#tigmas

Terry’s POV:

Attention all passengers. Attention all passengers. At this time, all flights are currently canceled until further notice due to inclement weather. All commercial and private aircraft are currently grounded until conditions improve.

Weather. One of the few things in life that remained out of his control. This blizzard in particular seems to be taunting him with that fact.

LaGuardia is bustling on Christmas Eve, the airport overflowing with clusters of families and travelers trying to make their way to their loved ones. Terry’s just grateful he’s surveying them all from the relative quiet of the elite lounge reserved for those flying in private jets, looking through the tinted windows at the unsuspecting commoners.

Christmas Eve.

He’d intentionally scheduled his year-end meetings in New York for this time of year, wanting to keep himself occupied. With the All Valley tournament won earlier in the month, Terry had taken a step away from the dojo for the remainder of the year; hearing chatter about the holidays always left him feeling agitated. Frustrated.

Alone.

And now, instead of enjoying the luxuries of private air travel and anticipating a return to the reasonable, warm climate of Los Angeles – he hated the cold – he was stuck surrounded by reminders of his solitude, nursing a passable whiskey.

A family pulls off to the side, right in front of him, mother and father trying to calm their wailing brats, and he feels an uncomfortable pang in his chest.

How could so many undeserving, unworthy, average joes reproduce their mediocrity with ease while he, with an empire that could sustain generations of his legacy, went without?

He had spent the first decade or so of his career living up to the stereotype of the billionaire playboy, having more than his share of fun with anyone and everyone that had struck his fancy. He figured that when it was time for him to settle down, he’d have his pick of worthy candidates, beautiful women of good stock that would kill for the opportunity to bear his name and his children.

But no one had met his standards, and he was now well into the winter of his lifetime. It was too late.

… Or was it?

He may be pushing seventy, but his doctor had assured him he was still able to conceive during his most recent physical. He had plenty of resources to attract and… retain a suitable partner. And it wasn’t like he was settling down in his thirties; he could find someone worthy enough to have and raise his children without tiring of them after decades of time together.

Someone younger, naïve, impressionable… Someone that he could shape into the perfect wife and mother, if they didn’t come that way naturally.

A flustered young woman walks by, her open trenchcoat revealing flaring, child-bearing hips, her eyes sparkling with an anger that indicated great depth of passion.

Someone like you.

He finishes his drink, throwing his coat back on and wrapping his red scarf around his neck, straightening to his full height as he tracks your movement through the airport with his eyes, seeing you find a seat towards the end of the terminal.

It was time to expand his dynasty.

Reader’s POV:

Even at the far end of the terminal the noise is deafening, and you can’t help but scowl at the throng of people standing around as their travel plans are put on hold, the airport full to bursting.

You think you would give anything to be away from this crowd right now.

All you are trying to do is call your mom – God forbid the family cabin have cell reception, let alone Wi-Fi – to let her know you wouldn’t be there for Christmas. At least this afforded you an excuse that she couldn’t hold against you, but you wish that you could be back in your apartment instead of trapped here.

“Excuse me, Miss –” comes a soft voice behind you, a large hand squeezing your shoulder.

“What?!” you snap, spinning around in your seat to glare at the offender. The man removes his hand from you immediately, leaning back to give you space with a slightly wounded look in his blue eyes. Your frustration dissipates and is replaced with guilt.

“I’m sorry for startling you. I just wanted to ask if this was yours?” he explains in his smooth, deep voice, your passport in his hand.

Well, now don’t you feel foolish.

“Oh my God, yes it is!” you exclaim, cheeks flaming with embarrassment at your temper tantrum. “Thank you, Sir,” you continue, reclaiming your passport and tucking it securely into your pocket. “I’m so sorry for being so rude just now, I –”

“There’s no need to apologize,” the man cuts you off, giving you a warm smile. “Airports are stressful even under the best of circumstances.”

“Still, that’s no excuse to take it out on you,” you chide yourself. “I’m just trying to make a call, but it’s too loud in here,” you explain, and the man tilts his head to the side as he stares at your lips, trying to figure out what you’re saying over the din of the bustling airport.

“I just want to make a fucking phone call and I can’t hear anything with all these people!” you snarl, glaring all around you as your temper flares into life once again. The man’s face twitches in response; you suspect he’s biting his tongue to keep from laughing at you.

“I believe I can help you with that,” he offers kindly, somehow managing to speak audibly without raising his voice. “If you’d like, that is.”

“You can get me out of this mob?! I’m all yours!” you take him up on his offer enthusiastically. For a second, you think you see a wicked, pleased smirk on his face, but then you blink and he’s turned to walk away. You hasten after him, having a much more difficult time getting through the crowd; this man seems to have an aura about him that makes people give him a wide berth. At least it made him easy to spot – well, that and the fact that he towers over everyone else.

Now that your temper has been quelled, you take a moment to really look at this man. He was older, probably in his sixties, but looked strong – you doubt your head would even come up to his shoulders. He’s dressed in luxurious, well-tailored clothing that indicated wealth, with a full head of wavy hair that nearly brushed his shoulders. As he stops and turns back to see if you’ve followed, you notice how his hair, a lovely shade of silver, compliments his bright blue eyes.

All in all, he’s a real Silver Fox.

You catch up to him, glancing at the plain black door with a key card reader next to it before looking up at him curiously.

“Where does this lead to?”

“A private lounge,” he replies, not giving anything else away. So, he was proper rich, then. You reflexively back away from the door as if it could tell that you couldn’t afford to enter.

“Oh, I don’t think I’m allowed to –”

“You’ll be with me, you’ll be fine,” he cuts off your concerns, waving them away with a hand. You bite your lip, unconvinced.

“Why are you doing this?” you ask, you brow furrowing in concern. “You don’t know me at all!”

He offers you his hand, his expensive watch dangling from his wrist and catching your eye. “I’m Terry Silver. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he purrs, charisma oozing from every syllable. You find yourself shaking his hand before you’ve even thought about it, enjoying the way it fully envelops your own.

“Y/N L/N,” you reply, suddenly feeling shy; he hasn’t released your hand.

“A lovely name. So, now that we know one another, will you be joining me?” he asks, giving you a lopsided grin that makes him appear younger; it was truly difficult to gauge his age.

You find yourself still hesitating, though you’re not entirely sure why. This man hadn’t given you any reason to question his intentions, and it wasn’t like any harm could befall you in an airport, of all places. He opens the door with a swipe of his card, holding it ajar with a raised eyebrow in your direction.

“Well, I’m going to enjoy the peace and quiet of this wonderful, mostly empty lounge. It was nice talking to you, Y/N,” he says teasingly striding through the doorway without another look back.

“I… Wait!” you hurry after him, barely catching the door before it closes after him. “I’m coming, I’m coming!”

He turns back to you with a beaming smile, clearly pleased by your decision.

“Glad to hear it!” he says, sincerity ringing in his voice as his eyes twinkle at you, walking at a slower pace to match your shorter stride. Suddenly, he bends towards you to whisper in your ear, the gesture sending a surprising thrill through you.

“This will be the only awkward part, my dear. I promise,” murmurs, and you’re momentarily dazed by the scent of his cologne before you realize he has wrapped an arm around your shoulders, hugging you close to his side as he walks past the hostess, flashing her a card before carrying on right past her.

The moment you’re out of her sight, he respectfully releases you, giving you some space. You find yourself more than a little disappointed by the loss of his presence.

“I hope I didn’t overstep, Y/N. It was just the easiest way to get you inside.”

“I…No, I don’t mind,” you stammer, feeling like an idiot. “Thank you.”

Terry leads you to a quiet, secluded booth next to a bar; you can count the other patrons on the fingers of one hand. The headache you felt coming on since your flight was canceled evaporates the moment you take a seat across from him.

“Go ahead and make your call,” he insists, staring pointedly at your phone in your hand.

A server comes over at Terry’s signal, and he orders a whiskey neat, the brand sounding foreign and expensive, then gestures to you with an open palm.

You order a double of your favourite highball, getting the sense that you’ll need the liquid courage to get you through both the phone call and the rest of the evening.

Terry’s POV:

As he nurses his drink and pretends to watch the snow continue to fall through the large window, he reviews the information he has gleaned from eavesdropping on your phonecall:

The rest of your family is off in the middle of nowhere, a landline being the only means of communication with the outside world (and, more importantly, you).

They believe that you’re lying about the canceled flight to try to get out of the holiday. This appears to upset you, though he senses it’s not entirely untrue.

You’re something of a workaholic, a point of pride for you and a sore spot for your loved ones. He thinks he appreciates the dedication.

You’re currently single, if the icy tone you used to spit out the name ‘Derek’ into your phone was any indication.

And you can handle your liquor, he notes as you polish off your drink, scowling as you listen to whoever is on the other line.

You’ll do.

“I’ve apologized a hundred times; I don’t know what more you want from me! I’ll do my best to get there when the weather clears, mom. Thank you, goodbye,” you growl into the phone, hanging up more aggressively than necessary.

“Seasons Greetings from the family?” Terry jokes wryly, and you give him a withering look. You have a pretty, expressive face; he’s looking forward to watching it transform into a mask of ecstasy for him.

“Bah, Humbug,” you grumble with a pout that draws his attention to your full lower lip. Had he lucked out, running into you at the perfect moment, or was he simply finding you more and more desirable because he was planning to knock you up some time within the next few hours?

“Thank you for bringing me here and letting me do this, Mr. Silver,” you say graciously, letting out a heavy sigh and sliding down the booth like you thought you were going somewhere.

“And where do you think you’re going?” he asks with incredulity, and you freeze in place.

“I was going to go pay for my drink and then get out of your hair,” you offer weakly. He’s pleased you’re already looking guilty at the thought of going against his plans for you. Wanting to test you, he points a finger at you before pointing a few feet to your right. Sure enough, you follow his direction, sliding back into the booth obediently. Good girl.

“Firstly, your money is no good here; everything is automatically put on my card,” he counters you smoothly, wanting to set out the expectations for your future relationship right from the outset.

“Then please, allow me to reimburse you at least, Mr. Silver –” you plead, and he decides he likes that tone from you very much.

“Terry,” he corrects you sternly, noting your blush. You like being told what to do. “And no,” he adds petulantly, for good measure.

“I don’t understand. Why are you doing all this?” you ask with frustration, your voice tinged with desperation. The way your big, beautiful eyes are fixed on his, looking to him for answers… he feels his cock twitch against his thigh.

“I saw an opportunity to be a Good Samaritan and I took it,” he replies simply, nodding in recognition as the server replaces your drinks with fresh ones, though his eyes never move away from your face. Sensing that you’re not fully buying into his logic, he decides to take a more sentimental route, with the added bonus at hinting at his plans for you.

“And I don’t have a family I’m trying to get to; the least I could do is help you contact your own.”

Terry watches a wave of sympathy wash over your features, and he feels his hooks sink a bit deeper into you with satisfaction. After a moment, your expression returns to normal, though your eyes appear calculating.

“Nothing’s for free,” you state matter-of-factly, though you don’t hesitate to take a sip of your second drink. He bites back a smile as you make use of one of his favourite expressions. “What’s in it for you?”

“Your company as we wait out the weather, if anything,” he replies innocently, blinking at you as if he was utterly perplexed by what you could be insinuating. He cackles in his head.

“Although, you certainly seem eager to be back in the chaos of the terminal,” he carries on, his voice teasing. “And here I thought I had found a kindred spirit.” He sighs deeply, turning his gaze back to the window. Though he hates the snow, it is currently his greatest ally in his ploy to keep you with him.

“You… you just want someone to talk to?” your words are heavy with unease, and his eyes flit back to you. Someone so young and appealing shouldn’t be so wary, so surprised at receiving attention. You would have all of it.

Provided it was first approved by him, of course.

“Do you know of a better way to pass the time?” he asks politely, noting the way that your throat constricts as you swallow heavily, not meeting his eye as you shake your head. Your desire is evident; now to get you to let your guard down and act on it. The more you thought this was your idea, the easier it would be for him later on if you needed… convincing.

“Where are you meant to be heading to?” he asks, abruptly changing the subject.

“My family is in Washington. We have a cabin on Mt. Baker that we try to get to every Christmas. They’re all there, waiting for me,” you explain, a trace of bitterness to your voice.

“You make it sound like they’re going to pounce on you,” he notes with amusement, looking at you with sympathy even as he imagines being the one to give you that treatment. You sigh, fortunately not having any insight into his thoughts.

“They mean well, and I love them all very much, but they can be a lot. I’m glad I only see them two or three times a year.”

“Loved ones always seem to aggravate us like no one else,” he agrees, his jaw clenching imperceptibly.

“And you?” you attempt to reverse the roles you’re playing, and Terry allows the move. “Where are you heading?”

“Home, to Los Angeles. I was in New York for business,” he answers, purposely keeping his answers vague. Further questions on your part would suggest growing interest, and he wants to hurry the process along.

“Oh, I’ve always wanted to be somewhere warm for Christmas!” you respond with jealousy, sighing dreamily. Ask, and you shall receive.

“It won’t be much of a Christmas, I’m afraid,” he adds, wanting to see your pity. And, no surprise, there it is, your eyes softening as you take him in. He sees your fingers twitch, and suspects you’re fighting the instinct to take his hand comfortingly. He’ll have to break you of that habit, and soon; your instincts are far more aligned to his intentions.

“I’m sorry, you mentioned you weren’t going to visit family.”

“It sounds like you are quite similar to how I was at your age; prioritizing work, only visiting family occasionally… having a bit of a short fuse,” he teases, winking at you, and you blush, scowling at him.

“Well, clearly I’m on the right track, then, if you’re able to get into a place like this,” you respond cheekily. He gives you a piercing look over the rim of his glass, as though taking a contemplative sip. Your eyes seem focused on the way his hand grips his glass; he runs a fingertip along the rim for good measure.

