#witchywithwhiskeywork

Jack finally let loose the sigh that had been building between his ribs, wondering distractedly if the situation was some jagoff businessman’s card declining, an impossible-to-please socialite sending every bite of her food back, or if another influencer was insisting on getting their meal comped in exchange for free publicity on their Instagram or TikTok or whatever.

Jack knew he was old and out of touch—that was why he’d hired one of the daytime servers, Victoria Javadi, to run the restaurant’s social media—but he also knew a scam when he saw it. Someone who genuinely wanted to work with him asked about partnership deals before eating an entire meal they expected to be free.

Grumbling about influencers under his breath, Jack gave the sauce on the stove one last stir, adding a little more salt, then handed the wooden spoon off to his sous chef, John Shen. Quickly, but methodically, Jack took off his gloves, turned to Nazely, and tucked his arms behind his back—a remnant from his days in the army.

“What kind of a situation?” Jack asked, his voice calm and measured even as he was already preparing himself for the worst.

The chef listened attentively as his server explained what had brought her back into the kitchen with that concerned look in her eyes. The frown on Jack’s face deepened the more he heard about the date going decidedly bad in his dining room.

Finally, Nazely finished up her story with a breathless, “Do you want me to have security handle it?”

Jack knew it was the easiest solution, to call security and have them escort the man creating the situation out of the restaurant. But it would cause a scene, and everyone else in the packed restaurant would be talking more about what had happened than his food.

It would be better for Night Shift’s business if Jack could remedy the situation himself, as quietly as possible.

Instead of answering his server’s question, Jack walked to the double swinging doors that led out to the dining room. He peered through the window, feeling a bit like a king overlooking his kingdom, and he had a sudden, fierce impulse to protect it.

“Which table was it?” Jack asked, glancing back at Nazely, who’d followed him to the doors.

“Table 12,” she answered quickly.

Jack looked out across the sea of glamorous guests dining in his restaurant, a swell of pride in his heart when he saw beyond the expensive clothes and glitzy jewelry to the smiles and laughter of people enjoying his food. In his heart of hearts, Jack just wanted to make food people liked eating, and it never failed to overwhelm him when he got a chance to see the delight he brought to complete strangers who’d entrusted their time and money to him.

Pushing those thoughts and feelings aside for the moment, Jack focused back on the room, his eyes tracking along the tables until he found the one Nazely had indicated. For the first time in a long time, Jack Abbot’s heart skipped a beat and he froze at the sight in front of him.

The first thing about you that rendered Jack speechless was your mouth, the curve of your lips, the tension around the edges as you hid a frown behind a sip of wine. Jack knew, instinctively, that your lips would look gorgeous when you smiled, that your mouth would look exquisite while eating his food—and he knew, too, that he’d do anything to make you smile, to feed you, to take care of you.

Jack shook his head at those thoughts, forcing himself to focus on the situation Nazely had told him about, the date going irreparably sideways.

Still, the chef couldn’t help but rake his eyes over you, telling himself he was simply assessing how much distress you were in. Jack noted the stiffness in your shoulders, how you were curling in on yourself slightly, like your body was trying to protect itself. He also noticed the pretty color of your eyes, the curve of your cheekbones, the sweep of your dress at it fell across your thighs.

You were beautiful, enchanting in a way Jack hadn’t experienced in a long, long time—and you were miserable. That much was clear from your body language and the way you regarded your date with no small amount of disgust and fear deep in your pretty eyes.

Finally, the chef dragged his gaze across your table to your date.

Immediately, Jack didn’t like the arrogant slant of the man’s shoulders, the imperious tilt of his chin, or the pompous way he held his glass as he spoke and drank. Even the way the man took a sip of wine, smacking his lips before resuming his tirade where he’d left off, made anger coil like a poised predator in Jack’s gut.

Something shifted in the man, and Jack looked back at you, seeing indignant rage boiling beneath the surface of your expression. Jack watched you say something through bared teeth, hissing at your date like you were trying not to make a scene.

Your hands were braced against the edge of the table, and you pushed to stand—but then your date moved to stop you, grabbing your wrist, and something in Jack snapped.

Later, he’d tell himself he would’ve had the same reaction if any man had put his hands on a woman in his restaurant. But in that moment, he was driven almost entirely by the edge of something else threaded through the fury in his chest—something greedy and selfish that you, and only you, had inspired in him.

“I’ll handle this myself,” Jack growled, tossing the words over his shoulder at Nazely without taking his eyes off where your date’s hand was still wrapped around your wrist, holding you chained to the table like a misbehaving pet.

All Jack could think, as he strode across the dining room, his chest churning with wrath and violence, was that it was a good thing he didn’t have a knife in his hand.

You were on the date from hell.

And the worst part? You weren’t even sure when everything had gone wrong.

Was it when you’d let your coworker set you up with her boyfriend’s best friend, a man named Curtis Larsen?

Was it when you’d gotten your hopes up and donned your favorite dress—the black fabric clinging to your curves in all the right places and showing off your legs—only for Curtis not to say a word when he picked you up from your office building in downtown Pittsburgh?

Was it when you decided you could put up with his pretentious posturing about his job and his golf game to enjoy one night at Night Shift, the restaurant you’d always wanted to try but could never afford?

Hiding a sigh by taking a sip of your wine—a bitter red you’d never have ordered for yourself—you decided that was probably when things had gone wrong.

From the moment you’d gotten into Curtis’s car, he’d been nothing but insufferable. You should’ve left before walking into the restaurant, but you’d heard such good things about Night Shift, and its head chef Jack Abbot, that you’d ignored your instincts and soldiered on.

You were rewarded for your selfishness by watching Curtis talk down to everyone he came across—the hostess, who sat you in the middle of the dining room only for Curtis to complain you weren’t in one of the booths; the server, who tried to recite the night’s specials only to be interrupted by Curtis asking about a specific dish; the sommelier, who had to put up with Curtis acting like he knew more about wine than the man whose job it was.

It was all you could do to offer the restaurant workers apologetic smiles and slip them some money from your own purse when Curtis wasn’t looking. You tried to grin and bear it, to soak up the ambience of the restaurant despite the black hole of unearned smugness sitting across from you.

Truthfully, Night Shift was spectacular enough to almost distract you from your horrible date and everything that was wrong with him.

The space was decorated in rich, emerald greens and dark, roughhewn wood, with real, lustrous plants and other greenery breaking up the dining room to give each table a pretense of privacy. Warm candles and low lighting gave the restaurant an intimate atmosphere, even while it was packed full.

All told, Night Shift was the perfect place for a date. It was too bad you were there with a man who might’ve been worse than the devil.

You were hiding another frown behind a sip of your disgusting wine when Curtis launched into a tirade about how the woman he’d marry should have a respectable job and make a good salary—and she’d also be responsible for keeping his house clean and taking care of his kids.

It took all of your self-control to stop yourself from rolling your eyes at him. You weren’t exactly surprised—you’d been set up with enough financial analysts like Curtis to know a lot of them were useless assholes who wanted a mommy more than a wife. But you could feel your desire to put up with the date for the sake of trying Night Shift’s food slipping away, and you hadn’t even ordered your appetizers yet.

Resolving to treat yourself to a dinner at Night Shift for your next birthday, you interrupted Curtis’s egotistical diatribe about modern women and tried to politely excuse yourself. You were kinder than you thought he deserved when you told him you didn’t think the two of you were a good fit and it would save you both some time to cut the date short.

But Curtis’s eyes flashed in a way that had fear suddenly bursting in your gut, and his expression turned mean as he leaned forward across the small table, invading your space.

“The date isn’t over until I say it’s over,” Curtis said, his voice so cold, you froze in your seat. “You’re not going anywhere.”

For a moment, you sat in your seat in surprise. You’d been on some bad dates, and while some of the men had reacted badly when you’d left early, none of them had scared you the way Curtis was. There was something so aggressive about the way he spoke, and it was then that you noticed a strange haze in his eyes.

Was he… high?

Thankfully, a sever must’ve caught Curtis’s words, or his tone of voice, because she came over to check on you. Her brown eyes were sharp, but kind as they stayed fixed on you, asking if everything was okay.

“We’re fine,” you told her weakly, giving her the most reassuring smile you could offer while silently begging her to help you somehow. You didn’t want to make a scene, and you were sure the restaurant didn’t want that either, but you would if you needed to.

That’s what you hoped to convey, and you thought the server might’ve understood because she gave a firm nod and headed off with a determined spring in her step. You saw her walk quickly toward the kitchen before your attention was diverted by Curtis.

“You better not embarrass me in front of the staff,” Curtis was saying, clutching his wine glass a little too tight and swirling the liquid enough that you worried he’d spill some on the expensive decor. “I bring a lot of high-profile clients here, I can’t have you leaving early—you know how people like them talk.”

The fear you’d felt melted away in the face of indignant anger on behalf of the restaurant staff—who Curtis had treated like garbage since he’d walked in. It was a miracle he was even allowed in the doors after what you’d seen that evening.

“What kind of people is that exactly?” you asked, quiet fury lacing your voice. You could put up with the indignity of being ordered around by your date, but you wouldn’t sit by and listen to him disparage the people who’d only tried to help the two of you that evening.

Curtis clearly didn’t hear the warning in your tone, because he gave a careless shrug of his shoulders, gesturing thoughtlessly with his hand holding his wine. Some sloshed over the edge, spilling on the floor.

“You know, low-class people.”

There was so much casual disdain dripping from his voice, you had to wonder, if Curtis was such a regular at Night Shift, why hadn’t the sommelier poisoned him already—it’s not like the world wouldn’t be better off without your date, who was somehow still talking.

“The type of people too poor to get a real job—like us,” Curtis said, fixing you with what he clearly thought was a winning smile. It did not make him look like a winner.

At the implication that you were anything like Curtis, your stomach roiled unpleasantly, and you were suddenly afraid that what little wine you’d drank was about to come back up.

That was it, you’d officially reached the end of your patience. You didn’t care if it caused a scene, you couldn’t spend another moment in this man’s presence without vomiting.

“You’re a small-dicked, pathetic excuse for a man, Curtis Larsen,” you hissed at him, trying to keep your fury in check as you braced your hands against the edge of the table and moved to stand. “And I would fuck every one of the people who worked here before I let you anywhere near me —”

As you pushed yourself up from the table, Curtis reached for you quicker than you would’ve expected, snatching your wrist in his big, meaty hand. He yanked on your arm hard enough that you sat back down, biting back a cry as a jolt of pain shot through your shoulder.

“Don’t you dare fucking try to leave,” Curtis snarled, his face contorted into an ugly mask of rage. It was clearer, in that moment, that he was high. It was making him more aggressive, so even when you tried to pull free of his grasp, he held on tighter, hurting you even more.

Just then, movement over Curtis’s shoulder caught your attention and your gaze snagged on a man pushing through the door to the kitchen, an air of violence and vengeance about him that made your heart leap in hope. He carried himself with the kind of quiet confidence weak-willed men like Curtis could only dream of, and he was heading straight for your table.

In the brief time it took the man to make his way through the dining room, you took stock of his appearance. The first thing you noticed was how handsome he was. Silvery, steel gray curls were swept back from his face, giving you a clear view of his sharp, hazel eyes, straight nose and a soft mouth bracketed by short stubble.

The man was clearly older than you, in his 50s, but he looked competent and put together in a way that had your belly swooping as your eyes raked down his body. A plain white t-shirt stretched around his bulging biceps, freckles dusted down his tanned, weathered arms. His broad shoulders and narrow waist were accentuated by the brown apron hanging from his neck.

Something about the man looked familiar, like you’d seen him somewhere before, but between the pain in your wrist, the fear inspired by Curtis’s aggressive change in mood, and the sudden attraction you felt toward the handsome chef, you couldn’t place him.

At least, not until you looked back at his face and saw the intent determination in his expression. It was the same exceedingly hot look he’d been wearing in the photos you’d seen—the ones in the article about Night Shift and its chef-slash-owner.

You realized, with sudden clarity, two very important things: The man approaching your table was the restaurant’s owner and world-renowned head chef, Jack Abbot. And he looked furious enough about the way Curtis was still holding on to you that he was liable to murder your date.

Jack Abbot could not kill a restaurant guest.

He could not. No matter how much that guest might deserve it for putting his filthy fucking hands on a woman in his restaurant. No matter how much Jack wanted to rip this guy’s head off for daring to touch someone as sweet-looking as you.

He could not kill a guest. He could not kill a guest.

Those words were a refrain playing in his head as he made his way to your table, the one with the situation Nazely had told him about—a situation that had clearly escalated to physical. Because your date had put his hand on you and all Jack could think about was murder.

He hated the way this pompous asshole was holding your wrist tight enough that it looked painful, though your face was a stony mask like you refused to give the guy the satisfaction of showing him he’d hurt you. And Jack especially hated the fact that he’d stupidly left his knife in the kitchen, so he couldn’t cut off the guest’s hand for the crime of touching you with so much violence.

Jack was nearly at the table when he heard your date talking, and he immediately recognized the smarmy voice of Night Shift’s #1 worst regular: Curtis Larsen.

In that moment, Jack knew he should’ve banned the guy after the last time he came in, when he’d terrorized the staff and tipped basically nothing for their efforts. Well, that was a mistake Jack was going to rectify immediately, once he got you away from the shithead.

So focused on his thoughts, and trying to quell his inclination toward murder, Jack didn’t fully register what Curtis was saying until he was right next to the table.

“—Didn’t take you for such a cheap whore—”

Any possibility of Jack politely interrupting Curtis went out the window when he heard those words. What came out of him instead was: “Sir, you need to shut your fucking mouth.”

Jack was louder than he’d meant to be, making you gasp softly. His gaze found you, wanting to make sure he hadn’t scared you, and he ended up getting lost in your eyes. They were bright and smart, and watching him with such a keen interest, it made Jack feel 20 years younger.

It was then that Jack really looked at you, and he realized just how young you were. Not young enough to make him feel like a complete creep, but… young enough to make him feel at least a little bit like a creep.

Especially when he raked his eyes down your body—telling himself he was just checking to make sure you were okay—and he couldn’t help but notice the way your dress clung to your curves, taunting him with how high the hem rode up your thigh. Your bare legs were a tease beneath the tablecloth, and Jack wondered if your skin felt as soft as it looked…

Reminding himself that you needed help, not to be ogled by a creepy older man, Jack shook himself free of the spell you’d cast on him with your wide, trusting eyes and your pretty, tempting curves. He turned to Curtis, giving the man his most fearsome glower, the one that kept the most unruly of restaurant guests in line.

“And keep your fucking hands to yourself,” Jack growled, making a point of looking down at where Curtis’s hand was still holding your wrist before returning his gaze to the man’s face. “Or do I need to teach you a lesson about putting your hands on woman without her consent?”

Jack knew he sounded dangerous—unhinged, probably—but he couldn’t bring himself to care, not when his thinly veiled threat did the trick and Curtis let go of you like he was dropping a hot pan.

Something settled in Jack’s chest, and he felt soothed knowing he hadn’t even needed to resort to violence to save you from Curtis. But that feeling quickly shriveled as Jack watched you bring your hand to our chest and cradle your wrist.

He had the sudden, inexplicable urge to wrap you up in his arms and tell you no one would ever hurt you again. Not on his watch. But somehow, Jack managed to keep his hands tucked behind his back, even as the tips of his fingers prickled with the desire to touch you, to soothe you.

Those thoughts and urges were troubling enough, but then you lifted your eyes and gave Curtis a withering look that had the other man cowering almost as much as he had under Jack’s glare. The chef felt a threat of pride weave through his heart.

Jack could see your strength, your resilience, and he knew in that moment that you could take care of yourself. You could’ve freed yourself from Curtis’s hold, you hadn’t needed saving, but that only made Jack want to whisk you away all the more. He wanted to take care of you in a way he’d never felt before.

Biting back a sigh at himself, Jack realized one very important thing: He was a goner for you. Already. Even though he didn’t even know your name.

Unable and unwilling to stop himself from acting selfishly, Jack held a hand out to you, giving you a soft, encouraging smile and nodding toward your hurt wrist.

“My name’s Jack, I own this restaurant. Can I take a look, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice as gentle as he could make it, a low, raspy rumble that he hoped felt like a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. “I used to be a medic in the army.”

It made Jack’s heart soar when you looked at him for a moment, like you were taking his measure, and decided you could trust him. Your fingers were soft and a little cold as they slipped into Jack’s plam, his own hand closing reflexively around them to warm you up.

Carefully, Jack turned your wrist one way, then the other, bending low over your hand to examine whether it was injured. All the while, he kept an eye on your face, watching for any wince or twinge in your expression to indicate he was hurting you.

Thankfully—for you, for Jack, and most especially for your date—it didn’t look like Curtis had done any real damage.

“No sprain, just some bruising,” Jack said, giving your fingers a soft, reassuring squeeze and lifting his gaze to yours. He nearly lost himself in the admiration and gratefulness in your eyes, but managed to continue. “I have some ibuprofen in my office.”

Your eyes widened a little in surprise, and Jack was forced to endure the torment of watching you nibble on your lower lip while uncertainty filled your expression. He understood your reticence to trust a man so soon after another had hurt you, so Jack tried to put you at ease.

“Whaddya say, sweetheart, do you want the kitchen tour?”

Jack shot you a cheesy, hopefully charming wink, and when you let out a soft giggle, shaking your head at him like you couldn’t believe how corny he was, he felt like he was flying. He felt like he could soar above all of Pittsburgh with only the confidence he earned from making you laugh.

“That would be nice,” you said, looking up at him from under your lashes. Jack was immediately entranced by your voice, by the way your lips moved as you spoke. “Thank you, chef.”

It did absurdly wild things to Jack’s heart, which was already beating a fast, staccato rhythm in his chest, to hear you call him ‘chef’. It shouldn’t have affected him so much, it was a title he heard about a hundred times a night from dozens of other people.

But hearing it from your pretty mouth made Jack feel like it was a badge of honor, and he was glad to have earned it.

Distracted by thinking of ways to get you to call him ‘chef’ some more, it wasn’t until you clutched his fingers more tightly that he remembered he’d intended to get you away from Curtis as quickly as possible. Using it as an excuse to keep holding your hand, Jack helped you to stand up.

When he was sure you were steady on your feet, after wobbling for a moment in your heels, Jack nodded to your chair and said, “Grab your things, angel. You won’t be coming back.”

Even though Jack was leaning into you when he said it, Curtis must’ve caught the words because his expression turned from icy resignation to red-hot fury as he pushed himself to stand. But Jack was quicker, putting himself between you and your former date, growling at the younger man before he could fully stand up.

“Sit down, sir.”

A stunned Curtis plopped back into his chair. Jack raised his chin, staring down his nose at the other man while he tucked his hands behind his back, standing guard between you and your former date. Images of knives began dancing in Jack’s head, and he let it fuel the anger in his expression to keep Curtis in check.

Jack could sense you moving around behind him. You’d dropped his hand when you’d turned to grab your jacket and purse, but you must’ve been done because you slipped your fingers back into his palm.

You grasped his hand tentatively, and he gave you a reassuring squeeze, his heart soaring in his chest even as he continued glaring at the man at the table, who looked riotous at the thought of Jack stealing you away.

“You can’t do this,” Curtis snarled, trying to puff up his chest and make himself look big, even as he remained sitting in his seat, too much a coward to actually challenge Jack’s authority.

The chef responded to the other man’s posturing by looming over him, an unkind smile on his face. Jack was more than a little satisfied by the way Curtis cowered, just a little, in his seat.

“This is my fucking restaurant,” Jack said, his voice even but ruthless. “So let me tell you how this is going to go.” Jack kept your hand tucked in his, holding you behind him while he dealt with your ex-date. “You’re going to pay your bill, leave your server a generous tip, and then you’re never going to step foot in here again. Do you get me?”

Jack watched emotions flit across the younger man’s face—surprise, frustration, indignation, fury—and he could practically feel the temper tantrum brewing, like a storm rolling in. But he could also smell the booze on him and, if Jack wasn’t mistaken, he could see the telltale signs Curtis had been indulging in more than wine.

Night Shift really didn’t need the scene or the paperwork that would come along with the temper tantrum, which would inevitably lead to someone calling the cops. So Jack went in for the metaphorical kill.

“If I ever see your face in here again,” Jack said, lowering his voice even more so only you and Curtis could hear him. “You’re going to pay for putting your hands on a woman in my restaurant—and I’ll take that payment with my knife.”

Jack watched as Curtis blanched, his tanned skin going ghostly pale as all the fight drained out of him at the threat of actual violence. The younger man’s gaze finally fell to the table, and Jack knew he wasn’t going to challenge him again.

It was completely unhinged to threaten Curtis like that, he knew that, but all Jack worried about was that he’d scared you. When he turned to check on you, though, he found you staring at him with so much admiration, Jack wanted to puff up his own chest and take on every asshole who’d ever wronged you.

You took a careful step closer to Jack, looking at him with those wide eyes, a smirk flirting around the edges of your pretty mouth, and wrapped your other hand around his bicep. “Thank you,” you murmured for only him to hear, and Jack offered you an answering smile.

“Ready to go, sweetheart?” he asked charmingly, squeezing your hand gently.

Your smirk bloomed into a full-blown grin, and he caught the edge of excitement in your expression, making Jack’s heart thump harder in his chest. He could hardly believe someone as young and beautiful and strong as you wanted to go anywhere with him. Not only did you look like you wanted it, you looked eager for it.

“Yes, please, chef,” you purred, the sound of your voice calling him ‘chef’ again going straight to his dick.

Oh yeah, Jack was definitely a goner for you.

You could hardly believe how drastically the course of your night had changed in just a few minutes.

You’d gone from being on the absolute worst date of your life, trying to figure out how you were going to get away from the man who’d accosted you, to being on the arm of one of the most talented—and handsome—head chefs in all of Pittsburgh.

Jack Abbot’s hand was warm and strong in yours, his stride steady and determined as he led you through the dining room toward the kitchen. His presence at your side helped to settle the wobbliness you felt in the wake of the fear and adrenaline that had rushed through you when Curtis had grabbed you.

Leaning further into Jack’s side, you got a hint of his scent—fresh laundry something earthy, like sage or rosemary—and you let it stoke the little ember of interest that burned deep your core, the one that had flared to life when you watched the chef put your date in his place.

What did it say about you that you thought it was inexplicably hot the way Jack had threatened Curtis with his knife? What did it say about you that you felt safer with Jack than you had with any man you’d ever gone out with?

With those questions rattling around in your head, you were glad that Jack didn’t try to make conversation beyond asking for your name as he guided you to the kitchen. He seemed to understand you needed a moment to process everything that’d happened, and he remained quiet as the two of you walked together through the crowded dining room, the soft chatter of the other diners filling the silence so it wasn’t awkward.

When Jack pushed through the double swinging doors to the kitchen, the gentle murmur of the restaurant’s dining room gave away to the chaos of the kitchen. Immediately, you felt the buzzy, almost electric energy, of the staff, and you took your first full breath since you’d walked into Night Shift, something about the kitchen making you feel like you were coming home.

Your eyes were opened wide as you looked around because there was so much to take in—a whole army of chefs and cooks moved around the silver metal tables and big, gas range stoves, grabbing things out of fridges, chopping vegetables and searing meat. It was like a masterfully choreographed dance, the way everyone moved around each other.

And it smelled divine. Herbs and spices and so many other scents filled your nose, making your mouth water and your stomach grumble, though there was no way anyone could hear it over the noise—the clatter of knives and pans, the people calling out orders, the slamming of fridge doors.

Everything seemed to revolve around on particular chef, an Asian man spooning some sauce onto a plate and conferring with a Black woman. He was the calm in the center of the storm, obviously running things while Jack had been dealing with your date.

The head chef himself tugged you to the side of the room, pulling you out of the way of the steady stream of servers coming in and out of the double doors, carrying big trays filled with all kinds of dishes—salads and seafood, pasta and chicken. All of it smelled amazing, looked amazing, and it was all you could do to stare around the kitchen with awe no doubt written plainly on your face.

Gradually, you became aware of Jack’s gaze on your face, and when you looked at the chef, you found him watching you closely, so much intensity in his hazel eyes, it made you feel a little shy. Here was this older, accomplished chef, and he was looking at you like you were the most interesting thing in his entire kitchen—his entire restaurant.

You offered him a tentative smile, your heart skipping a beat when he towed you just a little closer by your still clasped hands.

“What do you think, sweetheart?” Jack asked, and you could tell by the tenor of his voice that he actually cared about your answer. He sounded worried, hopeful, and so achingly interested that it made you unsteady on your feet.

“I think it’s amazing,” you answered honestly, your voice more than a little breathless with wonder. You leaned further into his side, staring into his eyes and getting a little lost in them. “Everything looks and smells delicious, chef.”

A small, pleased smile curved Jack’s mouth, even as his eyes darkened at what you’d called him. It stole the breath from your lungs, the knowledge that you could affect him so clearly just by calling him ‘chef’. It made you want to say it more, to say it while his mouth was on your body, just to see if you could drive him wild…

Tension crackled between the two of you, sharp and electric, sucking all the oxygen out of the room so it became a little hard to breathe normally. Your heart fluttered in your chest, and your legs trembled, and still, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from Jack, your gaze drifting down to his mouth and the silvery stubble that surrounded it.

“Jack?” you murmured his name softly, a question in the single syllable, as you raised your eyes back to his. There was an answer in his gaze, in the way his own eyes dropped to your lips and back up, like he was fighting the same urge as you.

“Everything good, chef?”

You and Jack jumped apart, your hands disentangling as you put a respectable amount of space between your bodies. You watched Jack straighten, his expression shifting into something much more professional, much more appropriate for his workplace, as he turned to the room.

“Gimme a few more minutes, chef,” Jack called back to the Asian man who’d addressed him. You got the sense that the man was amused by the two of you, even though his face remained unreadable. “I’ll be back to dig you out of the hole of the dinner rush.”

The man who must’ve been Jack’s sous chef huffed a laugh and, without looking up from the dish he was plating, said, “Don’t worry about us, old man. We’ve got this.”

“Who’s he calling old?” Jack muttered under his breath, making a laugh burst from your lips at how disgruntled he sounded. A smirk flickered at the edge of Jack’s mouth, like he couldn’t help himself, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement, and he leaned closer to you. “Do you think I’m old, angel?”

Jack’s voice was little more than a rasp, and you swore that you could feel it skim down your spine and settle deep in your core, where heat was blooming hotter. All you could do was stare at Jack, at the weathered lines of his freckled face, and the silver curls that you wanted to run your fingers through, as you tried to think of something to say.

A little lop-sided smile tilted Jack’s mouth, like he could somehow see the odd mixture of awe and lust swirling in your body, in your brain, making you tongue-tied—and he didn’t hold it against you. “Don’t answer that,” he grumbled good-naturedly, his eyes still fixed on your face.

The two of you hung suspended in that moment for longer than was strictly necessary, the hustle and bustle of the kitchen fading away, until you finally remembered how to speak. Though once the words came out of your mouth, you wished you’d stayed silent.

“I don’t think you’re too old.”

That statement got Jack’s attention in a way you hadn’t experienced in all the short time you’d been in his presence. His eyes darkened, dropping to your lips once again before dragging their way back to meet your gaze. A charming grin made his mouth look far too tempting.

“Too old for what, angel?” Jack asked innocently, a hint of playful teasing in his tone that had your body burning hotter. His dark hazel eyes were knowing—like he knew what you really meant to say, that you didn’t think he was too old for you.

But you couldn’t say that, couldn’t answer him. You already felt like you’d said too much, and there were too many emotions still swirling around in your chest, in your belly, between your thighs, to make sense of any of them.

Thankfully, Jack seemed to understand you were overwhelmed and he didn’t push it. Instead, he pressed a hand to your lower back, the heat of his palm scorching through the thin fabric of your dress, even in the warmth of the kitchen. He guided you gently to a narrow doorway tucked into the corner of the kitchen you hadn’t noticed before.

Jack led you into a small office that you knew immediately was his. The space was nice and neat, just like his kitchen, with homey touches that reflected the dining room of his restaurant with emerald green walls and a dark wooden desk, which held a few framed photos and other keepsakes alongside his paperwork and computer.

Also, it smelled like him—fresh and clean, with just a hint of garlic and sage.

The room was small, barely big enough for a desk, chair and a couple of filing cabinets, but it was cozy, and you felt just as safe in Jack’s office as you did in his presence. Being away from the loud clamor of the kitchen also helped to settle your nerves and, without being invited to, you sank into the chair, leaving Jack to lean against the edge of his desk.

“How’re you holding up, sweetheart?” Jack asked gently, crossing his arms over his chest and ducking down to catch your eye. You gave him a weary smile.

“I’m ok,” you said, then paused to take stock of yourself to see if that was really true. “A little shaken, a lot hungry,” your smile tured rueful. “I was really looking forward to trying your food,” you told him, dropping your gaze to where your hands were twisted together in your lap. “But we didn’t even make it to the appetizers.”

Jack shifted closer to you, his knee nudging lightly against yours, and you felt a little zing of happiness at even that small touch. You almost huffed a laugh at yourself for the silly crush you were developing on the hot, older chef, but managed to bite it back and looked up at the man who’d so gently gotten your attention.

“If you want to go home, I can have security escort you out back,” Jack started, his mouth twisting into the vague impression of a frown, like he didn’t particularly like that idea. “Or, if you want, you can hang out in here, I can make you something to eat, and then later, I can give you that kitchen tour.”

He shot you another one of those exaggerated winks and you couldn’t help but giggle softly. Jack was charming and he knew it, and if you weren’t careful, you were definitely going to develop a big ol’ crush on the man. He made it too easy to feel comfortable around him.

“It’s your choice, sweetheart,” Jack said, pausing for a moment like he wasn’t sure if he should go on, but then he did. “I do hope you’ll let me cook for you, though.” He reached out, his fingers brushing gently against the edge of your jaw, his touch so light you could barely feel it. “I don’t like the idea of sending you home hungry.”

Before you could lean into Jack’s hand, he snatched it back, like he was worried he’d crossed a line. He crossed his arms more tightly across his chest, his hands tucked away as if he was worried they couldn’t be trusted not to touch you again, and you had to smile.

Maybe it wasn’t the worst idea in the world to develop a crush on the hot, older chef who’d saved you from the worst date of your life—especially since it seemed like the hot, older chef was having trouble keeping his gentle hands off you.

“I’d like to stay,” you murmured, looking up at Jack from under your lashes.

Almost against your will, your body swayed closer to the charming chef, your hand reaching out to wrap around his forearm. The light dusting of Jack’s hair tickled your fingers, and you couldn’t help but notice how strong and firm his arm was beneath your palm.

Your lips quirked into a small smile, putting a little flirty edge on your words as you said, “If you don’t mind, chef.”

Jack’s eyes were dark, liquid heat as he stared at you for a long moment, and you wondered wildly if he might kiss you. The thought had excitement fluttering to life in your belly, but before you could get your hopes up too high, Jack swallowed and looked away. It was only then that you noticed the faint flush pinkening his cheeks.

“Make yourself comfortable, sweetheart,” Jack said, pushing away from the desk and stepping toward the door. “Ibuprofen’s in the top drawer.”

The movement had your hand dropping from his arm and you immediately missed the warmth of his skin. When he looked back at you, he must’ve caught something on your face, something that had him cracking a small smile.

“I’ll be back soon, alright?” His voice was a little rough, teasing your body with its low tenor, but you managed a smile and a nod.

“I’ll be here,” you said, as brightly as you could. “Thank you, Jack.”

Jack looked at you another moment, his eyes going a little soft, before he ducked through the office door. He pulled it most of the way closed behind him, leaving it open just a crack, somehow knowing you wanted some peace, but not to be cut off from the kitchen—from him—entirely.

Left alone to your own devices, you only had your own thoughts as company. You knew your brain wanted to spiral about your date—Why hadn’t you seen the red flags from Curtis earlier? Why hadn’t you cut the date short sooner?—but instead you focused on what was in front of you.

Tossing your purse and jacket onto the desk, you got comfortable in Jack’s chair, leaning back and noticing a leather jacket thrown over the back. Shooting a quick glance at the door to make sure no one could see in, you tucked your face into the collar and breathed in, a smile curving your lips as you inhaled Jack’s clean, earthy scent.

Once you’d had your fill—or, rather, once your shame caught up with you and you forced yourself to stop sniffing the hot, older chef’s jacket like a mindless hussy—you let your eyes roam around the room, taking in the almost military precision of the organization in the office.

The desk was mostly clear, save for the keyboard attached to his computer monitor, and a stack of order forms for things for the restaurant. There were also the photos and keepsakes. You picked them up one by one, looking closely at the people and things Jack cared about, not bothering to feel bad about your nosiness.

The first photo was of Jack and his whole kitchen crew at the opening of Night Shift, looking worn out but exultant in their success. Another photo depicted Jack with a man about his age, tall with brown hair and a salt and pepper beard, standing next to a motorcycle. They had their arms slung around each other like they were old friends.

