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It's a simple job, they'd told you. No risk, that they'd always have your back no matter what happened. They convinced you to join, given time. Your choice was rewarded with proud pats on your shoulder, some of them acknowledging that everyone starts somewhere.

After all, why wouldn't you join them in their struggle against the Empire? The pay wasn't a deciding factor. You had nothing to lose. No cause but the cozy little life you'd carved out for yourself. At present, you were simply an officer aboard the Executrix, somewhere in the lower end of the Imperial ranks.

That, the Rebels said, wasn't an unimportant role at all. It was just unimportant enough to fly under the radar. The job was to feed them information; Climbing the corporate ladder, preferably. They'd like the reach, naturally. And, well…. It was an extra source of income. Let's not beat around the bush. You told yourself that that's why you joined this cause, credits. Surely you weren't the rebel type.

Not when you're here, obediently typing away at your station, paying no mind to the Lieutenant chewing out a recently transferred Ensign. It's turned into background noise for you at this point. Nobody important, except Tarkin (naturally, this was his bloody Star Destroyer!), rarely, paid you any notice. Just the way you intended. You kept your eyes and ears sharp, always probing for information that might come your way. You'd fed the Rebels some information so far, sure.. But you were starting to get jumpy. What if you outlived your usefulness? What if they had you killed in some tragic freak accident no one would think twice about?

The worse scenario was being found out as a traitor. But you try not to think about that. You were smarter than to fumble that badly. It was a comfortable life here, aboard the Executrix. So long as they didn't attract Tarkin’s ire, one could carve out a respectable life for themselves. You had to mess up pretty badly for him to snap. You'd gotten on your commanding officer's nerves once. Nothing came of it, even if you almost gave yourself a panic attack over the possibilities. Your General wasn't half bad, either. He'd be watching over the officers hard at work on the bridge of the destroyer, intervening every now and again.

In fact, you'd made some friends during the course of your stay here. Colleagues. A stormtrooper or two. It only made your dilemma worse. If you really were justified in helping the rebels. Thoughts like these weren't for times when you're walking through the hallways, arms heavy with datapads. But they came anyway. Your brain was constantly buzzing with these, subconsciously or not.

Drat. They'd piss off when you got to General Solvek’s office. You'd focus again, give him those datapads and then scuttle off back to your station, to the gossip of your colleagues. Although.. There were two voices inside Solvek's office this time around.

“You told me that your reports would be ready by now, Varis,” A disappointed sigh, “How can I be sure that your want for an extra day is in any way realistic? You'd prefer another week, perhaps?”

Who was that? His accent wasn't exactly something you could place. Inner Rim, you'd guess. It was hard to tell from how muffled the voice was. It sounded just like any other Coruscanti officer you'd meet, and yet.. not. You paused near the panel, straining your ears mildly to catch the words. It wasn't anything groundbreaking. It was corporate talk, from what you could tell. Some of the sentences weren't audible enough. Yet you continued to listen. You couldn't afford to miss anything important.

You could barely react when you heard the voice, suddenly closer, saying, “I'll take my leave, Varis. I'll talk to you next week on Coruscant.”

You tried to take half a step back in vain. The door had already hissed open following a beep from the control panel inside. The sound of your stomach sinking. A taller, white-clad figure stood before you. His eyebrows quirked up momentarily.

This man was Director Krennic.

His gloved hands held a sleek, thin datapad. There wasn't a singular wrinkle in his uniform. You didn't know why you stared. Worst of all at his face. He didn't blink. He didn't scold you like you would have expected him to, no. There was no dressing down. He stood there wordlessly, as if waiting for something to happen.

General Solvek’s even, weathered voice called your name just then, and you could swear you cursed him for it. “Officer! Come in. On time as always, thank you.”

The Director didn't offer you so much as a nod. Kriff, not even a snide remark for eavesdropping. It was somehow more humiliating this way. That he wouldn't acknowledge you. They say it was a curse to catch his eye for any reason, but… you were justified. He was being petty.