“I don’t know about that,” he replies, going for a somber mood. “I think my one and only regret is not having a family of my own.”

You give him that same look of sympathy again, this time looking as though you might leap at across the table and into his lap to console him. Almost there… he can taste the growing tension between you two on his tongue, like a snake tracking the scent of its prey.

“And yours?” he asks, once again keeping you on your toes by switching your dynamic. “Do you have any regrets yet, Y/N?” he asks, cocking his head in interest. You fidget under his intense gaze, seemingly unable to look away.

“Hmm, maybe. I’ll have to think about it!” you avoid the question, clearly uncomfortable with looking inward. No matter; he’d soon pry you apart and get everything out in the open. “If I go use the bathroom in this place, are they going to fingerprint me or ask for a fancy card?” you ask jokingly, giving him a wink. He lets you change the subject; having a few minutes to himself would be beneficial.

“No, once you make it past the hostess, you can pretty much run amok around here,” he replies, pointing you in the right direction. He follows your retreating form with his eyes, sliding down the booth the moment you round the corner, his hands quickly pulling your coat towards him and retrieving your passport once again from your pocket. You really should pay more attention to keeping track of such important documents.

Tucking the small booklet in the front pouch of his suitcase, he slides out of the booth and over to the bartender.

“Another drink, Mr. Silver?” the man asks, already turning to reach for his preferred bottle.

“No, I want a room. The biggest you’ve got, and for God’s sake, it had better be clean.”

He doesn’t want to have to waste time with all of these formalities once he’s whisking you away to defile you.

“Your card, please,” the man requests, unfazed by Terry’s tone and request. Handing it over, the card is swiped, updating access to one of the private rooms.

“That’ll be Room #8, Mr. Silver; last door on the left down the hall.”

“Thank you, Roger,” he replies smugly. “If my guest and I are nowhere to be found, and our luggage is still at our booth, keep an eye on it for me, would you?”

He finds he doesn’t want to be subtle about this; he wants it to be perfectly clear that he’s going to be taking you – hot, young little thing that you are – to a private “Nap Room,” as they called them, and decidedly not nap. The world should know it. The world would know it, once you were his, your body growing and swelling with his child…

“Yes, Mr. Silver.”

He turns away without another word, feeling confident, and sees you emerging from the bathroom. The instant that you spot him, he can see your cheeks turn pink, your gaze darkening, and he suspects his choice to gain access to the room in advance was a wise one. He slowly stalks over to you, building the anticipation until he can see you nearly vibrating from the tension.

“I figured out my regret,” you inform him rather breathlessly once he comes to a stop in front of you. You don’t even come up to his shoulders…

“Oh? Please, enlighten me,” he purrs, looking down at you biting your lip nervously; he resolves to suck on it until it bruises.

You take a deep breath to gather your nerve before looking up at him, your pupils dilating in your desire. Your small hands reach up, gripping an end of his scarf in each hand and pulling so that he bends down to your level.

“Not being spontaneous and taking what I want,” you hiss in his ear, pulling him by the scarf into the bathroom.

---

It’s been awhile since he’s been with a younger woman, let alone one with your… tenacity. As you prop yourself up on the bathroom sink to better wrap yourself around him, he is all too happy to let you be in control if it gets him closer to you spreading your legs for him. You pull him down to kiss him again, fingers toying with his hair as you tease his lips with your tongue, letting out a dreamy little sigh that he swallows into his mouth. He slides his hands further up your thighs, coming to squeeze your hips possessively, making you moan.

“Oh Y/N,” he groans, breaking the kiss to rest his forehead against your own, staring unblinkingly into your eyes. “The things I want to do to you…”

“Tell me!” you beg, pulling back to look at him with need. “Please, tell me what you want to do! Tell me everything, Terry.”

A few lush kisses and the prospect of dirty talk and you were willing to hand over the reins to him, just like that? He’ll take what he can get.

He grips the backs of your thighs in his large hands, lifting you up off the sink with ease and carrying you over to the wall, pinning you against it. You roll your hips needily at the rough treatment, and he smirks against the skin of your collarbone as he lavishes every inch of your exposed flesh with kisses.

“I want to own you,” he whispers passionately, knowing you’ll dismiss the truth as just something said in the heat of the moment. “I want to learn every inch of your body and how to make it sing for me.” You’re gasping for breath now, head thrown back like a lioness submitting to the pride male, and he relishes in it, inhaling deeply as he runs his nose up from your throat to your ear.

“More, please!” you cry needily, fisting his curls as you hold his head against you. Greedy little thing, weren’t you? He’ll teach you to be careful what you wish for…

“I want to bring you more pleasure than you can possibly imagine,” he hums in contentment, giving the muscle at the side of your neck a playful nip that has you wantonly grinding against him. “I’ll have you coming so many times you won’t remember your own name, baby girl; I want you begging for mercy.”

“Yes Daddy, please!” you moan, and something primal in him growls in approval. He grips your waist, stepping back to lower you to the ground, pleased when you cling to him needily.

“Say. That. Again.” His voice is rough as he demands to hear it again, the irony making him internally howl with glee. Your eyes open as you’re set on your feet, and you seem to realize what you’ve just called him with a great deal of embarrassment. He loves it.

“I – I…” you stammer, unable to look him in the eye. His hand comes down without a second thought, spanking you hard, and you squeak, looking up at him reflexively.

“I said say that again,” he repeats, holding your chin up with a finger so that you can’t look away. Your lower lip trembles, and he traces it with his thumb lightly, making you shiver.

“I… I want you, Daddy,” you whimper, trying to shy away from him, but he grips your chin firmly, making you sit in your humiliation.

“Good girl,” he praises, pulling you against him with an arm around your waist, enjoying the way you respond to him.

“We don’t need to do this here,” he tells you, as though he’s just coming up with the idea. “I’ve got a private room.”

“You have a room in an airport just for you?” you ask, incredulous. “Rich people have everything!”

“Not quite,” he corrects you, pointedly looking you up and down before quickly bundling you out of the room and down the hall.

Reader’s POV:

Your head is spinning as Terry guides you into a simple room and leads you to the bed, looking down at you like you were something to eat. You’re nervous, you’re excited, you’re more turned on than you’ve ever been in your life.

You’re not on the pill, having stopped after getting out of your last relationship, but you’re fairly certain that it won’t be an issue for Terry anymore. You find you don’t care, you’re finally giving yourself over to your base instincts. No regrets.

“Come here,” you demand, sitting up on your knees at the end of the mattress. He smirks down at you, slowly closing the distance between you, and you hook your fingers into his belt loops the moment he’s in reach, tugging him to you by his hips.

“You’re a bossy little thing, aren’t you?” he asks teasingly, his large hand stroking your hair.

“Is that a problem?” you ask, batting your eyes up at him as you brazenly run a hand over his erection.

“Not at all,” he replies smoothly, getting on his knees on the carpet in front of you. In one fluid motion, he’s gripped your calves out from under you and yanked them towards him, knocking you on your back with the force of the movement. “Provided those roles can also be reversed.”

You’re rarely this dominant sexually, but this man just has you wanting. You find yourself wanting to try anything and everything with him. There’s just something about the way that he looks at you, like he’s planning on having you forever, that you find incredibly appealing.

“I want you any way I can have you, as long as it’s now,” you confess, your fingers moving to his belt. He slowly stands up and leans over you, his hands to either side of your head.

“Then stand up and strip for me,” he requests, his face so close to yours. “Now.”

He moves off of you, sitting on the edge of the bed expectantly. You get to your feet, coming to stand a few feet in front of him. You slowly bend forward at the hips, placing a hand on his knee as you move to unlace your boots, your face nearly in his lap. That task accomplished, you straighten up, giving him a coy smile before turning in place, presenting your butt to him. You hear him shift on the mattress behind you.

“Help me with my zipper?” you ask innocently, looking back at him over your shoulder. He stands, towering over you, his eyes locked with yours as he slowly pulls your zipper down to the small of your back. You shimmy out of it, grinding your ass back against him teasingly, and he growls, gripping your hips firmly.

“Filthy little tease,” he murmurs against your neck. “Let me show you what that gets you.”

Moving far more quickly than you would have thought him capable of, he’s somehow got you naked and on your back in the middle of the bed, kneeling between your spread legs with a ravenous expression. Divesting himself of his own clothing, giving you the opportunity to ogle him – who had a body like this at his age? – he finally starts touching you, his hands and mouth working you into a frenzy. The way his hands map out your body with featherlight touches stands in stark contrast to the strength you know he’s capable of, and the anticipation of more is driving you wild.

“Please!” you find yourself chanting, your hands exploring as much of him as you can reach. Terry ignores your pleas, tormenting you until you think he’s going to have you coming for him without so much as touching your needy pussy.

“Terry, please!” you beg, trying to hook your legs around his waist, but he pins your knees to the bed in his large hands. “I can’t take it anymore, I need –”

He silences you with a kiss, reaching down to slip one finger into your dripping cunt, then two, curling them in a come hither motion to stroke your g-spot.

“Oh, I know what you need,” he hisses in your ear, his thumb toying with your clit in circles that have you bucking your hips against him. “You need me to fuck you hard, and raw, and deep,” he groans, and your begging becomes fully incoherent at this point as you wordlessly wail for him to just use you already.

“Don’t worry, baby girl. Daddy’s gonna give it to you,” he promises with a wicked smile, nibbling your earlobe as you shudder, feeling filthy. Finally, he enters you, your slick cunt taking him with ease despite his size, and you let out a moan of completion as he bottoms out. Terry hisses as you clench around him, grinding his hips against yours as he sets a punishing pace.

“Oh, fuck!” you whine, your hips trying to meet his. “Yes, please, pump me full!”

Terry growls in approval at your dirty talk, his fingers gripping your waist hard enough to bruise, and your eyes roll back in your head.

“Yeah? You want to milk my cock of every drop with that needy cunt, don’t you?” he goads you, rutting into you like an animal and making you keen, your back arching off the mattress.

“YES!” you cry out, completely losing yourself to the moment.

“I’m gonna give it to you, baby,” he promises, looking down at you with an outright predatory expression, his hair falling in his eyes. “I’m gonna fill you up.”

And you want him to, you realize as you abandon all reason, giving yourself over to lust.

“Come for me, Terry!” you demand, forcing your eyes to stay open so you can watch him come apart for you. And he does, hips stuttering as he shoots his load deep inside you, coming hard with a roar. You both catch your breath, Terry insistent on remaining inside you, holding you down with your legs around his waist; you’re more than happy to oblige.

Attention all passengers. Attention all passengers. Conditions have improved, and crews are currently working to prepare aircraft for flights. Please turn your attention to flight boards for information about your flight. The first flights will begin boarding in thirty minutes.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Terry’s POV:

“Better now than a few minutes ago,” Terry jokes with a wry grin, making you giggle. He gives you an affectionate kiss on the lips before slipping out of you, surreptitiously ensuring that he doesn’t start leaking out of your slick entrance. He’d held you both in an ideal position for conception for as long as he could.

He knows he needs to snap the trap shut on you before you come to your senses, the two of you gathering your clothes and getting dressed. As he helps you into your coat, he’s pleased to see you don’t check the inner pocket for your passport.

“I’ve never been more upset to hear that it’s stopped snowing,” you admit cheekily as you try to fix your hair, your cheeks still flushed. He seizes the opportunity.

“I know exactly how you feel,” he replies, blue eyes blazing as he takes your cheek in hand. You lean into his touch, just as he wants you to. “You should come with me.”

Your eyes fly open in shock, wide as saucers, though he’s encouraged by your lack of an immediate ‘No’.

“What?!” you croak.

“You should come to L.A. with me,” he says, shrugging nonchalantly as if he wasn’t asking for the world. For your world.

“But… but…” you sputter, leaning back as though being able to see more of him would help you determine if he was joking. “My family… we barely know each other!” you babble, and he doesn’t intervene, content to watch you process this on your own.

“I’m not sure I’m done with you, yet,” he purrs when you finally settle down, giving you a searing kiss that makes your eyes lose focus. "It would be no trouble, I assure you."

“What about all of your regret at not spending time with your family?” you ask, and oh, if you only knew…

“An excellent anecdote for why I should make sure I don’t lose you now, and regret it later,” he replies smoothly, internally applauding his own brilliance. “Fate has clearly brought us together, and who am I to deny it?” He tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear, doing his best to look both confident and well-intentioned.

“But… my family…”

“They didn’t seem to believe you were stranded in the airport anyway; how will they ever know you could’ve made it to them and chose not to?” he offers, finding it easy to script excuses for you. “Plus, we both know you’d rather spend time in the sun, letting me spoil you.”

He can practically see the gears in your head turning, and knows he’s almost got you.

“No regrets…” he murmurs in your ear, running his lips along your jawline until you’re vibrating in his hands.

“Terryyy…” you whine breathlessly, and he smiles against your skin. He wonders how many more times he can pump you full before he gets you to his home…

“Say yes, baby girl,” he asks oh-so-nicely. He just has to get you on the plane before you come to your senses. “Say yes and let me take care of you.”

“Okay.”

He blinks, face buried in the crook of your neck, honestly a bit surprised at your easy acceptance.

“Okay?” he repeats, pulling back to look into your eyes.

“I could use a vacation, and could do a lot worse,” you return with a smirk, looking him up and down. He’s becoming more and more impressed by his choice of the mother of his children.

“Then come with me, my dear, and let me give you everything.”

You both quickly gather your luggage from the lounge and make your way to the departure gate for private jets, his naturally being among the first to be ready for take-off. You never once check for your passport.

