feel of firm, thick heat grinding against your backside. The friction makes you gasp, startled by the suddenly overwhelming pull on your body. Your eyes flutter open only to be met with the near-black darkness of the bedroom. It was impossible to tell what time it was, or how long you'd been asleep, but the moonlight filtering through heavy curtains told you it was some point in the middle of the night.

Your hand flies to the arm slung over your chest, though the movement is clumsy, heart pounding at the force holding you firmly in place. Another insistent grind against the swell of your ass spurs you awake. Panic starts to set in until a groan huffs against your neck—hot, rough, and absolutely desperate. You'd recognize that needy growl anywhere.

"Titus," you mutter sleepily, the word tinged with the humor of the exhausted laugh that follows. "You scared me…"

He seems to pause at that. His grip on your chest slackens, his hips stop their insistent push, and his mouth moves from the curve of your neck up to your ear. "Scared you?" He huffs, the sound husky and almost unbelieving. You were never scared of him. He liked that about you; you weren't some soft and fragile thing that cowered at him, or worse, someone who felt the need to control and change him. He didn't have to hide himself and pretend to be something he wasn't. The thought of scaring you with his need was almost unimaginable—you took everything he gave you with a smile on your face.

"No, just…didn't expect it," you reassure him with a smile, though you know he probably can't see it in the darkness of the room. You turn slightly in his arms until your face meets his. His nose brushes yours, his parted lips breathe hot against your skin. "You surprised me."

A sharp, needy sound rumbles in his chest as he seals his mouth over yours. His grip resumes its firm hold on your chest only after he slips it beneath your clothing. You never quite got used to the feel of his rough and weathered hands on your bare, sensitive skin; his touch still managed to wrench a gasp from your throat when he groped and squeezed you with the same level of greed from the night he first had you. And he reveled in it. His thumb grazes a nipple just to feel you squirm under his hand and whimper into his mouth.

"I should've been up here with you…" Titus mutters against your lips. His hips push forward, grinding the bulge of his cock against your ass. Even through all the layers, you can feel the heat of him, hard and insistent, seeking out the plush of your body.

This time, though, you lean into it. You rock your hips back until you meet his friction, earning another huff against your lips. "S'okay…you were busy—"

"No, no, not okay." He interrupts with a harsh rumble. "Should've been with you…" His hand slides down from your chest, over the soft skin of your stomach, bypassing all fabric until his fingers find you hot, wet, and needy between your legs. "Should've been with my wife…" The word comes out broken as his fingers circle your clit. He follows the jerk of your hips with his hand, sliding his fingers through your slick. "Fuck, should've been here…with this pretty cunt..." His mouth latches onto your neck with a wet kiss and teasing graze of his teeth.

It was just like Titus to focus on whatever his one-track mind had devoted itself to. He wanted you, regardless of the time and the exhaustion weighing both of you down. He was practically bursting through his pants as his hand worked between your legs. Every little sound you made, every twitch of your body, was all the motivation he needed.

"Did you wait for me? Huh?" The words come out wet, muffled against your neck. "This pussy waited for me, didn't it?" His circling fingers slip down through the wet slit of your cunt, stopping just outside of your entrance that flutters under his touch.

All you can manage at first is a pathetic, small nod. He couldn't see it, but he could certainly feel it. But unless your mouth was occupied, he didn't take a nod for an answer. "Yeah…" You pant out before he could insist you use your words.

"Yeah, you need it, don't you, sweetheart?"

"Mm-hmm…"

The press of two thick fingers takes your breath away. You're slick enough to ease the stretch, but not enough to make it entirely effortless. His fingers bury themselves to the knuckle, pushing deep to fill your cunt, earning a keen that he revels in. You know he can feel the flutter of your muscles with each movement, milking his digits as they ease in and out. Not too fast, but certainly not a leisurely pace. The little moans and whines that slip out of your lips overshadow any other sound, but the wet squelch of your cunt is unmistakable, especially to his ears.

"Fuck, Titus…" Your hips rock back only to jerk forward, undecided where to go in the midst of sensation. Lying like this, with your back to his chest, made it awkward to reach for him. Still, with another whimper and twitch of your hips, you manage to slither a hand back and find the meat of his thigh. You fumble in the darkness until your fingertips brush the leather of his belt.

He feels it immediately, responding to your wandering touch with another grind against your ass. "Gonna let me make it up to you? Hm?"

"Yes," you whine, already parting your legs at the thought of fitting him between them. "Yes, please."

Please. That always got him. Reassurance that you really did want him like this; that you saw all the ugly and impulse and depravity and still craved him regardless.

His fingers slip out of you in a movement that's more abrupt than you expect. Another wet, sloppy kiss hits your neck as soon as you moan a pathetic sound just so he can feel the rumble in your throat. His hand finds the curve of your hip and guides you to roll over before the words can even leave his mouth. You were already propping yourself up on your elbows, knees moving to plant on the mattress.