His cape– You almost forgot about it, the descriptions, the few times you've seen it swish– fluttered as he strode off without another glance your way, confidence evident in every step of his boots. You caught yourself before you could scoff, reminding yourself of General Solvek's presence in his room. You straightened up, stepping inside to give him the datapads he requested.

– X –

You didn't allow yourself to think about that man after that. You had never talked to him till date. You were supposed to be happy he didn't say a thing, so why bother. Over the next week after the meeting, he was skulking around with his Guard Squadron trailing not far behind. It was… aggravating, to say the least, trying to do your job while that catty little.. mh. Neeevermind. It had been a few months since then. Yes. You're on your way to the mess hall now, to have your well deserved dinner. Officers had it better than the troopers, luckily. Both in terms of food and in other matters. Thinking of warm stew was your anchor at the moment. A brief reprieve from your responsibilities as you stepped into the turbolift. The doors wouldn't close fast enough for your liking. You pressed the close button on the panel once, twice. It was just sliding shut when–

A gloved hand slipped through the closing turbolift door, making it halt. It slowly opened as the figure stepped inside, standing casual as ever. You find your eyes glued to the wall of the turbolift, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. That was so unnecessarily dramatic, goodness…

Not to mention the no doubt expensive Coruscanti cologne currently assaulting your senses. It was subtle, but you were too hyperaware to miss it. Surely there was a second turbolift right beside this one. He didn't have to make a whole thing out of it. You didn't even expect him to be on the Executrix. He popped in and out. Sometimes inspecting the bridge and such, but he never made any effort to talk to you personally.

“You know, Officer.. I thought you saw me motioning at you to hold the turbolift,” his baritone voice interrupted, even and measured in tone, “--yet you eagerly thumbed at the panel. Why is that?”

Your throat felt like it might be closing. He was the Director and not Lord Vader. But your mind wouldn't listen. “I didn't mean to come across that way. I was just–”

“No use of titles for those superior in rank.. My. I will choose to ignore that. Which one is it, then? You didn't seeee me. You didn't want to be in the turbolift with me. You're introverted. Or perhaps you dislike me,” He turned to face you proper, watching for your response. You had to play by his rules if you wanted your job.

“I didn't see you. Director.”

“Mm. I'll accept that. Director of what, pray tell?”

“Director of Weapons.”

He held up a finger, wagging it slightly. You blinked in disbelief. Who wouldn't?

“Director of Advanced Weapons Research, Officer. You'd do well to remember.. Are you forgetful as well as disrespectful, now?”

He spoke so casually that he might've been asking about the weather. He was testing your limits. You could tell. You were still in control of the situation, you were sure.

“No, I'm not, Sir. I'm not forgetful nor am I disrespectful.”

He.. laughed. That bastard laughed. It was a rich, low sound. Not characterless. Just enough emotion for it to be demeaning, like chiding an immature child. “I would like to hope so. Where are you planning to go with that attitude on your shoulders? The Executrix surely isn't your final destination.”

You pause to contemplate his question. Whatever you said could be the difference between a promotion somewhere and staying right here.

“Wherever I'm needed.”

He hummed, satisfied with that answer. Or so it would seem. You still feel a rush of pride for not backing down easily. “Ahhh. Right, right. Wherever you're needed. Right now you're needed in the mess hall, Officer,” He spoke your name then, open about the fact that he already knew of you. Was he trying something?

“...Is that a problem?”

“Mm, no. Just… stating the obvious, hm? You'd be appreciated on Coruscant next week,” he absent-mindedly traced the panel on the wall as the turbolift began to slow, humming, “The event. I'm aware you were thinking of skipping. That won't do, Officer. You do give your all to the Empire, don't you?”

The turbolift shuddered as it neared the floor you would get out at, where you'd be free of him. He was eyeing you, hands folded behind his back as his body turned to face you. “So I have your word?”

“...Yes, Sir.”

“Wonderful! Already.. looking forward to it.” He smiled, chuckling. It was a decadent rumble, low and deep in his throat. The skin on your arms prickled underneath your uniform.