---

Once the plane reaches cruising altitude, he removes his seatbelt, standing to retrieve a bottle of champagne. You stay put, looking up at him nervously, but your gaze is still heated.

“Are you going to look for my membership card to the mile-high club?” you call after him with a giggle. He returns to his seat with a bottle in an ice bucket, having forgone any glasses.

“You have to be initiated first,” he replies seriously, pulling the bottle out of the bucket and longing to press the chilled glass against your flesh. “And I can’t help but think about how good your body would look dripping with champagne foam.”

Your intake of breath is immediate, and your eyes darken.

“You’re insatiable, Mr. Silver,” you tease, removing your seatbelt and shakily getting to your feet.

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” he warns you, though you likely assume it’s just a show of bravado. “Now, let’s get you out of that dress again.”

He’d have you pregnant before you landed.

Perhaps the snow wasn’t so bad after all.

---

Terry’s POV:

He can tell by the way the front door slams shut that you have not had a good day.

Bad days had been happening more often than not over the past few weeks, and your normal, upbeat demeanor had been gradually replaced by a state of quiet (and occasionally not-so-quiet) irritability. You had been growing more distant this week in particular, brushing off both his attempts to cheer you up and his requests for an explanation as to what has you so upset.

He thinks he’s had just about enough of that.

Terry Silver had not yet come across a challenge or a problem he hadn’t been able to overcome by one means or another, and he certainly wasn’t about to start now. He’ll have an explanation out of you by the end of the day, so that he can set about resolving the problem tomorrow.

You come into the main living room, your eyes flicking over to him for the briefest of moments before pointedly looking away, setting down your bag on the couch furthest away from his perch on the piano bench.

“Welcome home, sweetheart,” he says, trying his best not to sound patronizing. You make a non-committal noise in response, moving to the small bar in the corner to grab a glass of water.

“Come, sit with me. Tell me about your day,” he requests in a soft, soothing voice. He doubted he’d catch more flies with honey than with vinegar with you in your current state, but perhaps he’ll be pleasantly surprised.

“It was fine.”

You don’t elaborate, and he bites back a sigh. He can’t afford to let his exasperation overtake his concern for you.

“The chef hasn’t quite finished preparing dinner yet, so why don’t w–”

“Actually, I’m pretty tired. I think I’m just going to take a shower and then go to bed,” you cut him off abruptly, something you never do, and it briefly takes him by surprise.

“Y/N,” he says your name sternly, an undercurrent of warning clear in his tone. Your eyes don’t blink as you drink your water, staring him down all the while, but he does detect a twinge of regret in your beautiful orbs. Your gaze drops down to the flat surface of the bar along with your now-empty glass; you’re unable to look at him.

“Look, Terry, I just really want to be alone right now, okay? I don’t want to talk.”

“You have to eat something at least,” he requests, the pleading tone more out of politeness than a real need to negotiate with you. He’ll hold you down and forcefeed you if it comes down to it. You haven’t been eating enough lately, and it’s starting to show.

You pointedly ignore him, stalking past him and out of the room, heading upstairs without another word.

Well, now you’re just acting like a little brat.

Those he knows how to handle.

He calmly makes his way to the kitchen to have a word with the chef, asking for dinner to be packed away once it’s ready, then catches the head housekeeper while on his way to the stairs, asking them to tell the rest of the staff to enjoy a paid night off, effective now. His tone and expression leave no room for argument, and he idly watches his staff scatter with some degree of satisfaction as he contemplates the best course of action.

The two of you had done some very minor experimenting with kinks in the past, and it was clear from those experiences that you enjoyed him dominating you. Outside of the bedroom, you always wanted him to take the lead, even going so far as to order for you on occasion, but sexually… it has always been clear and consensual. You’ve quite literally begged him for it before, and he had always been more than willing to oblige; perhaps your little outbursts and bouts of giving him the silent treatment were you indirectly asking for more of the same.

He’s willing to bet that having control taken away from you entirely – mind and body – would help you find the emotional release that you are clearly in need of.

Smirking to himself, he saunters upstairs and into your bedroom, locking the door not only with the standard lock on the knob to keep anyone out, but with a key that prevented anyone from leaving the room. Chuckling to himself, he places the key on the very top of one of the bookshelves and well out of your reach. Now you have nowhere to run.

Hearing the shower still running in the ensuite, he takes his time slowly removing his watch and his rings and placing them in a small dish on his bedside table, safely out of the way. Humming to himself, he gathers his hair up, tying it back in a ponytail, finishing off the look by neatly rolling up his shirt sleeves to his elbows. There, now nothing will get in the way of him giving you exactly what you need.

He hears the shower turn off and sits patiently at the foot of the bed, utterly still as he waits for you to emerge from the bathroom. Several long minutes later, you do, wrapped in a towel with your hair still damp. He watches your eyes pointedly skim past him on the bed, and decides to set his plan in motion without further ado.

“Come here,” he says in a firm but soft voice, staring at you with a stern, unblinking expression. Your eyes narrow in response as you stare each other down for a long moment before you break first, marching past where he is perched on your bed with your nose in the air and into the closet; he mentally considers it a first infraction, and resolves to keep count. Saying nothing, he allows you to get dressed – you’ll be out of your clothes the instant he wants you to be, and having something to strip off of you would only add to your humiliation.

When you step out of the walk-in-closet you are dressed far too warmly for the warm Los Angeles summer – regardless of the effectiveness of his home’s A/C – like you’re trying to prove a point.

“Come here, Y/N,” he commands, repeating the order, and you roll your eyes at him before brushing past him once again to the bedroom door. That’s two steps out of line so far.

He takes no small degree of pleasure watching your spine straighten as you realized that you’re locked in, your small hand twisting and turning the doorknob to no avail. After a brief struggle, you whirl around, your expression furious.

“What the fuck, Terry?!” you snarl at him, and now he’s perversely looking forward to breaking you. Three.

“Watch your mouth.”

You balk at his harsh tone, taking a reflexive step back and looking genuinely shocked at being scolded like a child, but immediately afterwards you get your hackles back up as if realizing your skittish response and not liking it.

“What?” you snap, putting up an irritated front, but he can see right through you; he always can. “What do you want?!”

He raises an eyebrow, tsking before deciding to chide you further.

 “My precious girl, I know you’re smarter than that. Do you really need me to tell you three times?”

You shift uncomfortably on your feet, an embarrassed flush dusting across your cheeks as he dresses you down. You bite your bottom lip, clearly toying with the idea of saying something likely to get you into further trouble, but ultimately decide against it, slowly closing the distance between you on your shaky legs and only stopping when you are still just out of his easy reach.

Brat.

Remaining unfazed by your attempts to poke the bear as it were, he points to his right leg, bent at the knee. “Sit.”

You glare silently at his limb for a moment, but eventually give in. See? Progress already.

Huffily, you come to sit on his knee, your arms folded and a scowl on that pretty face, but he can feel your anticipation in the tautness of your posture, see it in the way your pupils dilate.

He’ll give you what you need.

Always.

Reader’s POV:

You sit ramrod straight on Terry’s knee, and he makes no move to do or say anything. Something about the strange aura he’s put on since coming up here warns you to not to get up, but you can’t help but fidget in the long stretch of silence. Growing more restless, you uncross your arms and fold your hands in your lap awkwardly, your scowl slowly replaced as your lips purse into a pout.

You feel his large hand at the back of your head, softly caressing your hair, and something about it makes the tension in your body disappear. Deep down you know you’re being difficult on purpose. Work had been stressing you out so much lately, and since you couldn’t blow up at anyone there, you’d been (somewhat unconsciously) trying to goad Terry into fighting with you all this week, just needing some way to release the pent-up frustration that had been building up inside you.

“There’s my sweet girl,” he coos approvingly, his other hand reaching down to squeeze just above your knee. “Now, tell Daddy what’s wrong.”

You shoot up out of his lap in shock, both at his use of ‘Daddy’ and at the way your body responds to the title, a flood of desire flowing through you. His hands come around your waist tightly, firmly putting you back on his lap and keeping you there.

“I told you to sit,” he hisses in a low, gruff voice. “Is there a reason why you can’t seem to do that, or would you like me to give you one?”

A disorienting haze seeps into your mind at the suggestive threat, clouding your judgement and blurring your vision at the edges; you find it hard to swallow.

You find yourself wanting more of it.

“I can see that you’re upset, angel. Won’t you tell me what’s wrong?” he asks softly, lifting your chin with a finger and forcing you to stare into his piercing blue eyes. You don’t think you could tell him even if you wanted to; you’re not sure you can speak at all like this, flustered and tongue-tied as you are.

Plus, you’re dying to know what refusing him is going to cause him to do.

You shake your head mutely, turning your nose up at him for the second time this evening as you stubbornly deny him what he wants.

You see a glimmer of recognition in Terry’s eyes beneath his façade before he sets his jaw, his grip on your chin tightening. It’s clear now that both of you are aware that this is something of a game, but it’s also evident that it’s somehow something more.

At the very least, it’s distracting you from your stresses at work, and that alone is enough to make you lean into… whatever Terry has up his sleeve.

“That’s five times you’ve disobeyed me since we came in here. What do you have to say for yourself?” he asks, keeping your chin in his firm grip and staring unblinkingly down at you. Terry was always able to make you feel so small…

The lusty haze that you felt coming on returns tenfold, and you fully give into it, longing to just escape the world outside your bedroom for awhile by slipping into this dynamic with Terry. You bite your lip, looking at him with wide, innocent eyes, but say nothing.

“Do I need to take care of that attitude?” he asks, and you’d recognize that dangerous tone in his voice anywhere.

Instead of heeding it, you shrug nonchalantly.

In one fluid motion, he’s got you bent over his other leg, your ass in the air. You let out a surprised shriek, your arms wildly flailing about as you try to grab something to help you straighten yourself out.

“Shhh,” he hushes you, a large hand casually stroking down your spine to the curve of your ass. Somehow, being fully clothed while he has you in this position makes you feel particularly humiliated. You let Terry slowly stroke you into submission until you’re lying limp across his knee.

“Let me take care of you like this, sweetheart,” he coaxes, though you know he’s not really asking for your consent or permission. “Don’t I always give you what you want? What you need?”

“Yes!” you whimper, your eyes shut tight and your face burning with humiliation.

“Yes what?” he presses, using that soft, dangerous voice once more. You swallow thickly, bracing yourself for another hot wash of shame and desire.

“Yes… Daddy.”

You hear him let out a deep, pleased sigh at your show of obedience, and a pleasurable thrill runs through your entire body.

“There’s my good girl. Now unbutton your jeans.”

You start to straighten out, wanting to stand and obey his instructions, but his hand on the small of your back keeps you bent over his knee.

“Did I ask you to stand up?”

“No. I’m sorry, I –” you babble, arching your back up just enough that you can reach a hand between your belly and his thigh and undo your jeans before returning to your limp, compliant position. You had always felt the need to please Terry, both in and outside of the bedroom; he had given you so much during your time together, and you wanted to return the favour at every opportunity.

That, and his praise affected you like nothing else did.

“That’s it, sweetheart, that’s good. Now the zipper.”

You wriggle once more, tugging it down obediently, and he lets out a hum of approval that you can feel in your core.

“Pull them down.”

You hook your thumbs in your belt loops, tugging your jeans down to just below the curve of your ass; you can’t reach any further, and you hope that you won’t be in trouble for it. You hear Terry inhale sharply through his teeth, and you imagine you must make quite a sight squirming and bent over his knee, ass bared and in the air before him.

“My underwear too?” you ask him, your voice quavering, and he lets out a low, dark chuckle in response that has your eyes rolling back into your head. He grabs the waistband of your underwear between a thumb and a forefinger, toying with the fabric for a moment before slowly pulling it upwards, stretching the fabric between your cheeks and baring you even more to his lecherous gaze. You let out a needy whine at the feeling of the fabric being pulled taut and rubbing against your clit, but stay perfectly still.

“As much as I want to see your pretty cheeks blushing around these pretty panties, I want you bare for me,” he decides after a long moment his voice deep and gravelly. “Take them off.”

You oblige, tugging them down below the curve of your ass and trying not to tremble or tense up.

“Let me help you with that, sweetheart,” he coos, smoothly pushing your clothing down past your knees and allowing you to kick them off.

“There, that’s good. I don’t want anything getting in the way of your punishment.”

You let out a soft cry of need and anticipation. Terry had spanked you in the heat of the moment before, or playfully swatted you when you got mouthy, but had never made it the sole focus of his attentions. You’re not entirely sure what to expect, and you know that he is very aware of that fact and is relishing in it.

His fingers lightly trace patterns along your hips and up to the small of your back where your shirt has hitched up, pointedly not touching your butt, let alone your slick entrance.

“Five acts of disobedience against me,” he breathes, and you can feel the hot, moist breath on your sensitive skin, making you shiver. “I would say that such insubordination is deserving of a spanking for each offense, but I don’t think that would be enough of a punishment for you. So let’s say five minutes instead, hmmm?”

You tense up despite yourself, your anxious whining drowned out by his low chuckle.

"Relax. Breathe. Just let yourself feel,” he instructs.

“Yes, Daddy,” you squeak meekly, fighting everything within you to keep still.

“If you can’t focus, I’ll have you count them out as something to focus on. Understood?”

You nod immediately from your suspended state, and he draws out the silence, intentionally tormenting you, and you barely hear the air whistling as his hand comes down before you feel the stinging pain of his first strike. You yelp, bucking forward, but he holds you down, one hand at the small of your back while the other softly strokes your burning skin.

“Don’t move, babygirl. Take it all for me, I know you can.”

You let out a stuttering breath, bracing yourself once again, and this time he doesn’t make you wait, raining down a quick succession of several slaps across your ass, his large hand nearly covering one of your cheeks every time it comes down. Your toes try to seek purchase on the carpet as you try to keep still, but you find yourself kicking your feet in the air slightly, your shrieks muffled against his leg.