Next, your fingers trailed over a medal of honor that was tucked into a corner of the desk. It was purple and gold, in the shape of a heart with a man’s side profile in the center. You remembered Jack’s comment about being in the army and wondered what had earned him the medal.

Feeling like you’d possibly overstepped, you set the medal back in its place on Jack’s desk and focused on finding the ibuprofen. After taking the pills with the glass of water he’d grabbed for you from the kitchen, you snuggled deeper into his chair, your head falling back against the collar of the chef’s leather jacket.

It occurred to you suddenly that you really liked Jack Abbot. You hadn’t known him for long, and you didn’t know all that much about him, but you wanted to.

You wanted to know why he’d named his restaurant Night Shift, and why he’d become a chef after being a medic in the army. You wanted to know what his favorite thing to cook was, and whether he needed readers to read texts on his phone.

You wanted to know if he was going to ask you for your number.

That thought made you stop and smile as you considered what you’d do if Jack asked for you number and actually used it. Your fingers played idly with the soft, supple leather of his jacket, letting the sounds of the kitchen lull you into deeper comfort as you imagined what it would be like to date world-renowned chef Jack Abbot.

You suspected it would be a helluva lot better than going on a date with Curtis Larsen, that was for sure.

Jack Abbot could not be interested in the young, pretty restaurant guest he’d saved from a bad date.

He paused just outside the door to his office, trying to get his head on straight, but all he could think about was the way you’d looked at him, like you were attracted to him, like you trusted him to take care of you. His fingers flexed at his side, and he could still feel the softness of your skin beneath his grazing touch—so pretty, so tempting.

His mind was consumed with the sweetness of your scent filling his office, invading his private space, and how much that pleased him. Jack already knew that scent would haunt him for the rest of the evening, that he’d fall asleep just to dream of you.

Wiping a hand down his face, Jack felt like a creep for even thinking about how you smelled, how your hand felt like a perfect fit in his own, how he wanted you to look at him with nothing but lust in your eyes. He was supposed to be helping you, taking care of you, making sure you got home safe, not thinking about what it’d feel like to put his hands on your body and pull you close…

With a hard shake of his head, Jack refocused on the task at hand—making you something to eat—and strode back into the kitchen. He walked up to stand beside his sous chef, who was busy plating a whole tray of that night’s special. John didn’t even look up as Jack approached.

“How are things looking?” Jack asked, busying his hands by retying the strings of his apron while he took a look at the line of orders still needing to be made. It was a busy Friday night at Night Shift, but his sous chef was keeping on top of things.

“Don’t worry about us, chef, we got this,” John said, before raising his voice and calling out to the rest of the kitchen staff. “Don’t we, nightcrawlers?”

“Hoo-rah!” came the answering reply and Jack had to twist his lips to the side to hide the proud smile that wanted to break through. Annoyingly, John noticed.

“Seriously,” John said, straightening up and setting the last of the plates onto a tray for a server to take them out into the dining room. He turned to Jack. “I’ve got this under control, if there’s somewhere else you’d rather be.”

John’s eyes drifted over Jack’s shoulder in the direction of the office before returning his gaze to the head chef and waggling his brows a little.

“I won’t take it personally if there’s someone else you’d rather be with than me,” the sous chef quipped, grabbing his Dunkin’ Donuts iced coffee from the shelf over the worktable and taking an obnoxiously loud sip.

“It’s not like that,” Jack grumbled, hoping to nip that thread of conversation in the bud before it began. The last thing he needed was for his business with you to get around the kitchen. Everyone who worked at Night Shift were talented, good people, but they gossiped more than little old ladies.

Jack tugged on some black nitrile gloves and grabbed a knife and cutting board. But when he returned to his station with the ingredients he’d need for what he planned to cook you for dinner, John was giving him a skeptical look.

“Right,” John said, not dropping the subject, no matter that Jack was no longer looking at him and was instead focused entirely on chopping up some rosemary and garlic. “That’s why you stepped in and took care of her date instead of letting security handle it.”

John’s tone was dry enough to give the Sahara a run for its money, but Jack refused to rise to the bait. Huffing an exaggeratedly beleaguered sigh, John cut to the chase. “Do you know her or something?”

“No,” Jack said quickly—too quickly, he knew. He could feel John’s indefatigable gaze drilling into the side of his head while he worked. He knew John wouldn’t give up the interrogation until he got something so Jack finally admitted, “But… maybe I want to get to know her.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jack saw a wide grin spread across his sous chef’s face a moment before John clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s great, chef,” he said, but he must’ve noticed Jack wasn’t grinning along with him because he asked, “It is great, isn’t it? I mean, it’s been a while for you, hasn’t it?”

“She’s too young for me, man,” Jack said, his voice harsher than he’d intended. He paused, swallowing, then grabbed a pan and some chicken cutlets, getting to work breading and seasoning them. “Besides, she’s had a rough night—that jackass grabbed her.” Jack had to stop again and take a breath to contain his anger before he went on. “She doesn’t need some old man creeping on her, too.”

“Dude,” John started, before getting distracted by plating up a new round of orders. It took him a moment to get back to the conversation. “You’re not that old,” he said, shooting Jack a look like the head chef should know all his ‘old man’ comments were in good fun. “And if you think she’s not interested, you didn’t see the way she was looking at you.”

At John’s comment, Jack fumbled the pan he was cooking in, nearly spilling oil and chicken into the fire of the stove. He glanced at John, back to what he was doing, then to his sous chef again, who was watching him with a not-so-small smirk on his face.

“H-how was she looking at me?” Jack finally asked, unable to stop himself, not even daring to hope John wasn’t somehow fucking with him.

Sure, Jack knew you’d wrapped yourself around his arm while he’d walked you back to the kitchen, and he couldn’t get the memory of the way you’d touched his arm out of your head. But that wasn’t flirting… was it? And certainly there wasn’t anything particularly interested in the way you’d looked at him. Right?

John’s incredulous look told him otherwise. “Jack, the girl practically had hearts in her eyes when she looked at you,” he said, and when Jack opened his mouth to protest, he cut him off. “She’s into you, dude.”

“What, no—no, no, she’s just…” Jack couldn’t believe how idiotic he sounded, fumbling around his own kitchen while John tried to tell him you were interested. It was like he was a young, inexperienced teenager all over again with his first crush, disbelieving she could ever like him back.

“Ellis, back me up,” John was saying, calling over one of Night Shift’s senior chefs while he set a new round of plated meals onto a tray for a server. “The girl Jack brought back here had heart eyes for our head chef, didn’t she?”

It was only his decades of experience that allowed Jack to continue cooking—boiling water and adding pasta, mixing milk and cheese in with the chicken to create a creamy sauce—while he waited with bated breath for Parker Ellis’s response. Jack trusted the senior chef not to bullshit him or fuck with him the way John sometimes did.

“Oh yeah, full-on heart eyes,” Parker announced, stopping beside John for a moment to drop off some more plates in need of their finishing touches. She glanced at Jack, who was still trying to process her pronouncement. “You gonna do something about it, chef?”

Was Jack going to do something about it? Everything in him ached to do something—to touch you, to kiss you, or, at the very least, ask for your number and take you out for a real meal sometime. He wanted to get to know you, he wanted to impress you with the most romantic of dates, and then he wanted to take you home and take care of you in every way he knew how.

It had been a long time since Jack had wanted any of those things with anyone, and it was a shock to his system to feel them for someone so soon after meeting them. But Jack could tell you were special. There was a spark between the two of you that he knew he’d be a fool to ignore.

However, he was still wary about scaring you off or creeping you out. But maybe he wouldn’t if Jack could take things slow. He could feed you, make sure you were comfortable in his office, and then later, he’d give you a tour of his kitchen and see how things went from there. If you seemed into it, he could ask for your number and take you out on a real date.

Happy with his plan, Jack finally looked up from where he was finishing the meal he’d made for you. He found both John and Parker looking at him expectantly—and a little impatiently. He twisted his mouth to the side to bite back a smirk.

“Don’t you two have something better to do than discuss my love life?” he grumbled good-naturedly, knowing neither of them would take him too seriously.

True to form, Parker snickered and gave Jack a mock salute. “Happy for you, chef,” she said before heading back into the crowded kitchen.

Meanwhile, John was grinning to himself. “Get your girl, old man,” he quipped, giving Jack a sly look out of the corner of his eye.

Jack made a show of grumbling about his impertinent staff while he plated up the dish he’d made for you—chicken and pasta with a creamy, cheesy sauce flavored with plenty of rosemary and other herbs. Then, it was time to bring it to you, and even Jack was a little surprised by how eager he was to get back to you, striding across the kitchen as quick as he could.

Knocking lightly before pushing inside his office, Jack found you curled up in his desk chair, your legs tucked underneath you, an e-reader in your hands. For a moment, Jack was struck by the easy domesticity of the scene—him bringing you dinner while you looked sexy and cozy in his office.

It would be all too easy for Jack to get used to this, having you visit him at his restaurant and waiting in his office for him to finish up for the night so he could take you out for a late-night drink, or some ice cream. And then, he’d take you home and get you underneath him so he could have a late-night snack of his own…

“Oh hi, is that for me?”

Your question dragged Jack from his reverie, and he couldn’t help but smile when he saw your wide eyes looking up at him. He stepped forward to set down the dish and silverware he’d brought on the desk in front of you, your sweet scent tickling his nose before he stood back to give you some room—and so that he could watch your reaction.

You tucked your e-reader back into your purse, and Jack knew the exact moment you smelled the food in front of you because you went still and your eyes slid closed. You took a deep breath in through your nose, and when you exhaled, it was with a low, throaty moan that went straight to Jack’s dick.

For the first time since he’d hit middle age, Jack was actually glad he wasn’t as quick to harden as when he was younger. Still, he had to curl his hands into fists at his sides and tamp down on the instinct to adjust his cock, which was twitching to life, not wanting to bring any attention to how your innocent reaction was affecting him.

Instead, he focused all his willpower on keeping himself from getting harder, which became more difficult when you blinked your eyes open, looking almost dazed with hunger and pleasure. It was all Jack could do to hold himself back from touching you, from tracing the shape of your mouth with his fingers, from kissing you so that the desire in your eyes was all for him and not his food.

“It smells delicious, chef,” you purred, your voice low and husky in a way that Jack could tell wasn’t intentional, which made it affect him all the more.

“Give it a try, sweetheart,” Jack said, unable to keep the gravel out of his voice. He crossed his arms over his chest in an effort to stop himself from reaching for you. He wanted to grab you by your hips, put you in his lap, and feed you. But he reminded himself he was taking things slow, so he leaned against the desk and watched you intently. “I want to know if you like it.”

Bobbing your head in a nod, you grabbed your fork, scooped up some of the pasta and speared a piece of chicken, popping the whole bite into your mouth. Some cream sauce lingered in the corners of your lips, and Jack had to clench his fists to stop from swiping it away with his thumb. He was nearly undone, biting back a groan, when your tongue peaked out and licked it up with a garbled moan.

“Oh my god, that’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” you proclaimed. The pleasure in your voice made Jack harder, but he focused instead on the pride blooming, warm and sweet, in his chest.

Still, he couldn’t completely ignore his cock twitching to life in his jeans. For once, he was grateful for the apron covering his front, helping to shield the bulge growing between his thighs. God, he felt like a fucking teenager.

“Ah, th-thanks,” he said, stumbling over his words, flustered by just how much you visibly—and verbally—enjoyed his food. “It’s a personal recipe, not on the menu.” He shot you a wink, hoping desperately that it came across as charming, and not unbearably cheesy. “I figured you could use some comfort food.”

The somber note in Jack’s voice seemed to strike you right in the heart, and you blinked, your eyes dropping from his for a moment. Jack wondered if he’d made a mistake by referencing your bad date, but then your hand darted out, playing idly with the edge of his apron just below where his arms were crossed.

“I can’t thank you enough for getting me out of that situation, Jack,” you said softly, and the chef was so distracted by the sound of his name on your tongue that he almost missed what you were saying. But then you looked up and your gaze was arresting. “I thought I could handle it—could handle him—but I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t been there…”

Jack hated how small you sounded, how unsure of yourself.

Before he knew what he was doing, Jack was sweeping down onto one knee, barely biting back a wince when his prosthetic protested, and settling his hands gently on the outside of your thighs. He tried to ignore the heat of your bare skin against his palms, forcing himself to focus on you and making sure you saw yourself the way he saw you.

“You would’ve been fine, sweetheart,” Jack said in his firmest tone, even as he made sure to keep his voice gentle. He could tell from the uncertainty in your eyes that you were hanging on his every word, and he felt compelled to go on. “You can take care of yourself, and if you’d needed to, you would’ve handled that asshole.”

Something like pride and confidence swirled in your eyes, and Jack let his mouth twist to the side in a smile. It made him feel good to know he could put that look in your eye, and he felt his chest puffing up a little bit before he got control of himself and gave your thighs a reassuring squeeze before continuing.

“I am glad I could help, though,” Jack said, his voice rougher than it had any right to be. But he was kneeling so close to you that he breathed in your sweet scent with every inhale, and it was going straight to his head. “Thank you for letting me feed you—thank you for letting me take care of you.”

Your eyes were wide and bright and fixed so intensely on Jack’s that he barely felt it when your hands settled gently on his shoulders, holding on to him like he was the one steady thing you could count on. His grip on your thighs tightened, drawing you closer until your knees collided with his chest.

“Anytime, chef,” you murmured, your lips parted and glistening and looking so fucking tempting.

A little growl rumbled in Jack’s chest and he watched your eyes flare with interest, before settling back into a heavy-lidded stare. Your fingers tightened on his shoulders, curling into the cotton of his white t-shirt, and he could feel you lightly tugging on him, trying to bring him closer.

Fuck, Jack wasn’t just interested in you, he craved you. It didn’t matter that he’d known you for such a short time, he wanted to devour you. He wanted to take you into his arms and kiss the breath from your lungs, make you come apart and then hold you tight until you put each other together again.

He wanted to go back to work knowing you were safe and sound in his office, eating the food he’d cooked for you, then give you a tour of the kitchen later. When that was done, he wanted to drive you home, make sure you got in safe, and make plans to see you again. He wanted to take up as much space in your head as you were taking up in his.

Jack wanted to kiss you. And, if he wasn’t mistaken, you looked like you wanted him to kiss you, too.

A great crashing sound came from the kitchen, shattering the perfect moment, and Jack’s stomach sank when you flinched. You tried to hide your reaction, staring at him innocently like you hadn’t recoiled at the loud sound, but he was reminded that he should be taking things slowly, carefully, making sure you weren’t overwhelmed by all that had happened throughout the night.

“Eat up, angel,” he rumbled, giving your thighs one last squeeze before moving to stand, pushing himself up with one hand on his desk. He gritted his teeth through the pain in his limb as he settled back onto his prosthetic, and gave you another of his hopefully charming winks. “If you’re a good girl, I’ll make you some dessert to go with your kitchen tour.”

At that comment, you sucked in a sharp breath, a sultry smile spreading slowly across your face. When you looked up at Jack, your eyes were a little hazy, and your body swayed closer to him, almost like you couldn’t help yourself.

“Oh, I’ll be good,” you murmured, looking more sexy than you had any right to curled up in Jack’s desk chair. “I promise, chef.”

There it was again, that title rolling off your tongue and licking straight down Jack’s spine. He had half a mind to gather you up in his arms and kiss you until you were murmuring that word into his mouth, his neck, into the center of his chest while he pressed between your thighs and slid inside you…

“I’ll be back when it slows down,” Jack promised, wrenching himself away from his fantasy and backing toward the door of the office. If he didn’t know better, he thought you might’ve been smirking as you hummed your acknowledgement. “Enjoy your dinner, sweetheart.”

“Thank you, chef,” you chirped sweetly, turning back to your meal—though not before catching Jack’s eye over your shoulder, a flirty spark in your gaze.

A goofy grin spread across Jack’s face, and for a moment, he let himself watch you as you pulled out your e-reader and began to read while you ate the meal he’d prepared. His chest filled with warm sunlight while something in his gut settled. It felt right to have you here in Jack’s office, in his space, looking safe and comfortable and content.

Holding that sense of rightness close to his heart, Jack ducked back into the kitchen, taking a moment to retie his apron before jumping into the fray. He felt steadier than he had before he’d brought you some dinner, and while Jack knew part of that was because he knew you were fed, it was also because he’d accepted it—he was interested in you and he was going to pursue you.

Jack was done feeling guilty or creepy for wanting to spend time with you, even if you were one of his restaurant guests that he’d had to save from an atrociously bad date. Jack believed what he’d told you, that you could take care of yourself, and if you wanted to spend time with him, too, then Jack wasn’t going to feel bad about it.

So he took his place beside his sous chef and got to work on the endless stream of orders coming into Night Shift’s kitchen. He let himself fall into the rhythm of the work, plating up and putting the finishing touches on all kinds of dishes before they were whisked away into the dining room. He worked with a methodical determination, knowing that the sooner he cleared out all the orders, the sooner he could check back in on you.

When things finally slowed down, Jack heaved a sigh of relief. It was a strange feeling, knowing he had someone in his office that he eagerly wanted to get back to, and it wasn’t until he caught John giving him an annoying looked that he realized he was smiling.

Jack tugged off his black nitrile gloves, tossed them in the trash, and flipped off John while he made his way back to his office. Jack’s heart squeezed at the sight that greeted him.

He found you snuggled up in his chair, his leather jacket tucked around you like a blanket, your head lolled to the side as you slept soundly. Jack marveled at the beauty of your face—the soft slope of your nose, the pretty curve of your mouth, the delicate fan of your lashes against your cheeks.

Somewhere deep in his chest, Jack’s heart knocked against his ribs like it was trying to get his attention, and he knew exactly what it wanted to say—you could be his. If you let him, and if you wanted him, too, Jack could fall for you. That night could be the start of something new, something spectacular.

Thinking about how he could very much get used to seeing you in his chair, in his office, Jack tucked his leather jacket a little tighter around your shoulders, holding his breath when your cheek nuzzled against the back of his hand. His heart thumped happily when you smiled softly in your sleep and it took every bit of his strength to pull away.

As quietly as he could, Jack cleared the empty plate and silverware from his desk, taking care not to disturb you. He carried it to the door, where he paused to look at you again, watching you sleep for just a moment longer.

It struck Jack then, like a lightning bolt, that he wasn’t just interested in you or attracted to you. He was completely gone for you. He was yours, and he could only hope that you’d want to be his.

Even before you were fully awake, you knew you were safe.

Warmth, and the scent of leather and herbs, surrounded you, easing you back into reality from dreams about a hot, silver-haired chef and big, capable hands on your body. Desire curled lazily, low in your belly, and you snuggled deeper into the leather jacket wrapped around your shoulders, wishing for more time of with your dream chef.

But before you could slip back into sleep, it struck you suddenly how quiet it was in your little cocoon. You’d fallen asleep to the chaos and clatter of the kitchen at Night Shift, but the noise had dwindled down to a dull murmur. It hit you that you must’ve slept longer than you’d intended.

You’d only meant to close your eyes for a few minutes. You’d been so full from eating the comfort meal Jack Abbot had cooked for you, and you’d felt so warm and cozy once you’d tugged his jacket off the back of the chair and wrapped it around yourself. You hadn’t been able to stop yourself from letting your eyes close and falling asleep.

Reaching out from beneath the jacket, you checked the time on your phone and confirmed you’d not only slept through the rest of the dinner rush, but through Night Shift’s closing time. Slowly, you began to uncurl yourself from your position in Jack’s chair, stretching and looking toward the door of his office, wondering why he hadn’t woken you up sooner.

Had he forgotten about you?

It was a little dizzying, the sheer amount of disappointment that swept through you at that thought, and it took you a moment to wade through the emotions to get back to rational thought. Jack had been so kind and attentive since he’d rescued you from your bad date, it didn’t sit right to think he might’ve forgotten about you.

It also just didn’t make sense based on the way he’d looked at you before he’d left you alone to eat. He’d stared at you so intently with those dark hazel eyes of his, you’d felt like he wanted to consume you. Even just the memory of his stare was enough to warm you from the inside out, heat swirling through your belly before settling between your thighs.

Intending to get to the bottom of why Jack had let you sleep in his office for so long, you did a quick check of your makeup in your phone’s camera and set your feet on the floor. You were just rising to stand when Night Shift’s head chef stuck his head in through the open door.

“You’re up,” he said, his sharp eyes taking in the way you wobbled on your heels, wincing at the pain of wearing them for so long. He came into the room and took your hand, setting a steadying palm on your hip while his fingers twined with yours. “How are you feeling?”

His attentive question sent more warmth spiralling through your chest, and you smiled softly at the chef, leaning into his warmth. He was still wearing the thin white t-shirt that pulled obscenely across his shoulders and highlighted his bulging biceps, but the brown apron he’d had on earlier was gone, leaving him in just a simple pair of dark jeans and black shoes.

Meanwhile, you were still in the little black dress and heels you’d donned for your date, but somehow you didn’t feel overdressed around Jack. You enjoyed the way his eyes raked down your body, appreciating the way your dress clung to your curves—hugging your hips and cupping your tits. It made you crave the chef’s touch everywhere he looked.

“I feel good, chef,” you murmured huskily, your lips quirking into a little smirk when heat flared in Jack’s eyes. “I needed a little rest, but now I’ve got a second wind.”

“Still want that kitchen tour, sweetheart?” Jack rumbled, his hand on your hip pulling you closer, until you could feel the heat radiating off his body, the warmth of it teasing every inch of your bare skin. “You were such a good girl during the dinner rush, I’ve got that dessert I promised you.”

Something deep inside you clenched tight at the way Jack’s voice rumbled over the words ‘good girl’, his praise going straight to the place between your legs that was beginning to throb the longer his hand remained on your hip. To steady yourself, you lifted your hands to Jack’s biceps, feeling his muscles flex beneath your fingers as you looked at the chef from under your lashes.

“Really?” you asked, trying and failing to keep the eagerness out of your voice, out of your smile.

Jack’s mouth pulled to the side in a slow, wicked grin, his eyes sparkling with humor and something that looked a lot like hunger. “How do you feel about coffee and chocolate?”

Excitement bubbled up your throat, and you bounced a little on the balls of your feet as you confirmed your undying love for coffee and chocolate. With another grin that had your core clenching, Jack guided you back into the kitchen, his big hand firm against your lower back.

Most of the kitchen staff had cleared out, leaving the space spotless and easier to navigate as Jack walked you through. He showed you each of the stations, and introduced you to the few remaining kitchen staff—including his sous chef John Shen and senior chef Parker Ellis.

Jack left you chatting with John and Parker while he rustled around in a fridge, pulling out some containers and setting up a work station on one of the long, silver tables in the center of the room. Once he was done, the other chefs each gave Jack a handshake and half-hug before bidding you a goodnight.

As they left, John exchanged a loaded look with Jack that had the head chef’s face twisting into an exasperatedly stern expression, and you had to bite back a smile. It was clear Jack’s staff loved him, respected him—and teased him every chance they got.

It made you feel warm and fuzzy inside, to know that you weren’t the only one who felt safe with Jack. He was a good boss, a good man, to everyone in his life. He was the exact opposite of the man you’d gone on a date with and needed to be rescued from.

Jack Abbot was the kind of man you could be alone with in a deserted kitchen and feel only excitement, only the thrumming awareness that something might happen between you two. You turned to him, your gazes meeting, and for a brief moment, the two of you just stared at each other, silently acknowledging the sparks igniting in space between your bodies.

“Hop up,” Jack said, his voice as rough as a knife on metal. With one hand, he patted the counter beside the cutting board he’d set up, his dark eyes watching you intently.

Your gaze snagged on that hand, on the thickness of his fingers and the smattering of freckles along the back. You remembered how that hand had felt on your hip, on your thigh, and you nearly whimpered with the need to feel his palm on you again, but you managed to bite it back.

Instead, you did as the chef said. You pressed back against the counter, planting your hands on the edge and arching your spine just a little more than necessary to stick out your tits. You were rewarded with Jack’s gaze dropping quickly to your chest before he dragged his eyes back up to your face. With a smirk, you jumped onto the counter, careful not to put too much weight on the wrist your date had grabbed.

The cold metal of the worktable was a stark contrast to the warmth of your bare thighs, and you hissed softly, your shoulders trembling as a shiver snaked down your spine. Instinctively, you wrapped your arms around your body and wished you hadn’t left your jacket in Jack’s office.

But then Jack’s hand was on your knee and he was giving you a concerned look, his silver brows lowered over his hazel eyes. “Cold, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” you answered sheepishly, giving a light shrug and trying to shake off the chill. You leaned into Jack, your body seeking his warmth. “The kitchen gets cold without all the ovens and stoves on, huh?” you asked wryly, trying to get a reaction from the chef, and soften the worried lines of his face.

Jack huffed a laugh, shooting you an amused smirk even as he squeezed your knee in chastisement. The weight of his palm, the soft press of his fingers, had tendrils of heat licking down your spine and settling between your thighs. It took a great deal of effort not to shiver and grab hold of Jack to pull him closer.

“Stay here,” he rumbled, pulling away and striding toward his office. You nearly whined at the loss of his body heat, but you perked up quickly when he returned with his leather jacket.

The chef stepped close enough to your legs that your knees brushed his thighs, and your gaze snagged on his. He was so close, you could see the lines in his weathered face, the silver stubble along his jaw, and the light freckles dusted across his cheeks.

Tension crackled as he wrapped the jacket around your shoulders, his fingers brushing gently against your bare skin, and you leaned closer, until you could feel his unsteady breaths on your lips. Jack went still, his eyes searching yours and you tried your best to tell him without words how much you wanted him to kiss you.

But either Jack didn’t get the message or he chickened out, because he swallowed hard and tucked the lapels of the leather jacket around your shoulders, making sure you were ensconced in its warmth before he moved back to his workstation. It seemed to take him a moment to gather himself before he spoke.

“Better?” he asked, his voice raw with a hunger that made you squeeze your thighs together against a pulsing ache.

“Yeah, better,” you answered, your voice faint, trying and failing to shake off the unslaked desire burning through your body. You didn’t know if Jack was purposefully ignoring all the signals you were giving him, or if he was truly unaware, but you didn’t know how much longer you could last before you simply grabbed the chef and kissed him yourself.

Despite the almost-kiss, you and Jack fell into an easy quiet, him pulling out some dark chocolate and beginning to chop it up into tiny shards while you watched him work.

The muscles in his arms moved mesmerizingly as he worked his knife against the cutting board, his freckled forearms flexing deliciously, his biceps straining the hem of his white t-shirt. You had to wrap your fingers around the edges of Jack’s leather jacket and bury your nose in the collar, breathing in his herby, masculine scent, to keep from reaching out to touch him.

Whatever expression was on your face made Jack smirk when he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. After that, you could’ve sworn he started flexing his arms on purpose, getting fancy with his knife work, like he was trying to impress you.

From anyone else, that might’ve made you roll your eyes, or turned you off entirely, but Jack was so skilled, so charming, and just so downright hot, that it worked for him. His confidence came from his competence, and it was so attractive, it made you squirm where you sat on the counter beside him, the warmth blooming between your thighs becoming nearly impossible to ignore.

“What’re you making?” you asked in a desperate attempt to distract yourself from watching the muscles of Jack’s shoulders shift beneath the obscenely thin fabric of his white t-shirt. That t-shirt looked well-loved, and you had a sneaking suspicion it would feel really good to wear—while staying the night in Jack’s bed…

“We’ve got some leftover coffee mousse from tonight’s dessert special,” Jack answered, seemingly unaware of how you were ogling him as he continued to chop the dark chocolate into little pieces.

His hands were so deft and skilfull, his fingers so thick and sure, you couldn’t help but imagine what it would feel like for Jack to touch you. You imagined him putting his hands on your body, groping your soft curves, slipping his fingers between your thighs to press against your damp panties…

“I’m just adding some chocolate to elevate it a little,” Jack glanced at you, and you knew your filthy thoughts were written all over your face by the way his eyes heated when they raked over your face. “Chocolate makes everything better, doesn’t it, sweetheart?”

Jack’s voice had lowered, sending delightful little tendrils of lust licking down your spine. Even if you’d wanted to, you couldn’t have looked away from Jack’s dark gaze, the steady thwack of the knife against his cutting board matching the rhythm of the pulse between your thighs.

Slowly, you nodded your head. “Yes, chef,” you murmured, your voice raspier than you’d expected, matching Jack’s lower tenor. Your heart was beating so fast in your chest, you thought you might be able to hear it in the quiet kitchen, but it was only your soft, panting breaths.

The measured sounds of Jack’s knife ceased, his eyes dropping to your mouth, watching you breathe for one long moment, and then another, before dragging his gaze back to yours. Tension crackled electrically between your bodies, and it wasn’t until your wrist gave a twinge of pain that you realized your hands were braced on the edge of the counter and you were leaning closer to Jack.

He seemed to notice the position of your body at the same time you did, his eyes darting down to where your tits were bouncing softly with your sharp breaths before looking up, a light pink blush appearing beneath his freckles. His gaze collided with yours, and you could feel the older man holding himself back, keeping himself in check.

But that wasn’t what you wanted. You wanted…him. Badly.

“Jack.” His name was a desperate whimper, barely louder than your breathing, tumbling from your lips. Something in him seemed to break at the sound of his name from your lips, and you thought he might kiss you.

Instead, he surprised you by grabbing a piece of chocolate from his cutting board and lifting it to your lips. He met your stare with his own heated eyes, looking like melted chocolate mixed with caramel.

“Here, sweetheart, have a taste.”

Jack’s words were a low, delectable rumble from deep in his chest, and you couldn’t hold back the shiver that raced down your spine, making your shoulders tremble with excitement under the onslaught of his voice and his closeness. You could smell his earthy, masculine scent, and you wanted more.

The tips of Jack’s bare fingers pressed to your lower lip and, instinctively, you parted for him, allowing the older man to feed you the chocolate. The rich, decadent taste burst in your mouth, and your tongue darted out, licking the pads of Jack’s fingers, making his eyes darken even further as he watched your lips close around the bite of chocolate.

You let the confection melt in your mouth, your eyes sliding closed of their own accord as you savored the delicious dark chocolate. You might’ve felt like you were in your own little world, but Jack’s hand fell to your thigh, his fingers teasing the hem of your dress where it rode high on your leg. You had to stifle another shiver as you hummed in delight, catching the rumble of a muffled groan coming from the chef.

When you opened your eyes again, it was to find Jack’s intense hazel eyes searing into yours, his gaze so blisteringly hot, you felt your core clench in anticipation. And since you knew you weren’t alone in your attraction and lust, you licked your lips, watching Jack track the movement with his gaze.

“Yum,” you whispered, your fingers trailing lightly through the hair on Jack’s arm, nails raking subtly against his warm, freckled skin. You were prepared for him to pull away again, but he didn’t, and you let a small smile curve your mouth. “Do you have anything else for me to taste, chef?”

Although your question was, on its surface, innocent, you imbued your words with enough innuendo for your real meaning to get through to him. You knew that it had when the corner of Jack’s lips quirked into a smile, but instead of leaning forward and giving you what you wanted—his mouth—he pulled away and turned to something at his station.

The chef popped open one of the storage containers he’d taken out of the fridge and swiped his finger through the mousse inside. You almost squirmed in excitement as he held his hand in front of your mouth, offering you the sweet treat.

Wrapping your hands around his wrist, you held Jack’s scorching gaze as you brought his finger to your lips. You licked teasingly at the mousse, making sure not to touch Jack’s skin with your tongue, and had to fight a smirk when he let out a barely suppressed groan.

Putting both of you out of your misery, you closed your lips around Jack’s thick finger and licked the mousse off of him. The bittersweet taste of the coffee mousse exploded in your mouth, with just a hint of salt from Jack’s skin, and it had you moaning around Jack’s finger. His whole body jerked at the sound and the vibrations.

“Christ, sweetheart,” he groaned softly, his other hand grabbing your thigh, gripping you tightly as he nudged your knees open so he could step between your parted legs. “You make the prettiest sounds when you’re eating my food—I just wanna taste…”

Jack’s finger, still sticky with sugar, slid from your mouth and his hand cupped your cheek, tipping your face toward his. For a moment, he lingered with his lips just barely brushing yours, close enough that you were certain he could taste the coffee and chocolate on your breath.

It felt like he was memorizing the moment, savoring the tension that crackled between your bodies, the way your breath hitched with him so close. Your knees squeezed his sides, your fingers dancing up his ribs, and a soft, breathy whined sounded in your throat as you tried to pull him closer.

“Is this alright, sweetheart?” Jack asked, his thumb stroking your cheek, swiping over the corner of your mouth.

The genuine care in his deep, raspy voice was nearly your undoing. This man had done nothing but take care of you since he’d come striding out of the kitchen to save you from your bad date, but you were tired of him treating you with kid gloves. You wanted him so fucking bad.

Fingers curling in the sides of his t-shirt, you tugged Jack closer, sliding your body to the edge of the counter at the same time, uncaring about how high your dress was riding up your thighs. You parted your lips, tilting your head into the handsome chef’s hand as you pressed your soft body against his hard one.