“Don't keep Officer Tavos waiting, not on my accord… I'm sure you're famished.”

He stares at you a moment longer before the doors slid open, leaving you with no chance to answer. He got the final word in, and not you.

And that burned, all the way to your table in the mess hall with your colleagues, wondering what took you so long. They were prattling on about gossip, but you couldn't bring yourself to pay attention today. Krennic was by no means unique. He wore that stupid cape. He had power. But there were so many others like him. Say… Tarkin. It made sense why the two were at loggerheads so often. Narcissists would always hate their kind, no? But yet you found yourself excited. You cursed yourself for it. You hated him for it, rather.

In all honestly– You'd been subconsciously eyeing him since you heard about him.

Tsk.

Then that accidental meeting at Solvek’s office. His smug, catty attitude…. Seriously. You should've expected that from him, but today.. he was talking to you so openly. Not an ounce of hesitation. It made you paranoid that he'd noticed you watching him at times, knowing of your status as a mole.

Shit, he wasn't even some stupid crush of yours or something dumb like that. He was an escape to daydream about; a hypothetical construct. It was a lovely pastime, thinking about his gloves and all the things he could do with them. You didn't intend for him to start talking to you for real.

It was frustrating. A big understatement, but it would have to do.

Alas, however irritating you found the man, you would have to be present at the lavish gala today. You liked the familiarity of sticking to your coworkers, your boss. They weren't unknown variables, like… The Director. There was no telling what he'd do. Leave it to him to spontaneously call someone a traitor in casual conversation.

General Solvek offered you a respectful smile when he found the time to talk to you, something you fought to reciprocate. Really, it wasn't his fault.

“Ah, Officer. There you are… Are you enjoying the festivities?” Clearly a rhetorical question. You nodded anyway.

“Lovely! I wanted to talk to you about your transfer.”

“My… pardon me, General?”

“Your transfer to Scarif.” He spoke as if it were common knowledge, eyeing you with concern. “Did you forget? We had to choose a few of our officers to allocate to Scarif. The very best.”

“Ahh.. Of course. I was picked?” You had to feign joy. Yes, you were grateful. A promotion wasn't unwelcome.

Not from him, though.

You'd seen Krennic across the hall. Talking to one of the countless attendees. Some senator or another who seemed to be laughing at his words. He started staring intently when you looked. It made you turn away. You didn't want that stress in your life. He could keep his teasing waves to himself. You were more than eager to flit off somewhere to escape his gaze. No matter how far you went, his gaze would follow. You could swear it burned through the back of your skull until you finally made it to your current spot, a nice big viewport. It didn't have a single smudge or stain. You stood here, digesting what you'd just learnt. You were going to be moved to Scarif. Higher pay, better access to classified information. But the uncertainties had you shifting in place. Krennic wasn't easy to read at all. He acted for himself, not saying much outright, more so doing whatever the hell he liked. He could easily be interested in you, your skills, or just messing around. It can't be that serious. He would've done worse if it was.

Your brain was occupied thinking about what he was wearing this evening, a more lavish variant of his usual white uniform. His cape was made of what seemed like Ghorman twill. There wasn't a single crease. He paraded around with that stupid little sash, too. Black and white. His hair was combed to the side, fluffier than usual. You wonder how old he might be, but then you flush and decide that it wasn't something you should be wondering.

Surely this was wrong. Fantasizing about the Director was the dumbest thing you could do. From a dumb pastime, it was now someone you'd see more often. No. That sounded terrible. Especially if he continued to prance around like he was now. If he kept mysteriously showing up all dramatic like the last two times you encountered him. He couldn't start a conversation normally. He had to jump someone first.