“Just like that, baby… there’s my good girl, keep going just like that,” he croons in your ear during the next brief reprieve, and you groan for all response. “Breathe and take the pain in, sweetheart; don’t try to fight it.”

“Yes Daddy!” you moan desperately, and you’re ‘rewarded’ with a firm squeeze of your ass that has you hissing.

He continues his assault, his strikes seemingly random and unpredictable, taking you right to the edge of how much pain you could take. Somehow, his apparent knowledge of your limits is better than your own, and it takes a previously unnoticed weight off of your shoulders. You’re unable to focus on anything but the pain and pleasure Terry provides, and the anticipation of what might be coming next. It’s a surprising and incredible relief.

In between the staccatos of slapping flesh, Terry groans his approval, clearly enjoying doling out this punishment and watching its effects on your body.

“I can’t stop myself, Y/N. You look so good like this.”

More slaps, now towards your hips as he targets the area he liked to leave finger-shaped bruises from gripping you tightly as he fucks you.

“Fuck you’re so pretty,” he pants, and you feel his cock twitching through his pants against your abdomen. “My pretty girl.”

You have no idea how much time has passed, but it feels like an eternity that you’ve been held facedown and made to endure your humiliating punishment. The air stings your sensitive, inflamed flesh, and you imagine that it’s hot to the touch from Terry’s thorough attentions.

"You're doing so well, Princess," he purrs approvingly. “Taking everything I give you.”

He gives your stinging bottom a break, moving his hand down to the tops of your thighs, spreading his harsh, red claim further along your body until you’re sobbing incoherently. You find yourself pressing your face into the blankets dangling off the bed, desperate to stifle your cries with something, but Terry’s free hand moves to your hair, tightening his grip on a fistful of your still-damp curls.

“Face up. I want to hear you.”

“B-But…But…” you gasp, unable to articulate your shame. Likely unable to articulate anything, even if your life depended on it.

“It’s okay sweetheart,” he says consolingly, fingertips stroking your tender, abused flesh with reverence. “You can cry if you need to.”

And you do, his permission seeming to open up the floodgates until you’re crying and drooling so much and so hard your face may as well be in competition with your pussy which is leaking your slick down your thighs at a similar rate.

“You look incredible like this,” he rasps, his voice hoarse. “Ass so red it’s nearly glowing, cunt needier than I’ve ever seen it.”

His fingertips lightly, possessively stroke across his handiwork, and you do your best not to wriggle or whine. “Do you think you’ve learned your lesson?” he asks, and you nod frantically, your eyes clenched tightly shut and forcing your tears down your face. Humming in approval, he gently guides you back up, standing you between his spread legs. Even while sitting on the bed he remains taller than you, and as you look up at him through your tears you feel small, nervous, and…

Safe.

This feeling is only reinforced as Terry takes your face in his hands, brushing away your tears and cooing at you softly as you tremble before him. Just as you start to relax underneath his touch, letting your guard down, he releases his grip, staring down at you intensely.

“Get on your knees. Now.”

Your eyes widen and you hasten to obey, the aching sting of your behind a painful reminder of the consequences of disobedience. You wince as you get down on your knees before him, and Terry looks down at you with mock sympathy.

“Oh, sweetheart. Are you sore?” he asks condescendingly.

“Y-Yes, Daddy,” you sniffle, unable to look him in the eye as you stand up on your knees. He doesn’t immediately respond, prompting you to turn your gaze upward to see a glint in his eye.

“Sit on your heels. All the way down,” he instructs, and it takes a moment for your brain to force your body to respond, your stinging flesh rubbing against the rougher fabric of your socks making you whimper. Terry’s eyes are bright as they watch you gingerly try to remain in the uncomfortable position.

“Sometimes we need to experience pain to help us learn our lesson, don’t we Y/N?” he asks,  casually crossing his long legs at the ankle, his feet nearly brushing your knees.

“Yes Sir,” you reply immediately, trying to keep your face and tone neutral.

“And what lesson have you learned from this, baby?”

“N-Not to hide things from you.”

“And?” he presses, clearly savouring your obedience despite your discomfort. This is what happens when you try to push Terry into something, your inner voice scolds you. He gives you what you want and then some. And then more than you can handle.

“To listen to you. And do what you say,” you force the words out meekly, feeling the flush return to your cheeks as you’re put in your place, on your knees before him. As you should be, that inner voice purrs with conviction.

“That’s my good girl,” he praises, and another shiver of desire courses through you. You try not to squirm on your feet, not wanting to aggravate your aching skin further.

“Do you want me to tell you what’s wrong?” you ask, looking up at him with teary, pleading eyes. Anything to get you off your heels.

Terry smirks down at you with glittering eyes, taking the side of your face in his hand and gently stroking your cheek, and you just know you’re in for it.

“Not yet, sweet thing. There’s something else that pouty mouth needs to do first.” His free hand moves to his belt, deftly undoing it and pulling it free, his eyes never leaving your own.

You start to fidget in your apprehension, but stop immediately when it irritates your sensitive skin. “B-But I –” you stammer, unsure if you can be coherent enough to service him properly.

“You will do what I say,” he says sternly, unbuttoning his pants and pushing them down enough to free his throbbing, leaky cock before sitting back down on the very edge of the bed. “Isn’t that right, little doll?”

“Yes, Daddy.” At least you’d have to stand up on your knees to blow him if he sat like that, and you yearn for some relief.

“That’s right, babygirl. I’ve given you your punishment, and now it’s time for you to thank me for doing so.”

You nod at him silently, accepting your fate but not having the wherewithal to respond with words. You’d probably just say something that would get you into even more trouble.

“I won’t be repeating myself, so be a good girl and listen,” he tells you firmly, and God, the way he talks down to you never fails to drive you wild…

You nod again, your body tense with anticipation.

“Open your mouth and stick out your tongue” he growls, and you immediately obey, relaxing your jaw, your pink tongue out and resting against your bottom lip.

“Eyes on me the entire time, do you understand?”

A third nod, and you keep your tongue out and your mouth open as you bob your head up and down, and Terry clearly enjoys the sight. He reaches down to your face slowly, lightly pinching the tip of your tongue and tugging on it before sliding two of his long, thick fingers into your mouth. You immediately start to suck, twirling your tongue around his digits, and he lets out a groan of approval.

“Such a responsive little thing,” he purrs. “But you lips won’t be able to reach me from all the way down there. Let me help you,” he offers with mock sincerity, a mischievous twinkle in his eye as he tucks himself back into his pants, stands and walks past you to retrieve a small ottoman from your sitting area and placing it at the foot of the bed next to you. He retakes his seat on the bed, a foot to either side of the ottoman, and frees his cock once more, stroking it slowly with one hand and pointing down between his legs with the other.

“Come. Sit. Same position.”

You crawl up onto the ottoman and try to gently sit back on your heels, but it’s useless – you’re going to be hurting for quite awhile, you imagine. You’re now comfortably eye level with his abdomen, though you keep your eyes on his and your tongue out, as instructed. You’re so wet you think you can feel it through your socks, and fight the urge to wantonly grind against yourself, not wanting to earn further punishment.

Terry guides his cock to your wet and waiting mouth, tracing the curve of your upper lip with the thick head with a feral expression before laying his heavy length along your outstretched tongue.

“Pleasure me,” he demands in a low voice, eyes locked with yours as he eagerly awaits your response. Biting back a moan at his salty, musky flavour on your tongue, you set to work, sealing your lips around him and sucking the first few inches of him into your mouth.

Terry’s eyes start to roll back in his head and you watch him struggle to keep his eyes on you, feeling an overwhelming sense of power and pride as he immediately starts to come apart for you. Encouraged by his response, you bob your head with even more enthusiasm, wriggling your tongue along the underside of his cock the way he likes.

“That’s right, sweetheart. Show me how grateful you are,” he groans, body tense as he tries to maintain his composure and keep from thrusting into you. Wanting to give him a break, you take his cock in hand, stroking it languidly as you lick him all over, gently taking his balls in your mouth until he tosses his head back, the silver locks starting to come loose from their ponytail.

“You know just how I like it, don’t you?” he hisses through gritted teeth, thrusting into your palm. “I love how hard you try to please me, my dirty girl.”

“Thank you, Daddy,” you purr coyly, batting your eyes up at him and he snarls, fisting a hand in your hair and guiding your greedy mouth back to his cock. Clearly you weren’t meant to be taking the reins quite that much while in this dynamic with him.

“I’m going to count to three,” Terry growls as you take his length between your lips once more, “And by the time I get there you’d better have all of me down that pretty little throat.” His grip on your hair tightens in warning, making your scalp sting.

“One.”

You bob your head, taking slightly more of his length into your mouth every time, approaching your gag reflex.

“Two.”

Before he can get to ‘three’ you force yourself to relax your throat, pushing yourself forward until your nose presses against his firm stomach, your eyes watering as they try to keep looking up at him; you don’t want to disobey him now, not after all this. Terry lets out a filthy groan, one hand coming up to gently caress the back of your head, keeping you in place.

“Christ, you take me so well. Keep me inside, baby girl. You can do it.”

Your hands are balled into fists as you force yourself to deepthroat him, drool escaping from the corners of your mouth in rivers as you fight to hold your breath. Terry stares down at you with reverence as you push yourself past your discomfort in order to please him, fiery pleasure coiling in your belly.

Just as your vision starts to darken around the edges he pulls out, watching you gasp for breath between his legs, fighting to keep your tongue out and your eyes on his. He stares down at you for only a moment to enjoy your struggle to obey before stroking the side of your face.

“Take a minute to recover, precious girl, it’s alright,” he breathes, and you nod, resting your forehead on the edge of the mattress and taking deep, calming breaths, wiping your tears and drool off your face the best you can, but Terry’s hand comes down under your chin, tilting your head back up.

“Ah ah ah, none of that,” he chides you, batting your hands away. “You will not deprive me of the sight of you looking like a well-used fucktoy.”

You whimper at the degradation, and Terry gives you a toothy grin, cradling your face in both hands.

“I’m going to use you now,” he informs you seriously, and a shudder runs through you at his tone. “And when I come you’re going to keep it in your mouth, understood?”

“Y-”

Before you can even respond he’s thrusting himself back into your mouth, holding the sides of your head tightly as he takes his pleasure in your body. All you can do is hold still and do your best to breathe when you’re able, moaning as he uses you hard and fast.

“Perfect tight mouth… take all your slutty holes… all mine,” he grunts savagely as he fucks your face, coming down your throat with a growl of your name. You fight the urge to swallow, his cum heavy on your tongue, hoping that this would be the end and you could finally rest.

Terry’s POV:

He stares down at you as he tucks himself back into his pants, watching you trying to catch your breath through your nose as you keep his cum in your mouth, crying and red-faced.

Gods above, you are a perfect creature.

He quickly takes his phone out of his pants pocket, snapping a few photos of you (it helped that you were unable to protest even if you wanted to, what with your mouth being full) to immortalize the moment.

“Alright sweetheart, you can swallow,” he says soothingly, waiting for you to do so before scooping you up and placing you back in his lap and feeling you tense weakly as his pants rub against the sensitive flesh of your ass.

“My brave, brave girl,” he coos, wrapping his arms around you tightly and peppering your face with kisses. “You did so good.”

“T-Thank you Daddy,” you whine, turning to bury your face into his chest.

“Ssshh, no more of that, sweetheart,” he croons, helping you out of your shirt before lifting you as he gets up off the bed and lightly laying you down on your stomach, arranging the pillows around you comfortably. “I’m going to take care of you now.”

“Mmph,” you mumble incoherently into the silk sheets, and he chuckles as he moves to retrieve a bottle of lotion from the dresser across the room. You lift your head slightly to repeat yourself.

“I’m too tired, Terry” you sigh, though your body seems to suggest otherwise, arching slightly as he lightly runs his hand along your calf.

“You don’t need to do anything, babygirl, just relax and enjoy,” he purrs, climbing onto the bed next to you. He quickly braids your hair, moving it out of the way before getting to work. He starts with your butt, still covered in a mosaic of red handprints, liberally applying lotion as he tries to relieve some of your pain.

He needs to take care of you well this first time if he’s going to coax you into repeating it again, and based on how you both responded to the spanking he’s definitely going to be insisting on a repeat performance.

By the time he finishes his gentle massage, your thighs are constantly quivering and twitching beneath his touch, the smell of your arousal permeating the air. Biting back a smug grin, he pretends to ignore the tempting sight that you present, sliding up your body to continue your massage.

"All mine. You're all mine, Y/N,” he murmurs, over and over again as he thoroughly massages your neck and shoulders, moving down your back until he’s reached the curve of your ass again. Moving past it, he kneels at the foot of the bed, rubbing your feet and fighting the urge to tickle them as he hears your muffled giggles through your little fort of pillows and blankets.

As soon as he starts working up your calves, the laughter stops and his smile turns into a predatory grin.

“I’m still so proud of you, sweetheart,” he says conversationally as he slowly works his way up your legs. He hears a soft moan from further up the bed and smirks at the sound, keen on pulling out more reactions from you. It’s the least you deserved after all of your obedience.

“You took so much for me, babygirl. I knew you could do it,” he praises as he spreads your thighs apart slightly to massage them, licking his lips at the sight of your dripping pussy peeking out at him from the apex of your thighs.

"Are we going to be a good girl from now on?" he asks teasingly as his fingers toy with the delicate skin of your inner thighs. He can’t make out your muffled response, and can’t resist goading you once more.

“Use your words, Princess,” he purrs, squeezing your thigh in warning, and you squeak as you lift your head up to answer him.