“Yes, Jack,” you whimpered, unable to stand the crackling tension any longer, even as you wanted to bask in it for the rest of your life. “Kiss me. Please, chef.”

Jack didn’t need to be asked twice. He closed the distance between his mouth and yours, capturing your lips in a slow, decadent kiss that had your heart soaring. His lips were soft, but firm, as they moved against yours, taking immediate control while you were left to gasp and whimper into his mouth.

It was everything you’d hoped it would be—the older man kissing you sweetly at first, before pressing his thumb to your chin and tilting your head back so he could sweep his tongue into your mouth. The hot slide of him was determined and possessive and so fucking hot, you moaned against his lips, trembling as you met the fervor of his kiss with your own heady lust.

Unable to keep your hands to yourself, you wrapped your arms around Jack’s shoulders, your fingers sinking into the soft, steel gray curls at the back of his head. Your fingers tangled in the strands, tugging lightly on his hiar as your nails raked lightly against his skin, earning you a desperate groan. Jack deepened the kiss again until you couldn’t do anything else but breathe him in.

The chef’s hands skimmed down your sides beneath the edges of his leather jacket where it was still balanced precariously on your shoulders. His palms were warm as his thick fingers wrapped around your ribs, pulling you even more flush against his chest, your legs splaying wide to make room for his broad body.

His thick, half-hard cock pressed against your soft inner thigh, and you shifted until he was nestled against your warm center. You rocked your hips, grinding against his bulge, dragging a desperate groan out of the older man.

“Fuck, angel, you taste like heaven,” Jack rasped, pressing kisses along your jaw, tickling you with the silver scruff on his cheeks. When he suckled on a spot beneath your ear, you moaned and writhed in his arms, pressing your aching pussy against his hardening cock. “Feel like it, too.”

“God, you feel so good, Jack,” you babbled breathlessly, rubbing against his body like a cat in heat. You hiked your thighs higher around his waist, using the leverage to hump against his thick cock through your clothes. “I want you. Please, chef,” you begged against Jack’s ear, nipping at the lobe and smiling wildly when he shuddered in your arms, his hips grinding his cock harder against your soft core.

“I thought you were going to be a good girl for me, sweetheart,” Jack growled, his voice softly recriminating as he grabbed your hips hard, his fingers digging roughly into your soft flesh.

But instead of dragging you closer and giving you what you wanted, he pushed you back. Lifting his head from your neck, he gave you a stern look, softened by the affectionate twist of his mouth and the spark of desire in his eyes, sending a zing of lust straight to your dripping slit.

“Don’t you wanna be good for me, angel,” he rumbled, his voice deliciously raspy, “and let me feed you some dessert before you start begging me to fuck you?”

Your jaw dropped and you sucked in a sharp breath at Jack’s filthy words, heat suffusing your body so fully, you couldn’t find a single word in your entire head to respond. You could only stare at the older man, your thighs squeezing his hips and wordlessly begging him to put your body out of its misery, but Jack simply chuckled at your reaction.

He stole a kiss from your parted lips before gently extricating himself from your clinging body, shushing you softly when you whined at the loss of him. Giving your hips one last rough squeeze, he stepped out from between your legs and adjusted his thick cock in his jeans as he moved back to his workstation.

It was absurd how cold you felt without him, and you pulled Jack’s leather jacket tighter around your shoulders, pouting at the chef. He pretended to ignore you, scooping up chocolate shards and dumping them into a bowl along with some mousse while you kicked your feet petulantly and whined, “Jaaack.”

That got you an amused smirk. “Just a few bites,” he urged, picking up the bowl and beginning to whisk the chocolate into the mouse, melting it into the dessert. “I promise it’ll be worth it,” Jack said, giving you another of his charming winks.

It had its intended effect, and you softened, endeavoring to wait patiently, though you still made a show of grumbling your discontent even as you got distracted by watching him work. Jack’s arms flexed deliciously while he whisked the chocolate into the mousse, his biceps straining the sleeves of his t-shirt so enticingly, you wanted to bite them, then lick every freckle, then bite him again.

Jack’s low chuckle let you know he’d caught your hungry look, and heat flooded your cheeks, but you didn’t get a chance to stammer out an apology or an explanation before he was setting the bowl down and grabbing a spoon. Scooping up some of the mousse mixture, he lifted it to your lips.

You opened eagerly, already knowing whatever Jack made would be delicious, and let him pop the bite into your mouth. Jack watched you closely as he pulled the spoon out, giving you a moment to taste what he’d given you.

The delectable flavors of rich coffee and velvety chocolate melted on your tongue, and your eyes slid closed as you savored the sweetness, a low moan slipping from your lips at how good the dessert tasted.

“Jesus, Jack, that’s the best thing I think I’ve ever had in my mouth,” you groaned, opening your eyes. You found Jack staring at you, a wild look in his eyes, and so much hunger in their depths, it stole the breath from your lungs. He was looking at you like he wanted to devour you.

You half expected the chef to pounce on you, to kiss the remnants of the dessert from your lips and show you what other things he could stuff in your mouth, but you should’ve known better. Jack didn’t take the bait of your comment as he kept a white-knuckle grip on himself, holding back even as more tension than ever snapped and crackled between the two of you.

“Want some more, sweetheart?” he rasped, holding your gaze.

Your head was bobbing an eager nod before he’d even finished the question, and he lifted another spoonful of mousse to your lips, watching as you ate it happily, humming in delight. When Jack fed himself some of the sweet concoction, you could only watch with rapt attention as it disappeared inside his mouth, his tongue flicking out to catch some left at the corner of his lips.

The need in your body had pulled you taut as a bowstring, your skin practically vibrating with desire by the time you’d finished enough of the dessert for Jack to hopefully be satisfied. It was a testament to his culinary skills that you were still able to taste the chocolatey coffee confection with how much lust was swirling through your body, simmering low in your belly.

You squirmed where you sat, the metal beneath your thighs warm from your skin, and felt how wet you were, your panties nearly soaked with your desire. You were hot enough that you pushed the jacket from your shoulders, and looked directly at Jack, pouting at the chef once more.

“Jack, please,” you whined, your fingers curling around the edges of his t-shirt, knuckles brushing his ribs. You felt him suck in a breath as he let you tug him back between your legs, your body trembling with excitement and need. “I’ve had enough dessert, I need something else…”

The older man didn’t respond immediately, his head ducked, watching as his palms skimmed up the outside of your bare thighs, like he could barely believe you were letting him touch you. Your fingers trailed up his arms, tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck, nails raking lightly against his skin. You watched him close his eyes at the sensation, knowing he enjoyed it.

“I’ve been a good girl, haven’t I?” you murmured in Jack’s ear, feeling the tension in his shoulders as they bunched beneath your arms. He let out a slow breath, his hands gripping your thighs tightly. “I’ve been so good, and I want you so bad, Jack. Touch me—please, chef.”

The last thread of Jack’s control snapped at your comment—you felt it in the way his muscles moved, poised on the edge of giving in before he finally let his desire loose after your begging plea. His hands grabbed you roughly, fingers digging into your bare ass beneath the hem of your dress as he yanked you closer.

His mouth descended on yours, capturing your lips in a blisteringly hot, devouring kiss that stole the breath from your lungs. He wrapped you up in his arms, crushing you to his chest as he kissed you, gorging himself on your mouth, his hands groping greedily at your body while you clung to him.

It was everything you’d wanted from the chef, and the corners of your lips curved in an attempt at smile, but then Jack was kissing you harder, overwhelming you until you were moaning mindlessly into his mouth. You’d never felt more desired than you did when Jack kissed you, and you’d never felt more in danger of letting yourself fall for someone.

You were mostly lost to your lust, your nipples puckered and needy where they were pressed against the chef’s chest and your pussy aching to be filled, but it occurred to you that Jack was different from all the other men you’d dated. He was kind and gentle and steady, and he kissed you so good your head spun.

It struck you suddenly that while you knew you were safe with Jack, you were in danger of losing your heart to him. But that was the kind of danger you wanted to be in—especially since you knew that if you fell for him, Jack would catch you.

So you kissed the chef right back, pouring your desire for him into the slide of your mouth against his, holding him close as you flung yourself off the edge, letting emotions swirl and swell in your chest, confident that he’d carry your heart in his hands and protect it with his life.

You’d never been safer in your entire life than you were in Jack Abbot’s arms.

Jack Abbot was in heaven.

In all his years of cooking, of being a chef, he’d never tasted anything as divine as you.

He could gorge himself on you and still never get enough—not of the way your mouth moved against his, your lips soft and tongue eager as it twined with his. He couldn’t get enough of the feel of your body beneath his hands, so sweet and supple and responsive.

Every press of his fingertips into your spine had you arching into him, breathy, little whines slipping from your lips for him to devour. He could taste the coffee and chocolate on your tongue, and he sucked on your plump lower lip, groaning as he savored the combination of the dessert he’d fed you with the natural flavor that was all your own.

Kissing you was making him unbelievably hard—harder than he’d been in a long time—his cock heavy and weeping in his jeans. The only thing that saved him from embarrassment was how enthusiastically you were grinding against his bulge, the dampness of your panties leaving a wet spot where his cock was straining against the dark denim.

Jack dragged his hands up your sides, wrapping his fingers around your ribs, his thumbs brushing against the underside of your tits, teasing you both with the barest of touches. You let out a soft, keening sound against his mouth, making him smirk before he pressed kisses along your jaw and down the smooth column of your neck.

“More, Jack, please,” you begged, your hands fisted in his shirt and tugging on him restlessly. The desperation in your voice, the way you begged for him, it made his cock twitch for you.

He shifted his hands higher, groping your tits through your dress and dragging a filthy moan from your pretty lips. The pads of his thumbs teased your hardened nipples, and he reveled in the way your body shuddered in his arms. Your spine arched, pressing your tits into his hands and he rewarded you by rubbing your nipples more with his thumbs.

“Ya like this, sweetheart?” Jack rasped against your neck, raising his head enough to nip at your ear. “Like letting an old chef feel up your pretty tits?”

“Old, hot chef,” you shot back, correcting him in a deliciously breathless voice.

Jack’s cock twitched at the compliment, and he couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have found you—someone so beautiful and full of life. Someone so into him.

He pressed his smile into the spot beneath your ear, kissing and licking your skin until you were moaning softly.

“And yes, chef, I love it. Touch me more, touch me harder—please,” you begged, squirming where you sat on the metal counter in his kitchen.

What was Jack supposed to do? Deny you?

He couldn’t even fathom the idea of not giving you what you asked for, even if he knew that he was letting things get a little out of control. The two of you were still at Night Shift, and though the staff had left for the night, it wasn’t the best idea to have sex in his kitchen.

But Jack couldn’t seem to stop himself, not when you were making such pretty noises while he sucked a hickey into your neck and teased your nipples with the lightest of pinches. His mouth trailed up your throat before capturing your lips in another kiss, swallowing your sounds of pleasure while he played with your tits.

It had been so long since Jack had lost himself in anyone—there hadn’t been anyone who’d awoken that desire in him the way you did. Not since his wife passed. You were a siren calling him to the danger of your body, to the promise of losing his heart to you, and Jack knew he could drown in you if you let him. He hoped to god you let him.

For long, endless minutes, Jack kissed you and groped your tits, playing with your nipples and seeing how many different noises he could pull from your lips. And for a while, you let him, the sounds of your pleasure growing more high-pitched, your hips working more desperately to hump against his cock.

Eventually, your need must’ve grown too great, your frustration too acute, because you grabbed one of Jack’s wrists and shoved his hand down between your bodies, until his fingers brushed your soaked panties.

“Touch me here, Jack, please—I need it,” you whimpered in his ear, and it was nearly his undoing.

It was his turn to gasp and groan, the tips of his fingers stroking against the sodden fabric as he used every ounce of the self-control he’d learned in the army not to spill himself in his jeans right then. You were so warm and soft, and so fucking wet.

Jack teased his fingers along the seam of your slit through your panties, hoping you couldn’t tell how much his hand was shaking. You felt so perfect, it was overwhelming. He’d stopped kissing you, your mouths close as you breathed each other’s air, panting your excitement together while he pressed into your cunt through your slick panties.

“Like this, sweetheart?” he rumbled, the edge of his mouth pulling up in a smirk when you let out a desperate little mewl. Your fingers threaded into his hair, tugging lightly while you rocked your hips onto his hand.

“Jaaack,” you sobbed, and he’d never heard anything as sweet as the sound of his name falling from your kiss-bitten lips, pleasure soaked into your voice.

You pulled harder on his hair, and the jolt of pain went straight to his dick, which leaked even more precum into his jeans. Jack responded by pushing his fingers deeper between the lips of your pussy, his progress restricted by your panties, which prevented him from burying his fingers in your hole.

A violent shiver wracked your body, and Jack wrapped his other arm more tightly around your lower back, holding you close while he fucked you shallowly with his fingers. His thumb teased your clit with a featherlight touch, drawing a feral sound from your perfect mouth.

“Please, oh god, please, chef, touch me—fuck me with your fingers, please, please, please,” you babbled, yanking on his hair to draw him closer. But instead, Jack took the opportunity to lean back and take a look at you—and what a sight you were.

Your head was thrown back, your expression openly desperate with lust. Your gorgeous eyes were dazed with desire, your plump, perfect lips parted and panting for air. Your chest was heaving with heavy breaths, enough that your tits threatened to spill out of your mussed dress, which was hiked up high, Jack’s big hand pressed between your soft thighs.

You looked debauched. You looked so beautiful, Jack’s heart clenched in his chest and he couldn’t stop himself from imagining you looking like this in a million different ways—on the desk in his office, in the backseat of his car, on his couch at home, in his bed.

In that moment, Jack wanted nothing more than to have you in all those ways. He wanted to move you into his place and put a ring on your finger—he wanted to make you his and keep you forever. He was stunned by how much he wanted you.

“Jaaack,” you whined, your sweet voice bringing him back to the moment. Your eyes were wide and pleading as you looked at him. “I was a good girl, wasn’t I?” you asked so pitifully, Jack’s heart ached.

A single tear slipped down your cheek and he cupped your face, panic stealing into his gut and making his stomach drop. He wiped your tears away, already knowing he was going to give you whatever you wanted. If you’d asked him to lay down and die for you, he would’ve done it without a second thought.

“You’re being so mean, chef, when I was so good for you,” you whimpered, your hips worked against his hand. The movement reminded Jack of how he’d been teasing you with his fingers, dragging you to the edge of desperation when all you wanted was to be full of him.

“Oh, baby, baby, baby,” Jack groaned, capturing your lips in a searing kiss.

He held your face in one hand as he kissed you, tasting the salt of your tears on your lips, while the other tugged your panties to the side. He pushed one of his thick fingers into your tight, dripping hole, swallowing your moan like it was the most exquisite decadence he’d ever tasted.

“I’m sorry, angel, you’re right,” he rumbled against your mouth, pumping his finger steadily into your pussy, feeling your gummy walls gripping him tight. “You were such a good girl for me—so good that ‘m gonna make you come on my fingers, alright?”

“Promise?” you asked, pouting up at him from under your lashes, and Jack knew he was in trouble, because that look on your face could get him to do anything you asked.

The corner of your mouth twitched, like you were holding back a grin, and Jack’s heart thumped in his chest because you knew the effect you had on him. He liked that a little too much. He liked that you weren’t afraid of torturing him a little bit after he’d teased you a little too much. It felt intimate, like you were building something real together, something that would certainly last past the night.

“I promise, angel,” he cooed, stroking his finger deeper before adding a second one, watching the way your breath caught on a gasp, biting back a self-satisfied smirk. “There’s a rule in my kitchen, y’know,” he went on, talking out of his ass to keep your attention on him even as he finger-fucked your pussy. “Good girls always get to come on the chef’s fingers—and you’ve been such a good girl for me, baby.”

You let out a soft, breathy giggle at that, just like Jack had hoped, and he pumped his fingers harder into your wet, gripping cunt, making your laugh devolve into a dirty moan. Your body went loose and languid in his arms, and he rewarded you by pressing his thumb against your clit. He rubbed the little bundle of nerves, watching how you reacted until he found exactly what you liked most.

“Think you can take another, sweetheart?” Jack asked, pressing kisses to your heated cheeks and cleaning away the remnants of your tears with his lips. He trailed his mouth down to your neck, enjoying the way you shivered when his stubble rasped against your sensitive skin. “Can you take one more finger in this sweet cunt, baby?”

“Yes, please, chef,” you gasped, clinging to his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin through his thin t-shirt.

Every pinprick became throbbing pleasure as it zinged down to his cock. He hadn’t been so close to coming in his pants since he was a teenager, but he fought off his own desire and focused on you. You and your pleasure were what mattered to him, not his dick.

“Good girl,” Jack purred, grinning into your neck when your pussy pulsed at the praise. He eased a third finger into your slick hole, biting back a groan when your tight warmth enveloped him. He pressed his cock against your soft thigh, looking down and watching your pussy take his thick fingers. “Fuck, angel, look at you—taking me so well.”

You leaned back, looking down your body, and Jack knew the moment you saw his fingers disappearing inside your cunt because you clamped down hard around him, like your body was trying to suck him deeper. He stifled another helpless groan, pumping into you, pressing against a spot that had you shivering and moaning wantonly.

You fell back further, planting your hands on the counter to hold yourself up, trying to use your leverage to bear down further on his fingers. But you’d barely rocked your hips in a slow roll when you let out a cry—the tenor making the hairs on the back of Jack’s neck stand up—as your arms gave out and you fell backward.

Quick as he could, Jack slid his free arm up your back, pressing his palm between your shoulder blades to catch you before your head could hit the shelves above the counter. He pulled his hand from between your legs, holding onto your bare thigh with his sticky fingers as he ducked his head to meet your eyes.

“What’s wrong, baby? What happened?” he asked, his gaze searching your face, which was twisted like you were trying to hide your pain. “Did I hurt you?” he asked, his heart clenching painfully in his chest at the thought.

You shook your head, rejecting the idea, which calmed Jack for a moment. Until you spoke.

“My wrist,” you whimpered. “Hurts.”

It took all of a second for Jack to understand what had happened. You’d put too much pressure on the wrist that your worthless excuse of a date had grabbed, had hurt, and it had given out. Rage flooded through Jack’s body, his blood pumping hot with the desire to track down Curtis Larsen and beat him to a bloody pulp.

But Jack knew that wouldn’t help anyone, least of all you, so he worked to rein in his anger. He focused on you, making sure you could sit up on your own before taking the hand of your injured wrist in his.

When he held it up to the bright lights in the kitchen, he could see bruises had formed where Curtis had grabbed you. Before he could stop it, a choked off growl rumbled beneath his sternum, the animalistic sound only ceasing when you stroked your palm down his chest, soothing him.

It took Jack another moment to collect himself, to gather his anger and put it in a box to deal with later. Gently, he lifted your hurt wrist to his mouth and brushed the sweetest, softest butterfly kisses over the bruises mottling your skin.

“I’d kill him if I thought I could get away with it,” Jack confessed, hoping to make you giggle again, his eyes lifting to your face to watch your reaction.

Although you didn’t laugh, his words did the trick of bringing the spark back into your eye. A shy smile curved the corners of your pretty mouth, and you lifted your other hand to cup Jack’s jaw, your thumb teasing over the stubble on his cheek.

“He’s not worth the effort,” you said, and though Jack agreed with you, he didn’t like the idea of letting Curtis Larsen get away with hurting you.

“Hmm,” Jack hummed noncommittally, wondering if he could call the police tomorrow and report the man for assault since it’d happened in his restaurant.

He liked that idea.

He liked the idea of locking up Curtis Larsen and throwing away the key even more. But you were his priority, not that jackass that had been your date, so he focused back on you.

Jack squeezed your thigh, his thumb teasing close to the edge of your panties. “Do you want to keep going, sweetheart?” he asked, his gaze watching you carefully. “I can take you home if you’d prefer.”

The change in your expression was immediate, your lower lip pushing out in a pout, your eyes widening and looking at Jack from under your lashes.

“I want to keep going,” you murmured, almost shyly, meeting Jack’s gaze before it dropped to his mouth. Your free hand fell to his arm, moving his hand from your thigh back between your legs then looking up at him. “I don’t want my shitty date to ruin our night—and you promised me I’d get to come on your fingers.”

A small smile curved Jack’s mouth and he ducked forward, stealing a quick kiss from your pouting lips before he pulled away. His grin was cocky as he pushed your panties to the side and teased your tight hole with the tips of his fingers.

“You’re right—and I always keep my promises, baby,” he assured you, pressing his fingers into your pussy while he watched you closely, making sure he didn’t hurt you.

Once they were buried inside you, he pressed a kiss to the inside of your injured wrist, then brought your hand to his shoulder. He gave you a pleased smile when you lifted your other arm to circle loosely around the back of his neck, your fingers playing with the curls at the nape.

“Hold on to me, angel,” Jack urged, easing his fingers out, then back inside your pussy, feeling your slick, tight cunt stretch around him. He watched your eyes go hazy with lust, your mouth falling open as you panted through your pleasure. “I’ll make you feel good—make you forget everything that happened tonight before I came to your table.”

With a soft, sweet sigh, you draped your arms over Jack’s shoulders, taking all the weight off your wrists, and leaned forward to nuzzle into the side of his neck. Warmth suffused his body, his cock twitching in his jeans when he felt you press a kiss to the underside of his scruffy jaw.

“Thank you, Jack,” you murmured, your voice almost low enough to be drowned out by the quiet whir of machinery in the kitchen. Your warm breath brushed against Jack’s throat and he had to suppress a shiver, focusing on your words. “You’re all I want to remember about tonight.”

Jack’s arm tightened around your lower back, instinctively pulling you closer as his heart gave a heavy thump in his chest. Your sweet words called to something deep in his soul, something that hadn’t been fed in too long for him to be normal about it.

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell you he wanted to spend every night with you, that he wanted you in his bed when he woke up in the morning and to come home to you in his kitchen. He wanted to cook for you and take you out and move you in with him…

But Jack knew it was way too soon to be having those thoughts, let alone say them out loud, so he put on the charm, hoping you couldn’t tell where his mind had wandered.

“And the food, right?” he asked, his tone teasing and light as he fucked you with his fingers again, his thrusts building you back up to where you’d been. He could feel the way your body trembled in his arms, and he held you tighter so he could feel the pleasure work through you. “You want to remember the food, right, sweetheart?”

You huffed a laugh against Jack’s neck, your tongue darting out and swiping up the side of his throat, making him groan helplessly at the obscene feeling of you licking him. His hips bucked forward of their own volition, his cock grinding against your soft inner thigh.

“Oh yes, chef,” you purred in his ear, your voice shaky and breathless and so, so sweet as he pumped his fingers into you harder, his thumb rubbing your clit. “I want to remember everything I got to taste tonight.”

Your words conjured images of your pert mouth on Jack’s cock, your teasing tongue swirling around the tip, licking up his precum before sucking him deep between your soft lips. It was such a hot image, Jack had to duck his head and muffle his tortured groan into your shoulder.

It took him a full minute to get himself together, your giggles echoing softly in the empty kitchen while your nails raked through his silver curls. Once he was able to focus again on the present, Jack pressed his mouth to your collarbone, licking and sucking your skin down to your tits, pushing the top of your dress down so he could take your nipple into his mouth.

The older man was rewarded with a sharp cry from your lips, your spine arching and pressing your tits further into his mouth. Jack grinned into your soft flesh and began to lavish them with his attention, his fingers still working in and out of your pussy while his thumb rubbed your clit in teasing, maddening circles.

It occurred to Jack that he could stay right where he was for a long, long time and be happy to keep sucking on your tits, learning what made you squirm and moan, all while he fucked your cunt with his fingers. But all too soon, you were hovering on the edge of your release, your pussy fluttering around Jack’s fingers, your cries turning high-pitched and desperate while your body worked to find your pleasure.

Your fingers were threaded in his hair, clutching his head tight to your chest as you moaned and rocked your hips harder on his fingers. Mindless pleas were falling from your kiss-swollen lips, frantic appeals for ‘more’ and ‘harder’, begging him to give you the release you needed.

Jack was torn between drawing out the moment, making it last forever, and giving you what you wanted. Eventually, his need to take care of you won out, and he pushed his fingers deep into your cunt, his thumb mercilessly rubbing your clit while he lifted his head from your chest.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he growled in your ear. “Show me what a good girl you are and come all over chef’s fingers—let go, let me see you come for me.” He pressed his fingers against that spot deep inside your body and stroked your clit, feeling you tighten around him.

Pulling back enough to see your face, Jack watched you succumb to pleasure, your release taking hold of your body and making you throw your head back, a desperate, breathy cry bursting from your mouth. Your fingers tightened in hair, and your pussy clamped down on his fingers, making him work to keep fucking you through the waves of pleasure surging through your body, which trembled in his arms.

“Good girl,” Jack rumbled, his fingers slowly sliding in and out of your pulsing channel, wringing every ounce of bliss from your body. “Sweet girl, perfect girl.”

You curled forward and sobbed your pleasure into Jack’s neck, and when you shuddered at the overstimulation of his fingers, he gently eased you down from your peak. Once your release had ebbed, he slipped his fingers out of your body, and helped you to sit up.

“You gonna keep being a good girl and clean me up, baby?” he asked, touching his wet, dripping fingers to your plump lower lip. Jack didn’t know what had come over him, but the desire to see you taste yourself was too great to ignore, and he hoped he wasn’t making you uncomfortable.

He was pleased when your already unfocused eyes went even more hazy, your head nodding and a smile curling the edges of your mouth before you parted your lips and let Jack slip his fingers inside. You hummed a happy sound that went straight to Jack’s dick then got to work cleaning your own release from his skin.

It was such an erotic sight that Jack thought he could watch you suck on his fingers for the rest of the night, but then he realized he’d given away the opportunity to taste you himself and he got ridiculously jealous. You weren’t done cleaning him up, but he pulled his fingers from between your lips and shoved them into his own mouth.

Jack groaned at your taste, savoring the musky flavor of your pleasure while he held your gaze, letting you watch him lick his fingers clean. Your eyes were hooded and full of renewed lust, your lips swollen and parted as you panted for him.

He couldn’t stop himself. Between one breath and the next, his mouth was crushing against yours in a mindless, feral kiss. He could taste your pussy on your tongue when his delved into your mouth and it drove him wild. His arms wrapped around your body, crushing you to his chest while he kissed you harder, groaning when your fingers pressed into his spine and clung to him just as tightly.

“Jack, I want more,” you cried when your lips wrenched free from his, your fingers trailing around his ribs and down over his stomach until you could cup his thick erection through his jeans. “I need you inside me—need you filling me until I’m so full of your cock, it’s all I can think about.”

“Fuck, angel, you beg so pretty, how can I say no?” Jack teased, his voice only a little unsteady. He tried to pull away, but couldn’t bring himself to when you were stroking his cock through his pants, wringing desperate whimpers from him that would’ve embarrassed him if you weren’t smiling like the cat that got the cream. “C’mere, baby, let me fill up that greedy pussy of yours.”

But when Jack grabbed your ass and pulled you close to he could thrust into your pussy through your clothes, he felt a twinge of pain in his leg where it rubbed uncomfortably against his prosthetic. The pain shot straight up his spine, making his mind go completely blank for a moment, his breath catching in his lungs.

During work, Jack could typically grit his teeth and bear the pain when it hit, but he’d been on his feet for too long. He’d pushed himself beyond his own limits and his body was reminding him that he wasn’t the young, spry man he’d once been.

“Jack?” you asked, your voice thick with concern.

The older man took stock of himself, and realized he’d half collapsed against you, his head on your shoulder, his breath coming in harsh pants as he breathed through the pain. He’d shifted his weight to his one good foot, leaving him a little off-balance and using you to steady himself.

“Are you okay?” you asked softly, stroking your fingers comfortingly through his hair and across his shoulders. When he relaxed into your touch, you held him tighter, not seeming to mind that he was putting some of his weight on you.

“My prosthetic,” he grumbled, not entirely happy that this was how he was telling you, but not shying away from the truth either. “Hurts.”

“Your prosthetic?” you asked after a moment, and Jack paid close attention to the tone of your voice. You sounded confused, maybe a little curious, but Jack was relieved that there wasn’t revulsion or, worse, pity in your tone.

“Lost my leg while I was in the army,” he explained, taking a deep breath as he began to recover his strength. The pain had subsided, leaving him a little shaky and off-balance, but fine.

“Oh, okay,” you said, nothing but acceptance in your tone.

Your fingers were still idly playing with Jack’s hair and that, more than anything else, helped him feel better—though he knew he’d have to get off his feet soon. He was trying to work out how to tell you he couldn’t fuck you on the counter in this position when you took him by surprise with another question.

“Is that how you got the medal?’

Jack paused. Of all the questions you could’ve asked—and he’d heard most, if not all of them—that wasn’t one he’d anticipated. Most folks didn’t know about the medal, and it took him a moment to remember that he kept it on his desk in his office, where you’d spent most of the evening.

The realization that you’d been curious enough about him to look through his desk made his heart soar, a smile tugging at the edges of his mouth. For some reason, it didn’t bother him, you going through his things. It felt right, the idea of you being comfortable in his space.

“Were you snooping through my stuff, sweetheart?” Jack asked teasingly, finally lifting his head to meet your gaze, curious about how you’d react to the question.

He watched your eyes widen slightly, your gaze darting away before returning to his with a sheepish look on your face. “It was on top of your desk,” you mumbled, shrugging, then wincing at how blithe you sounded. “I didn’t go through any drawers or anything, I swear.”

Jack couldn’t help but chuckle at how guilty you looked, and he smoothed a hand down your spine in a reassuring gesture. “You’re adorable,” he murmured, capturing your lips in a kiss to let you know you were forgiven. “And yes, it’s how I got the medal. I’ve made peace with it, but sometimes, it makes things…tricky.”

You nodded somberly as you absorbed that information, your eyes dropping down to where Jack was still half-leaning against you. The chef could practically see the gears turning in your head as you thought, but he was still taken by surprise when you lifted your gaze back to his and asked, “Would it help if I was on top?”

Your question made Jack pause again. He’d been with his wife already when he’d lost his leg, and she’d helped him figure out what worked afterward. It had given him the confidence he’d needed to eventually move on after she’d passed on. But the few flings he’d had since weren’t as easily accepting as you, and none of them had been as considerate.

It made Jack’s heart clench in his chest as he realized all over again how glad he was to have found you. Although he wished the circumstances of your meeting were different—he wished you’d never been hurt by your date—he was grateful that the universe had brought you together.

“Yeah, actually, it would,” Jack said, matching your serious tone with his honesty.

It was another moment where the weight of his feelings for you took him by surprise, especially after knowing you for such a short time. In an effort not to scare you away by revealing how he felt, he used his charm to lighten the mood. Ducking his head, he caught your eye and let a smirk play on his lips.

“Do you wanna ride me, baby?” he asked, his tone teasing, his smirk spreading into a full-blown confident grin when lust bloomed in your eyes, none of it tainted by pity or fear or disgust. It made his cock throb for you. “Wanna ride chef’s cock and make us both feel good?”

“Yes, please, chef. I’d love to ride you,” you purred, pushing him gently back to give you room to move.

You held his gaze as you reached beneath the hem of your dress and wiggled until you’d yanked your panties off, looking at him expectantly. Jack unbuttoned and unzipped his fly, shoving his jeans and boxers down enough for his cock to spring free.

He watched your eyes dart down, then widen when you took in the size of his thick cock. His dick wasn’t the longest, but it was fat enough that his three fingers stretching your pussy would feel small in comparison. Suddenly, he hoped you weren’t afraid.

It was on the tip of his tongue to reassure you, to tell you that you could stop this at any time and the two of you could go slow if that was what you needed. But before he could get the words out, your eyes lifted to his and he saw the spark of eager excitement in their depths, in the curve of your grin.

You looked like a sultry creature feral with lust, your pretty, kiss-bitten lips pulled into a sensuous smile as you hopped off the counter and prowled closer to him, only wobbling a little in your heels. Jack reached for you at the same moment you spun him around and shoved him onto the counter so you could climb on top of him.

“I’m gonna make us feel sooo good, chef,” you promised, settling your knees on either side of Jack’s hips and rising up, wrapping your fingers around his thick cock. Jack’s hands slid up your thighs, pushing your dress up so he could see your bare pussy where you rubbed the tip of his dick through your slick folds. “Gonna ride your cock until you’re coming hard in my cunt. Tell me you want it, too—please, chef.”

For a moment, all words fled Jack’s mind. All he could do was feel the teasing warmth of your pussy kissing the tip of his cock, hear the soft wet sounds of your desire, smell the scent of your arousal. All he could see was you, looking like a goddess above him, promising him pleasure.

Fuck, Jack Abbot really was in heaven, and he hoped he never had to leave.

You were right where you were meant to be.

You couldn’t explain what had come over you—whether it was simply the lust you’d felt at the sight of the older man’s thick cock or if it was everything about the chef—but you had the sense that everything you’d been through that night was worth it because you’d met Jack Abbot.