As if on cue, he drifted to your side, nursing a glass of Corellian Whiskey in his right hand. His gaze was fixed on the view of the sprawling Coruscant skylanes outside at first, before those blues raked over you, appraising your uniform. “You came. Good,” He offered you another slight smile, overly kind in nature. “I assume Varis stole the pleasure of telling you the good news from me…”

You had to get your head back in the game. He can't toy with you like that and you'd show him. “He told me about Scarif, yes. I can't be more grateful-” His eyes twinkling in the light had you distracted. He was watching so attentively. It was getting to you. “Whatever for? You got in on your own merit. Good work, Officer.” He raised his glass to toast you, obliging you to return the gesture.

“I look forward to working with you, truly. I've heard good things from your General,” his gaze drifted over to Solvek, to where he was standing with his wife. “One question. There isn't any sort of visitation permitted on Scarif. But you're not married, are you?”

…

What an odd question.

You were definitely getting ahead of yourself when your heart skipped a beat, but you shook your head regardless.

What you said next had you wanting to sink into the building.

“Are you, Sir?”

He blinked, and then he laughed.

“No, I'm not. Why the question?”

There was a soft pink flush to his cheeks, it was hard to miss this close. Just as evident as his salt and pepper hair. You should be focusinggggg-

“I- was just curious.”

“Curious if your superior has a partner or not?”

His tone turned into a serious one pretty fast. His face straightened up. You were in for it. Your voice quivered, “I'm sorry, I really didn't-”

He laughed. Like last time. He outstretched his arm to pat you on the shoulder, far from comforting. “I'm just playing, Officer. Lighten up… You're among friends here. Not on duty.” He clicked his tongue. Oh. That sounded.

Maker, you were whipped. “You're very jumpy, aren't you? I can fix that. We can fix that, if I may.” His hand on your shoulder snaked to wrap around your back casually, guiding you to face the viewport once more. “You look horrified. Chin up, dear. Don't give people the wrong impression of me. I don't bite.” Your face forced a smile on demand, but your mind was wandering. Why the interest in you? What had you done right or wrong to catch his eye? It was too much. Asking him didn't feel right. Maybe you could when you were moved to Scarif. “Unless you want me to.”

– X –

It was a simple job, the Rebels told you.

They never mentioned working as Krennic's aide. How demanding he could be. It drove you up the wall every time his cape brushed your calves as he walked past. He'd mutter praise at times for good work. Check your datapads over your shoulder. He did not, in fact, ever ‘fix your jumpiness.’ You thought he found it intriguing, even.

That wasn't even that bad compared to his rants about how no one is ever competent. He'd rant to you about Tarkin, too. Mas Amedda, on the odd occurrence. You'd sit there and listen while you went through your reports, offering words if and when you could. There wasn't much to say, to be honest, but you tried anyway. He was ranting now while you went through datapads. You hadn't interrupted much. Too little caf in your veins to deal with him. You hummed and nodded in agreement, but that was all.

He sighed exasperatedly at some point, tsking. He smoothed over his hair obsessively with his hand (a tell you'd noticed in your time here), almost glaring when he turned his gaze back to your desk in his office. His eyes then barely softened.

“Drop the datapad, Officer.”

You knew better than to act oblivious. To question him. So you stopped working. He gestured with two of his fingers in a come hither motion, lazy. A second sigh. “Come here. Show me how sorry you are about what I'm dealing with.”

That line stung, even as you walked closer. Hesitant. It's a line you always used. ‘I’m so sorry to hear that.’

Well, damn.

He didn't take his eyes off you for a second. He pointed underneath the table. More specifically, the floor. It was humiliating to crawl on your knees towards him even if you obliged him willingly. Although the black surface of the table obscured some of your vision, you could see his face once more.

“Ah, look at you. So perfect on your knees,” he tilted his head, lazy. “I think I deserve a reward for keeping this place running as it should be. Dealing with little things like you,” his hand fisted in your hair, causing you to yelp. He pulled his hand back, baring your neck. He watched for a while. “Why don't you take my belt off?”

You were too excited for his belt at the moment. You struggled with the buckle, fingers shaking uncontrollably. Your heart was racing as you took a deep breath to steady yourself, working it off. He hummed, pleased with your efforts. He was kind enough to pet your hair with his free hand, smiling. He was mostly hard when you unzipped his pants, pulling his boxers out of the way. You gasped involuntarily. Oh, he liked that.