“Yeeeess, Terry!” you whine, clamping your legs together around his hand. “I’ll be a good girl, I promise!”

“Good,” he says approvingly as he turns you over gently onto your back, taking one of your hands and rubbing it with his thumb before moving up your arm. “Now, what has you so upset lately?”

The story spills out of your pouty, swollen lips immediately, and he remains outwardly focused on your massage so that you don’t dwell on your words. Internally he snarls as the names of your manager and a particularly aggravating coworker are identified as the source of your recent stress; he so wishes you would just take him up on his offer to have you never work a day in your life again, but you were adamant about your independence and on never having to solely rely on him.

He can respect it, but that doesn’t mean he’s happy about it.

He appeases himself with thoughts of how to address the situation, everything from framing the perpetrators for embezzlement to them having a tragic ‘accident’ crossing his mind, but you had too big of a heart for that. He’ll have to settle for indulging in the thought alone.

“…and it’s just frustrating that I can never say anything back to them, no matter how angry I get,” you finish, sighing exasperatedly as you stare at the ceiling. “I just wish I could let out some of my frustration at the source of it all, you know what I mean? Well, I guess you wouldn’t,” you say teasingly with a slight laugh, and he kisses the back of your hand as he positions himself further down your body to the tops of your thighs.

“I’m sorry, Terry,” you sigh, your eyes gently closed from either the relaxation or your chagrin. “It wasn’t fair of me to take out everything on you. I’ve been awful lately,”

“Now now,” he interrupts, clucking his tongue at you. “None of that, darling. Besides, you’ve more than made up for it this evening, wouldn’t you say?” he adds, leering at you once you open your eyes to look at him and making you giggle.

“Are you suggesting I should be a brat more often?” you ask with a cheeky smile.

Instead of replying, he spreads your legs wide, diving in and finally giving into the desire to lap up your musky, sweet nectar. You shriek in surprise at the sudden movement, and he quickly takes hold of your hips, trying to keep them in place without pressing them into the mattress too hard. He thrusts his tongue inside, savouring your taste, and can tell that you’re already close. Somewhat reluctantly, he decides to take it easy on you, honing in on your sweet pearl and sucking on it until you’re coming hard for him, your fists gripping the sheets as you try to arch upward, crying his name.

“If you feel the need to keep up the pretense, darling, feel free,” he hums, idly toying with your slick folds as he laves kisses across your bare chest. “I’ll be doling out the punishments and rewards as I see fit regardless.”

“Oh, poor me,” you reply snarkily, twining your body against his and trying to cuddle him. Not one to be outdone, Terry detangles himself from your limbs to quickly undress once more, pulling back the blankets and watching you slide under them before joining you, rearranging you just how he likes. He’ll slip away once you’ve fallen asleep to bring you up something to eat along with some painkillers to help take the ache away; you weren’t accustomed to sex quite this rough. Not yet, that is.

“Poor you?” he repeats quietly into your hair, amused as always by your sass. Kissing the top of your head, he clutches you to his chest possessively. “Not a chance. Not ever again.”

The interior of the Ennis House had been transformed into a thing of pure fantasy, and you had been decorated along with it. DynaTox’s annual Christmas party was being hosted at its CEO’s home for the first time, an uncharacteristically vulnerable choice that let the employees and their guests have a glimpse into the life of the man himself. One would almost think that as they stepped over the threshold into the house that they had been transported from California to the mountains of Colorado, fake snow mounded around the bases of real pines. An honest-to-goodness ice rink had been constructed in the Grand Ballroom, the waitstaff skating amongst the guests with trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres in hand.

Despite all of this revelry, there’s only one thing on your mind.

Where’s Terry?

This is the first elite party you’ve attended where you are also playing the hostess. You had anticipated that Terry, who normally kept you glued to his side constantly, would be even more insistent to have you with him – the two of you had been together for long enough now to be considered serious, and he had made clear his intentions to get you used to being in his circles.

But now, when you needed him around, he was nowhere to be found. You ordinarily felt a bit at sea when you weren’t by his side, especially at lavish events like these, but now that you were in a way responsible for the event you feel like you’re outright drowning. Servers, caterers, and security had all come to you for directions, and you have been doing your best to guide them, hoping that everything would go off without a hitch. So far, it had.

“Excuse me, Y/N L/N?” comes a voice from behind you, and you turn, bracing yourself to put out yet another fire.

Instead you find Michael Nelson, the star quarterback from your high school days. He seems to have grown nicely into adulthood and success, judging by the way his expensive suit fits his strong build. Was this some sort of a weird dream?

Michael had been the first man you had fallen for – but then, all the girls had fallen for him back in the day. But you had been friends and neighbours growing up, you knew each other.

You’d thought you’d had a chance with him, but the opportunity never came.

It had taken you quite awhile to get over your infatuation, and looking at him now you still have those childish butterflies in your belly. The man was the epitome of the one who got away, after all.

“Michael Nelson!?” you say his name with incredulity. What was he doing here, anyway? He didn’t work for DynaTox, not that you knew of anyway.

“You remember me!” he exclaims, giving you a warm smile that would’ve made you melt back in school. Instead, it has you worrying about Terry taking this moment to appear – he doesn’t appreciate other men chatting you up.

“Of course I do, Michael,” you reply distractedly, scanning the ballroom for Terry. “How have you been?” Your brain doesn’t even register his response, letting him talk to himself as you try to find a way out of the conversation.

“Y/N?” he asks, trying to reclaim your attention. Your eyes reluctantly slide back over to his; you don’t want to be rude to him, after all.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” you ask, giving him an apologetic smile.

“I said that I’m glad I ran into you; it’s been awhile. And you look wonderful tonight.”

His eyes roam across your expensive, form-fitting velvet dress, and you’re grateful that you elected to wear this one with the turtleneck rather than a lower cut neckline as his eyes linger on your chest.

“Thank you, Michael. So do you.” You return the compliment with a complete lack of enthusiasm, and he pretends not to recognize it, sensing that you’re going to try to leave the conversation.

“Can I get you a drink?” He cuts in eagerly, head inclined down towards yours as though he was trying to hypnotize you into accepting. “I would love to catch up and hear about what you’ve been up to since we last saw each other.”

“I’m sorry, I actually need to go tend to a few things. I’m one of the people in charge of this circus! It was… nice running into you.”

You turn and walk away from him without another word, your eyes now scanning the party not just for Terry but for anyone you recognized who would be able to keep Michael at bay. Miraculously your eyes land on Margaret, and you make a beeline for the older woman trying not to look too desperate.

“Is everything alright, Miss L/N?” she asks as you approach, taking in your panicked expression.

“Have you seen Terry? I can’t find him anywhere!” You’re doing your best to appear at least somewhat poised, not wanting to look too pathetic – you couldn’t expect Terry to solve all of your problems for you, after all. He already did so much…

“Mr. Silver had an important matter come up that he needed to attend to. He’ll rejoin the party when he’s finished.”

You bite back the small pout you feel start to twist your lips; you hate being at these sorts of events without him, but to be partly responsible for making sure things ran smoothly in his absence is an entirely different level of overwhelming.

“What are we going to do? The staff keep coming up to me for instructions, and I don’t know what to tell them!” you ask, your brows knitting together. Margaret lifts an eyebrow at you.

“I will handle any issues that arise, Miss L/N. Mr. Silver rarely troubles himself with organizing the events he plays host to. You should enjoy your evening,” she suggests firmly, dismissing you without another word as she turns on her heel and disappears into the crowd. You briefly look around for anyone else you recognize that you could start a conversation with but give up after a moment, needing to just get away from everything now that you know you aren’t needed to help the evening go smoothly.

You make your way out onto one of the small terraces that lined the property of the Ennis House, trying to keep to the shadows as you take a minute to yourself. You know that it’s silly, feeling disappointed – Terry was an incredibly successful and important man, and the party had plenty to offer by way of distraction. But you find that you don’t want to enjoy yourself without him there beside you; you always wanted to share everything with him.

The breeze is lovely, but the relative quiet is what you find really refreshing. You take another deep breath of air, bracing yourself to re-enter the party. Hopefully Terry wouldn’t be too long, and when he returned he could see you having fun and fitting into his world the way that you so desperately want to.

“I never knew you to be the type of woman who liked to play hard to get, Y/N.”

Michael’s voice is harsh and quiet as he joins you out on the dark terrace, sending a shiver down your spine. You whirl around in surprise, not having heard his approach, and notice that he is already trying to herd you into the dark corner of the balcony, keeping himself between you and the door heading inside to prevent your escape.

“I’m not playing anything, Michael,” you snap back at him, offended by the insinuation. You don’t remember him being nearly so egotistical back in school.

“Yeah? I thought you said you had to go help with the party but here you are, sneaking away from everyone like you didn’t know I was watching.”

You suppress a shudder. “I didn’t know you were watching. I hoped you weren’t,” you snap at him defiantly, stepping back until your legs hit the balustrade surrounding the porch. Michael keeps coming towards you, increasing his pace as his confidence grows.

“Don’t act so naïve. You’ve been in love with me for years, and everyone knows it. Let’s finally give us a chance, Y/N,” he purrs as he cages you in against the balcony. Gathering your nerve, you give his chest a firm shove until he takes a few steps back from you.

“I’m not interested, Michael; I’m with someone.”

“And what, they’re worried about a little competition? So worried that they’ve left you all alone tonight?”

“There’s no competition to be had! I’m dating Terry Silver; I’m already his.”

He seems briefly taken aback at the news that the man you’re with is the CEO of the company but quickly recovers, his nose crinkling with distaste.

“You’re his?” he echoes you in disbelief. “You’re talking about your relationship like you’re his property!”

You roll your eyes; clearly he wasn’t very familiar with the man that owned his job. That, or he hadn’t considered that the level of devotion you and Terry had for one another was a two-way street – you know that you’re crazy about one another.

“We belong to each other, Michael, and there’s nothing that you or anyone else can do to change that. Now, if you want to keep your dignity and your job intact, I’d recommend leaving, or at least getting the hell away from me,” you hiss, a fire blazing in your eyes.

“B-But Y/N, I –” Michael starts to stammer, but you’ve had enough.

“Leave. Now. Terry doesn’t take well to those who try to steal from him.”

You’re not entirely sure where this fury is coming from, but the thought of someone trying to come between you and the man you love has you absolutely fuming. And you do love Terry, even if you haven’t told him yet.

You have to go and find him, you realize with a sudden urgency as your heart clenches with need. Paying Michael no mind, you move past him and back into the ballroom, determined to find your love.

Terry’s POV:

Terry could not be more pleased with your performance so far this evening. He’s been stealthily following you all evening, either from hidden alcoves or security cameras, unbeknownst to you and the guests. Hosting the annual Christmas party at the Ennis House enabled him to observe you when left to your own devices. Hell, the whole reason he was having this party was to see how you would behave when pursued by another man, especially one he knew you had once held feelings for.

And why has he chosen to test you in this manner?

Because he has come to the conclusion that he is in love with you. Once he had come to that realization, it was as though a switch had been flipped. He now knew without a shadow of a doubt that you are the one he’s going to spend his life with.

But before he can tell you, he needs to make sure that you are just as infatuated with him in order to commit to you fully.

His plans had been elaborate, and had been going on for months now, at the first inkling of falling for you. First, he had needed to do some research into your history, looking for a suitable candidate to test you with. You weren’t the type of person who would be wooed by a celebrity, even though that would have been much easier to organize for his purposes. No, he’d had to find someone that you’d had a connection with, maybe even feelings for.

Your yearbook had been a great source of insight into your early forays into romance, showing photographs of you with some kid, your schoolgirl crush evident in your innocent eyes. After that, it hadn’t taken him long to investigate, determining the extent of your history with this man and confirming that he would be the perfect bait.

Then, he’d had to set the scene so that you could be alone with Mr. Nelson – with him being able to watch in secret, of course – to see if you would even entertain the idea of leaving him for ‘the one who got away.’ That meant purchasing the small law firm that the man worked at, ensuring his attendance at tonight’s event, a worthy investment in his opinion if it meant cementing you by his side permanently. The two of you had kept your relationship relatively quiet and out of the public eye for now, and he had ensured that the other man was not made aware that you were spoken for.

After that, all he’d had to do was wait for tonight’s main event, disappearing into the labyrinth of passages the Ennis House held within its walls and greedily drinking you in with his eyes. You look particularly ravishing tonight in your slinky velvet dress; Nelson had better keep his hands off of you. No one but him would be touching you, on this night or any that came after.

It was difficult for him to stay away from you as the party stretched on, his unwitting pawn apparently needing to down some liquid courage before approaching you. It wasn’t only his own need to be by your side but your own desire to have him with you that nearly has him throwing his own plan out the window and whisking you upstairs and away from the world.

But he was a paranoid man, and he would not be making himself vulnerable without ascertaining your loyalty first.

Fortunately, you had exceeded his expectations, hardly giving the man the time of day as he’d first approached you. Margaret, aware of his plan as always, had played her part brilliantly, refusing to let you cling to her for protection and relieving you of your role as hostess for the evening. You’d have to deal with Nelson now.

He’d cracked the window just above the balcony where the man had rejoined you, eagerly listening in. His large hands gripped the windowsill hard enough to make it crack as he watches the man trying to cage you in, only loosening when you firmly shove the man away from you. Part of his investigation into Michael Nelson had been to determine if there was anything of concern with regards to his romantic history – he wanted to test you, but not if it meant some prick putting their hands on you, let alone causing you any harm. The PIs that he’d hired to dig up dirt had clearly been worth the money, as they’d been correct in their conclusion that Nelson wouldn’t force himself on a woman.