He was everything you’d been looking for in a partner—kind and capable, charming and funny—and plenty that you hadn’t known you’d wanted, like the way he could talk just as dirty as you, and cook way better than you ever could. He’d been gentle when he’d kissed your injured wrist, but hadn’t held back when he’d fucked you with his fingers, giving it to you as rough as you needed to get off.

Jack had made you feel safe and desired. He’d taken care of you in every way you’d needed throughout the night, and you were in serious danger of falling for him. If you hadn’t already. It might’ve been a little crazy, but you might’ve fallen for him already.

The weight of your feelings were too heavy to tell the chef just yet, so you focused instead on the moment, on the feeling of Jack’s broad tip teasing between the lips of your pussy, of the firm grip of his hands on your hips, and the heat of his eyes as he watched you tease his cock.

It was intoxicating, seeing the unrestrained lust in Jack’s face, darkening his hazel eyes and twisting his mouth into something feral and hungry. The thought crossed your mind that you could try to tease him until he snapped, the last remnants of his patience falling away as he yanked you down on his cock. But just the fantasy had you pulsing with need.

You needed Jack’s cock inside you. Immediately.

But before you could start to lower yourself down on Jack’s bare length, you remembered yourself. You paused, hovering above his thick, throbbing cock, and took a breath to steady yourself. Still, your voice was a little shaky as you spoke.

“I’m on birth control; I’ve been tested, and it was clear,” you rushed to say, hoping Jack could understand your words even as they tripped over each other to fall off your tongue. You braced one hand on his shoulder and looked dead in the older man’s eyes. “I want you bare, Jack, please.”

“Jesus,” he cursed, letting his head fall against your chest. His shoulders were trembling slightly, and it took a moment for the man to get himself together to look at you. You wanted him without a condom too badly to rush him. “I’m all clear, too, angel,” he rasped, staring into your eyes. “It would be the honor of my life to fuck you raw, baby.”

Your heart soared, battering against your ribs like a caged bird wanting to take flight. You were so overcome by emotion, by your desire for this man, that you couldn’t think of doing anything else but kiss him. Jack cupped your face while your fingers sank into his steel gray curls, both of you holding each other tight as you kissed, hard and deep, with all the wild, unfettered emotion you felt.

Before the kiss even ended, you were already pressing down on his cock, only pulling away from Jack’s mouth when the tip pushed inside your body, the stretch making you gasp. He was wider than anything you’d taken before, and it sent a filthy shiver sliding down your spine as you felt your body straining to take him.

“God, Jack, you’re so—fuck, you’re so fucking big,” you whimpered, your eyes crossing a little as you lowered yourself another inch, grateful that he’d already finger-fucked you to orgasm once, since it made the slide slightly easier. You shuddered with the effort not to impale yourself all at once, knowing it would be a mistake if you didn’t go slow.

“Careful, sweetheart, don’t hurt yourself,” Jack warned, but there was a hint of a teasing chuckle in his tone that drove you wild, your pussy clenching around and suckling on the tip of his cock. His words devolved into a pleasured groan that trickled down your spine like warm honey. “Fuck, I can feel you squeezing me already—you’re so tight and warm and wet. Jesus.”

“Uh huh, uh huh, so wet for you,” you babbled, bouncing a little on Jack’s cock to take him deeper. Your pussy stretched to accomodate him and the feeling of fullness stole the breath from your lungs. “You’re splitting me open so good, Jack, fuck—fuck, chef.”

“Mm,” Jack hummed, his hands kneading your ass and sliding up your spine beneath your dress, pulling you flush against his chest. His mouth found your neck, pressing kisses to your skin that had you shivering in his arms. “You’re gonna take it all, aren’t ya, baby,” he rumbled into the hollow of your throat, “because you’re such a good girl for me, huh?”

You couldn’t explain it, but Jack’s words had a ridiculous effect on you, making your pussy gush even more while your heart soared. Your hips rolled, pressing down determinedly and taking his cock nearly to the root, the stretch dragging a gasp from your lips while you clutched the older man close, reveling in the feel of his mouth on your neck.

“Yuh huh, your good girl,” you moaned, feeling Jack’s cock deep in your body. It filled you up so good, stretching you nearly to your limit, but you’d gone slow enough that it didn’t hurt—just made you impatient to have all of him.

You squirmed in his lap, lifting up and pressing back down, taking more and more of him with every downward thrust. Jack chuckled darkly as his hands hand returned to your hips, groping you with those thick, skillful fingers of his while he helped you bounce on his cock.

“That’s right, my good girl,” Jack rumbled, the possessiveness in his voice making your whole body clench, wringing a desperate groan from his mouth. He pulled you closer at the same moment when you spread your knees wide, and the result was your body being finally fully impaled on his cock.

The sudden, complete fullness was a delicious shock to your system and you wrapped yourself tightly around Jack, your arms circling his shoulders while you trembled and adjusted to the size of his fat cock buried in your cunt. It took you a breath to return to the moment, feeling Jack’s hands smoothing over your bare thighs in soothing gestures.

“Atta girl,” Jack praised, pressing a kiss to your sweat-damp temple. “You’re taking me so well, sweetheart. Feels like you were made for me—made to take my cock.”

A soft, breathy laugh burst from your lips, because those words were exactly what you wanted to hear, and it surprised you to hear them from Jack’s mouth. It made you feel like you weren’t alone in the big, overwhelming feelings you were having too soon for the chef, and you pressed your face into his shoulder to silence yourself before you said something too soon.

Instead, you focused on the feel of Jack. Every little movement of your body had his cock shifting inside your tight channel, his heavy length dragging against your sensitive inner walls, making your surprised laughter turn into a helpless moan.

“You feel sooo good,” you murmured, rocking your hips and getting lost in sensation. With your head fuzzy and full of pleasure, you sat up enough to look into Jack’s face, staring deep into his eyes. “If I was made to take anyone’s cock, Jack, I’d want it to be yours,” you said, not realizing until the words were out of your mouth just how revealing they were.

But instead of the depth of your desire scaring the chef, his gaze turned more intense, and a flicker of a smile played around the corner of his mouth. He drew you closer, until your lips were a mere hairsbreadth away from his. His eyes were hot and dark as they stared deep into your soul.

“I’m so glad you came into my restaurant tonight, angel,” Jack rasped, so much genuine affection in his tone, it made you melt further into him, your knees squeezing his hips while you clung to his shoulders. “Meeting you has made this the best night of my life—I hope you’ll let me see you again.”

“Oh, Jack,” you whispered, tears stinging your eyes, not from sadness but a boundless happiness. You tried to blink them away, embarrassed to be crying while Jack’s cock was still buried in your body, but the older man didn’t seem to mind, his thumbs stroking your cheeks and brushing away the few tears that fell. “I’d really like to see you again, too.”

“Good,” he said, his voice so decisive that you knew it was settled. Your heart soared in your chest, and a smile broke across your face. You couldn’t have said which of you leaned forward first, closing the distance so your mouths came together in a kiss, a promise.

The kiss was slow and sensual, one of Jack’s hands cupping the back of your head while you explored each other. It was a delicious kiss, made all the more exquisite when Jack’s tongue licked into your mouth, drawing needy sounds from your lips as he kissed you deeper, like he wanted to remind you that he was buried in more than one of your holes.

You barely noticed when your hips began to rock, fucking yourself on Jack’s big cock. But when his hands dropped to your hips, urging you on, you had to pull away from his mouth with a gasp.

Tossing your head back, you focused on riding your chef, lifting up onto your knees and slamming back down on his hard, thick length. It was dizzyingly glorious, the heat and hardness of him filling your tight hole, punching the air from your lungs until you could do nothing but let out mindless sounds of pleasure.

“That’s my girl, fuck yourself on my cock,” Jack murmured encouragingly, his hands on your ass helping you lift yourself up and slide back down his stiff shaft. He groaned, loud enough to drown out the wet sounds of your pussy and the soft clap of your ass hitting his thighs. “Fuck, angel, you feel so good—such a good girl, riding chef’s cock like a fucking champ.”

A shiver raced down your spine at his praise and your fingers tangled in Jack’s hair, bracing yourself so you could bounce harder on his cock. Every thrust of his dick deep into your cunt was driving your pleasure higher, until your head was filled with clouds and your body was tingling, balancing on the precipice of your release.

“Yes, yes, yes, your girl, your good girl,” you panted, your eyes heavy-lidded but still open as you watched Jack’s face, his skin flushed red, making his freckles stand out in stark relief. “Please, chef, I’m so close—please, I need…”

Your words devolved into a moan as Jack took control of your body, changing the angle of your hips so your clit was grinding against the base of his cock. All you could do was gasp and whimper and whine and try to hold on to him while he helped you ride him.

“My sweet girl, my perfect girl, my gorgeous girl,” Jack cooed, punctuating his words by pulling you down on his cock over and over and over again, making sure your clit rubbed against him with each thrust. “I know what my girl needs—come for me, pretty girl. Wanna see you let go, wanna feel you come on my cock, baby, please.”

Jack’s words and the way he guided your body, helping you find your pleasure, were your undoing. Tension coiled tighter and tighter in your core until it suddenly snapped. You were sent tumbling over the edge of your release, every muscle in your body pulling taut before you exploded with a wailing cry, pleasure crashing through you in violent, euphoric waves.

A groan tore from Jack’s mouth and his arms tightened around your body. He held you crushed against his chest, moaning his own pleasure into your neck while his hips jerked between your thighs, fucking you through both your releases.

You clung on to him, your body writhing on top of his as you eked out every bit of bliss from each other, until the waves of your release began to recede. With a sated sigh, you collapsed against the older man’s shoulder, fingers raking idly through his hair while his hands stroked everywhere on your body he could reach—your hips, your thighs, even down your calves and up your spine beneath your dress.

Between your thighs, you could feel his hot release beginning to leak from your hole, and you squirmed a little at the strange feeling of loss that settled in your gut. Jack pressed one of his palms to your lower back, urging you to settle on his lap, and you let yourself relax, reveling in the feeling of his softening cock still filling your pussy.

After giving you a few moments to recover, Jack’s fingers trailed down the side of your face where your head was laying on his shoulder. He curled a finger around your chin and tilted your head up enough so he could press a sweet kiss to your lips.

“Alright, angel girl?” he asked softly, his voice so low and raspy, it sent little tingles dancing down your spine. You smiled against his mouth.

“Sooo good,” you answered, your mouth quirking into a smirk as you continued. “Or should I say, ‘Thank you, chef, that really hit the spot’?”

Jack huffed a surprised laugh, squeezing you tight in his arms as he shook his head. “What am I gonna do with you, baby girl?”

It was on the tip of your tongue to tell Jack that what he should do was take you back to his place and keep you forever. That thought was so surprising—you’d only known him for one night!—and felt so right, that instead of answering, you kissed him.

You could feel the smile on his lips before he kissed you back, and that little expression had you realizing just how fond you’d grown of the chef in such a short time. It was so astonishingly easy to picture yourself going home with Jack, sleeping in his bed, cuddled up in his arms, then having breakfast together in the morning.

The night had started with you not expecting much from your date. You thought maybe you’d hit it off and see him again, but you hadn’t dared to have much hope.

And now, the night was ending with you kissing a different man, one you’d only just met, and wanting so much more with him. You wanted to get to know Jack Abbot and see if your initial compatibility and attraction could lead to something more.

For the first time in a long time, you had hope. It felt like everything that had happened earlier in the evening was fate conspiring to bring you and Jack together—and you were all too excited to see where things would go.

The best part, you realized, as Jack kissed you back, his mouth moving sensuously against yours, was that he seemed just as excited to get to know you, too. He’d shown you nothing but green flags all night, and had even already asked to see you again. It felt like something close to magic to know that the man you liked, liked you back.

A smile fluttered at the corner of your mouth as you let yourself focus on kissing Jack, knowing there’d be time to overthink everything later. For the time being, you wanted to enjoy the rest of the night with your chef, because you were certain it was the beginning of something beautiful.

For a long while, the two of you were making out just for the fun of it, for the enjoyment of being with each other, until Jack’s soft cock slipped from your body and made you shiver. He grabbed his leather jacket from where you’d tossed it on the counter and wrapped it around your shoulders, giving you one last kiss before he began to ease you off his lap.

“I’ve got to clean up here,” he said, tucking his cock away and zipping up his jeans before he helped you straighten your dress, his eyes wandering shamelessly over your body, like he hadn’t yet had his fill of worshipping you. “Once I’m done, I can take you home. Sound good, sweetheart?”

“That depends,” you said, your fingers snagging in the hem of Jack’s white t-shirt, preventing him from moving too far away. You weren’t usually the clingy type, but you couldn’t bear to be away from him just yet. “Are you gonna take me back to my place, or yours?”

The older man’s gaze darkened and his hands settled on your hips, pulling you close again. Your arms wound instinctively around his shoulders, fingers playing with his hair in a way that already felt so comfortable and familiar.

“I was planning to take you to your home,” Jack began, a smirk curling his mouth when you pouted up at him from under your lashes. “But if you’d like, I can take you back to mine.” His eyes softened as he looked at you, his smirk melting into a smile. “I’d love to cook you breakfast, sweetheart.”

The depth of the affection in Jack’s gaze and his words made you feel suddenly shy, and you ducked your head a little. “I’d like that,” you murmured, sneaking a peek at him and finding the chef grinning like he’d just won the lottery. It gave you the confidence to lift your head and give him a confident smirk. “Be careful, though, if you keep making me such delicious food, you’ll never get rid of me.”

Something devilish flickered across Jack’s face and his smirk was all smug confidence as he swooped in and stole a kiss from your lips, leaving you breathless when he pulled away a moment later. “That’s the plan, angel girl—I’m gonna keep you around any way I can until you get sick of me.”

You were already shaking your head before he’d even finished talking, your fingers tugging lightly, admonishingly, on his hair. “That’ll never happen,” you said, your tone more serious than you’d intended. But your honesty was rewarded with Jack’s mouth twisting into a smile and him kissing you again.

It was such a privilege, you realized, to be with someone who wanted you just as badly as you wanted them—who liked you just as much as you liked them. From the moment you’d met him, Jack had made you feel safe, had taken care of you, had shown you that you were special simply for being you. And you hoped you’d done the same for him.

When Jack finally pulled away from the kiss, you whined a little, making him chuckle. “C’mon, baby girl, let’s clean up and go home,” he rumbled, kissing each of your cheeks, then your nose, before giving you one last kiss on your mouth.

His words and his sweet kisses had you smiling and giggling, and you nodded, your heart warm and light as you let Jack move away to begin cleaning up his workstation. As he did, you fetched your things from his office, turning off the light and closing the door.

By the time you’d returned, Jack was done, and he held his hand out for you to take. You did so happily, handing off your jacket and purse for him to carry when he offered.

Stepping out into the brisk, spring evening, a breeze sweeping through Pittsburgh and making you glad to have Jack’s jacket around your shoulders, you felt like you were leaving the little bubble you and the chef had created. But as you watched him lock up the back door of Night Shift, using only one hand so he could keep holding yours, you knew you didn’t need that bubble.

You may have had to endure the date from hell to meet Jack Abbot, but it felt like fate had designed the night so that you ended up right where you were meant to be—with the hot, older chef who looked at you with so much awe and affection, it made your heart pitter-patter in your chest.

Jack walked you to his car, pushing you gently against the passenger door to kiss you some more before he helped you into the seat. He held your hand as he drove you back to his place, kissing your knuckles every few minutes, then leaning across the center console to kiss your mouth after he’d parked in front of his house.

The two of you didn’t talk much as you got ready for bed, but you didn’t need to. A comfortable silence had fallen over you and Jack, and you didn’t feel the need to fill it, especially with how tired you were. You changed into one of his t-shirts, brushed your teeth with the extra toothbrush he had on hand and cleaned your makeup off your face.

When you slipped into bed beside Jack, he was still massaging his leg, easing the pain he’d felt from wearing his prosthetic all night. You hoped he’d one day let you do that for him—help him to relieve the ache of the day’s grind from his leg, his shoulders, and anywhere else that might pain him.

Before you could gather the courage to offer, though, Jack turned and slid under the sheets beside you. He wrapped you up in his arms, and both of you let out little sighs of contentment. You didn’t know what exactly Jack was thinking, but you suspected it felt just as right to him as it did to you to be in his bed and in his arms.

You fell asleep knowing in your heart that you were right where you were meant to be—with Jack Abbot.

He froze like someone had pulled the plug. Then he was yanking out of you in a rush, rolling away like you’d turned radioactive, leaving you messy, empty, and now very awake.

By the time you propped yourself up on your elbows, still naked and starting to giggle, he was already half-dressed and pacing; shoving his arms into his sweater, cheeks pink, hair a wreck. He wouldn’t look at you as he snatched your underwear off the floor and tossed them at you like evidence he needed out of his crime scene.

“This isn’t funny,” he snapped.

Too late, you were already laughing.

“Really?” You wiggled into your panties, completely unbothered by the fact you were still naked from the waist up. “Because I’m having a great time. I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“I don’t,” he shot back immediately, too fast, too sharp. He reached for his belt with more force than necessary, leather snapping through the loops. “I didn’t mean it.”

“Of course you didn’t,” you cooed, nodding solemnly. “You just got caught up. Lost in the moment. It happens.”

He slowed a fraction. “Exactly.”

You smiled, all teeth. “Pussy that good, huh?”

Ransom froze, belt buckle halfway done. “I didn’t say that.”

“Yeah, you did,” you said, tilting your head. “Something about loving me as you- ”

“Okay!” His voice went high enough to crack, hands flying up. “We don’t need an instant replay, Christ.” He scrubbed a hand over his face like he could erase the last ten minutes. “Can you just… leave now?”

You plucked your shirt off the floor but made no move to put it on, just leaned back on your elbows on his bed, perfectly at ease in your own skin. His eyes dragged over you helplessly and he swore under his breath.

“You seem like you’re in a vulnerable place right now,” you said sweetly. “Wanna cuddle?”

His head snapped up. “Get out.”

You grinned, slipping your shirt over your head at last and got up from the bed “Relax, Drysdale. I’m not gonna make a thing out of it.”

He watched you tug on your jeans, jaw tight, shoulders still tense like he expected you to explode on him any second.

He glared. “It was nothing.”

Your father had met Titus when you were in college, and the two had become fast friends. By the time you'd graduated, your father had pledged his undying loyalty—and that of your family—to Mr. Le Bail and his High Council. 

In the months and years that followed, you came to learn more about the council as a network of rich and powerful people who helped each other out. It was during this time when you met Titus and his twin sister Ursula. 

They were both polite, but when Titus looked at you, there was something covetous and hungry in his eyes; it made you feel like a prey animal being stalked by a predator. 

Still, you remained cordial with the Danforths because they were close with your father.

That is, until Titus proposed to you, and you discovered the truth about who, or rather what, Mr. Le Bail was. Then, you ran. 

You cut ties from your entire family, changed your name, and moved to some backwater town in the middle of nowhere. For a long time, you lived in fear, thinking your family or one of the Danforths—or Mr. Le Bail himself—were going to show up at your door. 

But eventually, your fear settled down, you became complacent, and you set down some roots. Not too many—you didn't date and you never got too close to any of your friends, but you made a life for yourself. It was a half-life, but it was yours.

Until it wasn't.

Until the day that Titus Danforth appeared on your doorstep and you learned you'd never escaped after all. The High Council had known where you were all along, but they'd been delayed in coming to fetch you because your father had assured them you would return one day.

But their patience had grown thin and you knew too much to shirk your duties to Mr. Le Bail. As a daughter of a council member, you were expected to marry and reproduce, to create progeny to continue worshipping Mr. Le Bail and do his bidding in the world.

It was only your father's assurances that you would submit to your duties that saved your life. It was decided that you would marry Titus Danforth, the only member of the High Council who had not yet taken a wife. 

You were dragged, kicking and screaming, to the Danforth estate for your wedding. You refused to see your father or any member of your family, so you were stuffed unceremoniously into your pristine white wedding gown by the Danforths’ attendants. 

The wedding itself was a small affair, only attended by the closest members of the High Council, and your family. Your father walked you down the aisle to keep up pretenses but as he handed you off to Titus, you turned to him, caught his eye through your thin, white veil, and hissed your parting words to the man who'd given you life.

"I'll never forgive you for this."

Titus smirked at your father as he took your hand in his, looking for all the world like a man who'd won a game no one else knew they were playing. He led you the final few steps up to the altar, ducking his head slightly to speak in your ear.

"I always knew I'd be the one to get you."

It was then that you realized the depth of Titus's deception. After you’d rejected his proposal, he'd conspired for years to make sure you still ended up marrying him. And you'd played right into his hand. You'd given him everything he needed—leverage over your father, a way to steal you from your family, and worst of all, he'd gotten Mr. Le Bail's blessing to do it.

You spent the signing of the book and the wedding ceremony cursing yourself for being so naive, barely paying attention to the lawyer’s words about devotion and duty. You were so deep into your self-recrimination, you barely noticed when Titus turned to you and began lifting your veil. It took all your effort to maintain control of your face and give your soon-to-be husband a look of disdain.

It didn't seem to bother Titus in the least. That covetous, hungry look was plain as day on his face as he stared at your mouth. He barely waited for the lawyer to give him permission before he was grabbing your face and pulling you toward him.

Titus's mouth crashed against yours, and your traitorous body reacted instantly—your belly swooping and a hot, pulsing throb beginning between your thighs. You tried to gasp for air only for Titus to kiss you harder, his tongue invading your mouth and staking his claim so vehemently, it made your knees week. 

It was bad enough how good his mouth felt on yours, but the sounds he made, like he was a starving man eating his first meal in years, had lust blooming disloyally in your body. 

Your new husband devoured you voraciously, licking into your mouth and stealing the breath from your lungs until you were dizzy and dazed, wobbling so badly on your feet that when he finally pulled away, you collapsed against his chest.

Titus's arms wrapped around your waist, crushing you to him like a child might hold a toy he worried someone might steal from him. His head lowered until his mouth brushed the shell of your ear, making you shiver in his tight hold.

"And now, you're all mine."

Those words echoed in your head as you went through the motions for the rest of the ceremony and reception. While you shook hands and accepted the congratulations of your family and the High Council, all you could hear was the feral possessiveness in Titus's voice. 

It shocked you how much you didn't hate it.

You only returned to yourself when the door to Titus's suite at the estate clicked shut, the lock sliding into place with a resounding thud, like the period on the end of a sentence. It marked the end of your old life—and the beginning of your new one.

Titus was on you before you could even turn around or get your bearings. His hands grabbed your hips and spun you to him, his lips claiming yours even more ferociously than they did at the wedding ceremony. He walked you backward until your legs hit the bed, tearing the bodice of your dress so he could reach inside and palm your tits.

Desire warred with disgust in your body, though you didn't fight your husband as he pushed you down onto the bed and climbed on top of you. Titus's eyes glittered with a darkness that had your heart beating faster, your pulse pounding between your thighs when his expression turned greedy and he took his time looking his fill.

You were splayed on the bed beneath him, your tits out, chest heaving from all the breath he'd stolen during his kisses. But that wasn't enough for your new husband. He growled his frustration, got down from the bed and began ripping the skirt of your dress to shreds, until you were bared entirely for him from the waist down. 

All of a sudden, you realized the error in your judgement when you'd gotten dressed. Along with the wedding gown, a set of lacy lingerie had been set out for you, and you'd chosen to forgo wearing it. But that meant that when Titus tore through your dress, all that was left was you. 

At least you didn't seem to disappoint your new husband. 

Titus's hazel eyes blazed bright and hungry as his gaze raked ravenously over your body, taking in the curves of your hips, the plushness of your thighs and line of your legs. His hands settled on your knees, and with surprising gentleness, he eased your thighs open for him, a low, feral growl rumbling in his chest when he laid his eyes upon the delicate petals of your sex.

"This is mine," Titus snarled, his eyes flicking up to yours as if he expected you to protest. His hand cupped your pussy, his palm cool against your heated core, his wedding ring hard and unyielding against your soft, naked flesh. "All of you belongs to me now, but this, especially, is mine." 

All you could do was nod mutely, but that didn't seem to be good enough for your new husband, because his face contorted into a furious glare. It was obscene how hot he looked when he was angry, his eyes sharp and narrow as a blade.

"Did you hear me, wife?" 

You nodded more vigorously, rushing to say, "Yes—yes, husband. It's yours, I'm yours.” The words babbled out of you so easily, it felt like a betrayal as much as a submission to your new husband.

You'd never thought, all those years ago when you first met him, that you would marry Titus Danforth. Nor did you ever think you'd submit so easily to him as his wife. But that was exactly what you did on your wedding night.

It took very little effort to allow Titus to climb on top of you, to take his cock out when he ordered you, to line up the tip of his thick shaft with your entrance. It took embarrassingly little effort to spread your thighs wide around Titus's broad body and accept his cock into your cunt. 

Your new husband pushed deep into your pussy with one thrust, stretching you so quickly that it stung, even as it felt deliriously good to be filled. He claimed your body as wholly as he'd claimed your mouth, wringing a cry from your lips that he swallowed down greedily. 

Every part of you—your pleasure, your pain—it all belonged to him.

Without giving you time to adjust, Titus set a savage pace, fucking you into his bed with your wedding dress in tatters around you. He was still mostly dressed, an ascot tied around his neck, his jacket buttoned tight and his pants only undone enough to free his cock. It was as if all that mattered to him had been getting inside you, claiming you, and once he'd started, he couldn't stop. 

You held on tight to your new husband as he fucked you, his mouth breaking away from yours only to whisper filthy things in your ear—things about how he was going to use your body in every way he wanted. He was going to bend you over his father's desk, claim you in his sister's bed, set you free in the woods around the estate so he could chase you down and ravage you on the forest floor. 

And every time he'd fuck you, he promised, he'd cum deep inside your cunt, right against your cervix, until he knocked you up. He was going to fill you with his seed until it took, and you were going to give him an heir. 

But not just the one. Oh no. That wasn’t enough.

On your wedding night, while Titus fucked you for the first time, your new husband vowed that he would keep you pregnant until you gave him a whole horde of children—a whole new generation of Danforths who would serve Mr. Le Bail and carry on the family legacy.

And the worst part was, you'd always wanted a big family. 

Your heart squeezed with yearning at the thought of having so many children to love and dote on. It no longer mattered that those children's father would be a man who'd manipulated you into marrying him. All that mattered was that Titus wanted them to, and that he promised to be a good father to them—better than his had ever been.

"Cum on my cock, sweet wife. Let your husband fill you up, let me knock you up. Make me a daddy and I'll give you the world, pretty girl. I'll be such a good dad, such a good husband, just give me an heir."

Titus slipped his hand between your bodies, pressing down on your lower belly and making you cry out as you felt his cock pound into your cunt more acutely. He felt thicker and bigger than before. With more rasping, filthy commands, his thumb found your clit and rubbed, rubbed, rubbed until you saw stars. 

The whirlwind of your pleasure built in your body until it unleashed, sending you spiraling through a torrent of euphoria as you came. Your cunt clenched tight around Titus's cock and he grunted, fucking you through your release as he chased his own, finding it a few moments later.

True to his word, Titus spilled deep in your pussy, your inner muscles milking him dry as your body conspired with your new husband to give him the child both of you so desperately wanted. 

Once he was wrung out, Titus collapsed on top of you. His weight was a delicious blanket, and your mind was delightfully blank after such an obliterating orgasm. That was the only reason you could think of for why your hands found Titus's hair and your fingers began carding through his silver curls. 

You barely knew what you were doing until he gave a pleased rumble. His cheek was pillowed on your breast and he shifted, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking gently, sending little sparks of desire down between your thighs.

"You'll see," he mumbled, his eyes slowly sliding closed, his softening cock still buried in your body. "It's not so bad to be mine." 

You held your husband close, taking shelter in his warmth as the contentment from your release abated and you were left with the cold, hard truth of your life. For better or worse, you were married to Titus Danforth, and you had pledged your soul to Mr. Le Bail. The life you'd wanted was gone.

You never thought you'd marry Titus Danforth, but here you were. His wife. The only thing you could do was make the best of it. So that was what you'd endeavor to do.

And it turned out, your husband hadn't been lying—it wasn't so bad belonging to him.

All the while, you kept John Walker and Ava Starr in the back of your mind. 

The two members of the New Avengers were always sniping at each other, always sparring in the gym when they had free time, and you suspected there was something more going on there. Something that was beginning to throw off the balance of the team.

But you didn’t want to make your colleagues do anything they didn’t want to do, of course—you just wanted to give them a little push. So you made sure the potion only worked if the people dosed were already attracted to each other. 

Once you thought you had the combination right, you began pouring the finished potion into glass containers. You were just thinking of ways to slip it to John and Ava, or trap them in a room and set it off, when the trouble began.

Bucky Barnes barged into your workshop—as the annoying super-soldier often did—and immediately launched into a tirade of criticism over your witchcraft. 

Apparently, the hair growth potion you’d given Alexei Shostakov had worked too well, and his chest was covered in hair so thick, he was having trouble fitting into his Red Guardian outfit. Of course, according to Bucky, this was all your fault. 

You would’ve rolled your eyes, if you weren’t staring in horror at the rising plume of thick, pink smoke quickly filling the workshop. Following its trail, you found shattered glass at your feet, the remnants of a bottle that had once held your love potion. 

All you could do was look at the broken bottle, dumbfounded that you’d been so startled by Bucky’s sudden appearance that you’d knocked it over. You didn’t think the super-soldier had that much of an effect on you, but apparently you were wrong.

The evidence of just how wrong you were was filling the room, your potion having turned into a magical gas that was rapidly pouring into the room. As you watched it plume and expand, leaving nothing but broken glass behind, your shock was quickly replaced by anger. 

The potion you’d worked on all day had turned into a gaseous fog, and there would be no putting it back in the bottle. All your hard work was going up in smoke—literally—right before your eyes, and you whirled on Bucky, ready to give him a piece of your mind.

Before you could open your mouth to yell at the blundering super-soldier, and berate him for charging into your workshop without knocking, a metal shield slid down over the door with a loud clang, locking it shut. A tinny, automated voice filled the room, notifying you and Bucky that containment protocols had been initiated.

For a moment, you were stunned into silence.

When Val had set you up with the workshop, you thought she’d been exaggerating about the protective protocols put in place for any errant witchcraft. You’d assumed it was a lie to keep you in line, so you didn’t mess with anything that could harm the others or the tower.

Apparently, she wasn’t lying (for once), and you were about to learn the hard way not to play with love potions in New Avengers Tower. 

“How many times have I told you to be more careful, witch?” Bucky hissed, hurling the epithet like an insult across the span of the workshop. 

Your eyes found the super-soldier through the pink gloom, giving him your harshest glare. But he wasn’t even looking at you. He was warily watching the pink smoke swelling and enveloping the room. 

“And how many times have I told you not to disturb me while I’m working, soldier,” you snapped back, spitting the last word with as much venom as you could muster, which was quite a bit despite the worry in your gut. You glanced around the room as well.

The smoke was filling up your workshop so quickly, you knew you were seconds away from breathing it in, and you had a good idea of what would happen to your body once you did. 

Across the room, you watched Bucky’s nostrils flare, the super-soldier dragging in a deep breath to respond to your sharp words. 

For a moment, all you could think about was how grateful you were that you’d made the potion so it would only affect those who already felt attraction—even if that meant it would affect you when you were in such close proximity to Bucky.

It was your most shameful secret that you harbored secret fantasies about the annoying super-soldier, and what was beneath that black and red superhero suit he wore. More nights than you could count, you got yourself off to the idea of Bucky railing you to within an inch of your life. 

So you knew the magic-induced lust would hit you like a freight train as soon as you inhaled the pink smoke. But at least you’d be alone in feeling the effects of the love potion. Because there was absolutely no way Bucky was attracted to you. 

The super-soldier had made it very clear during the months you’d worked together that he couldn’t stand you. 

He called you ‘witch’ every chance he got, had a problem with everything you did, and otherwise avoided you unless he was criticizing your recklessness on the last mission. There was no way he felt anything but irritation for you. 

But none of that dampened your attraction to Bucky Barnes. 

And you were minutes, if not seconds, away from letting him in on your deepest, darkest secret—that you wanted him. So you fortified yourself, knowing you’d have to resist begging him to fuck you for as long as possible if you ever wanted to look him in the eye again.

While the pink smoke continued filling the room, you tried not to breathe too deeply, but it soon became unavoidable. The sweet-smelling gas infiltrated your senses, and once you got your first whiff, you inhaled until your lungs were full of the magic smoke. 

A delicious, pink haze fell over your mind, the edges going fuzzy while your body felt like it was floating. It was a pleasant sensation, almost like you were weightless and wrapped up in the most delicious scent you’d ever smelled.

Then, the burning ache began.

It hit you like a punch to the gut, the sudden, needy pulse between your thighs. All of a sudden, you could feel your racing heartbeat in the throbbing of your core, and your inner muscles clenched pathetically around nothing.