"Yeah, there you go, good..." He splays a hand on your back, between your shoulder blades, gently urging you to arch until your cheek rests against the sheets. The mattress dips where his knees frame yours on either side. "Let me make it up to my wife." His hands squeeze your hips and pull you back with a yank strong enough to bring your hips back to his. Your shaky gasp nearly eclipses the rough groan that comes from behind you. You can feel him, the bulge firm in his pants and pressed against you. Those strong hands slide up to your waist as he leans over your body to press a kiss to your temple. It was softer than expected. Gentleness like that was a rarity with Titus—one you knew to treasure, but still had to grow accustomed to.

Any semblance of grace vanishes almost immediately when he tugs at the clothes on your body. Insistent, annoyed by the fabric's existence, by the audacity it has to shield your skin from him. His hands roam over every inch of you once you're exposed, palming your curves, running his fingers over your skin. Like it's the first time all over again. Just…a little less hasty than back then.

Though it's nothing but haste when he grabs fistfuls of your ass, spreading you open just to ogle. One hand slips inward and slides through the slick coating your skin. You can't help but wriggle when those same thick fingers sink back inside. They reach even deeper from this angle, earning moans that get swallowed by the mattress with each press.

While you fist the sheets and clench around his fingers, you barely hear Titus' own filthy groan from behind you. "Fuck, I know," he coos sweetly, though it sounds more condescending than understanding, "This pussy needs something better, doesn't it?"

You can barely whine the small, high-pitched 'mm-hmm' in agreement before the sound of an unfastened belt buckle hits your ears. He rids himself of his clothing one-handed, shuffling behind you to push his pants down his hips. He doesn't warn you before sliding his fingers out of you; he just pulls back to hear the way you whine at the sudden emptiness. And though you can't see him, the groan that rumbles from behind you tells you he's sucking his fingers dry of your taste.

The commands that follow sound as if they take all of his restraint to say gently: tilt your hips for me, spread a little wider, baby, and a gravelly deep breaths, now. And still, despite all the preparation, the first press of his cock against your cunt takes your breath away. You both clench your fists at the same time—yours in the sheets, his on your hips—as his cock burrows its way deep enough to send a lick of pleasure up your arched spine.

Somewhere beneath the sound of blood pumping in your ears, you hear him curse as his hips settle flush against your ass. Those strong hands currently gripping hard enough to imprint marks onto your hips hold you in place even as your body tries to inch forward. He holds you like that for a moment, though you figure it's out of his desire to feel you flutter around him rather than allowing you to adjust to the fullness.

"Fuck…" The word comes out in a huff that's strangled behind his gritted teeth. His hips rock forward, rutting into you, as if he could bury himself even deeper. "Always so fucking perfect…"

The little whine you let out is muffled against the sheets where your face still rests. He's so deep you can barely breathe; every slight movement only makes you aware how full you are. And still, you push back into him just to hear him choke on his own moan. You have to will yourself to stay put when he pulls back, readjusting to settle more firmly on your knees, as if to prepare yourself for whatever rough and hurried fuck Titus was gearing up for. But he pushes back inside just as slowly as last time, savoring the way you tighten around him when his cock hits deep.

For a foolish moment, you wonder if he'll keep that pace and go easy. You're humbled quickly when, after two or three slow strokes, he pulls your hips back to haul you onto his cock. You yelp at the sudden change in pace, and part of you just knows he's smiling. The bastard always liked surprising you.

"There you go…" You can hear the strain in his voice as he huffs…and that damn smile. "Yeah, that's what she needs, huh?" You aren't entirely sure if he's talking to you or your cunt. Either way, he's right. Between the little ah-ah-ah's forced out of your mouth and the way you drip around his cock, it'd be hard to argue otherwise.

"Fuck… F-feels like you need it…more than me." You purr against the sheets, smiling in the darkness to yourself. "Hah, you're desperate too…"

A rough sound that almost mimics a laugh leaves his throat. As much as he reveled in control, you knew he liked the teasing and the pushback when you gave it. "Mm, hard not to be," his hands squeeze your hips before moving to grope and grab at the rest of your curves, "Fucking look at you..." You can almost feel his stare burning into your skin, watching your ass slap against his hips. "…so good, sweetheart."

Your hands scramble against the sheets as you try to prop yourself up, but with the way he jostles you forward and pushes you into the mattress with each thrust, it's hard to keep your balance. He must notice your attempt to get closer; before you know it, his chest is pressed against your back, pinning you against the mattress with his weight. His hands plant on the bed beside yours, and you can't help but notice he's fisting the sheets tighter than you.

Between his weight pressing down on you and the way he buries his cock, your limbs feel like jelly. His cock hits so deep it wrenches something guttural out of your throat. Pleasure pools quickly in your core, drawing your muscles tight. Titus must notice—if only because your cunt hugs his cock every time he pulls back—because his responding groan rumbles through his chest and into your back.

He huffs against your shoulder, "Gonna cum for me, aren't you?"

You can't even form the words to respond. You hum a sound, something akin to a mhm, maybe an uh-huh, you aren't too sure. It isn't like he needs to hear you say it; you're practically whimpering into the sheets as you drip slick around his cock.

He makes a disapproving sound right into your ear. "Tell me, sweetheart."

Shit, maybe he did need to hear you say it.