Hearing the way you take him to task was well worth the momentary stress of leaving you alone with another man. And when you’d called yourself his… he had immediately started to get hard, the urge to rush down and take you nearly overwhelming him.

And now he could. You had done more than pass his little test, you had shown him the depth of your devotion.

He waits until you storm past the man than had dared to refer to him as competition before making his way back to the ballroom. Keeping out of sight, he takes a moment to watch you searching for him with desperation. Your persistence is something to be rewarded, and to be rewarded now. Stepping into view, he makes sure to savour the look on your face when you lay eyes on him – relief, desire, need.

Perfect.

He lets you come to him, watching you gracefully twist and bend your body as you slip through the crowd towards him.

In an uncharacteristically public display of affection you throw yourself at him, locking your arms around his neck as you press your body up against him, your eyes seeking out his. He winds his arms around you in a tight hug before gripping your hips, holding you at an arm’s length from him.

“What’s the matter, doll? Are you alright?” he asks innocently. If he had his way (and he would), you would never know his role in how the evening had played out thus far.

Your brow creases adorably and you nibble your lip, likely trying to decide whether or not telling him the truth would have him disappearing to hunt down the man that dared to try to have you for himself. You decide to avoid the topic by gripping the lapels of his suit jacket and pulling him down far enough to speak in his ear.

“Take me somewhere where we can talk, please,” you beg in a breathy whisper, and the needy tone to your voice sends a thrill through him. He tucks you under his arm, immediately leading you to one of the studies just down the hall, closing and locking the door behind him. Ducking under his arm, you turn to face him with hooded eyes, though the tension held in your body is palpable.

“Tell me that I’m yours,” you plead with him, and your need to be claimed has celebratory fireworks going off in his head as you all but proclaim yourself his perfect little doll.

“Of course you are, sweetheart,” he coos, slowly guiding you backwards and over to his desk. You hop up onto it the moment your back hits the wood; he’s trained you well. “You’re all mine,” he purrs as he comes to stand before you, enjoying the way you relax at the words, letting out a deep breath. “But what’s this all about, sweetheart?” he asks, taking your face in hand and stroking your cheek.

“It’s nothing, I… I just wanted to hear you say it,” you mumble in a quiet voice, your eyes fluttering closed as though embarrassed, and that won’t do. The last thing he wants is you feeling ashamed about your need for him; you should be reveling in it. He decides to banish that thought from your pretty little head without dragging things out any further.

“Oh Y/N,” he croons, chuckling slightly. “I love you, my silly girl.”

The expression on your face as your eyes fly open is one that he vows to remember forever.

Reader’s POV:

You are completely taken aback by Terry’s confession, your eyes flying open to look at his face to determine if it was a joke or an accidental slip of the tongue. Instead you find his eyes locked onto your face, gauging your response with an intense expression of his own.

You never would’ve thought he’d be the one to say it first – part of you had thought that he wouldn’t say it ever – which was part of the reason you haven’t told him about your own feelings. Even though the depth of your love for him was likely very apparent, you hadn’t wanted to put it into words at the risk of scaring him off.

You gasp for breath after a prolonged silence, belatedly realizing you haven’t been bothering to breathe, the shock too much for your body to function normally.

“I – I – Oh!” you are unable to get the sentence out, your heart thudding too fast and too hard.

Terry, calm as ever, seems to identify the symptoms of a panic attack and moves to help you work through it, his large hands gripping your shoulders firmly but gently as he bends to your eye-level.

“Breathe with me, Y/N,” he instructs you, taking slow, deep breaths that you try your best to mimic. You keep your eyes locked with his, calmed by their gorgeous shade of blue, and after a few minutes of focus your breathing returns to normal.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” he asks, looking you over with a watchful eye, his brow creasing slightly with worry.

“You love me?” you ask him somewhat incredulously in response to his question. You don’t think you’ll ever be simply ‘alright’ again after this. Terry’s gaze softens, and he takes your face in his hand once more, his thumb softly stroking your cheek.

“I do, but I won’t say it again if it’s going to give you a heart attack,” he jokes, his mouth quirked in a small smile. Your heart skips a beat, and you fight to stay calm, not wanting to give him a reason to stop this thread of conversation. You still can’t quite believe it.

“Say it again,” you beg him in a whisper, your body leaning towards him like a flower to the sun. His nostrils flare slightly as he moves to lean over you, his palms flat on the desk to either side of your hips, making you feel on edge as though he was a about to strike. He lowers his face close to yours, his eyes unblinking, and you feel yourself hypnotized.

“I. Love. You.”

He enunciates each word clearly in a deep, husky voice and the intensity of the confession has you trembling. Rather than the moment being awkward as you are physically unable say the words back to him, Terry seems to take in your reaction with a great deal of satisfaction, his lips curved upward in a slight smirk.

You’re not sure how you’re lucid or coordinated enough in this moment to pull the move off, but you somehow manage to launch yourself off the desk and into his arms, kissing him desperately as though you need the taste of him more than air.

Terry’s reflexes are lightning quick as always, his arms wrapping around you to support you as he returns the kiss, gradually returning you to your perch on his desk, though his lips never leave yours. Something about the way he’s kissing you breathless feels different from before; perhaps you’re just caught in the moment and imagining it, but every brush of his lips against yours feels more intimate, more precious, as though every second of sweet torment is conveying the depth of his love.

“I love you too,” you pant out the words once he lets you up for air, your fingers clinging to his suit jacket as you try to keep him pressed against you. His gaze is still possessive and sensual as he gazes down at you, but you see the way his eyes light up as soon as the words leave your lips. “Please never let me go, Terry.”

“Not a chance,” he growls at you, his hand tangling in your hair as he pulls you towards him for another searing kiss that makes your heart sing.

A loud ripping noise brings you out of your dazed stupor, and Terry’s hands running up your bare thighs helps you attribute the noise to him having torn your dress, extending the side slit from your knee up to your waist.

“Terry!” you whimper against his lips, though you know he doesn’t give a damn about the dress. You get the sense that he would tear through anything to get to you in this moment. He shushes you in response, his hands coming up to tear it off the rest of the way, throwing the scraps of fabric behind him.

“Nothing is going to keep me from having you, Y/N,” he growls against your skin as he laves kisses across your bared flesh, his hands gripping you tightly. Your hands eagerly reach for his belt and begin to unbuckle it, but he snatches your wrists, pinning them none-too-gently over your head against the desk and leaving you squirming as you lay exposed to him. “Oh no no no. You’re getting all the attention tonight, babygirl. I’m gonna make you earn my cock.”

Your head falls back against the desk with a groan – you thought Terry had been intense and nearly torturous with his teasing before. You can’t even imagine what you’re in for now. He chuckles darkly at your reaction, the sound sending a shiver down your spine.

Sitting you up, he tenderly removes your lingerie, his fingers barely brushing your skin and making your body yearn for more. You wriggle your hips to help him slide your underwear down your legs, your whole body tense as you brace yourself for whatever is about to happen.

Instead of touching you, Terry moves to the bar on the other side of the room, pouring himself a whisky. He takes a long sip as he stares you down before resting the glass on a side table as he shrugs off his jacket, draping it across the back of the chair. You wait patiently, biting your lip as you try not to squirm.

“Who do you belong to?” he asks you casually as he neatly rolls up his sleeves to his elbows, not a hair out of place while you sit on his desk flushed and naked.

“You!” you moan, clenching your thighs together as you desperately try to get some friction on your clit. “I’m all yours Terry, just please –”

“What were you made for?” he interrupts you, retrieving his drink and slowly making his way back over to you as though he didn’t have a care in the world. You can see his erection straining against the fabric of his pants, the only visible sign of his arousal.

“To please you,” you whimper, the words spilling past your lips oh-so naturally. He gives you a wolfish grin in your response.

“And what does that mean?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at you over the rim of his glass.

“It… it means I’ll do whatever you want?” you reply hesitantly, unsure if that’s the answer he’s looking for. “I’ll do anything, I’ll be anything, just please let me do something, Terry! I need you,” you whine, your fingers digging into the wood of the desk as you grip it tightly. And you do mean what you’re saying – you’re quite sure that you are so enamored by Terry Silver that you will happily do anything he asks of you.

“Let’s test that out,” he leers, a wicked gleam in his eye. “Push your tits together for me.”

Your hands immediately move up to grab your breasts, lifting them up and presenting them to him, your eyes rolling back into your head as your hardened nipples rub against your palms. Terry’s eyes glint as he polishes off his drink, never taking his eyes off of yours. He’s still too far away to touch you, and the realization has you nearly sobbing with need.

“Good girl,” he praises, and you feel yourself getting wetter. “Keep them there, and spread your legs.”

You feel your face burning with humiliation, but you do as he says with no hesitation, opening your legs for him.

“Wider.”

A whimper escapes your lips as you spread your legs as wide as you can, fully on display for him.

“Now tell me what you want.”

“Anything. Everything. Just please fucking touch me!”

Terry gives you a pleased grin, finally closing in on you. Tangling his free hand in your hair, he pulls your head back, pouring the remnants of whisky onto your chest and making you shiver as you try to remain in position.

“Such a perfect little doll,” Terry coos, running his hands along your legs. Dipping his head, he laps at the droplets of whisky that run down your body, pulling your hands away from your chest as he lays you back down on the desk, savouring every taste as you arch your back up towards him, craving more.

“You’re so good, so needy for me,” he breathes against the curve of your neck, his lower lip running along your sensitive skin to your ear. “I want you to keep track of how many times I make you come, Y/N. I’m gonna make every fucking inch of you mine tonight, inside and out.”

“Yes Sir,” you chirp up at him with a cheeky smile. He looks down at you with amusement, his dark eyes promising a long night of pleasure that will have you aching and spent.

“Then lay back, pretty girl, and let’s see just how quickly I can make you scream for me.”

It doesn’t take long; the instant his fingers brush against your neglected clit you are wailing for him. Terry pins your hips down with one arm, teasing you with his free hand, quickly pumping two and then three fingers into your tight heat. You let out a constant stream of moans, obscenities and his name the only coherent words you can produce.

“God Y/N, your pussy takes my fingers so good,” he groans, lifting his head and pausing his mouth’s vicious attack on your breasts to watch you coming apart from him.

“Meant to take you – please!” you choke out, tears in your eyes from the intensity of your desire. You can hardly believe how quickly he’s got you on the edge.

“You wanna come already, baby?” he taunts, laughing as you frantically nod your head, unable to speak.“Yeah? Talk dirty for me and let me hear how bad you want it.”

“TERRY PLEASE!” you scream, your voice hoarse and cracking. “Please don’t stop, please make me come for you!” Your fingernails dig into his forearm, trying to keep his hand in place. “I’m so close, you fingerfuck me so good! Right there baby, pleeeease!”

Terry takes your words to heart, keeping your hips still as he curls his fingers inside you, his thumb teasing your clit as your thighs clamp down hard on his hand as you come hard. He doesn’t relent, forcing you to stay in place as he draws out your orgasm, watching you with a fiendish delight as tears stream down your face, your chest heaving as you gasp for breath. Before you can even process anything he’s pushing you to another orgasm without you ever coming down from the high the first time.

After what feels like an eternity he lets up, pulling his hand from between your legs and wiping the evidence of your arousal on your chest until your breasts are shiny with it, the hickeys he’s given you dark and glossy along your flushed skin.

“How many was that, love?” he purrs the petname, smirking smugly down at you. He’s lifted one of your legs over his shoulder, massaging your calf to keep it from cramping up and laying kisses up and down your leg. You hold up two fingers, your hand trembling as you try to get your breathing under control, but he clucks his tongue at you. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“T-Two,” you whine the word at him, feeling delirious. A low, pleased rumbling emanates from Terry’s chest, and he wordlessly switches the position of your legs to tend to the other.

“Only two, and you’re already such a mess for me, babygirl,” he croons as he kisses your ankle, his tone condescending in a way that has you shuddering with desire. Only Terry could have you feeling like both a dirty, desperate slut and the luckiest, most cherished woman in the world all at the same time. You give a noncommittal hum in response, unable to speak, but he clearly thinks that you’ve had enough of a break. “Flip over for me,” he demands, lowering your leg, and you force yourself to slide off the desk only to turn and bend over it, only barely having the presence of mind to curl your arms together to form a pillow.

“Oh, I know you haven’t had enough yet, doll. Not even close.”

You lift up one leg, your knee resting on the desk, presenting yourself to him to let him know you want more. Terry’s hands knead your ass roughly and you brace yourself with your hands on the desk to try to keep yourself upright. Sex with Terry was as much a mental act as it was a physical one; you always had to anticipate what he wanted from you and what he was going to do next.

“Beg for it.”

“Pleeeeease,” you groan, your eyes scrunched shut as you try to focus on getting the words out. “Please fuck me, Terry – I need you inside me!”

“Do you think I don’t know exactly what this pussy needs?” he snarls, delivering a sharp slap to your clit that has you lurching forwards against the desk and nearly going cross-eyed. He always seems to know just where your line is, getting as close to the boundary as he can in ways that you don’t know how to navigate yourself.

“You do you do you do!” you whine. “It’s yours, my whole body is yours!”

You recognize the sound of fabric rustling and brace yourself for a thorough fucking, but he refuses to touch you until you’re trembling with need.

“Show me how bad you want it, my dirty girl,” he growls, his hard cock teasing your slick entrance as he lubes himself up with your arousal.

With a desperate cry you force yourself to crawl fully on the desk, your shoulders and head pressed against the surface as you reach back and pull apart your thighs and ass, baring the most intimate parts of you to his gaze shamelessly. Your show of obedience is rewarded as he thrusts himself fully inside you, the bone-deep sense of completion echoing through the room as you both moan loudly with satisfaction.