“Whaaaat did you expect, dear?” He chided, pouting down at you. It made your core burn with embarrassment and perhaps.. another feeling. The hand in your hair gently guided you closer to where he was throbbing with need, patient. He shook his head. “You need help with everything. You cannot seriously be that hopeless. I expected better from you, Officer,” what he said had your breath shaking, desperate to prove him wrong. You licked a stripe up his length, savouring the moment. He groaned in appreciation.

“Hn– Good.. That's right. You little– tease.” He hissed, his grip tightening on your roots. It almost hurt. That's what he was counting on, you assumed. Playing with him too much wasn't wise. Slowly, you eased the tip of his cock into your mouth, groaning at the taste of him. He was already leaking. He pushed you to take him the rest of the way, his own breath catching for a brief second. His gloves burned just right, too… god. His right hand was pulling at your scalp. Guiding. His left? It gently caressed your cheek. You whimpered around him, your mouth too full for anything else to escape. He thrust in half-heartedly to give you a hold on things, leaning back in his chair. You started swirling your tongue around the tip, experimentative. He seemed to like that. You almost thought he wouldn't fit, and that you'd gag, but would you look at that. Adrenaline was a hell of a drug. Here you were, sucking the Director's cock under his desk. A distant thought flitted through your head, wondering whether or not the door was locked. Anyone could walk in if it wasn't. You're not sure what you would do, caught like this. He taps his lap with his hand just then, guiding you to place yours on both his thighs for a better anchor.

Good thinking, because he started thrusting into your mouth carelessly at that point, apparently intent on choking you on him. “Ahhhhh. Look at you. You take it so well… My obedient thing.” His thumb swiped away a few stray tears from your cheeks, mocking. He hissed when your teeth grazed his flesh, laughing airily. “Behaaaaave. You're fortunate I'm being gentle.”

You almost gagged when he pushed your head down to the base, choking all nice and proper. He didn't let your hands wander from his lap, keeping you from touching yourself like the needy thing you were. He wasn't holding back or muffling his moans at all, unabashed and uncaring. You weren't worried for him, more so for yourself. The potential repercussions were too daunting to think of. He'd keep his job, you might not. “Where did you disappear off to, Officer? Focus, now. You're going to make me come down your throat and you're going to enjoy yourself afterwards.” He pulled back just enough to make you cough when he thrust back into your warm mouth, satisfied. He wouldn't even let you relieve yourself. You were sitting there, on your knees, sucking him off. And the man wouldn't even let you get yourself off at the same time. You tested up again, your tear ducts filling for no particular reason but need. He noticed, because his smile widened, pitying, almost. He shifted for a moment, and then you felt something prodding at your warmth, grinding into you. You gasped, grasping his thighs tight.

Boot.

His boot was what he offered you to get off on. He didn't care for your whimpers, only continuing his efforts to help you. He was nothing but helpful, wasn't he?

“What's the matter? You're squirming around like you're in heat. Get yourself off, then. If you're sooooo impatient, Officer,” he didn't wipe away your tears this time, quite enjoying the way you looked like this. He threw his head back against his chair and moaned when you hollowed your cheeks, grinding his boot against your folds harder. He was pleased when you started to return the motion, rocking your hips into the leather like you needed it. You couldn't feel the texture through your uniform, but goodness was it delicious.

“That's right. That's right. You're going to sate yourself for now and then I'm going to ruin you proper. How does that sound, dear?” he hissed out, turning his gaze downward to see you nod. He hummed, urging you to take over again. He was close from the way he was groaning and huffing, his hips tiring out and thrusts growing sloppy. He shuddered when you massaged his thighs, letting out a low, rumbly moan as he came down your throat, doing you the courtesy of holding you steady. He didn't pull out and make a mess, no. He held you by the roots of your hair still. The Director straightened up.