"Fuck, m'gonna cum," you slur. You can hardly think straight, your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, and every word is interrupted by your own moans. "M'gonna cum, Titus…fuck-!"

One of his hands had snuck around your hip and slipped down your body, those rough and sure fingertips meeting your clit with insistence. Another surprise. You just know he's reveling in the way you jerk and grind as your cunt flutters around him. He takes that little shocked whimper as a win. That, and the slick drenching his fingers as they swirl over your puffy clit.

Titus nuzzles the crown of your head in a gesture that feels more animalistic than intimate. And still, amidst all the sensations, you swear you feel him plant a gentle kiss there. Soft, fleeting, and unlike anything he offered anyone else. He covers up the softness with a groan and a curse against your skull. You can almost picture the knit of his brows and the tension in his jaw when his pace starts to falter. His strokes turn uneven and unsteady, losing the rhythm he once had. But before you can spit out a quip about his old bones giving up, he huffs a sound that's so pathetically needy it nearly gives you pause.

"Please…"

He's begging. Titus Danforth is begging. All because of you.

"Please, baby. C'mon…" It's so soft you nearly miss it, muttered into the crown of your skull, slurred on his lips. "C'mon, give it to me…"

And after all he'd given you, hearing him ask for it was all it took to tip you over the edge. He wanted it so fucking badly and your body wanted to give it to him. Another swipe of his fingers in time with the punch of his cock and your body clenches tight. Pleasure runs white-hot through your veins, up to your fingers that clench in the sheets and down to your toes. You push your hips into him as you keen, meeting his awkwardly timed thrusts just to ride the high for as long as you can.

Or, rather, for as long as he can stand it. Underneath your own pathetic sounds is Titus, panting into your neck as he ruts into you, chasing the slick hug of your cunt. You think you hear him groan your name somewhere between the curses and moans.

You manage to reach down despite the awkward angle and slip a hand between yours legs. It's there you find his own hand, still working at your clit, those rough fingertips soaked in your slick cum. There's no sense or rhythm to the way his fingers swirl, just a need to keep you on the edge and twitching from the overstimulation. Your fingers wrap around his wrist in a gentle coax that he (to your surprise) actually follows. Then your fingers thread through his, a backwards handhold as his palm rests right at the softness of your stomach.

"Titus," you whine, your cheek wet with the drool slipping past your lips and soaking into the sheet. "Titus, please…"

He spits a curse through gritted teeth that lands hot on your skin. Saying his name always managed to get a rise out of him—it tickled some deep-seated part of him that needed to hear you acknowledge his very being. "Mm, I know…" His voice cracks with restraint, more endearing than pathetic. "I know, she wants it, huh?"

"Mm-hmm…" Your hand squeezes his. Soothing. Encouraging. Wanting. "I want it, Titus. Please, give it to me…"

There you were, folded over in the bed his blood money paid for, tousled in sheets some tasteless designer had picked out, in a room located in the wing of a mansion he wasn't even sure he could fully map out. There you were, his wife—wife to a billionaire who controlled the world from the shadows, whose family held lives and war in their hands. And there you were, taking everything he gave whilst begging for more. Not terrified, not placating, not exaggerating. Just pure, real, want. Titus never really knew what to do with that when the reminders settled in his chest.

But his body surely had a reaction.

The sound he makes is something between a growl and a moan. His hips finally still after he buries himself to the root, burrowing his cock as deep as he can manage. A long, slow breath escapes him as his hips rock forward with every pulse of his cock emptying thick inside you. You only know he's coming down from the high when his forehead meets your shoulder and his panting breaths start to even out. Still, he makes no effort to move away.

There's a few beats of silence before Titus mutters something against your shoulder. So good, or something to that effect. A compliment slurred between his heavy breaths. When he finally does move, it seems to take every last bit of his strength. His hips pull back slowly as if he doesn't quite want to leave your snug heat. The pathetic sound he makes when his cock slips out of you proves that to be true.

"C'mere…" You hear that command clear as day. Though his hand lands on your hip far softer than his voice let on.

Instead of pulling you back, his hand guides you to settle next to him as he moves to lay down. His body wraps around you like he had when he first slunk into bed in your sleep—one arm banded around your waist, holding you as close to his frame as possible. Only now, your bare and sweaty skin stuck to his. There's a long stretch of silence, and for a moment, you wonder if he'd already fallen asleep. That was unlike him; Titus always waited for you to drift off before he even thought about closing his eyes.

Then, his hand moves down to your hip. Right where he'd gripped you tight. His thumb brushed over the same spot his fingers had dug into your plush skin, uncharacteristically soft. You could practically hear the apology he couldn't voice.

"Okay?" He breathes into your neck. Never a man for many words, you knew it held the weight of a thousand questions. Did I do good, are you alright, was the whole thing…okay?

"Yeah." The word is heavy with exhaustion, but sincere. "Of course."

"Good." You can sense the tension leave his body. "You should sleep. Not like you to be up this late."

That manages to earn a laugh from you. "And whose fault is that?"

His lips press against your shoulder, a soft kiss that he holds for far longer than necessary. And even in the haze of exhaustion, you swear you can feel him smile.