#hatosy

Carefully, you sit beside him on the edge of the bed and lift a small forkful of mashed potatoes toward his lips, the gesture gentle, almost instinctive, like tending to someone who has forgotten how to take care of himself. “How was your shiftt?” you whisper, afraid that even the sound of your voice might exhaust him further.

“Awful,” he mutters, his voice rough and low. “And I’m not hungry. I’ll eat later. Just… lay with me.” The words come out in a tired grumble, but there’s something vulnerable beneath them, a quiet plea for comfort he doesn’t often allow himself to show.

You sigh softly, setting the plate aside on the nightstand. The food has already begun to cool, but you don’t mention it. Instead, you slip under the covers beside him, careful not to jostle him too much. Your head comes to rest against his bare chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. He must have changed into his sleep shorts while you were still in the kitchen, waiting and reheating dinner for the third time. His skin is warm, familiar, grounding in a way nothing else is.

You were married just last October. The memory still feels fresh, like a photograph you keep tucked away but return to often. You can still picture the way his eyes filled with tears when you finally said, “I do,” your voice trembling after that long, frightening pause. For a moment, you had been terrified you were making the wrong decision. That you were stepping into a life too uncertain, too heavy with responsibility and sacrifice. But later, in the quiet weeks that followed, you realized it wasn’t the wrong decision at all—

Your thoughts are interrupted by a hand slowly crawling under your own shorts, creeping its way under your panties. “Jack…” You mumble in warning and the immature dick just lets out a giggle.

“I had a long day. Come on… Free pass?” He whispers to you with a raised eyebrow. An innocent smile on his face.

“That is not how this works—” You begin to say, only for a small moan to escape when you feel fingers rubbing lazy circles on your cunt. Your body betrays you more than you have liked.

“Shh. I’m trying to sleep.” He whispers as he closes his eyes. Making a show of fake sleeping even as his fingers are rubbing against you in ways that make you moan and tremble. “Could you be any louder?” He sarcastically asks as a singular, thick finger slips inside gently and lazily scratching against the delicate walls.

“P-please—” you babble, words don’t work properly. Not when you feel full and heat explodes. With a loud cry, you suddenly let go. Soaking his hand and your shorts.

Abbot’s hand carefully slips out and he sucks his hand clean before holding you against him. Letting your tears of pleasure platter the graying hair of his chest. Gently stroking your back. “Shh, you’re okay, pretty girl.” You nod weakly in response, unable to come up with anything else.

Thank you so much for reading. I am so sorry for any grammar mistakes and errors. After all, I am just a girl doing this. Please like, comment, share or follow. None of the photos above are mine. If you would like to be tagged in my next posts, please send an ask!