A whimper escaped your lips before you could bite it back, and you hunched over your worktable, your hands clutching the edge, nails digging into the wooden surface as you tried to control the urges surging through your body.

You wanted to hurl yourself across the table and into Bucky’s arms. You wanted to tear your clothes off and then his, making it easy to impale your body on his hot, hard length…

“I need help.”

The words were a gasp, a plea hurtled into the thick fog of smoke filling the room. Wildly, your eyes searched through the gloom to find Bucky. He was standing rigidly next to the door, looking like a statue made of granite for how motionlessly he stood.

“I need you to tie me up,” you said, your tone sharp with an order. Despite the state of your body—which had begun to sweat beneath your clothes from the warmth building in your core—you couldn’t bring yourself to be nice when you asked the super-soldier for help.

Bucky was quiet for a moment, his blue eyes bright in the pink duskiness of the room. He raked them down your body, seemingly taking stock of the way you were curled in on yourself. 

Surely he could see you were in pain and would help you. He was constantly annoyed by your existence, but he was a good man. He would help.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to get anywhere near you,” Bucky said stiffly, his gaze unreadable when it returned to yours. 

A slight frown pulled down at the edges of Bucky’s mouth, but that wasn’t abnormal when he was in your presence. A quick glance down his body assured you he looked normal, as if he wasn’t affected by the smoke. So you didn’t understand his reluctance.

“Why?” you asked, huffing an annoyed sound as you stared at the super-soldier, willing him with your mind to answer. 

You had to bite back a whine when you breathed in more of the smoke, the burning ache between your thighs increasing enough to make your arms start to shake. Your nails bit deeper into the wooden table.

“The effects aren’t contagious. You can touch me, you’ll be fine,” you said, trying to reassure the hesitant super-soldier, though your voice came out more annoyed than soothing. It was difficult to sound calm when you wanted to climb Bucky like a tree and fuck him.

Bucky’s knuckles cracked so loudly in the quiet room that your eyes dropped to his hands. They were curled into fists, his fingers clenched so tightly, it looked like it hurt. In fact, when you looked closer, every muscle in his body was wound tight enough to snap.

Your brain, which was trying to feed you an endless stream of images of you fucking the super-soldier, was slow to catch on to what Bucky’s body language meant. 

“What…the hell is happening?” you asked, your voice wary, your eyes darting up and down Bucky’s form. Your mind was torn between appreciating his thick biceps and noticing the way his legs looked ready to pounce. For some reason, you couldn’t make sense of it. 

Instead of answering your question, Bucky only clenched his fists tighter, and you could hear his knuckles crack again. 

“What was in that glass you broke?” he asked, the question sounding like it was ripped from the depths of his barrel chest.

It was on the tip of your tongue to hiss back at him that you wouldn’t have broken anything if he hadn’t startled you by barging into your workshop unannounced—especially after you’d told him multiple times not to do that because the magic you dealt with was volatile. 

But you managed to bite back your harsh words when a wave of need crashed through you. You could…you could smell Bucky, even across the room. He smelled like salt and man, the scent so deliciously potent, you had to close your eyes and gather your wits before responding.

“I was just messing around with a love potion,” you admitted. Your voice was thin as you tried to play it off as no big deal, though the wetness dripping from your core and soaking your clothes painted another story.  

When you managed to wrench your eyes open, you found Bucky glaring at you from his side of the room.

“What the fuck—why?” he growled through clenched teeth, his blue eyes flashing with fury.

You basked in Bucky’s anger, the emotion stirring something inside you besides need. In your moment of relief, you clung to your tiny kernel of rage, shooting the super-soldier your own glare.

“I wanted to test out a theory about Walker and Ava,” you said in your most lofty tone, knowing it would only piss him off more. “You may not have noticed, soldier, but they’ve been circling each other for weeks and it’s messing with the team.”

At his sides, Bucky’s hands unfurled and curled tight again, like he was restraining himself from doing something—strangling you probably. It gave you a sick sense of satisfaction to see him reacting to your words, even if it was only out of anger.

“Why the fuck would you do that, witch?” Bucky growled, dragging your attention back to his face. He barely looked like himself, and you realized, all of a sudden, that the potion was doing something to him.

He was glaring daggers at you from across the room, his blue eyes piercing through the pink gloom still swirling in the air. The look in his gaze was wild, his mouth twisted into an angry sneer, and his body was practically vibrating with a furious tension.

Unfortunately for you, all of that rage only made Bucky impossibly hotter. He looked like your most shameful fantasies come to life, and he was standing right in front of you, only a worktable between you. 

Desperately, you wanted Bucky to take out all his anger on your body. You wanted him to pound his thick cock into your tight cunt with all the fury on his face, and then you wanted him to spill his seed deep in your body, growling in your ear the whole time, telling you that you belonged to him…

God, you needed to touch yourself. You needed something to stave off the throbbing ache beneath every inch of your skin. But you refused to do that in front of Bucky, not when he was standing right there and staring at you like you were little more than a bug beneath his boot.

You dug your nails into the wooden worktable you were hunched against, forcing yourself to remember your anger at the super-soldier and answer his question.

“It’s only supposed to work if both people are attracted to each other!” you cried, defending yourself, though your voice came out as a pitiful whine. Shaking your head, you tried to clear the pink fog from your brain as you muttered, “I must’ve messed up the ingredients.”

It was the only explanation you could come up with for why the potion seemed to be affecting Bucky. You still couldn’t believe he might be attracted to you, but something was happening to him. It was undeniable in the tense way he held himself.

Bucky’s rough voice sounded in the dim room, catching your attention and pulling you from your thoughts. 

“You didn’t.”

The super-soldier’s words were barely discernible through the growl in his voice, and your eyes snapped up to him. Confusion drew your brows together when you saw the tortured look on his face.

“What?” you asked, your voice sounding dumb even to your own ears. But you couldn’t seem to catch up with what he was saying.

Bucky looked away. You watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallowed, fighting the urge to sink your teeth into his neck. You didn’t understand the impulse, only that you wanted to taste the salt straight from Bucky’s skin.

“You’re gonna make me say it?” he asked harshly, his eyes flicking back to yours before skating away, looking around the room as if searching for an exit you knew didn’t exist. He looked like he’d rather die than say whatever it was.

You were about to tell him you didn’t understand, but a wave of need crashed over you so strong, your knees wobbled and nearly gave out. You slumped further over the worktable, a whine building in your throat. 

The pink smoke wasn’t dissipating, the magic overwhelming whatever ventilation system was installed in the tower. If anything, it was growing thicker, stronger, and along with it, the need to have something inside you became excruciatingly painful. 

“Bucky, please,” you whimpered, not knowing if you were begging him to answer your question or to fuck you. Your eyes searched for his through the gloom, and despite the thickness of the fog, you could see Bucky’s face perfectly.

He looked devastated, his eyes filled with a concern you’d never seen directed at you as they raked over your hunched form. His arms were shaking, and his fists had curled so tightly, his knuckles had all bled white. He looked as wrecked as you felt.

When a rough sound came from his throat, your thighs trembled dangerously and your core clenched with need. Between your legs, your skin was sticky with sweat and desire, and all you could do was look at him pleadingly.

“I’m attracted to you, witch.”

If you’d been struck by lightning, right there in the tower, you would’ve been less shocked than you were by Bucky’s confession. It hit you like rolling thunder, an awareness spreading through your body as your heart raced in your chest.

The insistent, pounding pulse between your thighs grew even more ravenous, your body shuddering as your pussy clenched hard around nothing. With a groan, you bent over your worktable, pressing your heated forehead to the cool wood.

Then you laughed. 

The sound was scratchy and half-hysterical, filling the room with ridiculous peels of laughter. You couldn’t believe it—couldn’t believe Bucky was being serious. All you could do was laugh. It was either that or cry. Or beg him to fuck you. 

So you laughed, and you couldn’t help but notice Bucky didn’t join in. 

When you were able to get enough control of yourself, you tipped your head to the side and looked at Bucky across the room, still standing as motionless as a statue. 

“No, there’s no way,” you huffed, laughter still bleeding into your voice. Your shoulders were shaking and you wiped tears from your cheeks, unable to lift yourself up off the table.

Bucky’s jaw was clenched hard, and you couldn’t be certain, but you thought you saw a faint pink flush in his cheeks. Before you could puzzle over what that meant, the muscle in his cheek popped and distracted you. 

He must’ve been grinding his teeth something fierce, and you wondered fleetingly what he was thinking. You wondered if he’d take back what he’d said, admit it was a joke. But he didn’t.

“How long is this going to last?” Bucky asked finally, seemingly trying to change the subject.

You were so busy trying to figure out what might be running through the super-soldier’s mind that you answered unthinkingly. “A couple of hours, or until…”

Images of Bucky fucking you filled your head again and you trailed off, getting lost in the fantasies for a moment. 

“Until what?” Bucky snapped, his eyes finding yours. There was a desperation in his gaze that you’d never seen before. 

Errantly, you wondered what emotion you’d find in his eyes if you sank down on his cock. Would he stare at you with the same intense desperation, needing to come, or would his gaze fill with arrogant satisfaction. 

You closed your eyes against those thoughts, unable to look at him while you answered his question.

“Or until we do something about it, ok?” you said, your words a pitiful whine as they spilled from your lips. Your nails dug into the wooden worktable again as you attempted to ground yourself, but it barely worked. “I’m trying really hard to control myself over here, soldier.”

Bucky was silent for a long minute, and you focused on the sound of your breath. You tried to keep them even, tried to slow your racing heart, tried (and failed) to ignore the thrumming pulse between your thighs.

Then, Bucky growled, “Don’t.”

Your mind, which had wandered into a fantasy of Bucky bending you more fully over your worktable and fucking into you from behind, had lost the thread of the conversation. You lifted your head, looking at the super-soldier with confusion. 

“What?” you asked dumbly. 

That muscle in Bucky’s cheek popped again, and his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. You could tell it was taking him a great deal of effort to be patient with you, but somehow he managed. 

“If it makes this torment end faster, don’t control yourself, witch.”

Something in the distant recesses of your mind bristled at the implication in Bucky’s words, that it was agony to want you as badly as he did. But the rest of you fixed on the fact that his words sounded like an invitation—and it was one you wouldn’t pass up. 

Rising up off your worktable, you stood for a moment on shaky legs, then took an unsteady step toward the super-soldier. When he shifted toward you, you broke into a sprint, rounding the table and running across your workshop before launching yourself into his arms.

Bucky caught you easily, and you wasted no time. Your lips crashed down on his and you kissed him with all the ravenous need raging through your body. 

With a growl, Bucky turned and pressed you into the wall beside the door, kissing you just as fiercely. His tongue invaded your mouth as if he owned it, taking possession of your body as he kissed you deeply, thoroughly, licking your moans from the back of your throat.

You could feel his thick cock pressing into the slit between your thighs through your clothes. He was twitching and throbbing and you ached to get him inside you, but for the moment, all you could do was kiss him and touch him. 

The hunger in your core was satisfied with that, for a short while anyway.

Your hands were everywhere at once, skimming up his broad biceps and tangling in his hair. Your nails raked down the back of his neck, your fingers tugging impatiently at his superhero suit. 

You rolled your hips against his, grinding your hot center down on his thick bulge, and you moaned miserably into his mouth as the need grew desperate again.

“I don’t want to hurt you, witch,” Bucky rasped against your mouth, and you jerked back, shocked by the care in his voice. 

His eyes were pained as he held your gaze, and he looked so agonized and noble, you could only roll your eyes.

“You’re not gonna break me, soldier,” you promised, ducking your head and dragging the flat of your tongue up the column of his throat. When he made a rumbling, guttural sound, you sank your teeth into his neck, smirking when his hips kicked between your thighs. “Just shut up and fuck me, Barnes.”

With a low roar, Bucky’s hand wrapped around the back of your neck and he pulled you in for another devastating kiss. His hands tore at your clothes until they were nothing but shreds, falling from your body to land in a pile on the floor. 

Then he dropped you down to your feet, and helped you remove his suit. Your movements were frenzied, desperate, and when he was finally bare, the two of you crashed back together.

Bucky hauled you over to the closest worktable, clearing everything off with the sweep of his arm. If you’d been in your right mind, you would’ve been furious, but the lust pounding through your body was too needy to care what he might’ve broken. 

You just wanted him on top of you, inside you, surrounding you, overwhelming you. You kissed him harder, your hands tangling in his hair and yanking him closer, your mouth devouring his.

A needy whimper slipped from your lips and Bucky swallowed the sound hungrily. Then he was laying you down on your back on the cool wooden surface of the table, and he was climbing on top of you. So much of his heated skin was touching yours that you moaned into his kiss.

He broke away, sucking and nipping at your jaw, then down your neck while his hands groped greedily at your tits. He kneaded your soft flesh and plucked at your nipples, wringing mindless sounds of pleasure from your lips. He ducked down, sucking on your nipples until you were squirming beneath him. 

All the while, your fingers clutched at his soft, brown hair, holding the super-soldier close. Of their own accord, your legs wrapped around the backs of Bucky’s thick thighs, and you felt his cock, hot and heavy, lay against the soft folds of your pussy. 

“Bucky, I need your cock,” you whined, barely sounding like yourself. You sounded like a weak, pitiful creature, so you yanked hard on Bucky’s hair to remind him—and yourself—that you were just as fierce as him.

The super-soldier, however, barely reacted. He was busy inhaling greedily at the pulse point in your throat, and groaning when the smell of your skin invaded his lungs. 

You let out a keening, desperate whine, your hips rocking beneath his big body, and you yanked on his hair again, even harder to get his attention. The super-soldier huffed a sound of annoyance, biting into your skin at the base of your throat until you went limp beneath him.

“Be a good little witch and I’ll give you my cock,” Bucky rumbled into your skin before licking and sucking his way back up your neck.

At his words, you tensed, something close to a hiss spilling from your lips. You yanked on his hair until you could look him in the eye, and you gave him a glare. “Now, soldier.” 

Bucky’s eyes darkened, his face twisting into a snarl as he shifted onto one arm. Reaching between your bodies, he lined up his thick cock with your tight hole. 

Still holding your furious gaze, he dragged the head between your messy folds a few times, until you were whimpering pathetically beneath him.

“You want my cock so bad, witch,” he ground out, the muscle in his cheek popping with fury. “Then fucking take it.”

With that, he impaled you in one swift thrust. He filled your tight hole with every inch of his thick cock in a hard, powerful thrust that had you stretching around him to accommodate his size. 

Blinding, pain-edged pleasure tore through your body as he split you in half, and an orgasm detonated suddenly in your core. It crashed over you in unrelenting waves, your body bowing up off the worktable as a scream ripped from your lips.

Above you, Bucky grunted, his hips grinding between your thighs as he rocked into your clenching pussy. He was staring down at you with something like wonder in his face. 

“Did you just come on my fucking cock, witch?” he growled, his hips drawing back before slamming into you again, driving his hard length deep into your cunt. “Such a needy fucking slut, huh, coming on your soldier’s cock so fast?”

You sobbed your pleasure, nodding your head as tears spilled down your cheeks. It was so good, the feeling of Bucky’s cock filling you up. His pounding thrusts only made the pleasure spiral higher, dragging out your release for what felt like forever.

Finally, the waves of pleasure started to ebb, but instead of satisfying the burning, magical ache deep in your core, your release only spurred you on. In a matter of seconds, you felt like you hadn’t come at all, the desperate need in your body building again.

You clung to Bucky desperately, your nails digging into the warm, golden skin of his shoulders as your legs hooked around the backs of his thighs. You used your leverage on his body to hump your hips up against him, meeting his brutal thrusts as the sound of your bodies coming together filled the room. 

“More—Bucky, I need more,” you hissed, writhing beneath him, trying to take him deeper. You wanted to feel his cock pounding against the end of you, his balls slapping your ass. You slid your hands down his back, your nails digging into the hard muscle of his ass. “Fuck me harder, soldier.”

Bucky gave a feral roar, burying his face in your neck, and then he was fucking into you even harder and faster, moving beyond what should be possible for a normal human man. A scream wrenched from your lips, and you rolled your hips desperately as your pleasure built. 

“Ya got such a greedy cunt, huh, witch?” Bucky rasped in your ear, growing more furious with every word. “I already made you come and you want more already? Is that how this is going to be—you make demands and I’m meant to be your mindless soldier who fulfills them?”

Before you could respond, Bucky pulled out of you, breaking free from the hold of your legs and leaving you crying out pitifully at the loss of him. He flipped you over so your front was pressed into the unrelenting surface of the worktable, shifting so his legs caged in yours.

The super-soldier pressed you flat to the table, then slid back into your pussy. Grabbing your arms, he held your wrists pinned to your lower back so you couldn’t move. All you could do was take him, take his cock as he fucked you without mercy.

His hips slapped hard against your ass, the smacking sound filling the room, and his heavy balls teased your clit with every rough thrust. He held himself up with his metal arm planted beside your head, and you shifted to press your lips to his vibranium thumb, pulling it into your mouth so you could suck on it idly.

“I like this better, witch,” Bucky rumbled in your ear, splitting you open with his cock as he fucked you into the table. “Having you at my mercy—and having you do what I tell you for once in your fucking life.”

A moan slipped from your lips, sounding like an agreement even to your ears. You didn’t know what Bucky was doing to you, but you felt yourself slipping deeper into the pleasure filling your body. All you could do was take his cock, feel it pounding into your cunt, and it felt glorious. 

You never wanted it to end, never wanted him to stop fucking you. So you didn’t protest his words, even as they turned filthier. There was a meanness in his tone that had you clenching even tighter around his cock, your body loving the way he spoke to you.

“You’re so much sweeter like this, witch,” he growled in your ear, his hand tightening around your wrists as he fucked you in deep, hard thrusts. “I think I like you best like this—when you’re so drunk on my cock, you can’t talk back.”

It didn’t even occur to you to respond to Bucky. You just sucked on his thumb harder, flicking your tongue over the tip lazily. Sharp sounds of pleasure spilled freely from your lips, drool trickling from your mouth and pooling on the worktable beneath your cheek. 

Bucky lowered his big body down on top of you so he was nearly crushing you. His scruffy jaw rasped over your cheek before he nipped at the lobe of your ear. 

“Fuck, your cunt’s sucking my cock so good, angel,” he rumbled, his voice getting rougher as he fucked you harder. “You feel so good—why do you feel so fucking good, witch?”

The super-soldier sounded tormented, and you understood the feeling. It wasn’t fair that it was so good with him—better than it had ever been in your fantasies. You had to believe it was the potion, because you didn’t think you’d survive if it wasn’t.

“Oh fuck, ‘m gonna come,” Bucky rasped above you, burying his face in your shoulder. “Gonna come inside your tight fucking cunt, witch—ya ready for it?”

“Yes,” you sobbed pulling away from Bucky’s thumb and catching his eye over your shoulder. “Make me come, soldier, make it end.”

Bucky’s blue eyes glinted with something dangerous as they raked over your face. “Beg me, witch,” he growled, his words so gruff you could barely understand them. “Beg me to make you come.”

Your heart lurched in your chest and something deep in your soul rebelled against the command. You were a powerful witch, you didn’t beg anyone for anything. 

But you knew Bucky well enough to recognize the stubborn set of his jaw, and the ruthlessness in his gaze. You held his stare for a long moment, trying to fight the need to give in, but ultimately your desire won out. 

“Please, Bucky,” you rasped, the words rough like you’d dragged them from the pit of your being. “Please rub my clit and make me come.” The pleading spilled more freely from your lips the more you spoke, your need urging you on. “I need it so bad—I need you, Bucky, please!”

Bucky’s eyes flashed, and you thought you caught the hint of a grin. But then he picked up his pace and you were lost. 

Your eyes rolled back in your head as Bucky rutted into you, pounding you into the table until your hips hurt and your cunt was clenching tight around his hard length.

When it was almost too much, Bucky reached under you, freeing your hands so he could slip his warm fingers between your thighs and rub your clit. It took only a few rough strokes before you were coming apart for him.

You came with a piercing scream, your release overwhelming you as pleasure ravaged your body. It blotted out everything else besides Bucky and his cock—his perfect cock that kept fucking you while he chased his own pleasure.

“Fuck—fuck, take my come, angel, take it deep in that sweet cunt,” Bucky growled, his words cutting off in a loud grunt as he shoved his cock deep inside you. His teeth sank into your shoulder, biting you and muffling a roar against your skin as he came.

His hips pressed flush to your ass, fucking you shallowly as he unloaded himself in your pussy. You felt his cock twitch, and his warm come filling you up and you trembled in pleasure, basking in the sensation while you writhed beneath him.

Time stretched like taffy as you both reveled in your pleasure, and you didn’t know how long it had been by the time Bucky let out a last, shuddering groan. He collapsed on top of you, though he was careful not to crush you.

You thought it was over, but you’d barely heaved a sigh of relief before warmth began to prickle beneath your skin again. The heat spread quickly, like your release had only taken the edge off before it came back stronger, headier.

“Ba-Barnes,” you whined, squirming beneath Bucky, your hips rolling when you felt him harden inside you. “I don’t think it’s—oh fuck.”

The super-soldier pulled his hips back and snapped them forward, burying his stiff length in your already well-used pussy. You trembled at the almost unbearable sensation of his hard cock dragging against your sensitive inner walls, a mindless moan slipping from your lips.

“I’m sorry, witch,” Bucky mumbled into your neck, his hips pumping faster and faster. “But I don’t think the magic’s worn off—fuck, ‘m not done with you yet.”

All you could do was sob your pleasure, your hands reaching back for him, needing something to ground you as he sent you flying all over again. He buried his face in your neck, groaning as he set a brutal pace, fucking his come deeper inside you as he fucked you into the table.

“Fuck, witch, what’d you do to me?” he rasped into the hollow beneath your jaw, his scruff tickling your neck. “I’ve already emptied my balls in your hungry cunt once, and I can’t stop—can’t stop until I fill you up until your belly’s bulging with my seed.”

“Bucky, yes,” you cried, lifting your hips so he could sink even deeper inside you. He was so big and hot and heavy inside you, and you wanted his come, you wanted him to fuck you and fill you up until you couldn’t take anymore. “Give me more, soldier, I need all of you.”

At your demand, Bucky growled, the sound not entirely happy. It seemed to spur him into moving. 

Pulling out of your greedy hole, he flipped you over and spun your bodies until he was stretched out on his back on the worktable. He stared up at you, wonder and fury blazing in his blue eyes as you impaled yourself on his cock, taking every inch of him inside your hot cunt. 

The position had Bucky’s cock pushing even deeper into your cunt, and you threw your head back, savoring the feeling of being filled by his thick length. It wasn’t until Bucky gave your ass a sharp spank that you refocused on the super-soldier.

“If you want more, you’re gonna have to do some of the work, witch,” Bucky rumbled with a smirk, reaching his metal arm back and laying his head on it, propping himself up so he could watch you squirm on his cock. His other hand rested on your hip, anchoring you to his body. “Bounce on your soldier’s cock, angel, lemme see what a slut my sweet witch can be.”

It wasn’t in your nature to follow commands blindly, but even you couldn’t resist the desire to do exactly what Bucky had said. So you writhed above him, spurred on by his words as you rocked your hips experimentally, feeling his thick length shift inside you.

Bucky’s jaw clenched and his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, his eyes going molten as he watched your hips hump on his cock. It was intoxicating, watching him unravel for you, and you realized you couldn’t get enough. You wanted more.

Planting your hands on Bucky’s broad chest, you lifted your hips and slammed back down. The super-soldier groaned loudly, his eyes sliding closed with bliss, his hips rising up off the table to meet your bouncing body.

Leaning down, you let your mouth brush teasingly against Bucky’s, pulling away when he tried to capture your lips in a bruising kiss. You laughed softly as you retreated, your hips lifting up and slamming back down at a relentless pace.

“You want a slut, soldier?” you asked in a sultry voice, your tone only a little bit mean. “I’ll show you such a good time, you’ll be begging to get back inside my cunt even after the potion’s worn off.” You nipped at his lower lip, moving away again before he could catch you for a kiss. “Maybe if you’re nice, I’ll even let you fuck me again—without the magic.”

Something in Bucky seemed to snap and he let out a furious roar, his face contorting with rage. Quick as a flash, he grabbed your hips and, using his super-soldier strength, he bounced you on his cock like you were nothing more than his own personal fleshlight. 

“You think I’m the one that’s gonna be addicted after this, angel?” Bucky growled meanly, fucking into you harder—so hard you had to cling to his arms to hold on. “You’re gonna be so drunk on my cock, you’re gonna be crawling back to me, begging to be my slut, witch.”

Bucky sat up suddenly, his metal hand curving around the back of your neck and his other arm banding around your lower back, holding you pinned against his body. His blue gaze was furious as he stared deep into your eyes, stealing your breath with the intensity of his look.

“You’re going to beg me to make you my fuck toy, angel,” he promised, his fingers tightening around your neck with a possessiveness you didn’t know he was capable of—and it had you gasping with excitement. He smirked smugly at the look on your face. “Just you fucking wait.”

You wanted to protest Bucky’s words, but you were slack-jawed with pleasure. The position of his body, and the rolling, deep thrusts of his hips had you barreling toward another release. Your clit was rubbing against the base of Bucky’s thick, perfect cock and all you could do was tip your head back and moan.

“Fuck, Bucky, just like that, I’m gonna come,” you whined, your nails digging into the hard muscles of his biceps. You clung to him like he was the only thing between you and death, all while he sent you hurtling toward a release that you knew would be devastating.

“Do it, witch,” Bucky growled, his voice harsh. His chest heaved with effort as he bounced you on his lap. “Come all over your soldier’s cock—show me what a good, filthy slut you are for me.”

Despite yourself, his command had your release crashing over you, you body going rigid and your eyes rolling into the back of your head. A broken scream left your lips. All you could feel was wave after wave of overwhelming pleasure rocking through your every limb, leaving you shaking and gasping.

Distantly, you were aware of Bucky roaring as he rutted into you, his cock twitching as he came deep in your cunt. You felt his warmth filling you, sating something in your soul that you weren’t sure had anything to do with the love potion, but you didn’t bother thinking about that just yet.

You let your release roll through you, reveling in the pleasure and clinging to your soldier all the way through it. He held you just as tight, his face buried in your neck, sucking greedily on your skin as you rocked together until the waves of pleasure finally ebbed.

With a weak cry, you collapsed against Bucky’s chest, both of you slumping down to the table as you caught your breath. You lay sprawled across Bucky’s broad form, his warm hand resting on your lower back, your bodies still joined where his cock remained inside you.

For the moment, the magic-induced heat in your blood had abated, but you could still feel it at the edge of your awareness. It was giving you a reprieve, but it was biding its time until the potion would have you fucking again. 

“I thought you said this need would end if we did something about it,” Bucky grumbled, his chest rising and falling beneath your limp body as he caught his breath. “I can still feel it—what do we have to do?”

“Fuck, I don’t know,” you whined, burying your face in Bucky’s sweaty chest. 

That was a mistake, because you inhaled the full brunt of his scent, making your mind go hazy around the edges. It was so good, and your body still felt so sated from your orgasm that you could feel your walls crumbling. 

You didn’t have the energy to keep them up, and you felt emotion slip into your heart. Without meaning to, you let yourself be vulnerable in front of Bucky, not caring for once about appearing like the strong and formidable witch that you were.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled into his skin, defeat making you feel heavy. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have been messing around with love magic—I’m so fucking stupid.”

Embarrassment rushed in as soon as the words were out, and you tried to pull away while keeping your face hidden so Bucky couldn’t see your shame. But he shocked you by tugging you right back to where you were. He held you tight to his chest and brushed a kiss to your damp forehead.

“It was a foolhardy idea, but you’re not stupid, witch,” he murmured into your hair, his calloused fingers stroking up and down your spine in a surprisingly soothing gesture. “Were you acting like an arrogant idiot? Yes. Were you being reckless? Definitely.”

You snorted, the sound derisive in the quiet of the room, and Bucky squeezed the back of your neck firmly until you went silent again. He heaved a sigh, then continued speaking, so quietly you weren’t sure if you were even supposed to hear him.

“I have a soft spot for reckless idiots apparently.”

The two of you let those words linger in the air. It almost didn’t seem possible, that Bucky Barnes had a soft spot for you, but he’d just said as much. It took you a moment to believe it, but when you did, you lifted up and pressed your mouth to his in a sweet kiss.

Bucky groaned softly, his hand cradling the back of your head while you kissed, each of you exploring the other the way you hadn’t earlier. When his tongue slipped into your mouth, you whimpered, feeling his cock harden inside you and reigniting the spark of lust. 

“What do we do?” you whined when you pulled away to gasp for air. Your eyes found Bucky’s, giving him your best pleading look. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

Bucky let out a soft breath, cupping your cheek in his warm palm, his thumb brushing your cheek comfortingly. 

“We ride it out, angel,” he said gently, tipping your head down until your forehead pressed to his. “We hope you were right that it’ll wear off in a couple hours.”

Unbidden, tears gathered in your lashes and leaked from your eyes. It was exquisite torture, feeling Bucky’s hard cock inside you, and you rolled your hips even as you cried softly.

“I’m sorry, Bucky, I’m so sorry,” you whimpered, emotions rushing through you that you didn’t understand, mixing with the heat of the magic into a heady, overwhelming mix. You clung tighter to Bucky, apologizing over and over again even as you rocked against him.

Bucky rolled you over onto your back, holding you cradled against his chest as he loomed over you. He kissed the tears from your cheeks and fucked you in slow, deep thrusts that set off sparks of pleasure in your core. 

“Ya gotta be strong for me, angel,” Bucky rasped against your cheek, kissing away your tears as quickly as they fell. “Where’s my headstrong, reckless witch who was demanding more from her soldier just a little while ago?”

A wet laugh bubbled from your lips, and you turned your face, kissing Bucky, feeling endlessly grateful that the super-soldier was being so patient with you. That he was showing you he liked every side of you, even the ones you thought annoyed the hell out of him.

The longer you kissed your soldier, the more you were able to sink into the building desire burning in your blood. Your legs hooked around the backs of Bucky’s thighs, and he groaned in pleasure when you lifted your hips, meeting his thrusting cock.

Your fingers sank into Bucky’s brown hair, twisting mercilessly in the strands and yanking on him roughly, your hips moving faster as you urged him on.

“Fuck me, Bucky,” you whined against his mouth, swallowing his grunts of pleasure. “Use me like my body is your own personal fuck toy, make me drunk on your cock, make me a mindless slut for you, soldier.” You pulled back, catching Bucky’s eye and shooting him a wicked smirk before murmuring, “That’s an order.”

With a low, rumbling growl and a wolfish grin, Bucky grabbed your thighs and hiked them up to your chest, folding you in half and pinning you to the worktable while he pounded into you. His cock sank deep inside you, mercilessly bullying your cunt with every thrust.

“Don’t order me around, witch,” he rumbled, though there wasn’t as much heat to his words as there had been earlier, and they were further softened by the look of reverence in his eyes. “You’ll take my cock like a good little slut and you’ll fucking thank me for it.”

“Thank you, soldier, thank you,” you gasped, writhing beneath Bucky’s bigger body. You yanked on his hair, dragging him down for another filthy, messy kiss, and he fucked you harder, both of you racing toward another release. 

Together, you tipped over the edge, losing yourselves in each other. You moaned against each other’s mouths as you both came apart, your bodies entwined so tightly, you barely knew where you ended and Bucky began. 

Without you noticing, the last wisp of the pink smoke that had once filled the room finally filtered out, and the containment protocols locking the door were lifted. But it would be a long time before the effects of the love potion wore off. 

You and Bucky kept going at it for another few hours, fucking late into the night and making each other come until both of you finally passed out from exhaustion.

When you woke, Bucky’s cock was still inside you, and your first instinct was to roll your hips. A moan slipped from your lips at the delicious drag of him inside you, his hard length twitching in your pussy. 

It took your tired mind a moment to realize the magical heat in your blood had finally disappeared, and you slumped back down on top of Bucky. You were sprawled on top of his chest, his breath stuttering on a groan as he roused.

Turning your face up, you pressed a kiss to the scruffy underside of Bucky’s jaw. “It’s finally out of our systems, soldier,” you murmured, knowing he’d be able to hear you.

Bucky grunted, his arms tightening around your waist. You could feel his hips lift slightly beneath you, fucking deeper into your aching cunt, managing to wring even more pleasure from your body.

“Mm, are you sure, witch?” he rumbled in a teasing tone, his hips bucking more noticeably beneath you. Your inner walls clenched weakly around him, as if urging him on. “Because your sweet cunt’s calling to me, begging me for another load.”

You tried to huff a laugh, but the sound devolved into a helpless mewl as you felt him move inside you. The slide of Bucky’s cock in your pussy was made easy by all the come he’d emptied inside you, and you could feel new wetness leaking from your hole at the idea of him spilling his seed inside you again.

Lifting up only enough to find Bucky’s lips, you kissed him lazily before pulling away to tease him back. 

“I told you you’d be addicted to my cunt after the potion wore off, soldier,” you murmured against Bucky’s mouth, your lips curved in a smile. “Do you think you’ve been nice enough that I should let you fuck me?”