“You're sucking me clean. And theeeen! I'll take care of that sopping wet cunt of yours, yes?” he was still shockingly casual, in control. Even after coming hard like that. He was still a tad bit oversensitive from the aftershocks of his orgasm, but he didn't care. He watched you lick up every last drop of his come, letting you pull back at last after you finished up with that. You could feel your wetness even with your grey uniform on, a result of rutting into that damned boot of his. He motioned with his fingers to make you stand up again, not hesitating for a moment to bend you back over the desk, which thankfully had not much on it at the moment. He wasn't ordering you around this time, just carelessly doing away with your uniform. Your tunic was merely left undone, while your pants and boots were discarded entirely. He gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. “Officer! You can't be this affected by.. sucking me. How will you ever survive higher ranks, then?” he clicked his tongue like he always did, leaning over you. His eyes matched the view behind him, past the viewport. The skies of Scarif were cloudy. A dim, dark blue today. You weren't sure why you were looking. It sunk in again, the fact that you were doing this right here. On Scarif. But there was no shame this time. Only excitement. You felt yourself getting wetter, and you did nothing to stop it. Krennic, meanwhile, leaned down to capture your lips with a kiss. It was sloppy, wet, and demanding. Your tongues clashed against each other as he gently cupped your face, almost as if he were cradling it. The warmth from the leather was welcome. You whined into his mouth, making him laugh. “You have to be patient for me. I'll make you come hard, I promise. Aren't you good?” He pouted, mimicking you no doubt. He leaned down to pepper kisses along your jawline, each kiss purposeful and fiery. It was like they lit your skin on fire, that flush creeping up your face again. He was more than proud of himself. He nosed at your neck, memorizing your scent. It was cute. He liked you craving him. He decided it'd be more fun to take you when you were begging him for it, choosing to leave hickies on your collarbone, relishing at the noises you made. You could feel him smirking into your skin when you called his name, rewarding you by brushing his gloved fingers against your folds. Your hips bucked into the motion sharply. He laughed, stroking at you curiously. Would you make a new noise to bless his ears? You did. He hushed you, shaking his head. Hypocrite.

“Now. Don't cry. Good officers don't throw tantrums to get their way. I waited months for this, no? I waited. Now you–” he thumbed at your sensitive clit, rubbing into it in gentle, circular motions. You gasped, crying out. “--wait.”

It felt like hell waiting for him to be done with marking you up with lovebites, until your thighs were quivering with need. That's when he decided he'd had his fill, pulling his gloves off one agonizing finger after another with his teeth. You watched him do so with bated breath, remembering not to cry like he'd told you to.

He started slow on purpose. Anyone else would think this was considerate, but you were sure he was doing this to make you come apart harder. He used his index finger to spread your weeping cunt open, watching you eagerly take him in. He couldn't help but smile, cooing at you. “There. I wasn't lying. I told you I'd return the favour. Did you doubt me?” He sighed, shaking his head as he resumed rubbing at your clit. You couldn't respond, laying on the table helplessly. Why did he have to make this so.. difficult? “You can't blame me…” you whined, which was rewarded with a sudden squeeze of one of your breasts. Sensitive as they were, you yelped. “Hm? Can't I? Please, enlighten me. What assumptions have plagued your mind, officer mine?” he inquired, scissoring a second finger into you as he did. You cried, shaking your head no. He scoffed. “Typical. All talk with nothing to back it up. And yet such a cunt you have. You hate me but you can't help but want me, can you?” His digits were knuckle deep in you, slowly, intimately spreading you apart until he hit the bundle of nerves that had you arching your back against the desk for more. He gasped right into your ear when he leaned down to kiss at a bite he left earlier again, amused. Oh, and his thumb didn't stop bothering your clit either. You were, simply put, a quivering mess underneath him. Maker, this was well worth the risk. He kissed your lips again before pulling back to look into your eyes, unblinking. “Are you going to come, dear?”