“God, I love this tight little body of yours,” he hisses through his teeth, reaching around to pull you back against his chest, large hands playing roughly with your nipples as your head lolls back against him; you’re completely cock-drunk. “Perfect little cocksleeve… just made for me…”

“M-M-Made for you – ah!” you keen as he fucks you at a new angle, the fat head of his cock hitting your cervix hard enough to ache deliciously. “L-Love you, n-need it so m-much!”

Terry’s hands grip you hard enough to bruise as he ruts into you almost frantically; your admission of love in the heat of the moment making him thrust into you at a furious pace as he takes his pleasure in your entire body and makes you sing for him.

“Take one more, sweetheart. Let me give you just one more,” he coaxes you in a hoarse, guttural voice, clutching you to him like a man possessed.

You grind your hips back against him, your brain and body unable to do anything except try to get him in deeper…harder… He could fuck you every day for forever and you don’t think you’d ever get enough, even as he utterly overwhelms you.

“That’s it, my sweet girl; ride my cock and come with me,” he coos, his muscles straining slightly as he holds you tightly right where he wants you.

“Yes fuck Terry YES!” you chant over and over in time with your ass bouncing against his hips, completely mindless with pleasure.

“That’s it baby, get after it,” he growls, leaning down to bite your shoulder as he pistons his cock to fuck up and into you. “Be a good girl and let me feel that pretty pussy come all over my cock.”

You roll your hips, grinding against him and moaning wantonly, feeling so damn close.

“Just one more, and then my little slut gets a break before I take her upstairs,” he urges you. “Take me, sweetheart – take all my love.”

Your pussy clamps down, squeezing his cock tightly as his words take you over the edge. Terry’s hands slide down your hips, holding you down on his cock as he comes as deep inside you as he can with a low grunt of your name. You both catch your breath, your body slick with sweat against Terry, who somehow still doesn’t have a hair out of place.

“Three?” he asks quietly as he gently guides you to sit back on the desk. You let out a whimper, your pussy tender from his rough attentions.

“Three,” you confirm the number of orgasms, giving him a sheepish, sleepy grin.

“I think that’s earned you a bit of a break then, princess,” he announces, and you bite back a sigh of relief.

Terry walks over to the chair, picking up his suit jacket and laying it over his arm. Your eyes scan the floor, spotting the scraps of your torn dress, and you look up at him with wide eyes. He stares back, his head slightly cocked to the side as though considering something, his eyes tracking you as you retrieve your lingerie; at least that was still in tact.

“Who do you belong to?” he asks suddenly, still surveying you with bright eyes, and you know it’s a test. You walk over to him, trying not to stumble with your weak knees, dropping to the ground when you get close and dropping to your knees. You crawl to his feet, nuzzling your face against his legs in answer to his question. After a moment you feel one of his hands in your hair, stroking the top of your head almost shyly. Looking up at him, you see him looking down at you with a soft smile.

“God, I love you,” he whispers, a tone of awe in his voice that has you feeling all tingly. He offers you his hand, pulling you to your feet and into his arms. You stand on your toes, calves twinging slightly, and lay a chaste kiss on his lips.

“I love you too, Terry.”

He tosses his jacket around your shoulders, helping you put your arms through the long sleeves; you must look a mess right about now, but from the way he’s looking at you, you might as well be a queen in his eyes.

“Your job now,” he begins quietly, and you find yourself automatically straightening in response to his commanding tone, “is to make it upstairs with nobody seeing you.”

Just the thought of anyone seeing you like this, reeking of sweat and sex and wrapped only in Terry’s jacket has you blushing. No, only Terry could see you like this.

You know who you belong to.

Giving him a nod, you move to retrieve your shoes, concealing them beneath your coat with your lingerie and your ruined dress.

“I’ll go make our excuses for the evening, and tell Margaret that we are not to be disturbed. By the time I join you upstairs, I expect to find you on all fours on the bed. I want that ass to be the first thing I see when I walk in.”

You can’t help the noise that escapes you, and he arches an eyebrow at you in response.

“You didn’t really think we’d be stopping after three, did you?” he asks incredulously, giving you a laugh. “Oh, Y/N, you’re in for a long night.”

He walks over to the door, turning back to you before unlocking it. You have no idea how long the two of you have been gone for.

“Nothing’s for free, doll,” he murmurs, taking your face in his hand and running his thumb along your swollen bottom lip. “You’re gonna pay for what you do to me, and you’re gonna thank me for it.”

He turns away from you without another word, leaving the door open behind him as he returns to your guests. You nervously peek your head out, making sure the coast is clear before scampering down the hall and up the stairs, trying to keep hold of your bundle of clothing.

The price of owning Terry’s heart is high, but you’re content to be forever in his debt.

(I know this isn't the most fitting gif, but I think it still fits and I couldn't resist after seeing the way it pans down to show the extent of the slutty gi!)

---

Cash’s POV:

The uncomfortable silence brought on by your departure stretches on, neither man willing to be the first to break it. Terry’s body is still somewhat turned towards him, but he stubbornly refuses to look Cash in the eye.

Cash, meanwhile, is still reeling from the new information that has come to light in the past hour or so. Learning that Terry’s adamant refusal to hear him out over the years wasn’t because he hated Cash himself, but because the betrayal had shaken him to his core has Cash lamenting the other man’s stubbornness. All this time, Cash thought that Terry had been angry with him, but in reality he was mainly angry with himself, at the changes that the hurt Cash had caused had drawn out of him. Knowing that the younger man had resorted to excessive force – and to the point that cases had been dismissed because of his mishandling of suspects – after years of being a compassionate cop by his side was particularly disturbing. That wasn’t the Terry McCain he’d known, the one close enough to be a brother to him.

And then there was you.

Cash knows that you aren’t in love with him the way you are with Terry. He isn’t overly bothered by it; your relationship was still far too new for either of you to be in love with one another. But to hear from your own pretty mouth that you felt enough for him that you were unable to choose between him and Terry, that you needed them both in your life…

Well, that has him happier than he can remember being since before he went to prison.

Sure, it may have complicated things between the three of you even more than their already twisted dynamic, but for the first time in over half a decade, someone firmly wanted him in their life. Of course, the sex had been amazing, but there were plenty of other avenues he could go down to scratch that particular itch if he had to. Being genuinely cared for, despite all the things he’s done, was far more priceless to him. And you all but insisting that Terry had to make peace with him if he wanted you to remain in his life was just icing on the cake.

“So, is she right?” he asks, in a far better mood and more than willing to break the silence now that he’s had a moment to reflect on everything that today has given him.

“About what?” Terry asks stubbornly, still looking at the floor. Cash’s gaze softens as he looks at the pained expression visible in the younger man’s profile. He had been happy to show the new kid the ropes when he’d first joined the force as a rookie, but they’d connected as friends so quickly that Cash had assumed that the mentor/mentee dynamic had disappeared shortly into their time together as partners. Apparently, the same had not held true for Terry.

“Do you actually hate me, or do you just hate what happened, and how it went against the way you used to see me?” he presses, trying to be gentle. Trying to rile the man up was a viable strategy when he’d thought that Terry was angry, but the depth of his hurt required a different, more delicate approach.

“How many different ways can I say I don’t want to have this discussion?” Terry snaps, turning his body away from Cash. He tries to ease the tension by incorporating the man’s one known weak spot: you. He privately hopes that you won’t be mad at him for it, should you ever find out the specifics of this conversation.

“Look, I could be way off base – you’ve known Y/N much longer than I have – but she seems like the type to swallow that key over letting us free before we’ve done what she wants.”

“…No, you aren’t wrong about that,” Terry reluctantly admits after a moment of silence, chuckling to himself. Cash smiles but says nothing; if the past few years had taught him anything, it was the importance and value of patience.

“So, she knows what you want to tell me, huh?” Terry finally asks him, looking at him out of the corner of his eye. Cash stays still, not wanting to spook his friend into putting up his walls again.

“Yeah, she knows,” Cash says quietly, staring at his hands, twirling his ring around his finger. “Had to prove to her that I wasn’t lying about last night when she came in here guns a-blazing.”

“Oh. Oh.” Terry says, and Cash assumes he’s thinking back to last night, judging by the way the man’s dark brows furrow. “So she didn’t know about this until today? That’s probably why she…”

“Jumped into bed with you so willingly? Yeah, probably,” Cash jokes with a snort. Hoping that the other man isn’t too offended by his cavalier reference to the night before, he tries to soften the blow. “I shouldn’t have slept with her. It wasn’t right,” he adds with a frown.

He doesn’t regret the decision to have you – you both needed it, at least once – but he does wish it hadn’t caused Terry so much pain, that he hadn’t had to see it with his own eyes.

“When have you ever made a decision based on what was right?” Terry sneers, and Cash sighs, staring over at the other man until he looks him in the eye.

“Do you really discount every good decision I’ve ever made based on one mistake, Terry?” he asks, genuinely curious.

“One mistake? Please. You lied to me for a year. We were partners, we were best friends; I trusted you with my life, Cash, and I had to watch you throw yours away.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” Cash snarls, standing and turning to look down at Terry. Much like the younger man, he didn’t want anyone’s pity either. “Do you think I don’t know that I fucked up my life for good, that I didn’t screw you over in the process? I know, Terry! I’ve had five years to sit with my regret; some days I can’t think of anything else.”

“So then why did you do it?!” Terry explodes, springing up off the couch and shoving Cash in the chest, nevermind that the cuffs made him follow right after as he stumbles back. “We were good, we were solid, we did the job right! We were on the same page about everything!”

“Look at how you ended up reacting, Terry! I had to keep it from you.”

“But why do it in the first place, Cash?” Terry presses, a clear note of vulnerability and desperation ringing in his voice.

“I needed the money,” he replies, bracing himself to tell the man the reason he’d done all this in the first place. Running his hand through his short grey hair, he idly wonders if it will be enough to make Terry reconsider his attitude towards him.

“And you thought going against everything you’ve ever stood for was worth making a few bucks?” Terry scoffs dismissively, trying to cross his arms across his chest defensively until the cuffs jingle, reminding him of their presence.

“I didn’t have much choice! I didn’t have time!”

“Why?! What wasn’t there time for?!”

“My Ma,” Cash breathes, his eyes closed.

He feels Terry still next to him. He can’t even hear the sound of the man’s breathing, and presumes he’s stopped.

 “I’d forgotten when she died,” Terry murmurs apologetically after a moment. “It was a beautiful service.”

“Yeah well, glad you got to see it,” Cash hisses, his heart filled with vitriol as he recalls memories of being denied day parole, both to visit his dying mother and to attend her funeral. Devlin still had enough sway with some of the people working in the prison to ensure his misery, even after his death.

“I’m sorry, Cash.”

There is a prolonged silence as they each take a moment for their grief.

“The doctors told me that there was a new experimental treatment for her type of lymphoma, but it was expensive. And it was taking her so fast…” Cash explains through gritted teeth, trying to keep his tears at bay. He hadn’t cried about his mother outside of a therapist’s office before, not once, not even when she’d died.

“You could’ve come to me!”

“And what could you have done, Ter? I wasn’t gonna put that on you.”

“You at least could have told me – I could’ve talked you out of being an idiot.”

“And that’s exactly why I didn’t. Look, I’m not proud of what I did. I regret it like you wouldn’t believe. It lost me my job, kept me from spending the last bit of time I had with Ma, from saying goodbye… it lost me you.”

Terry looks over to Cash’s face at this last confession, his eyes vulnerable and yet untrusting, and Cash forces himself to hold his gaze. Terry had to see that having to keep the truth from him, to lie and steal and go against everything that had brought them together had been torture for him as well.

“When everything went down the way it did… I assumed I had lost you long before,” Terry confesses in a broken voice, sitting down on the couch again and taking Cash with him. “I felt like I didn’t know who you were anymore, and I didn’t know how long that had been the case for.”

“For what it’s worth, I was very careful about what jobs I took on – nothing that would risk innocent civilians getting hurt. I know that doesn’t make it okay, but hopefully you see it as a little less evil.”

“Did… did you know about Devlin? How deep into it he was?” Terry asks, and Cash has no problem telling him the truth. It’s all he’s wanted to do for years, after all.

“I didn’t know much, just that he was willing to give me work in exchange for a cut. I knew he pinned some of his crimes on me to extend my sentence, but I didn’t find out about how deep it went until afterwards.”

“Why didn’t you try to fight those charges? The ones you knew were Devlin?” Terry asks, still frustrated and with his sense of abandonment on full display.

“Mostly because I didn’t think anyone would believe me, and I didn’t have the money for a good enough attorney to prove it.”

“Why else?” Terry presses, picking up on a second reason.

“I didn’t want Devlin or any of the other guys to take it out on you.”

Terry stiffens. “What?”

“He visited me in prison once, in ’93, a month before he was officially announced as the next Chief, to brag and gloat, mostly. Said he had to make sure his reputation stayed squeaky clean, and suggested some ways to make sure I kept my mouth shut.”

“Devlin was planning to kill me? Even before all that shit with DiMarco went down?”

“He was at least willing to threaten me with the possibility. Knowing what I know now, he probably would’ve done it. If you were getting a reputation as a violent cop, it would’ve been easy for him to make it look like a mob hit.”

Terry grimaces, privately processing this new bit of information, and Cash allows him a moment or two. He’s more grateful than ever that he hadn’t pushed Devlin to see whether or not he was bluffing; if he had, Terry would most assuredly be dead – maybe taking you out too.

“I don’t like who I became when you went away,” Terry admits with a frustrated sigh. “I was just so angry that you’d willingly turned against everything we stood for. I took it out on any lowlife fucker I came across, I had no mercy; I didn’t care. I couldn’t take it out on you, so I took it out on anyone I could before they were behind bars along with you.”

“Did you ever come close to giving me the chance to explain? I know you got my letters.”