“I think I’ve been very nice to you, witch,” Bucky said, the warmth of a grin in his tone. “And don’t act like you aren’t dying to fuck my cock again, angel.” His hips lifted up off the table, bouncing you on his hard length.

“Fine, fine,” you said, trying for a teasing tone, but it came out too breathy. Your fingers tangled in Bucky’s hair, and you kissed him more deeply. “Fuck me, soldier, and make it good, because after this, I’m gonna need so much food and water—and to sleep for a few days.”

Bucky chuckled against your mouth. “You got it, witch,” he said, fucking up into you in long, deep strokes that had you seeing stars. Your pussy was sore from all the pounding you’d taken earlier, but that made the pleasure all the more decadent. 

You and Bucky writhed together on the worktable, your bodies exhausted but still craving more—wanting at least one time without the magic clouding your minds. You kissed as you came together, your releases blistering and deeply satisfying as they burned through you, your moans filling the room.

After, you and Bucky were so tired, and it was so late, that you didn’t speak as you stumbled off the worktable. He helped you tug on his undershirt, since he’d ruined your clothes when he’d torn them off you, then he pulled on some pants.

Leaning against each other for strength, you made your way through the tower to the kitchen, grabbing some food before heading to Bucky’s room. There, you ate and then tumbled into bed together as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

In the morning you’d have to talk about the state of your relationship, but it was nice to simply exist quietly together. You’d spent so much time arguing with Bucky, that it meant more to feel safe and secure enough with him not to talk than if you’d filled the air with mindless chatter.

So you remained silent as Bucky wrapped you up in his arms, holding you tight to his chest in his bed. You tipped your face up for a brief kiss, and then settled down, letting yourself savor the comfort of his body.

You fell asleep quickly, a smile on your face as you gave in to the exhaustion and bone-deep satisfaction you felt. Even if you didn’t have any of your love potion left, it had been a good, meaningful day. 

Thanks to a barging super-soldier and that broken container in your workshop, you learned a few lessons about witchcraft: Drink lots of water before brewing love potions. Make sure to store potions in unbreakable containers. 

And don’t play with love potions unless Bucky Barnes was close by—just in case you needed a little help. Thankfully, after that day, he was never too far away. He was your soldier and you were his witch. Forever.

thank you for reading!! comments and reblogs are always appreciated ♡

Over the course of your career, you’d worked hard to rise up the ranks of assistants, taking on new roles at different companies until you’d made it to the top of the ladder. But you found yourself in the odd position of having nowhere else to go, and little to do. 

As Mr. Barnes’ senior EA, your job was to oversee the rest of the CEO’s assistants. At any given time, he had half a dozen, all of whom managed his schedule, fetched his dry-cleaning, and did everything else the busy werewolf didn’t have time to do.

However, after the brief transition period when you first stepped into your role and made some changes so that the fleet of assistants ran more efficiently, and everything was delegated to the others, there was little left for you to do.

All that was expected of you was to sit at your desk in the sparsely decorated antechamber outside Mr. Barnes’ office, with its towering, thick wooden doors that were often closed, leaving you entirely alone. Occasionally, you’d have to greet any visitors who’d arrive for an in-person meeting, but that was rare.

Most days, no one came to Mr. Barnes’ office, since the werewolf preferred virtual meetings and phone calls to in-person sit-downs. So you spent long, arduous days alone at your desk while your boss worked and the fleet of assistants scurried around doing his bidding, which was relayed through you.

It left you with a lot of free time—free time that you spent trying to keep busy, and trying not to daydream about your handsome werewolf boss. 

It had been against your better judgement that your foolish heart had caught feelings for Bucky Barnes, but it turned out you had a soft spot for werewolves with icy blue eyes, sharp canine teeth, and expensive suits. It didn’t help that he had a dry sense of humor and a brusque, no-nonsense way of conducting business that you respected.

Still, you maintained a professional demeanor at work, not allowing your feelings for your boss to show when you greeted him in the morning or spoke to him about his schedule. But if you were honest with yourself, your little crush on the werewolf was the reason you didn’t look for another job.

You’d fallen into a routine of monotony, broken up only by the brief, thrilling moments when you interacted with Bucky Barnes. You didn’t even realize you were looking for something to escape the vicious circle your life had become until it was right in front of your face.

It was on one particularly dreary afternoon when you took the first step down a path that would change everything. 

Cold rain lashed against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the antechamber outside Mr. Barnes’ office, obscuring the view of New York City’s Central Park that lay at the feet of the company’s high-rise in Manhattan. You felt like a princess trapped in a tower, held above and apart from the rest of the world, bitterly alone. 

To remind yourself that you weren’t the last person in the world, living among the gray clouds, you found yourself scrolling through your social media feed, eagerly watching the little windows into other peoples’ lives. 

It was then that you came across a video from a woman who made her living as a “spicy accountant.” Unlike some of the others you’d seen on the app, though, she made her money through something called Pleasure Portal. 

You watched in rapt attention as the woman in the video explained what it was—a network created by the company’s warlock CEO using proprietary portal technology that connected those with willing holes with clients willing to pay to use those holes, even if they were entire continents apart. 

According to the woman, all transactions were completely anonymous and conducted through the app, though there were options for leaving tips and favorable reviews. To ensure everyone’s safety, there was an application process that included health and background checks verified by the Pleasure Portal company. 

And the best part, at least to you, was that it was open to everyone—human and monsters alike.

That had been the most enticing selling point for you, because even if you didn’t need the money, Pleasure Portal offered a safe and anonymous way for you to explore what it would be like to be with a monster, something you’d only ever fantasized about before.

Although you’d developed a crush on him, Bucky Barnes wasn’t the first monster you’d daydreamed about. 

Over the years, you’d wondered endlessly about what it would feel like to be split open by a minotaur, to be put under a lust spell by a warlock, to be tied so intimately by a werewolf’s knot…

You’d been breathless with excitement as you applied to be part of the Pleasure Portal network right then, on that dreary afternoon. You kept oscillating between feeling like it was a dream, too good to be true, and giddy excitement as you filed your paperwork, and gave proof that you tested negative for STIs and were on birth control.

It took surprisingly little time to be approved, the app on your phone unlocking your profile while you were sent the portal device.

As soon as you got the notification that the package had been delivered, in the middle of the afternoon on a hot, summer day, you left your desk, giving Mr. Barnes a ridiculous excuse about needing to go home early to feed your neighbor’s cat. 

Once at you made it back to your apartment in Park Slope, you tore into the box with as much care as you could muster, your eyes widening and lips parting with wonder when you finally got your hands on the portal device.

It was as small as a matchbook and, according to the instructions, should be affixed to your skin above, below or beside the hole you wished to connect to the network. The magic in the device could then be activated only from your app, which required face ID, and it could be shut off using the app or by voicing the safe word you registered with the service.

The app was how you connected with potential Pleasure Patrons, filling out your profile with interests and limits, and setting yourself as available whenever you were open to clients. Anyone looking to use your services as a Pleasure Pocket could send a request, and you had the option to approve or deny based on their profile, which revealed their first name, age and species, and how much money they were offering. 

Although you were almost too excited to read through all the instructions on the portal device and fill out your profile, you forced yourself to pay attention and get through it as quickly and methodically as possible so you could finally get started.

It wasn’t long before you were attaching the device to your mound, just above your pussy, and setting yourself as available on the app. Your profile specified that you were particularly open to monsters—and you were delighted to discover they were all too eager to use your services.

From that night on, you became an active Pleasure Pocket on the Pleasure Portal network. 

At first, you consigned yourself to only using it when you were at home, letting monsters from all over the world rail you while you made dinner or took a shower or lay on your couch watching TV. But work was so boring, and you really didn’t have much to do, so what was the harm in wearing it to the office?

It was breathlessly thrilling to wear the Pleasure Portal device at your desk, alone in the antechamber outside Mr. Barnes’ office, feeling all manner of monster cock fill you while you were on the clock. It got to a point where even if you weren’t stuffed full of cock, you were daydreaming about it. Your idle thoughts constantly wandered back to your favorite Patrons.

The day everything truly changed, was a day like any other.

It was a beautiful sunny afternoon in New York City, the golden summer sun glinting off buildings and giving you a perfect view of Central Park with all its gorgeous green foliage. And it was another boring day at your desk, with nothing for you to do since the assistants were self-sufficient and Bucky was busy behind his closed office doors. 

At that point, you’d been part of the Pleasure Portal network for a few months, and your mind kept straying back to one of your recent clients, a minotaur that had used you the previous week. 

Your fingers toyed idly with the buttons of your silk blouse, which was tucked into a tight black pencil skirt. You bit your lip as you remembered the feeling of the minotaur’s impressive length filling you up for hours one morning, his stamina lasting for what seemed like an eon.

He’d used you for so long, and fucked you so relentlessly, you’d nearly passed out at your desk. It had been glorious.

Once he was done with you, the minotaur had left you a generous tip “for monopolizing your morning,” as well as a favorable review: “5/5 stars, tightest pussy I’ve had in a long time. Would fuck again.”

It was the last part of his review that still stuck with you a week later, and had you daydreaming that he would, in fact, fuck you again. You didn’t often accept repeat clients, but for the minotaur, you’d make an exception. He’d pleasured you well enough that you could see yourself enjoying another session with him.

Unbidden, your thoughts veered sharply away from your minotaur client. Instead, icy blue eyes, sharp canine teeth, and a broad chest clad in an expensive suit flashed through your mind. You tried desperately to halt your thoughts before they could venture further down that path, but your imagination couldn’t be stopped.

Your fantasy shifted, and before you could rein in your mind, you were thinking about being stretched open on a thick werewolf cock while you sat in your boss’s lap. The base of his length, where his knot would inflate, would nudge against your clit and remind you that once he came, you’d be unable to separate. 

Your bodies would be tied together in such an intimate way that couldn’t be ignored. You’d be connected in the most primal, physical way possible…

With a sigh, you blinked the tantalizing image from your mind and returned your focus to the gorgeous sight of the summer sun shining brightly down on New York City, glinting off the water of the lake in Central Park and shimmering off the windows of the other skyscrapers in midtown Manhattan. 

You willed your heart to slow and your breathing to even out in an effort to temper the heat that had begun building in your core. When your fantasy had shifted to Bucky, your slit had flooded with desire, and you could feel the sticky evidence in your panties when you crossed one leg over the other. 

Truthfully, you’d hoped that joining the Pleasure Portal network would distract you from your crush on your boss, but it seemed to have the opposite effect. Letting all manner of monsters use your hole was fun, but it was all anonymous, and it lacked the true connection you thought you could only find in real life. 

And, to be perfectly honest, you weren’t interested in finding a true connection with anyone other than Bucky. Even the minotaur from the previous week paled in comparison to your boss. Though he’d been a good lover and had tipped well, you didn’t want anything more from him than a few more orgasms. 

You were, unfortunately, still hung up on the older werewolf CEO with the icy blue eyes that sent shivers down your spine and the devastatingly handsome face. You wanted the monster who sat in his office just a few dozen feet away from your desk, but might as well have been a whole world away with the thick wooden doors and his inability to see you as anything more than his EA.

A soft chime from your phone pulled you from that train of thought and you picked up the device. A small smile stole across your face when you saw a Pleasure Portal notification: A new Patron was requesting a session!

Eager for something to distract you from your thoughts of Bucky Barnes, you quickly opened up the app and scanned the request.

James, 42, werewolf, was asking for an immediate session, and he was willing to pay an exorbitant amount of money—so much that even your eyes widened at the number of zeros. It was more than you made in an entire week as a senior EA, and all for a few hours of being this monster’s Pleasure Pocket. 

Still, you couldn’t lie and tell yourself the money was really what swayed you. It was this potential client’s profile, particularly the part where he noted he was a werewolf. 

After daydreaming about Bucky, you were feeling more than a little needy. And even though fucking this werewolf named James wouldn’t be the same as finally getting the attention you desired from your boss, you couldn’t deny yourself. You wanted a knot, and if you couldn’t have the one you really wanted, you’d take anything you could get.

So, without any more thought, you hit the button on the app that accepted James’s offer.

As soon as the Pleasure Portal app registered your acceptance, you felt the device hum to life on the mound of your pussy. Delightful tingles erupted in a circle around your hole, the magical current of the portal coming to life and teasing your skin.

You gave a little shiver of anticipation as you leaned back in your expensive, ergonomic desk chair. You closed your eyes, and waited for James to begin using his side of the open portal, arousal already gathering between your thighs as you thought about being used by the anonymous Patron.

Less than a minute later, you felt the pointed tip of the werewolf’s cock nudging carefully against your entrance. The first feel of him made your breath catch in your throat.

James felt big, even just the tip of him spreading your lower lips as he pushed against your entrance. He seemed to be taking it slow, testing out your readiness, being careful not to hurt you with one rough thrust.

When you realized how big he was and the care he was taking with you, your pussy flooded with arousal. It was enough to make your hole slick and ready for his massive cock.

It occurred to you that James might be the biggest monster you’d ever taken, and you were eager to find out if you were right about that. In your chest, your heart raced, but the rest of you remained still as you waited with a breathless excitement for James to feed you more of his cock.

Your prediction was confirmed a moment later when James pressed deeper, the narrow tip of his cock giving way to a thick girth that had you gasping for air and clutching the edge of your desk. Your nails dug into the unyielding wood as your pussy clamped down hard on the werewolf’s penetrating length. 

A soft chime came from your phone, and you picked it up to find James had sent a text through Pleasure Portal’s in-app messaging system. Some clients tried to use it for dirty talk, but more often than not, their attempts at seducing you with words had the opposite effect so you usually ignored them. 

However, James’s message was different. 

Fuck, you’re tight. Even for a human. 

The werewolf sounded grumpy, almost resentful of your pussy, like he could barely believe anyone, even a human, could be so tight. It was a far cry from the effusive flattery most other Patrons tried to woo you with, but the honesty of it charmed you. 

A smile tugged at the corner of your mouth, and your thumbs moved quickly as you typed out a response that you hoped would elicit more delightful grumpiness from the older werewolf. 

Fucked many humans, have you?

The self-satisfied grin on your face slipped when James pushed further into your hole, your mouth forming a perfect ‘o’ and your eyes going wide as your body stretched to accomodate his monster cock. 

He was so big and overwhelming, the velvet-wrapped steel of his girth rubbing deliciously against your inner walls while he pressed deeper, that you momentarily forgot about your phone and it fell with a dull thunk to your desk.

When he was still only partway inside your pussy, James paused, as if giving you time to adjust—and giving himself a moment to send an answer to your question. 

My fair share. How many werewolves have you had?

Picking up your phone to read the message, you huffed a dry laugh at James’s blunt question. It wasn’t really his business—though he must’ve seen on your profile that you had a few positive reviews from past werewolf Patrons—but you found you didn’t mind the intrusive question.

For some reason, you felt a connection to James that had always been lacking in your previous clients, werewolf and other monsters alike. You knew it was likely just because he reminded you of the boss you were crushing on and would never have, but you couldn’t help indulging yourself and gave James an honest response.

A few. None as big as you, though.

The werewolf must’ve shunted his hips forward, burying his cock impossibly deeper in your pussy. The sudden surge of pleasure made you forget yourself, and a desperate squeal slipped from your lips before you could clap a hand over your mouth to muffle the sound.

God, he was so big, the stretch of him burning pleasantly through your core. Your pussy throbbed around the thick girth of his shaft, which was buried so deep, you swore you could feel him in your belly. Pressing a palm to your lower stomach, you stared down at your lap in awe when you could feel the thick steel of him inside your body even while you sat alone in your desk chair. 

The magic of the Pleasure Portal was wild—and you loved it. 

You loved sitting at your desk, in your office above the clouds, stuffed full of werewolf cock where anyone could walk in—where even Bucky could walk in—and talk to you like nothing was out of the ordinary. He’d never know you were full of cock, unless your face gave you away.

That thought made your pussy drip around James’s thick cock, making the slide of his hard length easier as he slipped even deeper. Your moan at the feeling was muffled behind the palm of your hand and you bent over, letting your forehead fall against the cool wood of your desk while you basked in the sensation of being filled so deliciously. 

Even with your thighs trapped tight together by your pencil skirt, the new position opened your body up, and made it easier for James to hilt his monstrous cock in your tight hole. In seconds, he was buried to the base, filling you up more than you even thought possible.

It was all you could do to stifle your blissed-out moans and desperate whimpers in your hand, not wanting to draw your boss’s attention and end your exquisite torment as you writhed in pleasure on James’s cock.

I’m sure you say that to all the monsters on this app.

It took a moment for you to wade through the haze filling your head and grab your phone to read James’s message. 

When you did, you let out an unladylike snort. It was so perfectly grumpy that it made you want to be playful with the older werewolf, an urge you didn’t often care enough about your Patrons to muster.

Gotta earn those tips somehow 🤪

James must’ve let out a low growl at that response, because you could feel the vibration reverberate through his cock where it was buried inside you. 

A soft, pitiful mewl slipped from your lips, and you dropped your head back to your desk with a thunk, your eyes sliding closed as overwhelming pleasure washed through you. 

You’re trouble.

The chime of your phone had you lifting your head back up, your eyes popping open, and you couldn’t bite back the smile at the warm grumpiness of James’s response. 

Something about those two words had your heart doing flips in your chest and the long-dormant butterflies in your stomach taking flight. 

Your inner walls were stretched so perfectly around his hard length, you could practically feel the thrum of his blood pumping in his shaft, and he could feel every throb of your pussy. Your pussy fluttered around the werewolf’s thick cock, and you could feel him twitch in reply. 

It was as if your bodies were conversing in a language all their own.

It was so intimate, the physical connection between you and this anonymous werewolf named James, that you couldn’t stop your mind from wandering to your boss. You wondered if he would be as big, if he’d fill you up as good—if you’d be able to feel every vein and ridge in his cock. 

You wondered if Bucky would be able to make you smile and laugh the way James had. 

And as soon as you had that thought, you realized how unfair you were being to James. It wasn’t his fault you couldn’t get over this ridiculous crush on your boss, and you started to feel bad for thinking about another monster while he was inside you.

So you pushed all thoughts of Bucky aside and refocused on James, picking up your phone to type out another playful response, hoping to get another grumpy reply.

Trouble with a tight pussy, though, right? 😉

Yeah, sweetling, you’ve got a very tight pussy. Feels like you’re strangling my dick.

You huffed a laugh at the vaguely violent description of your pussy, enjoying the blunt way the grumpy werewolf spoke. And if your heart fluttered even more at the sweet nickname and naked praise in James’s message, you ignored the blossoming emotion in your chest. 

The only thing worse than harboring a crush on your unattainable boss was developing a crush on one of your anonymous Pleasure Patrons. That way lay only heartbreak, of that you were certain. So you tried to rein in the feelings developing in your heart.

When you tried to type out another playful message and remain detached, though, your fingers seemed to have a mind of their own, sending a text that was perhaps a little too honest. 

Thank you, sir ☺️ I want to please you.

James’s cock jumped inside you, drawing a low, obscene moan from your lips before you could bite it back, your eyes going hazy as pleasure throbbed through your body. 

Distractedly, you wondered which part of your message had elicited that response from James—whether it was you calling him ‘sir’ or your honest desire to please him. Or perhaps it was both.

Before you could muster up the courage to ask, his next message came through, and your mouth curved into a pleased smile when it answered your unspoken questions.

Keep calling me that and you’ll earn a very generous tip, sweetling. 

A pleased smile bloomed across your face as you read James’s message. You tried to tell yourself it was in response to the prospect of the tip he was offering, and not the sweet nickname, but you weren’t fooling yourself. 

You tried to think of a more playful, detached response, but before you could come up with anything, another message came in.

I have a call soon, I just need some quick stress relief beforehand, but I’ll double your tip every time you cum on my cock.

You breathed a sigh of relief before you could stop yourself, happy to have a break from your flirty exchange with the werewolf to talk about the logistics of your session. Still, you couldn’t stop your pussy from fluttering around James’s cock at his blunt, filthy words. 

He filled you so well, it was almost hard to think, and you blamed your needy distraction for the almost desperate tone of the response you sent him. 

Use me, sir, and I’ll do my best to take it 🫡 That’s what I’m here for.

James didn’t need any more encouragement than that. You could feel the way he groaned at your words, the low rumbling of pleasure reverberating through your sensitive inner walls, and making you gush with even more wetness, like your pussy was drooling for the werewolf cock stuffed deep in your hole to fuck you.

Then he was doing just that, using his side of the Pleasure Portal to fuck you hard and fast, pounding into your pussy like you were nothing more than a fleshlight made solely for his pleasure. It was brutal, ruthless, perfect, the way his cock filled your tight hole, the pointed tip bullying your cervix with every merciless thrust.

All you could do was take it, pleasure swarming through your body and overwhelming your mind, until you were little more than the werewolf’s toy, your body hunched at your desk, your face buried in the crook of your arm to muffle your sounds of enjoyment while you took everything he offered. 

Your inner walls were stretched thin around James’s cock, and though the drag of his thick girth felt devastatingly good, it wasn’t enough to make you cum. With trembling fingers, you slipped your hand beneath your pencil skirt, not caring how high up your thighs you pushed the material, just intent about reaching the juncture of your thighs.

It took only a brief brush of your fingers against your clothed clit to set you off. 

Your mouth fell open and you pressed your blunt teeth into your arm through the silk of your blouse, a high-pitched whine falling from your lips as the pleasure in your body exploded and you were carried away in the relentless rhythm of James’s cock pounding into your cunt.

Your panting breath was loud in your ears, but you could’ve sworn you heard a faint groan as your pussy milked the werewolf’s cock, your inner walls clamping down so hard on his thick length, you felt him twitch deep inside you. 

But you brushed off the sound as a figment of your imagination. It must’ve been your mind playing tricks on you, born of a desire to hear your partner when you were alone in your pleasure, with only your gasps and moans as company. You ached to press against James’s sturdy body, to hear his voice, to feel more than his cock…

Thankfully, a soft chime from your phone dragged you back from the sudden rush of loneliness that filled your heart and threatened to consume all your enjoyment like a black hole. 

Good girl. Cum on this fat werewolf cock like the perfect little slut you are, sweetling.

“Oh fuck,” you whispered to yourself, your eyes sliding closed as another shiver of pleasure skated down your spine at his words and his pumping cock. Already, tension was coiling tight in your core again, and you were rocketing toward another release.

You’d never gotten off to the dirty talk your Patrons had sent in the past, but James’s words did something to you no other monster had managed—they made your pussy gush and flutter. They made you moan, the sounds low and lewd as they bounced off the bare walls of the office antechamber. 

James’s message was the ideal mix of praise and degradation. It tapped into your desires so perfectly, you wondered distractedly if he was also a wizard or a mind-reader. 

And then you realized he hadn’t stopped his ruthless pounding even when he’d been texting you, which meant he was fucking his half of the portal with one hand while typing his filthy messages to you with the other.

It all unraveled something in you, and you scrabbled for your phone on the desk, your fingers clumsy and trembling as you typed out a response, desperate for James to know what he was doing to you. You wanted him to know how good he was making you feel. 

You feel so so good inside my tight cunt, sir. Your fat werewolf cock is splitting me open, breaking me apart. Feels sooo good. 

The act of typing out those words made the tension in your body wind tighter, and just as you hit send, you realized you were on the precipice of another release. Quickly, you sent another message without waiting for a response. 

I’m gonna cum again.

Your fingers, which you’d pulled from beneath your skirt so you could text with two hands, slipped back beneath the tight fabric. They squirmed between your plush thighs, which were already pushing the pencil skirt’s seams to they’re limits, and tugged your panties to the side to rub your clit. 

You were careening toward your second release in just a few seconds, your breaths coming in sharp, desperate pants, and your heart pounding in your chest. You could even hear the faint, obscene wet sound of James’s cock pounding into your gushing pussy. 

But all of it fell away when you heard the chime of another message.

Rub your pretty pearl, sweetling, and cum again on this thick werewolf cock. Show me what a good slut you can be for me, use that tight cunt to milk my fat cock. 

Obediently, your fingertips pressed harder to your clit and you rubbed it roughly, matching the rhythm of James’s fucking, until you were shoved over the edge again. Your entire body seized, every muscle in your body going taut, as the tension in your core wound tight and then, suddenly, snapped. 

Dropping your phone to your desk, you shoved half your fist in your mouth to muffle the high-pitched scream that clawed up your throat and wanted to burst free. 

You couldn’t tell how much noise you were making, but you hoped it wasn’t enough to get Bucky’s attention, because you were lost to the bliss James offered. You were a hopeless, pitiful puddle of pleasure in your ergonomic chair—and you never wanted it to end.

While you were in the throes of your release, you thought you heard another groan, deeper and filthier than the one earlier, a sound that matched the way James’s cock kicked deep in your cunt, like he was on the verge of losing himself in your body. 

But that thought drifted away in the current of pleasure that was carrying you along, dissolving as soon as it had appeared, leaving you to revel in your release. 

Distantly, you heard your phone go off, and you reached for it blindly, gasping for breath as you struggled to open your eyes and read the text.

That’s a good girl, cumming so perfectly for me. You have such a slutty hole, sweetling, cumming all over my werewolf cock and clutching at me like you’re begging for more. Do you want another one, my sweet girl?

A soft, sharp whine slipped from your lips and you had to bite down hard on your plush lower lip to stifle the sound. Even still, it ricocheted off the bare walls in the antechamber, and you hoped the thick wood of Bucky’s office doors muffled it. 

But you barely paid your boss any mind, fingers trembling with need and excitement as you typed out a response to James with one hand.

Yes, please, sir. Please make me cum again, I wanna cum all over your big werewolf cock. You fill me up so so good. I wanna bounce on your huge, perfect cock and take every inch of your fat knot, sir. Please!

James’s reply came back so quickly, even you were stunned with how fast it appeared. All he said was: 

Fuck. You can’t be real.

You had little time to marvel over those words, and the way they made your heart flutter dangerously in your chest, because in the next breath James was pounding into you even harder. 

He used your cunt as his own personal pleasure portal, fucking you like you were the stress relief he deserved, shoving his entire length deep inside your pussy. The narrow tip of his cock battered against your cervix, pushing into it a little more each time, giving every thrust a sharp edge of pain that made the pleasure even more exquisitely devastating.

It was all too good, too perfect, your mind splintering as the world around you fell away entirely. You were no longer the senior EA to werewolf CEO Bucky Barnes, you were a Pleasure Pocket made to be used by every manner of monster for their pleasure. 

No, not just any monster—you were made specifically for James, 42, werewolf. You were his personal sex toy, his pocket pussy, his fuck hole. And all you could do was take it—take his cock, take the brutal pounding he offered, and the bliss that came with it, and let him take his pleasure in your body.

You imagined James on the other end of the magical portal, holding the cylindrical fleshlight-like device in his big hands and yanking it down on his impossibly thick cock. You pictured him fucking the portal toy—and, by extension, your cunt—with everything he had, sweat beading on his face, the muscles in his broad body shifting beneath his fur and skin.

Before you could stop it, the image in your mind shifted, the generic figure of a werewolf morphing into something more familiar, something resembling the daydream you’d had earlier. 

In your mind’s eye, James became Bucky. 

You could so easily picture the way Bucky’s bright blue eyes would flash with hunger and darken with lust as he pounded into your tight cunt, the emotions churning like the sky during a summer thunderstorm. 

It was far too easy to imagine the way his sharp canine teeth would glint in the lights of the office as he bore down on your body, his expensive suit only undone enough to free his cock, the gush of your pussy making a mess of the front of his slacks as he split you open with every thrust.

His inhuman muscles would strain the seams of his suit, making them cling to the bulge of his biceps and the flexing of his thighs as he fucked you on his desk. You’d be entirely at his mercy, which was exactly where you wanted to be more than anywhere else in the world—even with James.

A pang in your chest dragged you out of your fantasy, and you remembered the werewolf who was actually fucking you. You felt a little bit bad for daydreaming about Bucky when you were with James, especially since the latter had quickly become your favorite Patron. But, you reasoned, what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.

So you sank deeper into your daydream about your boss, imagining it was Bucky fucking you instead of some random stranger on the other end of the Pleasure Portal. 

The combination of James’s perfect cock and your imagination’s perfect picture of Bucky was too much for your mind and body to take. The werewolf was fucking you too hard and too fast, and you were breathless from the pleasure, unable to stop yourself from speeding toward a devastating release. 

You held on for as long as you could, but James seemed intent on making you cum again before his call began. And the werewolf confirmed as much when your phone chimed with another message.

Do it. Cum on my cock, sweetling. Be a good girl and give it to me so I can fill you up with my knot and stuff your tight pussy full of cum. Then you can sit pretty on my fat werewolf cock like a perfect little knot slut while I take this call.

Those filthy words were all you needed to push you over the edge. 

A breathy, high-pitched cry escaped your lips before you could stop it, but you were too far gone to care. Pleasure overwhelmed you, blackness creeping into the edge of your consciousness as your body shivered and shook with the force of your release.

All the while, your pussy was clamped down on James’s thick cock as he kept fucking you, like your body was begging for his cum. His hard length vibrated with a groan you could’ve sworn you could hear. You swayed perilously in your chair, your eyes closed and your entire being focused on the cock bringing you so much pleasure.

The werewolf lasted only a few more moments, his thrusts turning wild and erratic as he rutted into your too-tight cunt. Then he was shoving his cock deep in your hole, his knot inflating and stretching the edge of your hole a second before his big cock twitched inside you, spilling his cum in your plugged pussy.

Your breath caught in your throat at the sudden stretch of James’s knot, and though there was a brief moment when you worried he might be too big for you to take, your body was loose and relaxed enough from your three orgasms that it adjusted. You were left with a feeling of being blissfully full.

It felt so good, in fact, that you leaned back in your chair with a sigh of contentment. Your fingers trapped between your thighs stroked your clit and your pussy pulsed with one more release. 

Pleasure shivered down your spine as you came again, and your inner walls fluttered weakly around James’s cock, sucking him deeper while his shaft throbbed and he filled you with cum.

Did you just cum for a fourth time, just on my knot?

You dragged your hand from beneath your skirt to grab your phone when it chimed. A sated smile curled the corners of your lips as you read James’s message, your pussy fluttering with happiness. 

The smile bloomed into a full-blown grin when you typed out your response, going for playful but ending up sending something entirely too honest. Again.

Yes, sir 🥴 I wouldn’t have thought of myself as a knot slut, but I think you’ve converted me. 

Haha

James’s dry response had a pleased sense of pride filling your chest. It was the first time he’d shown any kind of emotion outside of his dirty talk, and your heart squeezed, even as you told yourself nothing good could come of the little crush you were developing on your Pleasure Portal client. 

Before you could spiral about how you felt about James, though, another text from the werewolf came through your phone. 

Time for you to rest, sweetling. Be a good girl and keep my cock warm while I take this call. If you’re patient, I’ll use you again and double your tip.

You smiled at James’s message. Of course you could be patient and good, especially for him. You shifted in your seat, trying to get comfortable and accustomed to the feeling of fullness in your core.

It was a little strange, the feeling of James’s thick cock and full knot inside you, mainly because you were still alone at your desk, high above the New York City skyline, but it wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, you thought you might be able to get very used to sitting on a werewolf’s knot, and even enjoy it very much. 

But you would’ve rather been able to do so in the presence of the werewolf whose knot you were tied to.

A pang of loneliness pierced your heart, and you thought of the werewolf whose knot you really wanted to be tied to, but you quickly pushed it away. Instead of thinking about your boss, you focused on the throbbing pulse between your thighs where you were tied to the anonymous werewolf.

Thank you, sir. Knock ‘em dead 😘

As soon as you sent the message, you wanted to take it back. Blowing a kiss felt too…romantic, too intimate for a Pleasure Pocket and their Patron. But the little note had already popped up confirming James had seen it. He didn’t respond, though, and you had to assume his call had started.

You tried to distract yourself by checking on your own work. 

The fleet of assistants were all busy with their tasks, and according to Bucky’s schedule, he was in a meeting for the next couple hours. 

It was a relief to know your boss wouldn’t be interrupting your session with James, and you wondered distractedly if they might happen to be on the same call. But then you snorted and shook your head at the ridiculous thought. Not every werewolf knew each other, you chastised yourself, and it was small-minded to think otherwise.

It was just a coincidence that James was in a call at the same time that Bucky was in a virtual meeting. 

Satisfied that there wasn’t any work to be done, you got comfortable in your chair, and closed your eyes against the bright summer sun filtering in through the windows of the antechamber. You allowed your mind to drift and daydream to your heart’s content.

You wondered what James looked like—what color his eyes were; what shape his canine teeth were, if he left them sharp or had filed them to be blunter and more socially acceptable. You wondered if he was broad-shouldered, like Bucky, or lithe and slim like other werewolves you’d seen.

All the while, you tried to ignore the building restlessness in your body. 

You should’ve been plenty sated after James gave you four orgasms in such a short period of time, but the constant fullness of his cock in your cunt and his knot stretching the rim of your hole was enough to make you needy again.