You couldn't process it at first. But at the rate he was going, yes you would. You nodded earnestly. You expected him to say something like.. hm. ‘Come for me’ would've been normal. And then you'd come and everything would be well in this world!!

But he pulled his fingers back happily. You whined at the sudden emptiness, the loss of stimulation too much to bear. He held you down with one hand while he began to lower himself to his knees. You weren't sure what he was doing until you felt his warm tongue against your folds, easing the sensitive flesh before tasting you. You let out a weak whimper, confusedly sucking on the two fingers that were now in your mouth. You could taste yourself on them, which was certainly- an experience. His tongue moved slow and languid. You almost swore at him when your mouth was free again, before you remembered the rank difference. He was the Director. You didn't want to be shot. Goodness. He moaned into your cunt, pathetically so. He knew you liked it. “Mmmm, darling, you taste divine….” He whined out, cupping your breasts like a lover would. The gasp you let out was hilarious. He licked at your folds one last time before he pulled himself back to his feet, wiping at his mouth with the back of his bare hand. He stepped back, though. With you teetering on the edge of orgasm, he stepped away from you to sit in his chair again. “Ah! Look at the time.. I think we ought to be getting back to work, officer?” He purred your name, airy.

“What?? But… but I haven't even finished yet. Please– I'm sorry for misbehaving.” You pleaded, still high off the oxytocin. He moved you onto his lap swiftly by the hips, huffing. “You're noooo fun…” He complained, sing-songy. He gently smoothed your hair, moving it out of your face. “I wasn't being serious, sweet thing.” The new petname had you weak in the knees. It didn't sound like something he'd say. You liked it, though. He propped you up, rubbing the head against your folds to get himself ready again. So this is why he spent his time with foreplay. Ahhh. Damnit. Release was so close yet so far. You sobbed into his neck, kissing above his collar. He smoothed over your back muscles, comforting. “Relax, Officer. I'm not stopping until I fulfill that craving of yours.” He murmured into the side of your head, grabbing onto your hips. He pushed into you slowly when you begged enough, groaning. “Maker. You're….so- mmh.” He hissed, shallowly thrusting upwards. Since he'd taken his sweet time preparing you beforehand, there was barely any burn. Just the intense sensation of.. him. Only him. He coaxed your arms to wrap around the back of his neck, leaning his head down to finally give your nipples some attention. He sucked on one of them, his warm tongue swirling around the sensitive bud. You yelped, rolling your hips in time with his thrusts. He bit a hickie into your flesh again, unable to help himself. Possessive, much….- It was hypocritical to find him pathetic. You wanted him to mark you just as badly. He huffed when he buried himself to the hilt in your cunt, pausing for a moment. He spoke your name, “You're my favourite whore.”

You.. didn't know what to say to that, really. It was so sincere and so– unlike him, if that made sense. You swallowed, nodding. “And am I your favourite, dear? I'm sure I am.” He asked, proud as he resumed his deep thrusts. Your brain was a mess of thoughts, all of them fusing together with every bit of pressure he put on your clit. “You don't need to answer that. You'll answer by coming for me.” He nodded, lowering his head to kiss at your collarbone and all the hickies there. He angled you to thrust as deep as he could, making you see stars. Your gaze returned to the view outside. The beach reminded you of him. The scenery was such stark contrast to what he was making you feel that your chest heaved. You were breathless. Every inhale meant more of his delicious cologne. You got drunk off of it.

The two of you were a moaning mess by the time you got close, all tangled up in each other's limbs. He moaned into your neck, coaxing you with praise and sweet, honeyed words. “Sweetheart… won't you come, now? Make a mess for your Director? I know you can. You're so good for me. Come. Come hard.” He pleaded, kissing your face. You didn't think you would, but you did come hard. The heat in your core was all consuming as you finally climaxed, tearing up into his shoulder. Your walls gripped him tight as you did, tipping him into his second orgasm too. He spilled into you without hesitation, a choked gasp slipping from his lips. He pulled you into a fierce kiss, one last time for good measure, and you felt desperation flare up.

••••••