“No,” Terry says, spitting the word out forcefully. “I couldn’t bring himself to see you behind bars, to see what you truly were, or what I thought you were at the time. Y/N was probably right – I wasn’t scared of facing what you’d done, I was scared of what I’d done.”

“What do you mean?” Cash asks, confused.

“I mean that you accepted that what you did was wrong and moved on. You got rehabilitated, you got therapy, you worked on yourself… I haven’t. I got so caught up in this weird vendetta against crime in this city that I just… I couldn’t bring myself to think about what I was doing, or why. I just got worse. Y/N helped keep me from really crossing a line, but only just.”

“Ah, our little beacon of morality on the path to reconciliation,” Cash says fondly. The weight that’s been lifted off of his shoulders – off of his soul – is immense, and he thinks he sees a similar change in Terry as well. Finally, everything was out in the open between them.

“She jumped at the chance to help me with the scrap metal take down the second I said it might give you reason to hear me out, you know,” he adds, hoping they can perhaps bond over the well-meaning complication that you presented.

“She was talking you up way before that,” Terry corrects him, giving an affectionate smile at the thought. Cash isn’t naïve enough to think that the smile is for him, but he’s hopeful that one day it might be.

“Wait, what?” he asks, having just processed what Terry had said.

“She’s been trying to get me to see reason since the day she met you, maybe even before that.”

“How? Why?”

“It’s just who she is. She sees something hurting someone she cares about and she tries her best to fix it, regardless of what anyone else has to say about it.” They both chuckle, thinking back to their memories with you and your tenacity as you tried to force them to confront their situation.

“Before we get off-topic… are we good?” Cash asks hesitantly. He tries not to get his hopes up; all he had wanted from Terry all this time was for him to listen, and now he had. Forgiveness was a separate matter altogether.

“No.”

The word rings out clearly, and this time the rejection hits Cash full on. But he braces himself, focusing on his breathing until the tightness in his chest abates somewhat. You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink.

“I mean… not yet.”

Cash forces his gaze over to the other man, wanting to confirm the meaning behind Terry’s addendum, and the man is giving him a soft smile.

“I – really?” he asks in disbelief, and Terry barks out a laugh.

“Alright, fine; we’re not good, and never will be,” Terry jokes, and Cash rolls his eyes dramatically.

“Piss off,” Cash snaps with a scowl that doesn’t reach his eyes. Inside, his heart feels like it could be coming back to life. “You just bounce back awfully quick for someone who’s held a grudge for the better part of a decade.”

Terry shrugs nonchalantly in response, the movement tugging at Cash’s wrist. You weren’t due to be back quite yet, but he’s looking forward to getting out of these cuffs.

“Ter, I… thanks,” Cash says sheepishly, uncomfortable with being vulnerable for so long. The two men awkwardly clap each other on the back with their free hands, and an awkward silence resumes once more.

“Y/N is probably going to take every second of the hour we agreed to,” Terry points out off-handedly, though a wicked grin is starting to steal across his face. “That’s not for another twenty minutes. Plenty of time to give her a nice surprise to come back to – as a thank you for all of her meddling. Whaddaya say?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Cash says with enthusiasm. The two immediately set to work, and a warmth blooms through his chest as they work together again for the first time in ages, even just for something as juvenile as a prank.

“Speaking of Y/N… what are we going to do about her?” Terry asks as they continue setting up their prank. Cash sighs, pausing to run his hand through his hair. It wasn’t the ideal solution, but he doesn’t think there is one unless they can find a way to clone you.

“I’ll step aside,” he offers, and he means it sincerely even though it hurts. “She wants both of us in her life or neither of us, and the two of you have had more time to develop a relationship. She cares about you enough to push you to finally hear me out; it’s the least I can do for the two of you.”

“Cash…” Terry says, pausing a moment to keep his resolve. “I was an asshole. I’ve been an asshole for years. You deserve someone that gets you and is willing to fight for you, and… if something was meant to happen between the two of us, it probably would have by now,” he admits reluctantly.

“Ter, you just started tolerating being in the same room as me again less than ten minutes ago. I’m not doing anything that might jeopardize that.”

“It won’t,” Terry insists, but he hesitates at the look Cash gives him. “Even if it does, maybe it’s my turn to sacrifice. You’ve been through enough.”

The two men bicker back and forth as they continue their work, an eye on the clock telling them that you were due back within a few minutes now.

“She might not want either one of us,” Terry muses pensively as they crouch behind the kitchen counter, getting into position. “She’s stubborn, and probably not willing to choose if she’s scared the other one will walk away.”

“I think her killing us both because of this is a more likely option,” Cash retorts with a low chuckle that he immediately cuts off at the sound of a car door slamming shut outside. You have returned.

“So we let her decide who she wants, and the other will accept it?” Cash confirms, whispering now as they listen for your approach.

“I don’t think she’d let it happen any other way,” Terry hisses under his breath, right before you open the front door.

“Am I about to walk into a bloodbath?” you call from down the hall.

Maniacal grins steal across both of their faces.

Reader’s POV:

“How the fuck was I meant to react to this, you idiots?!” you snarl at both men sitting on the couch before you, and you can tell that they’re just barely keeping up their guilty routine, their shoulders shaking as they try not to burst into laughter.

You scowl at both of them, contemplating clunking their heads together.

The house had been ominously silent upon your return, and as soon as you’d rounded the corner, the pizza boxes that you were carrying dropped to the ground (though they thankfully remained closed).

The living room was a wreck.

The sofa and chairs in the living room had been overturned, the blinds were crooked, and various objects had been knocked over. Your heart had sunk down to the aching pit in your stomach – you didn’t see any blood, but there was no sight or sound coming from either man that you could detect. A surge of adrenaline accompanied the panic and dread growing inside you, and you’d screamed out for both men, frantically running deeper into the house to search for them.

Nothing else in the house had been disturbed, so you had sprinted back to the front door to throw your shoes back on to go look for them. How could you have been stupid enough to leave them alone? If either of them was seriously hurt, you’d never forgive yourself!

“Going somewhere?”

You’d frozen halfway through lacing up one boot at the sound of Terry’s voice, a sense of dread threatening to overwhelm you. If he was the one here and talking in Cash’s house, that meant…

“T-Terry?” you had called out in a weak voice, still unable to bring yourself to turn around, afraid of what you would see.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” came his answer in a soft purr, the darkly flirtatious tone startling you enough that you’d turned around to face him, seeing him leaning up against the wall in the hallway leading back to the living room and kitchen. Forcing your body to breathe somewhat regularly, you had tried to give him a closer look. He didn’t seem to show any signs of a struggle on his body, but he seemed far too relaxed, except for his eyes, which were almost feverishly bright as they’d stared over at you.

“Where… where’s Cash?” you asked in a high, squeaky pitch, uncertain if you even wanted the answer. Terry’s devious smile only confirmed your fears.

“Don’t worry, doll. I took care of him.”

You had stumbled back slightly at his words, not able to do more than gasp for breath, and Terry made no move to come after you.

There was a tense silence between the two of you, and you didn’t know what to do with yourself, with Terry, with any of this.

The silence was then broken by a disembodied yet oddly familiar snort.

“You can’t tell me she actually bought that.”

Terry’s shoulders sagged, the vicious expression dropping off of his face.

“Well now we’ll never know,” he’d huffed with a scowl, turning to speak to someone around the corner.

“I – what?” you had babbled, your heart stopping when Cash came into view, unharmed and still cuffed to the wrist that Terry had hidden from your view.

They’d both given you nearly identical amused looks that were quickly wiped off their faces at your screech of absolute fury. You’d charged at them, then, spending the next few minutes cursing them out and trying to swing at them, but they had been frustratingly agile in evading your movements, even joined together as they were.

Men were absolute monsters, you’d decided then, growling at them and shoving them back to the couch which had been returned to its proper state.

It seems that the distraught expression that had stolen across your face as you reflected on the past few minutes is too much for either man, both unable to keep their laughter under wraps any longer, going to pieces until you literally hiss at them, feeling so angry you could spit poison.

“You two are absolutely unbelievable,” you snarl, and both men have the grace to at least look mildly sheepish. “You almost gave me a heart attack! Why would you do something like this?!”

“We thought it would be funny,” Terry mumbles, averting your gaze and reaching his free hand up to nervously scratch the back of his head.

“What’s the big deal? I would’ve thought you’d be happy to see us working together!” Cash adds cheekily, utterly unabashed once more. You shoot him a nasty glare, but it only makes his smile grow.

“I left for one hour to give you the chance to grow the fuck up and actually listen to one another. Did you even bother to do that? Or did you just decide on this temporary truce so you could fuck with me?”

Your hands are on your hips as you sneer down at them, still absolutely furious. You’re vaguely aware that beneath the seemingly bottomless well of anger, you’re relieved to see that neither man is hurt.

“Oh please, the setup only took fifteen minutes,” Cash scoffs, and Terry visibly winces, likely anticipating an explosion from you.

“Cash, shut up,” Terry suggests firmly, though his eyes are locked on yours with a pleading expression. “We talked things out, Y/N, I swear,” he says softly. Something about him seems lighter somehow, you notice distantly, and you know that he’s telling the truth.

“So what, I’m supposed to believe that six years of grudges just disappeared within the span of an hour, and you’re both in cahoots again?” you ask skeptically, crossing your arms across your chest.

“Of course not,” Cash says with a roll of his eyes. “But we came to enough of an understanding to put our differences aside and get our revenge on you for being so damn pushy.”

“Excuse me?” you hiss venomously at the older man, but he merely smiles broadly at you, so you turn your gaze over to Terry. “Is that true, Terry?”

Terry clears his throat nervously, refusing to look at either you or Cash.

“We’re very grateful that you didn’t give up on either of us, Y/N,” he says carefully, clearly wary of setting you off further. “We just thought that this might help us breeze past the awkwardness, lighten the mood, show you that we can be in the same room without killing each other, yeah?”

You narrow your eyes at both men, still suspicious.

“So that’s it then? You’ve done it? Kissed and made up and all that?” you ask sarcastically, raising an eyebrow.

Before you can register the movement, both men have tugged you down so that they can plant kisses to your cheeks like they’d rehearsed it a hundred times.

“Now we have!” Cash informs you cheerily, nimbly dodging your slaps and laughing.

“Not me, you morons!” You exclaim, your face heated as your body responds to being sandwiched between both men. If they’re telling the truth and are trying to take steps to repair their friendship, you’re going to have to learn to not blush every time they touch you. Especially touching you together like that; it was enough to nearly make you moan.

“Well we sure as shit aren’t kissing each other,” jokes Terry, helping Cash secure your wrists when you show no sign of stopping your attack. You wrench yourself out of their grip, still flustered as you look at them from across the room, throwing yourself into an armchair with a huff.

“Well I’m glad you two are all chummy again; you’ll have each other at least, because I’m never talking to either of you again,” you snap.

“Not a chance,” Cash says dismissively, immediately calling your bluff. “There’s no way in hell you’ll stay away after putting all this work in.”

“Come back over here,” Terry adds, giving you a pleading expression.

“Why should I?” you grumble, angry that you’re the one on the receiving end of all of this nonsense.

“To take our cuffs off, for one.”

You don’t even blink, retrieving the key from your pocket and throwing it across the room to them. “Done.”

“Don’t be grumpy just because you weren’t part of the plan for once,” Cash says teasingly.

“That is not why I’m grumpy!” you protest, regretting the words as they leave your lips, watching the predatory look spread across the older man’s face. “I’m not grumpy!” you amend, glaring at Cash.

“Sweetheart –” Terry tries to interject, but Cash cuts him off.

“Going to miss your alone time with us?” he goads you, and Terry smacks him in the chest with his newly freed hand.

“Knock it off, Cash,” he warns the older man. “I’m not trading her out for you, so stop pissing her off.”

“You’re no fun,” Cash huffs, looking back at you to give you a wink.

Your brain doesn’t know what to make of any of this. The two of them were acting so… comfortable with one another, even after everything. If you could barely fathom a world in which they managed to make amends and both stay in your life, imagining a world where they were able to joke and flirt with you was an impossibility.

“I – I don’t understand what’s happening here,” you admit rather helplessly, looking from one man to the other.

“Isn’t this what you wanted? For us to all be together?” Cash asks innocently, pointedly ignoring Terry giving him a look out of the corner of his eye.

“Yeah, but I didn’t think that you’d get over things so quickly, joking about… you know,” you trail off, blushing furiously.

“I never said anything to suggest I wouldn’t bring this up at every opportunity,” Cash leers, and Terry chuckles, sending you for another loop.

“I believe I told you this morning I would be talking about it with you regardless of if we went anywhere,” Terry adds, and is this all part of their dumb prank too? Were they trying to drive you insane?

“Yeah but… together? In front of each other?” you challenge. “Terry?” you press the younger man, knowing that he had the deepest feelings of the three of you. He gives you a gentle smile in response.

“You’re stuck with both of us, Y/N,” he says simply, as though all of this could have a straightforward solution. “Just like you wanted.”

“And because you’re likely too stubborn or loyal or whatever you want to call it, you won’t want to choose between us,” Cash chimes in with a casual shrug. “At least not right away, which means we both get to bug you about this whenever we want.”

“Or, I could leave right now, and hate you both!” you return cheerfully, but they immediately see through the ruse, and you scowl.

“Sure, sweetheart,” Terry agrees condescendingly. “Whatever you say.”

“So what, you expect me to endure you both being annoying just for the privilege of your presence?”

“Yeah, pretty much!” Cash confirms, clapping his hands together loudly. “Glad we’ve worked all that out." You huff dismissively as they both give you wide, smug smiles.

“I give it two weeks before one of us backs out or maims the others.”

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 Epilogue

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