Still, you remembered James’s last command, and you did your best to sit still, be patient and not bother him. It wasn’t that you cared much about the tip he’d offered, you just wanted to be good for him. 

After a while, James’s knot deflated enough that he could’ve pulled free and ended the sessions, but he kept his cock lodged inside you. His cum was slowly seeping out around his thick girth, soaking your panties and creating a sticky mess between your thighs. 

Unfortunately, that only turned you on more, your renewed desire mixing with the copious amount of James’s cum, and it wasn’t long before you couldn’t stop squirming in your seat. Unable to stop yourself, you slid a hand beneath your skirt, already bunched up around your thighs, and rubbed your clit teasingly.

The touch was enough to make your pussy pulse around James’s cock, and you felt his thick length kick in response. He’d softened a little since unloading his cum in your pussy, but you felt him start to harden again.

A second later, your phone chimed. 

Sweetling.

A shiver of desire slid down your spine at the warning in James’s tone, even through text. 

You knew the message was meant to stop you from distracting him during his call, but you couldn’t help yourself. You stroked your clit, delighting in the feeling of your pussy throbbing and his cock twitching deep in your tight hole, growing to fill you again. 

With one hand, you typed out a reply.

I tried to be good, sir, but I’m just a silly knot slut who needs you to fill me up with your fat werewolf cock again until you’re pumping my tight cunt full of your cum and tying me to your cock with your knot 🤪

James’s response came back a few seconds later.

I knew you’d be trouble.

You gave a soft snort at his words, and though it was difficult to discern someone’s tone over text, you got the impression James’s comment was said with warmth. 

Before you could analyze it any more, the werewolf’s cock began to move inside you. He fucked you in slow, shallow strokes that gave you only a fraction of the friction you needed to get close to cumming again. 

You expected him to pick up speed, but he went on like that for long, torturous minutes, until a pitiful whine was building in the back of your throat and you were scrabbling for your phone. 

In just a few minutes, James had reduced you to a desperate mess, your hips squirming restlessly in your chair, your body uselessly trying to fuck yourself on his cock.

Please, sir. Please fuck me, use my tight pussy to make your cock feel good. You’re tormenting me. I can’t get off like this. Please!

Writhing in your chair, you unbuttoned your blouse down to your bra, brazenly groping your tits and plucking at your nipples while you tried to give yourself the stimulation James seemed determined to withhold.

His next reply seemed to take forever. 

Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you decided to be a naughty knot slut instead of a good, patient girl like I asked.

A frustrated sound wrenched free from your lips and you abandoned your tits to drop your hand between your thighs. You rubbed your clit madly, intent on eking out a release despite James’s torture. 

James must’ve felt the way your pussy spasmed and fluttered around his cock as your pleasure ramped up, because another message came through.

If you cum, you won’t get any of the tip you’ve earned.

Your mouth twisted in a snarl and you rolled your eyes. Of course every man or monster using Pleasure Portal assumed you could be controlled with money. They all assumed that was the only thing you were after. 

You’d never been more grateful for Mr. Barnes’ generous salary than in that moment, because it meant you could care more about your release than James’s threat.

You kept rubbing your clit, rocking your hips on your seat until the ergonomic chair began to squeak. You were desperately clawing your way to the peak of your pleasure, and though you could already tell it wouldn’t be anywhere near the heights you’d reached earlier with James, it would at least take the edge off. 

But then the werewolf’s next message made your fingers go still. 

If you cum, I won’t use your pussy again. 

Your whole body shuddered in protest at the idea of not feeling James’s cock pounding into your cunt again, and a tiny growl slipped from your lips. 

It took a great deal of effort, but you pulled your hand from between your thighs and typed out a reply.

Fine.

You couldn’t help but tack on another message, anger, desire and frustration swirling through your body and making you feel far too comfortable with your client.

You’re a mean werewolf.

Faint vibrations reverberated through James’s cock and you thought he’d chuckled at your message, though you couldn’t be sure. Even more frustration surged, and for the first time since you started using the Pleasure Portal, you wished you were actually with your client. 

You wanted to see James’s reactions, you wanted to hear his voice and feel his strong body beneath yours while his cock filled you up…

That’s ‘You’re a mean werewolf, sir’ to you. 

James’s message brought your attention back to him and, despite yourself, you giggled at his ridiculous joke. Some of the frustration had drained from you as you eased back from the edge of your release, and you were ready to forgive him. 

But before you could, he sent another text.

Don’t worry, sweetling, my call’s almost over. Then I’ll use you the way you want. 

With a happy grin, you settled back into your chair and waited patiently, keeping the werewolf’s cock nice and warm in your dripping pussy. You kept your thoughts on easy things like your plans for the next weekend as you watched the sun slowly descend on New York City, the shadows growing long as they stretched across Central Park.

True to his word, James’s call ended not too long after his last message. You knew the moment it was over because he started fucking you hard and fast again, so suddenly you cried out, careless about whether your boss could overhear you. 

Thankfully, those thick wooden doors to Bucky’s office must’ve swallowed the sounds you made. You shoved your hand under your skirt, rubbing your clit, desperate to reach the crescendo he’d denied you during his call. 

Cum on my cock, sweetling. Gimme all your sweet cream while I fill you up with so much cum, your belly will be bloated, stuffed full with my seed and knot.

As soon as you read James’s message, you were lost to the pleasure of his words and his cock, and your fingers on your clit.

You muffled a piercing scream in the palm of your hand as you came, your mind flooding with pleasure and your pussy clamping down possessively on James’s cock while he rutted into you. You were so far gone in your bliss, you thought you heard a roar over the rush of blood in your ears, but you didn’t think it could be real.

Then all thoughts were pushed from your mind and you could only focus on your own clenching body, the warm waves of bliss surging through your limbs as James’s knot inflated and tied you together. His cock twitched as his cum spilled inside you, filling you beyond what you thought possible. 

You looked down at your belly, watching it swell slightly; your eyes widened, and your pussy gave an excited pulse. The sight was so obscene, you couldn’t help your response, but the werewolf on the other end of the portal didn’t seem to mind.

James’s cock kicked and reverberated like he’d groaned or chuckled, and you softened, relaxing into your seat as you enjoyed the aftershocks of your release. All the while, you lightly stroked your ever-so-slightly distended belly with a sense of pleased satisfaction. 

While you floated in your post-orgasm haze, your phone chimed with a sound like a cash register. Lazily, you picked it up, knowing it wasn’t a text, and read the screen.

Your jaw dropped and your whole body clenched in surprise at the amount of money James had tipped. His cock twitched as if in response in your cunt and you pressed your palm to your lower belly, as if to calm him, while you blinked a few times.

Still, the absurd number remained on your phone’s screen. 

You earned it, sweetling. 

The message popped up in the app and you clicked on it, navigating to your exchange with James. Your fingers were clumsy as you typed out a reply.

Thank you, sir. You’ve been so incredibly generous.

You chewed on your lip, thumbs hovering over the screen as you wondered if you should say more. 

You didn’t want James to think your session was all about the money, but was that a ridiculous thought? Maybe it was all about the money to him. He was using an anonymous sex portal app, after all. Not looking for someone to form a connection with.

But it still seemed like there was something more between you two, right? You felt more comfortable with him than you had any other client, like you knew him already somehow…

Before you could agonize over your exchange with James any more, a new message from the older werewolf came in. 

You were the best stress relief and cockwarmer, sweetling, and I enjoyed our afternoon together. I hope you’ll accept me as a Patron again.

James’s words settled the anxiety brewing in your chest and you let out a sigh of relief. You knew it didn’t mean he’d ever want more than you offered on Pleasure Portal, but at least he wanted to be with you again. It was as simple as that, you didn’t need to overcomplicate it.

He wanted to have another session with you—and you wanted that as well. So you told him as much. 

I had a good time, too. You’re welcome to use me any time you want, sir ☺️

The two of you chatted about unimportant things until James’s knot deflated, and he instructed you to drink plenty of water and have a nutritious snack. You promised him you would and bid him goodbye before ending the session.

Glancing at the time on your phone, you suddenly realized how late it had gotten and you pushed yourself up to your feet.

All the blood rushed to your head and you swayed for a moment, blinking spots from your eyes. Remembering James’s words, you gulped down some water from your reusable water bottle and grabbed a snack from your desk along with a spare set of clothes you kept on hand for messy Pleasure Portal sessions.

In the bathroom, you changed and cleaned yourself up, glad that Bucky was already in his office when you got to your desk that morning so he wouldn’t notice you were wearing something different if you ran into him.

Though that was a big if.

Your heart sank a little at the reminder of your unrequited crush on your boss, but hope filled you again when you thought of your newest Pleasure Patron. It might be another silly crush on an unattainable man, but at least James seemed interested in you.

By the time you made it back to the antechamber outside Bucky’s office, it was time for you to gather your things and head home. 

You were bent over your desk, your hips straining at the seams of the slightly smaller pencil skirt you’d thrown on, having forgotten it had shrunk a little in the wash, when a door opened behind you. You jumped and straightened up, nearly dropping your water bottle and spilling it all over your desk. 

“Oh! Mr. Barnes,” you said, spinning to find your boss towering in the doorway of his office, broad shoulders filling the space. “Heading home early?” you asked in a bright, professional tone, trying to hide the breathlessness from your voice. 

It wasn’t often that you saw your boss. He was always in meetings or coming or going from his office so that you only got cursory glances of the large werewolf. But he was paused for once, and you took a moment to look him over.

He had a mop of dark brown hair, worn just a little bit shaggy so no one could ever accuse him of trying to pass as anything but a werewolf. His blue eyes were bright and sharp in the late afternoon light, and you could see just a hint of his canine teeth as he offered a charming smile.

That expression on Bucky’s face nearly bowled you over. Your eyes skimmed quickly over his broad shoulders, trim waist and thick thighs before returning to the handsame face of the werewolf that haunted your daydreams. He looked every bit the important CEO, but there was also a looseness in his body you’d never seen before.

“I am,” Bucky said, his blunt words drawing you back to the moment. He held a hand out in a gesture for you to precede him to the elevators beyond the antechamber outside his office. “Let me walk you out.”

The offer was so surprising, all you could do was murmur, “Oh, thank you,” before scurrying in front of him. As you began to walk, you felt James’s cum begin to leak from your pussy and you moved faster.

Your belly wasn’t bloated anymore, and you’d cleaned yourself up as well as you could in the bathroom, but your Patron had filled you with so much cum, you expected you’d be leaking for the rest of the day, if not into the morning. 

You hoped desperately that your boss couldn’t smell it, because if he did, you wouldn’t have any explanation if he decided to question why you smelled like another werewolf’s cum when you were meant to be working at your desk outside his office.

When you came to a stop at the elevator bank, Bucky gently laid a hand on the small of your back and leaned around you to press the button. Thankfully, he didn’t show any signs of smelling James on you, and you exhaled a silent sigh of relief. 

The two of you made idle chatter while you waited for the elevator—you asked him how his afternoon meeting had gone and the edge of Bucky’s mouth fluttered like he was holding back a smirk while he told you it went very well. He said he’d gotten everything he wanted. 

Then he asked how your afternoon had gone, and you’d stumbled out a response about being very productive, all while more of James’s cum leaked from your cunt. 

As  you talked, you got the sense that Bucky was in a better mood than usual. He was certainly more talkative and open with you than was typical for the older werewolf CEO. He was polite, of course, but he mostly left you alone to do your job, only communicating via email.

But that particular afternoon, he seemed…happier. His icy blue eyes were warm, crinkling at the sides whenever he chuckled, and his smile was quicker, easier somehow. 

Impossibly, it made Bucky Barnes even more attractive to you. 

He was hot as the brusque and busy werewolf CEO, but this side of him, which was charming and warm, was even hotter. You could feel your heart unfurling in your chest, your feelings for your boss not only returning, but blossoming into something you didn’t know if you’d ever recover from.

When the elevator finally arrived, it was empty, and you gave yourself a subtle shake as you stepped in, reminding yourself that your boss was off-limits and likely didn’t see you as a potential partner. 

Bucky followed you, pressing the button for the lobby and turning to you as if to continue your conversation. But just then, the door whooshed closed and you were alone in a small, enclosed space with your boss—your werewolf boss. 

You were already looking at him, anticipating what he’d been about to say, so you were able to watch the change in his demeanor as it happened. 

Bucky’s nostrils flared, and his shoulders stiffened, his bright blue eyes darkening with something you could only describe as hunger. His gaze raked over your face, and his chest expanded as he took a deep breath, his thick muscles testing the limits of his suit. 

You watched as recognition dawned in his sharp, icy eyes, and if your mind wasn’t so sluggish after your afternoon of orgasms, you might’ve understood what was going on, what he was realizing. 

As it was, you still hadn’t caught up with the shift in Bucky. You stared at him in confusion as he stepped quickly to the side, his thick finger pressing the emergency stop button on the elevator. It shuddered to a halt between floors, leaving you alone with your boss.

Slowly, Bucky turned to you, his eyes flashing with lust and his teeth bared so that you could see the light glinting off his canine teeth. He prowled toward you slowly, like he was trying not to spook you. 

All you felt was intrigued, a thrill of excitement shooting through your body as you allowed Bucky to back you into the corner of the elevator until his chest was a hair’s breadth away from yours. Your chest was heaving in your blouse with excited, panting breaths, and your head was tilted back, watching Bucky’s face closely.

The purr that came from the werewolf CEO was so low and dark, you hardly recognized it as belonging to your boss, even as the sound went straight between your thighs. Your pussy thrummed eagerly in response, like it knew something you didn’t—like it recognized him in a way you didn’t understand yet. 

“Tell me, sweetling,” Bucky Barnes rasped, staring deep into your eyes as his big hand settled possessively on your hip. You swayed into him, watching his pink mouth framed by dark, gray-streaked stubble as he voiced the question that would change everything. “Why do you smell like my cum?”

thank you for reading!! comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

as a reminder of my blog's rules, please do not comment/reblog only to request a part 2! specific questions and comments about the fic, the characters, and the larger universe are entirely welcome!! i just ask that you please engage with my story rather than simply demanding more!!

Bucky smelled like fresh air and earthy moss, with an undertone of something warm, like leather. You’d never scented anything so delectable, and it had been driving you wild all week. 

That very first inhale had sent sparks of delight popping and fizzling through your bloodstream, settling pleasantly between your thighs in a thrumming heat. And it hadn’t stopped being an overwhelming distraction ever since.

To make matters worse, your father’s friend was devastatingly handsome. 

Even if he hadn’t smelled as good as he did, your body would’ve responded to his crystal blue eyes and the rugged dark scruff, with just a hint of gray, on his sharp jaw. His hair was a little long, meaning he had to push it back with his strong fingers, making the muscles in his shoulders and arms flex beneath his black t-shirt.

It had taken every ounce of your self-control not to make a fool of yourself in front of Bucky when he’d picked you up on the side of the road, where you were stranded about a hundred miles northwest of Albany. 

Your omega instincts had screamed at you to climb Bucky like a tree, but instead, you’d shyly waved hello and tried to pretend you weren’t affected by the older alpha who smelled far too delicious.

However, things only worsened when you got in his truck.

It was clear that Bucky’s scent had been embedded in every soft surface of his old pickup, and getting into the cab had felt like submerging yourself in fresh air, rich moss and warm leather. Your body was helpless to the alpha’s lingering smell, buzzing to life, an ache blooming between your thighs.

Even as you’d felt yourself getting turned on, you’d also felt inexplicably safe. The moment settled into the worn passenger seat, you felt the anxiety that had been plaguing you since Poughkeepsie drain from your shoulders, before disappearing entirely. 

The longer you breathed in Bucky’s scent, the more the warmth in your body morphed into an intense arousal, like nothing you’d ever experienced before. It was so strong, you’d had to press your thighs together and squirm in his passenger seat as inconspicuously as possible, trying to stave off the building ache in your core.

Once you’d buckled your seatbelt with trembling fingers, Bucky had asked if you were alright, waiting for your answer before he pulled back onto the road. You’d mumbled that you were fine even as heat filled your cheeks. 

You’d focused on staring down at your fingers tangled in your lap, reminding yourself why you couldn’t reach across the truck for him. He was your father’s friend, he was just helping you, he was practically a stranger—and you had no idea if he was reacting to your scent the way you were to his.

But as he drove you to his cabin, Bucky asked about the circumstances that led to you being stranded on the side of the road. You hadn’t wanted to be rude, but you’d kept your answers short. You didn’t trust yourself when you were surrounded so thickly by his scent, you might accidentally ask him to mount you in the backseat. 

Thankfully, Bucky didn’t seem bothered by your quick, murmured answers. His tone remained patient and low as he asked you question after question until he got the full, embarassing story out of you. 

You’d been on your way to your parents’ cabin, which was set on the same lake in upstate New York as Bucky’s, when your car had started making a terrible crunching sound. You’d already made it out of the city, though, and you hadn’t wanted to turn back, so you’d kept driving. 

That, of course, had been a mistake. 

Somewhere deep in the forest of the Adirondacks, your car had given up, puttering out immediately after you’d pulled onto the cracked asphalt of the narrow shoulder. With nothing around but the thick forest encroaching on the road, you hadn’t recognized where you were, and you’d been forced to call your parents and confess everything to them. 

It wasn’t just that you’d gotten yourself stranded somewhere between Albany and the lake, you also had to tell them your reasons for deciding, on a whim, to visit the cabin in the first place. 

You’d been laid off from your job in the city, you were fighting with your roommate over whether to stay in your apartment in Brooklyn, the city in the summer was too hot and suffocating. Everything was just too much, and you’d needed a break.

As they tried to comfort you about everything going wrong in your life, you couldn’t help but feel like your life had gone completely off course. You figured you might as well be stranded on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere New York, since that was exactly how you felt in life—stuck, without having any idea where to go. 

You tuned back into the conversation when your parents relayed the bad news: they weren’t at their cabin like you’d thought they’d be. They weren’t even in New York. They were staying with some friends out west, and they hadn’t been to the cabin all summer, so they hadn’t opened it up like they normally did at the start of the season. 

That had been when you’d really started crying. You began bawling your eyes out with only the creatures of the forest and the whispering wind dancing through the leaves to hear you. It was almost cathartic, if you could ignore the dire straits you’d found yourself in.

The sun was beginning to set, and fear started to creep in that you might end up having to walk to a strange town in the dark. You couldn’t even remember the last time you’d passed any sign of civilization. All you could think about was how there were too many horror movies that began with an omega in exactly your situation.

At that point, with both your parents trying desperately to get you to calm down, your father had gruffly suggested he call his old friend Bucky Barnes. You’d hardly listened while your parents conferred about that idea, then your mother continued trying to soothe you while your father called his friend. 

You’d wracked your brain for any memory of the older alpha, recognizing his name, but came up with nothing. You couldn’t even recall whether he’d ever attended one of the parties your parents had thrown at their cabin while you’d been growing up and in college. 

You’d asked your mother if you’d ever met him before and she’d said something vague about Bucky not being particularly sociable. He and your father were fishing buddies, she’d explained, but that was all she’d said before you heard your father’s voice in the background, telling you to wait right where you were. Bucky was on the way.

When you’d finished telling your story to Bucky, you were grateful he didn’t scold you for getting yourself stranded, or lecture you about the dangers of being an unmated omega lost somewhere in the Adirondacks. He’d only confirmed that the two of you had never met before, and offered you a reassuring smile.

Between Bucky’s low, rumbling voice, that gentle smile on his handsome face, and the scent of him surrounding you like a blanket, you’d felt calm and safe in a way you hadn’t in a long time. 

You were so comfortable, in fact, that you ended up falling asleep while he continued driving, your mind and body exhausted from the stress of the day and the last few weeks.

It wasn’t until you’d arrived at his cabin that you woke, the sun having slipped behind the trees as dusk fell. 

Bucky carried your bags inside while you stumbled after him, taking deep breaths of the fresh forest air before ducking inside the cabin, where his scent was ingrained in every inch of the wooden structure. It was everywhere, and you realized you’d missed it in the short time you’d been outside.

The delightful buzzing pleasure of that smell settled inside your head once again, sparks and tingles spreading through your body. With Bucky distracted by taking your bags into the guest room, you’d inhaled deeply, letting his smell relax you. And if you’d gotten more than a little turned on, too…Well, that you ignored as you took stock of the cabin. 

The house was set into the gentle slope that led down to the lake, with big windows to let in plenty of light. It allowed those inside to feel like they were immersed in the beautiful green foliage of the trees pushing up against the sides of the cabin. 

It was bigger inside than you’d expected for a lone alpha like Bucky. The cabin had a big, open living room and kitchen space that gave way to a hallway leading to a guest room, an office, a bathroom and a master bedroom. All of them were big and roomy, even as the cabin felt cozy and homey.

Once you were settled in the guest room, with a gorgeous view of the yard leading down to the dock and the lake, Bucky made you dinner and gave you even more bad news: your parents’ cabin wasn’t habitable yet. He’d explained it would only take a few days to get the power and water running, then you could go over and air it out. 

But the next morning, while Bucky was on the phone with the power company, he’d learned there was a downed line that only served your parents’ cabin. The company had put off repairing it because it hadn’t seemed like a priority, so it would take much longer than normal to restore power. He’d said you could stay with him until your parents’ cabin was ready.

You’d smiled tremulously and told Bucky it was fine. You’d thanked him for letting you stay with him, and asked if there was anything you could do around his cabin to help him out. You’d told him it was the least you could do while the two of you were trapped together.

But Bucky had shaken his head, a serious look on his face. He’d told you not to worry about helping out an old alpha like him. He’d said you should make yourself at home, choking on his words a little and needing to cough to clear his throat. Then he’d smiled, but you thought it looked a little strained.

After that, you and Bucky had done your best to keep your distance from each other. 

You’d avoided him because every time he was near, all you wanted to do was bury your face in his neck, breathe in his scent and rub yourself against him like a desperate omega in heat. You went to bed every night feeling frustrated and woke up every morning feeling achy and needy, so you stayed away from the older alpha. 

And Bucky had avoided you because… 

Well, you weren’t sure why Bucky was avoiding you. If you had to guess, it was probably because he could tell what a mess you were and didn’t want to get involved. He was a mature, responsible alpha who’d chosen a solitary life in the woods, and you were an unmated omega who’d accidentally gotten yourself stranded in those woods. 

You could understand why he wouldn’t want to be around you, even if it stung something in your heart and your omega hindbrain, both of which wanted to be close to him every moment of the day for some reason you couldn’t puzzle out.

After a week of staying in Bucky’s cabin, you’d found that the only way to avoid feeling like you were driving yourself up the walls was to stick to a schedule. You had breakfast while Bucky was getting ready for the day, then you waited for him to leave for work, and did everything you could to make sure you were never in the same room as him.

But then everything changed.

The Friday after you’d found yourself trapped in a cabin with the older alpha, you woke up as normal—feeling the near-constant desire flickering insistently between your thighs while you did your best to ignore it. It had been hard not to pleasure yourself in Bucky’s guest room, but you’d wanted to respect his home.

That morning, for some reason, it was harder than it had been to resist slipping your fingers between your thighs and rubbing yourself to release. You hadn’t gotten used to Bucky’s scent and it seemed to urge you on, but you kept your desire in check.

You chalked it up to the long, brutal week staying in Bucky’s cabin and forced yourself to get out of bed. It was early in the morning and you had Bucky’s routine memorized well enough that you knew you could slip out and make breakfast while he was getting ready to leave.

Normally, you would’ve been able to hear him in the shower and puttering around his room while he got dressed, but that morning, the cabin was curiously quiet. You didn’t think much of it as you made yourself some eggs and toast, and by the time you were done eating, you’d decided he must’ve left extra early that morning. 

You were enjoying having the kitchen to yourself, sipping your coffee and reading a romance novel about a forbidden love between an older alpha and a younger omega, when you felt the energy in the cabin shift. Your body tensed, as if your omega instincts knew something your mind still hadn’t figured out.

Then Bucky’s scent hit you anew; its effects were immediate—and staggering. 

A gasp tore from your lips, but you barely even heard it over the desire surging through your body. Bucky’s scent was suddenly somehow more potent, more delicious, making your mouth water with the urge to suck his cock.

Beneath the thin sleep shirt you wore, your nipples puckered almost painfully, your tits feeling heavy with the need to be groped, to be squeezed, to be sucked. And even that feeling paled in comparison to the thumping pulse between your thighs, your clit aching for attention as slick dripped from your slit, soaking your panties in seconds.

You whimpered pitifully, setting your coffee mug down with shaking hands, some of the brown liquid sloshing over the rim and spilling onto Bucky’s butcher block countertop. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care about the mess—not when you were overcome with a need that you instinctively knew only the older alpha could sate.

For a brief, panicked second, you worried you were going into heat. But your body felt different than it normally did when your heat was coming on. There weren’t any painful cramps in your lower belly as your body yearned for a knot, and, most tellingly, you didn’t feel like flames were licking beneath your skin.

You decided what you were feeling was something else, but you didn’t know what. 

Your fingers gripped the edge of the kitchen island where you’d sat to eat your breakfast, nails digging so deep into the wooden grain that it was verging on painful. Your mind felt sluggish as you tried to figure out what was happening to you, but you kept getting distracted thinking about Bucky’s broad shoulders, and his scruffy jaw and his beautiful blue eyes. 

Without you realizing it, your hips had begun to rock on the barstool you were perched on, your thighs spread wide so you could rub your pussy into the seat. With a desperate whine, you forced yourself to stop, your head hanging between your arms as breaths sawed in and out of your chest.

There was nothing else you could do—you had to find Bucky and hope he knew what was happening to you, and why his scent was so strong. 

Your omega cheered at the thought of getting closer to Bucky, and you let those instincts guide you as you stumbled through the cabin. 

Belatedly, you realized you were heading toward his bedroom, and it wasn’t until your hand was raising to knock on his door that you figured out you were wrong earlier—Bucky hadn’t already left, he’d still been in his room. Doing what, you had no idea.

Biting back a needy keening sound, you rapped your knuckles urgently on the door, trying to ignore the way your slick was leaking down your thighs. Your panties and sleep shorts were soaked with your juices, and the cotton was sticking to your warm skin so unpleasantly, you had the urge to yank them off, but you managed to fight against it.

“Not now!”

Bucky’s roared words sent a delicious shiver down your spine, making your nipples ache so badly for attention that your hand lifted and you began kneading one of your tits while your dazed mind struggled to process what the older alpha had said. 

When you did, your head fell forward, hitting the door with a light thunk. A helpless sound slipped from your lips and your thighs pressed together as you squirmed in the hallway outside Bucky’s bedroom, your body making it impossible for you to heed the warning in the alpha’s tone. 

“Please, alpha,” you sobbed, pressing yourself against the door and scratching at the wood helplessly with your nails. You hardly knew what you were begging for—whether you just wanted into Bucky’s room or if you were already pleading with him to fuck you. But you knew you needed something only he could give you.

There was a vicious grunt on the other side of the door, and your omega hindbrain read it as an invitation before you could even fully take in the sound. Acting on instinct, your hand fumbled for the doorknob and you pushed into Bucky’s room. 

The sight that met you made you gasp sharply, your feet stumbling to a stop in the threshold of his room.

Bucky sat on the edge of his bed facing the door, his naked body bathed in the morning sunlight streaming in from the windows overlooking the lake. There wasn’t a stitch of clothing on the big alpha, and your eyes raked over him hungrily, unabashedly taking in the way his muscles bulged, veins snaking down his taut forearms. 

There was a sheen of sweat on Bucky’s golden skin, and his big, broad shoulders were hunched. But even with his body curled the way it was, you could still see his thick, fat cock standing proud between his tree-trunk thighs. 

The scent of him hit you again, almost making your eyes roll back in your head, but you refused to tear your gaze from the sight of Bucky’s cock. It was so perfect, it made you light-headed. And then you noticed Bucky was moving.

The older alpha had one massive hand fisted around his hard length, his grip punishing as he stroked his cock. The tip was an angry, flushed red as it leaked an endless stream of precum, which Bucky used to stroke himself, the soft, slick sounds resonating in the room.

It was only when a growl tore from Bucky’s throat that you glanced up at his face. 

His handsome face was contorted in a mask of feral lust, his teeth bared and jaw ticking like he was grinding his teeth together. But his eyes—his blue eyes were wild and tortured, staring at you like you were his salvation and his ruination all at once.

“You shouldn’t be here, omega,” Bucky growled, his words so rough you could barely understand them. But once you did, your body trembled with rebellion.

Clinging to the edge of the doorframe, it took every ounce of your self-control not to drop to your knees and present yourself to the alpha. All you could think about was his cock filling your cunt, the base swelling with his knot as he fucked you until the two of you were nothing more than rutting animals.

Suddenly, you knew what was happening. 

“Are you—are you going into rut?” you asked, the breathiness of your voice making you sound more excited than incredulous. In all your years as an omega, you’d never actually seen an alpha go into rut. It was rare, something that usually only happened between true matches…

“Can’t be,” Bucky rumbled, his voice dragging you out of your thoughts. “I’m too old for that.” He was still stroking his cock, grunts of pleasure slipping from his mouth like he couldn’t help himself. His shoulders heaved as he took a deep breath, as if trying to gather his wits, but it seemed to have the opposite effect.

Bucky’s shoulders went rigid, and something about watching his big body tense made your own inner muscles clench. 

You cunt was throbbing between your thighs in time with your racing heart, and your thighs were so coated in slick, you distantly wondered if you’d start leaving a puddle in Bucky’s doorway. 

But then the older alpha’s eyes flew open, pinning you where you stood with the intensity of his gaze.

“Omega,” Bucky groaned, the sheer hunger in his voice washing over you like a wave of warm water. His fist started stroking faster, and he made a choked, frustrated sound in his throat, like it wasn’t enough. Like nothing would be enough—except you.

Your feet carried you forward as if they had a mind of their own, your body drifting beyond the threshold of the room and closer to the grunting, growling alpha. 

He looked magnificent, even hunched the way he was. The bright sunlight brought out the silver in his dark beard, and you wanted to bury your face right under his jaw, inhaling his scent while your rode his cock.

“You should go,” Bucky rumbled, trying to force some steel into his voice, but you could hear the desperation hidden behind the alpha’s bravado. 

If he’d really wanted you to leave, he could’ve barked the order. But he hadn’t, leaving you able to disobey. So you drifted even closer, enticed by the scent of him and the sight of his big alpha cock.

You came to a stop in front of Bucky, standing just out of his reach. There, you wavered. 

You didn’t want to take advantage of Bucky when he wasn’t in his right mind. Sure, there was a haze of lust that had settled thickly over your mind as well, and you hardly felt like you had full control of your body, but you were more lucid.

“Let me help you, Bucky,” you murmured pleadingly, ducking down a little and catching his eye. You kept your expression open and honest, showing the alpha your desire to help. “You’ve been so kind to me, I just want to help you in return.”

That seemed to be the wrong thing to say because Bucky reared back like you’d slapped him. His hand came to a rest at the base of his cock, fisting himself tightly where he his knot would inflate. Your cunt gave an answering squeeze at the sight, but you forced yourself to ignore the aching, desperate need in your body.

“No,” he roared, his face twisting into a furious expression. “They trusted me to take care of you, ‘m not going to take advantage of you—I’m not some savage alpha who ruts unwilling omegas.” 

Bucky was spitting mad, the fury only managing to make him look even more gloriously handsome, and it took you a moment to understood what he’d said.

“What if I want you to rut me?” you asked, the words tumbling from your lips before you could think better of them. But when they had the desired effect of softening the edges of Bucky’s anger, even if it was only replaced with confusion, you pressed on. “I’m ready and willing, Bucky, I want to see you through your rut—please.”

Following your instincts, you lifted the hem of your oversized sleep shirt, showing Bucky how your slick had drenched your shorts and was coating your thighs. You trailed your fingers through the wetness on your soft skin, then held your hand out to the alpha, letting him see the way your slick glistened in the bright morning sunlight.

“We shouldn’t—I shouldn’t,” Bucky ground out through his clenched jaw, but there was a clearer tone of a desperation in his voice, like he was trying to convince himself more than you. 

His eyes were flicking between your slick-coated fingers and your eyes, his fist working his cock again. You let your hand drift closer to Bucky’s face, letting him scent the arousal in your juices, and his eyes rolled back in his head. 

With a furious grunt, he continued speaking.

“I shouldn’t rut your sweet pussy until my knot’s buried deep in your cunt and you’re soaking my balls with your scent—fuck,” he growled, roughly working his cock between his thick thighs. “Your scent, baby, it’s been driving me wild. I can’t—I shouldn’t…”

Taking a tentative step closer, you dragged your fingers through the slick between your thighs again and held them out to Bucky, waving them in front of his mouth, below his nose, making him smell you. 

“I want this, Bucky,” you promised. But even as you said the words, you worried it wouldn’t be enough, so you let the full truth spill from your lips. “I’ve wanted your knot since the second I got in your truck. Please, alpha, please rut me.”

Bucky lunged from the bed, moving so fast you barely had time to gasp before his big hands were catching you around the backs of your thighs and hauling you into his lap as he sat back down. One of his hands settled on your lower back, holding you in place, while the other circled your wrist and brought your fingers to his mouth.

The older alpha let out an obscene groan when he tasted your slick, the sound going straight to your clit and making a whine build in your throat. 

Bucky licked your skin clean, his hot tongue snaking between your fingers and making you think about where else you’d like to feel it—on your neck, on your nipples, on the slit between your thighs…

“Alpha,” you whimpered, squirming on Bucky’s lap as you sought friction but found none. His cock was trapped between your belly and the softly padded muscle of his stomach, so far away from where you needed him that you whined sharply.

With a pop, Bucky pulled your fingers from his mouth, and for a brief, fleeting moment the two of you simply stared into each other’s eyes. 

Bucky’s pupils were blown so wide they were blotting out nearly all of the blue in his eyes, and you could see the feral hunger of his alpha’s rut beginning to take over. Somehow, it only made him hotter, to see the older man so on the verge of losing control. 

It called to the omega deep in your hindbrain, the part of you that wanted to be taken—to be rutted and knotted on an alpha’s cock until you were nothing more than base animal instinct. You could feel a wildness brewing in your chest, your breaths coming in sharp pants as you and Bucky hovered on the edge of something brutal and beautiful.

You didn’t know who kissed who first, all you knew was that the tension between you and Bucky snapped, and then his lips were crashing down on yours, and you were moaning as the taste of him exploded on your tongue. 

The fresh air and earthy moss and warm leather made you feel like you were taking a deep breath of a forest breeze. You could taste your own slick, too, which only drove you more wild.

Bucky’s kiss was messy and filthy, all snapping teeth and untethered desire. There was no finesse to the way Bucky’s mouth claimed yours, it was pure alpha dominance. He was rough and uncompromising as his tongue plunged past your lips to devour your mouth, a harsh growl rumbling in his chest as his bearded jaw worked against yours.

All the while, you met Bucky’s ferocity with your own fierceness, sucking on his tongue and wringing a groan from the big alpha that had him kissing you even harder, bending you backwards until you hung suspended above his spread thighs. 

The only thing that stopped you from toppling off his lap entirely were his hands pressed firmly against your back, holding you crushed to the softly padded muscle of his chest. 

Your nails dug into Bucky’s broad shoulders, reveling in the way his skin was hot to the touch, matching the heat blooming and throbbing between your thighs. Your hips squirmed on Bucky’s lap until you felt the thick, hard length of his cock press into your core. 

Even through your sleep shorts and panties, Bucky felt exquisitely perfect. His cock was hard and throbbing, his own precum mixing with the juices coating your skin. 

Your scents were mingling and turning into something new—something that was so intoxicating it went straight to your head, making you achier and needier even as it gave you a sense of soul-deep satisfaction. You were too distracted, though, to think about what that meant.

A keening whine worked its way up your throat, and Bucky swallowed it down with an answering growl, like he felt it too—felt how perfect you were together. It made you cling to him harder, your hands sliding up his shoulders and burying your fingers in his soft brown hair.

The kiss broke just as suddenly as it started, with Bucky wrenching his mouth away from yours to tear at your sleep shirt. You helped him pull it over your head and then his mouth was on you again, his big hands roaming all over your bare skin. 

Every graze of his roughened palms over the curves of your body had you moaning mindlessly into his mouth until he could barely kiss you anymore. 

His mouth hovered close to yours and you both panted against each other’s lips, his groans blending with your breathy whimpers while he learned the feel of your body.

Bucky’s hands grabbed at your hips, pulling you deeper into his lap until your cunt was pressed flush to his cock through your clothes, leaving you to rock against his hardness while his hands wandered up your back, fingers tracing the vertebrae of your spine. 

He brushed his thumbs teasingly against the sides of your tits, and when you keened pitifully, he relented and groped your soft mounds. A feral grin stole across his handsome face when he plucked at your nipples, pinching them between his fingers so harshly, he made you let out another desperate whine. 

He kept playing with your tits until you were a writhing mess of need on his lap. Only when you were on the verge of tears did Bucky take pity on you.

“Get those shorts and panties off and present for your alpha,” Bucky growled, turning and tossing you down on top of the mussed blankets of his bed. 

He got to his feet, towering over you and watching you while he pumped his cock in one hand. He stared down at you with so much hunger, it made your pussy clench, aching for his knot.

But you didn’t let the magnificent sight of the older alpha standing naked in all his brutal glory distract you for long, not when he’d issued an order that you were all too eager to follow. 

With scrabbling fingers, you pushed your panties and shorts down over your hips, tearing them off your legs. Before you could toss them somewhere in the room, Bucky held out his free hand and you gave him the drenched mess of tangled fabric. 

The older alpha brought the bundle to his face, pressing the soaked cotton right against his mouth and nose then taking a deep breath. 

A rumbling growl echoed in his chest, the sound going straight between your thighs as you stared at the hottest thing you’d ever seen—Bucky inhaling the scent of your slick straight from your panties.

“I’ve been dreaming about your scent all week, baby,” he rumbled gruffly, his eyes at half mast as he continued stroking his cock, even more precum leaking from the tip. It was so hot, you were frozen where you were, unable to look away. 

Bucky’s gaze was hazy and unfocused as he stared down at you, looking like he was completely undone, and it was your smell that had him looking that way. The knowledge of how much power your scent had over the alpha made your omega preen, a smirk fluttering around the corners of your mouth.

“Been thinking about burying my face in your sweet cunt and drowning in your scent,” he went on, like he was confessing his sins. “Been thinking about having you soak my beard with your slick and then fucking you so good you come on my knot—want to be so wrapped in your scent that I never get it out of my head.”

Your body clenched hard at Bucky’s words, a moan spilling from your lips as you felt more slick leak from your hole. You didn’t know how Bucky was holding himself together while going into rut when you were on the verge of losing it and demanding he knot you. But it reminded you of his order.

In a rush, you scrambled onto your hands and knees to get into position. You lowered your shoulders to the bed, burying your face in the blankets and breathing in his scent just as deeply as he’d done with your panties. Moss and leather swirled in your head, making you moan into the sheets. 

Then you were arching your spine and pushing your ass high in the air. You presented your aching pussy to the older alpha, whining to get his attention. “Alpha, please!”

Bucky’s gaze sharpened and snapped to you, his eyes going molten hot when he saw how you were positioned on his bed, head down on the blankets, ass in the air, cunt on display for him. A lazy smile curled his lips and he dropped your panties and shorts to the floor, moving to you.

“Good omega,” Bucky purred, climbing onto the bed behind you, his big hands stroking over your ass and hips and thighs. “You look so pretty presenting for your alpha—you gonna be a good girl and help me through my rut, huh?”

A happy hum thrummed in your throat and you nodded, watching Bucky over your shoulder. He was transfixed by your body, his eyes following his hands as they roved over your curves. He grabbed big handfuls of your ass, kneading you so roughly, you could hear the quiet, wet sounds of your pussy lips pulling apart. 

As he groped your ass, Bucky pressed his cock firmly against your pussy, so you could feel the hot, hard length of him against your soft, dripping folds. He rocked hard into you, holding your ass in place so you had nowhere to go while he was grinding his cock against your cunt, coating his shaft in your slick.

His eyes were growing more hazy and unfocused by the second, but before Bucky could go into full-blown rut, he wrenched his gaze away from the sight of his cock pressed against your pussy, and caught your eye over your shoulder.

“You sure about this, omega?” Bucky asked, his voice strong and steady even as you heard that undercurrent of desperation in his tone. 

His eyes searched yours, and you could see the strain in his face. It was taking everything in him to stop himself from following his instincts so he could check on you. 

“I can manage on my own if you want to stop,” he promised.

You couldn’t explain your body’s reaction to Bucky’s words, but the fact that he was still, even on the verge of going into rut, putting your needs above his own had heat licking beneath your skin. It was a pleasant, glorious warmth that wrapped around your heart and soul, making you even more sure about your decision.

“Please, Bucky, I want this so bad, you don’t even know,” you murmured pleadingly, arching your back and presenting yourself even more. You pushed against his hold to press back against his cock, reminding him of your eagerness. “I want you to fuck me, alpha, please.”

“Alright, alright, baby,” Bucky rasped, ducking down and capturing your lips in a quick brutal kiss before he was sitting up again. One of his hands grabbed your hip while the other fisted his cock and rubbed the head through your dripping folds. “Hold on then, ‘mega. Once ‘m inside you, I’ll go into full-on rut.”

Bucky’s eyes were dark, even in the bright light of the sunshine streaming into his bedroom, and you could sense him hesitating. He seemed stuck on the edge of pushing into you and finally—finally—satisfying the need burning through both your bodies. 

You realized he needed another little push, something more than reassurance.

Reaching back, you wrapped your fingers around Bucky’s wrist, clinging onto the strong arm holding your hip. You gave him a squeeze and caught his eye when he looked at you in question. 

You let a smirk curve your lips, his only warning for what was about to come out of your mouth.

“C’mon, old man,” you said, your voice cheeky and playful as you grinned up at Bucky. “Rut your omega good and hard, alpha—I can take it.” You gave him an insolent wink, and he finally snapped.

Bucky’s eyes burned into yours and a feral grin slashed across his face. “My omega,” he growled, right before thrusting into your pussy, burying his cock deep in your tight heat with one, brutal stroke.

A scream burst from your lips as pleasure detonated within you. 

Bucky’s cock was so thick and hard inside you, filling you up so perfectly and making you stretch to accommodate his heavy length. The veins dragged exquisitely against your sensitive inner walls, the tip hitting a spot deep in your pussy.

It all set off sparks of delicious pleasure that went spiraling through your body. You gasped for air, barely knowing what was up or down, only your fingers around Bucky’s wrist and his cock buried in your cunt keeping you tethered to earth.

Above you, Bucky purred in satisfaction, pleased with the way your pussy wrapped around him tightly. And then you felt his rut take hold. 

The alpha barely gave you a moment to adjust before he was pounding into you, his hips pulling back until only the head of his cock remained inside. Then he plowed forward, filling you up all over again and again and again.

You were helpless to the alpha, your body going weak and pliant in his hold, giving in to the ferocious power in Bucky’s thrusts. 

All you could do was moan and mewl, your fingers still clinging to his wrist while he fucked you so hard and fast, your body and mind were lost in a dizzying, endless dance of pleasure.

“My omega—my beautiful, perfect omega,” Bucky growled, his words spilling from his mouth almost mindlessly. “So hot and wet for your alpha, baby, you’re squeezing my cock so tight. Ya want your alpha to rut you and knot your perfect cunt, don’t you, ‘mega?”

Bucky curled his body over yours, engulfing you in his heat and scent. His hand shifted from your hip, fingers tangling with yours and pressing it into the soft blankets next to your head. 

Twisting your body, you grabbed Bucky’s beard and pulled him down for a kiss that was all nipping teeth and soothing tongues. It was brutal and beautiful in equal measure, just like the joining of your bodies.

“You want to be mine, don’t you, baby?” Bucky rumbled against your mouth, a self-satisfied smirk curling the corners of his lips. 

“Yes, yes, god yes, alpha,” you cried, taking his pounding thrusts with your face half buried in his blankets. 

With every stroke of his cock inside you, you could feel the beginning of his knot catching at the edge of your hole, making you whine and squirm dumbly beneath him. You needed him so badly, you babbled unthinkingly.

“Want you so bad, alpha, want you to split me open on your fat, alpha knot and claim me as yours—please, daddy!”

That last word, the one you’d only thought about in your most secret fantasies, slipped out so easily in the face of the overwhelming pleasure Bucky was giving you. 

And even through the haze of your ecstasy, you felt his cock twitch inside you and hips stutter in their rhythm. Then he was moving faster and harder. 

“Oh fuck,” Bucky growled, his mouth right next to your ear, his coarse beard tickling your neck. “Say that again, baby—call your alpha that filthy name again.” 

“Daddy,” you cried, shoving your hips back to meet Bucky’s thrusts, stars bursting behind your eyes as the tip of him pounded into a spot deep inside you. 

The growl that rumbled in his chest was pleased, and it urged you on, emboldened you to continue calling him that dirty word.

“Knot me, daddy,” you begged, your voice thin and pitiful, which only made Bucky fuck you harder with his cock. “Rut your omega’s pussy and fill me with your come—please, alpha, please, I need it!”

“Fuck, baby, you’re such a perfect omega for your alpha,” he rumbled, pressing messy kisses to your cheek and jaw before trailing down to your neck. “You’re gonna get daddy’s knot, ‘m gonna fill you up so good, baby.” 

His filthy words were a promise that he sealed by scraping his teeth teasingly over your throat.

You tipped your head to the side, not even a little bit concerned that he could bite you, break skin, and cement a bond between the two of you even though you’d only met a week ago. 

You weren’t worried, you trusted Bucky. You trusted him not to bite you without your consent, even if your body was asking for it. 

He chuckled into the curve of your neck, sucking on your skin hard enough that even if he didn’t bite you, you knew he’d leave a mark behind. The idea of him claiming you in that way had you grinning happily, an omega purr rumbling in your chest. 

“You’re so fucking perfect, baby,” Bucky murmured into your skin, his voice rough with pleasure and something else, an emotion that tugged on your heart and had your fingers squeezing his where they were still tangled together. “My omega, my sweet, beautiful, perfect omega.”

Your body clenched around Bucky’s cock and tears of swelling emotion sprang to your eyes. You dragged him to you for a deep kiss, your entangled fingers curling in his beard. 

His mouth was softer, even as his hips picked up their pace, the older alpha rutting into you faster and harder.

Bucky lost himself entirely to his instincts, babbling gruff, barely intelligible words about how perfect you were and how good you were to him. 

He mumbled a litany of filthy promises, telling you he was going to fill you with his knot and his seed and keep you impaled on his cock while he flooded your cunt until you were overflowing with his come.

Even through the haze of his rut, you could still feel your alpha in the tenderness of his touch and the care Bucky had for you. 

Though he was rough and wild, he never hurt you, pushing you to the brink of a pleasure that was so brutal and beautiful, you weren’t sure you’d survive it. But you trusted Bucky to guide you through it safely.

When he was close, Bucky’s fingers slipped beneath your body and pushed between your thighs until he found your clit. He rubbed your sensitive bud in tight, merciless circles, making you shudder and clench around his cock, pushing you closer to the edge of your own release.

“Come, omega, come on your alpha’s cock,” Bucky growled in your ear, his hips grinding his cock deep in your pussy as he rutted your cunt. “Be a good girl for daddy, and come, baby.” 

It was too much. Bucky felt too good, his thick cock filling you too perfectly and pressing against that spot deep inside you. 

You were helpless to his rubbing fingers and filthy words, flying over the edge of your release and screaming your pleasure into the blankets of your alpha’s bed. 

Bucky followed right after you, grunting and growling through his release. He bit down on the curve of your shoulder, careful not to break skin and cement a mating bond even as he came. 

The feeling of his blunt teeth sinking into your skin sent another wave of white-hot ecstasy through your body, and Bucky groaned when your pussy clenched around him even tighter.

Bucky’s cock twitched inside you, flooding you with his come as his knot began to swell. It inflated quickly, and you gasped at the feeling of his knot plugging your pussy, locking you together while you rode out your releases. 

Gradually, the waves of euphoria began to recede. But still, you felt heat licking beneath your skin, starting from where your body was connected to Bucky and flowing through the rest of your limbs.

At first, you thought it was the beginning of renewed pleasure, your omega instincts responding to Bucky’s rut by readying for another round. But then you felt a gush of slick between your thighs and your cunt clenched down greedily on Bucky’s cock, like your pussy was trying to suck him and his knot even deeper. 

The alpha’s body was still curled around yours and he grunted at the feeling of you squeezing his cock. Shifting and dragging his nose up the side of your throat, he buried his face in your neck and took a deep breath, his body going still at whatever he noticed in your scent.

“Are you due for your heat, baby?” Bucky asked carefully, his voice clearer than it had been while he was in the throes of his rut. 

He sounded so calm, his voice so low and delicious it took you a moment to understand what he’d asked.

“I—I shouldn’t be,” you stammered, confusion fighting against the warmth filtering through your body. Already, you had the urge to arch your back and beg Bucky to fuck you again, just like you would if you were in heat. “I’m not due for a few weeks.”

Before you could even properly protest the idea that you were going into heat, Bucky’s knot deflated enough for him to slip from your pussy. A gush of fluid spilled from your hole, but the two of you were too shocked to pay any attention to that because your bodies had proved you wrong.

Alpha biology was so well attuned to an omega’s that if they were in heat, the alpha’s knot would deflate faster than normal, and their refractory period would speed up, making sure they were able to attend to their omega’s heightened sex drive. 

Bucky’s cock was already hard again, the shaft brushing against your pussy between your thighs. And your skin was burning up, so the warmth of Bucky’s body became almost cool to your touch. 

Everything was pointing to you going into heat, but you still couldn’t quite wrap your mind around it.

Gently, Bucky turned you over onto your back and settled between your thighs, his big hands encouraging your legs to hook around his hips. His thick cock nestled against your soft, swollen pussy while he dug his arms under your back, holding you cradled against his chest, his face hovering above yours.

“Hey, are you ok?” he asked in a soft, gentle tone. He ducked his head to catch your eye, but you were staring unseeingly through him, trying to make it all make sense.

“Does this mean we’re…” you began to ask, your voice trailing off as the words stuck in your throat. 

They were trapped by the hope bottling up in your chest. You wanted to sure about what was happening before you let your emotions loose, let the elation fly free and whisk you away to the life you’d never dared to dream about.

But where Bucky had been hesitant before, he was steady and sure in the face of your uncertainty. A smile flirted at the edges of his mouth and he captured your lips in a quick kiss before he finished your question for you.

“True matches?” 

At those words, your eyes suddenly focused and searched for him. Your body settled instinctively when your gaze met Bucky’s, and his smile turned affectionate as he stared down at you, stroking your cheek fondly with his thumb. 

“Yeah, baby, it means we’re each other’s true match,” he said, seemingly happy to help you understand what was happening. “Only an alpha’s true match can trigger a rut, and only an omega’s true match can spark their heat.”

Bucky gave you a moment to soak in his words, waiting patiently while his thumb traced your lips. His big hand was cupping your face so reverently, it nearly brought tears to your eyes, and you stared up into the alpha’s gaze. 

Seeing the open affection on his handsome face finally got through to you.

Bucky Barnes was yours. He was your true match, the one alpha in all the world who was meant to be yours. And you were his. 

It was why his scent smelled so good to you, why you’d felt so drawn to him, and why you’d been so frustrated by him avoiding you all week. It was why you’d rebelled when he’d pushed you away when you wanted to help him through his rut.

That realization made you snort a laugh, which had surprise dancing across his features, a question in the furrow of his brow. 

“And you thought you could fight this,” you said, your voice wavering with laughter before you dissolved in a fit of giggles. 

A rumbling chuckle came from Bucky as he waited for you to get ahold of yourself. You were still laughing helplessly when his mouth found yours in a slow, sweet kiss. 

The laughter finally died in your throat and your fingers tangled in Bucky’s hair, kissing him back for all you were worth. His beard scraped against your cheeks and you delighted in the feeling, your pussy throbbing between your thighs.

“Mm, you really are mine, aren’t you, baby?” Bucky murmured against your lips after slowing the kiss and pulling away slightly. His blue eyes shimmered with affection and hunger as he stared down at you. 

“Yeah, Bucky, I’m yours,” you answered in a voice so full of happiness it was practically a purr. “And you’re mine, alpha.”

“Damn fucking right,” Bucky growled. He dove back down for another, deeper kiss, plunging his tongue into your mouth and tangling with yours. 

It wasn’t long before the heat simmering beneath your skin became too insistent to ignore, and you whined into Bucky’s mouth. Your hips rocked beneath the older alpha’s bigger body, grinding your cunt against his hard, twitching cock and coating him with a new layer of your slick.

“Please, alpha, I need you to knot me,” you whimpered pitifully, fingers digging into the strong muscles of his back. “Fuck me, Bucky—rut your omega and fill me up, daddy, please!” 

“Don’t worry, baby,” Bucky said, shushing you gently as his hand slipped between your bodies. 

He guided his cock back into your pussy, sliding deep into your tight heat while you moaned into each other’s mouths. 

“Your alpha’s gonna take good care of you, ‘mega,” he promised. “Just be a good girl for daddy and take my cock.”

Then Bucky was fucking you, hard and deep, rutting into your cunt with all the ferocious power of an alpha. It was glorious, pleasure spiraling through your body as you met his every thrust. 

After that, you succumbed to your heat, your omega giving in to your alpha and letting him take care of you.

For the next few days, you and Bucky barely left his room while he attended to your every need, whether that was filling you up with his knot or getting you to eat and drink some water. It was a haze of warmth and pleasure, and by the time your heat broke, you were wrung out and exhausted.

Bucky tucked you into his chest, holding you tight against his body as he purred and soothed his hand up and down your spine, urging you to sleep. You fell asleep quickly, excited to wake up rested and begin your life with your alpha, your true match, your love.

The journey of finding your way to Bucky Barnes may have begun with a long and brutal week of frustration and unsatisfied need, but you were excited to build something beautiful with him—something that would last for the rest of your lives.

The position of your head gave him better access to your neck, and he buried his bearded face right in the crook, sucking on your pulse point until you were moaning and writhing more insistently beneath him. He was burning up, but it was a small taste of the hell he was surely going to.

Your hands clutched restlessly at his clothes and your legs opened a little more, allowing his hips to slot perfectly between your plush thighs. Robby thought he might see the afterlife sooner than he intended when the hard ridge of his cock pressed against the delicious heat of your center.

“Fuck,” he groaned roughly, kissing his way back to your mouth and capturing your lips with a fierceness he hadn’t felt in far too long. 

The way you softened beneath him, melting into his kiss and dragging his body deeper into the cradle of yours had him losing all sense entirely. You were no longer the off-limits daughter of his best friend, but lust incarnate. 

Robby knew better than to get lost in you, but you were too perfect, too eager for what he had to give, too ready to be defiled by him. 

Distantly, Robby knew he needed to be the one to pull away before this went any further. He was older, after all. Though he didn’t know how much older than you he was, he knew it was on him to make the reasonable decision. To be the mature one and put a stop to this before either of you said or did something you couldn’t take back. 

But, god help him, when your thighs hooked over his hips, and you used the leverage to grind against his hard cock, Robby couldn’t think, let alone come up with any of the litany of reasons to stop himself from giving you what you wanted. Especially if what you wanted was him. 

“That’s it, angel, rub that pretty pussy on my cock, take what you need,” Robby murmured in your ear, brushing kisses across your cheek, reveling in the softness of your skin and the scent of your shampoo.

He pressed his hips deeper between your thighs, pure pride blooming in his chest at the way your breath hitched, your pulse thrumming beneath your skin. He could feel your heat through your clothes, and he was greedy for more, but he wouldn’t push you for anything you weren’t willing to give.

“I need—” your husky whisper cut off in a whine, your hips humping furiously beneath him. Robby choked on a breath, his hips grinding his thick length harder against your cunt through your clothes. “Oh god, Robby, I need to feel you against me with nothing in between. Please!” 

You were already unwinding your legs from around Robby’s body. You’d shoved your pajama shorts down over your hips, and kicked them and your panties off beneath the blankets before he caught up with what you were begging for. 

“Angel, we shouldn’t…” Robby rumbled, cupping your jaw in his large hand. His warm, dry skin felt especially rough against the softness of your face, and for a moment, Robby was distracted by awe as he stroked his thumb over your cheek.

But then you let out a desperate little whimper and Robby’s gaze met yours, finding your eyes wide and pleading, tears pooling at the edges as you stared up at him. “Please, I-I want this so bad.” You shifted restlessly beneath him, your fingers dancing along the edge of his sweatpants, teasing and playful and so desperate in the way they trembled. “Please, Robby.”

It was the way you said his name—like a plea, like a prayer—that did him in.

“Okay, angel, okay. I’ve got you,” Robby murmured, pushing his sweatpants and boxers down, until his cock was free. 

In the back of his mind, Robby acknowledged that he’d give you anything you asked, but he couldn’t think about how dangerous that would be, not when the tip of his cock brushed against the damp folds of your pussy. All he could think about was you, and how good even that brief bit of contact felt.

Robby closed his eyes and stilled, gathering his resolve around him like armor. It took every ounce of his strength not to press into your tight heat. He knew you could take him, and he knew you would feel divine, but you hadn’t asked for that. And he wouldn’t give you more than what you asked. He couldn’t. 

So he angled his hips between your thighs and pressed the shaft of his cock deep between your folds. Your eyes went hazy, your soft lips falling open on a helpless moan as you both focused on the feeling of him gently rocking his hips, rubbing his hard length against your pussy, your drooling hole coating him in your slick desire. 

“Fuck, is this what you need, angel? Need my big cock rubbing against your wet cunt, huh?” Robby growled, making the mistake of lifting up enough to look down between your bodies. 

The room was lit by the blue light of the TV, and there were dark shadows everywhere, but Robby could still see too much. Just past his soft belly, he could see the tip of his cock poking through the top of your folds. He could see the way your hips writhed beneath him, meeting his rocking thrusts with little humping motions of your own.

“Oh fuck,” he groaned, hooking one of your thighs over his hips, opening you up wider so he could press deeper against your pussy. 

You were already drenched, and so warm, so welcoming. It would be so easy to tilt his hips and sink into your tight cunt…

“Robby, fuck, that feels so good,” you moaned, dragging his attention back to your face, which was twisted with pleasure, your skin damp and shining in the dim light of room. You were so gorgeous, you took his breath away, and it took him a moment to realize you were being too loud.

A thread of panic shot down his spine, but he had no desire to pull away or put a stop to this. Instead, Robby lowered himself more fully on top of you, brushing kisses to your cheeks and lips, enjoying the shivers that raced through your body at the roughness of his beard.

“Shh, baby, you don’t want to wake your dad, do you?” he muttered, looking deep into your eyes as he asked the question.

Since he was watching you closely, Robby saw the moment your eyes went hazy and heavy-lidded—could feel the way your pussy pulsed against his cock, like your body was enticing him inside, and he bit out a curse.

“Shit, angel, does it get you off—the idea of getting caught?” he demanded, his voice almost a hiss. He stared to pull away, cursing himself because he knew you were dangerous, but that was a step too far, even for him. 

Before he could move, though, your thighs tightened around his hips and you shook your head quickly. You stared up at him, your eyes two wide pools of desire and uncertainty, and Robby wanted to soothe you immediately. He wanted to drown in your desire.

“No, no, it’s not that,” you whispered in a rush. But you didn’t explain further, only bit your lip and stared at Robby’s shoulder, like you were ashamed to admit the truth.

“You can tell me anything, sweetheart,” Robby said, softening his voice and cupping your face in his hand, using his thumb to tug your lip free from your teeth. When you glanced at him, he smiled warmly, watching your shame transform into hope before his eyes. 

“It was that word—‘dad’,” you admitted shyly, your eyes darting away then back to Robby’s, like you couldn’t bear to watch his reaction, but also didn’t want to miss it. “I-it turned me on, hearing you say it.”

Robby’s heart nearly stopped in his chest, his cock twitching greedily against your drenched pussy. A possessiveness that would’ve scared him if he’d been in his right might swept through him, and Robby let himself sink into that feeling, gathering you in his arms as a wicked smile spread across his face.

“Oh is that all?” Robby murmured, his tone teasing and exceptionally pleased. “It turned you on just to hear me say ‘dad’?” He dropped a kiss to your mouth, nuzzling your cheek until his beard tickled you enough to make you giggle softly. “Do you want to call me ‘dad’, sweetheart—maybe ‘daddy’?” 

“Daddy,” you moaned in response, turning your head and capturing Robby’s thumb between your lips. You sucked it deep into your mouth, staring up at him with wide, trusting eyes. 

That was the moment that did him in—that was the moment he knew you were his, just as much as he was yours.

“Daddy it is,” Robby said gruffly, his cock throbbing between your thighs, unable to hide how much he enjoyed the feeling it gave him—like he was your whole world. He swallowed thickly, then nodded and pressed a kiss to your cheek, regaining control of himself. “Now be a good girl and rub that sweet pussy all over daddy’s big cock, baby.”

He watched your eyes go hazy again, your mouth falling open around his thumb. Your expression was so blissed out, so open and trusting, and he knew you weren’t capable in that moment of what he’d asked. 

So, like a good daddy, Robby took over. He rocked his hips harder between your thighs, his cock twitching at the soft little ‘uh uh uh’ sounds that fell from your lips. You were so soft beneath him, your body molding to his, your drenched cunt clinging to his cock shaft. 

It was depraved how good it felt, and Robby knew he should be castigating himself for everything he’d already done, but he couldn’t bring himself to—not when you looked so happy beneath him. 

Just then, the tip of his cock caught in the opening of your pussy, pressing against your tight entrance before pushing past. Roby nearly went crosseyed from the feel of your hole around the head of his dick, suckling his tip like your pussy was begging him to bury his cock in your body.

Your breath hitched in a soft gasp that had Robby rocketing back to earth, his eyes focusing on your face. He found you with your head lifted off the pillows staring down at where his cock was sliding through your slippery folds. You angled your hips up, making it easy for Robby’s dick to catch in your hole again, and you both groaned.

“Baby, we can’t…” Robby said, little conviction in his voice even as he tried to get ahead of what he thought you were about to ask for, already knowing he wouldn’t deny you—or himself.

“Please, daddy,” you begged, lifting your gaze to him, your eyes shimmering with tears of need. Robby could feel his resolve—what little he had—crumbling. “Just the tip.”

At that, Robby ducked his chin to his chest, giving you the sternest look he could muster, and he was rewarded with an impish smile spreading across your beautiful face. Your eyes glimmered with mischief, and you stared up at him without a lick of remorse, spreading your thighs wider while you rocked your hips, coating his cock in your desire.

From the unrepentant look on your face, it was clear you knew exactly what you were doing—Robby was absolutely certain that you knew your request would turn into him buried balls-deep in your hot cunt—but neither of you cared enough to stop. 

As far as Robby was concerned, the whole night, ever since everyone else had gone to bed and left him alone with you, was like a train careening off its tracks. You were the only one capable of putting an end to it, but Robby knew you wouldn’t, since you were the one who instigated everything that’d happened in the first place.

You’d been the one to snuggle up to him under the blankets on the couch in the basement of the cabin where he’d been sleeping while he and your family were on a ski vacation. You’d been the one to insist on laying down, Robby’s body spooning yours. You’d been the one to rub your soft ass against his cock until he was hard enough that when you turned over and asked him to kiss you, he’d been unable to do anything else but give in.

And it had all led Robby to this moment, where you were begging him to fuck you with the tip of his cock, knowing it wouldn’t end there, and all he could do was give you exactly what you’d asked. He was helpless to your desire, unable to stop himself from giving you—and himself—what you wanted.

“Ple-ease, daddy,” you whimpered, your voice breaking as a tear slipped down your cheek. 

Your impish smile had melted away, replaced by an unadulterated need so exquisite, Robby felt his cock throb in response. He brushed your tear away, enchanted by the sight of you begging, and your lip pushed out into a perfect pout.

“I need your cock, daddy. I need it.”

You writhed restlessly beneath Robby, humping his cock until the tip notched at your entrance again. Robby’s body tensed, but the inevitability of what was about to happen was a reassurance. 

He gave himself over to the idea that this was always going to happen. He’d wanted you since the moment he’d first set eyes on you, when he’d arrived at the cabin. He didn’t know it at the time, but you’d wanted him just as long, gathering the courage to make the move he never would.

The fact that you were snowed in together, that mother nature herself had pushed you two closer, had Robby forgetting all the reasons he shouldn’t fuck you—you were so much younger, you were his best friend’s daughter. You were too perfect. 

You were unavoidable, you were destiny. 

“Just the tip, angel,” Robby said, reminding himself just as much as you. He pushed up on one hand, the other gripping your soft thigh and holding you open for him. He pressed the head of his dick against your entrance, but you were so tight, he met resistence. “Let me in, sweetheart.”

You whimpered and whined, and Robby felt you soften beneath him. The tip of his cock slipped inside your velvety heat, and his hips stuttered to a stop. His low, rumbling groan mixed with the sound of your soft, breathy moan, both of you reveling at the feeling of him inside you—the heat, the desire, the perfect way you fit together.

“Again, daddy,” you begged, your voice breathless, your eyes glittering with lust when Robby caught your gaze. 

He nodded, pulling his hips back until his cock slid out of your hole. Then he pushed forward again, inexorably slower, indulging in the way your body yielded to him, your slick hole swallowing the head of his dick like a greedy cocksleeve.

“Oh fuck, baby, you’re taking me so well,” Robby rumbled, pulling out and pushing in again, watching the head of his big dick disappear inside your tight pussy. “You want more, sweetheart? Want more of daddy’s cock in this perfect cunt?”

“Ye-es,” you moaned, arching up off the couch and trying to bear down on his cock. Robby’s hand on your thigh held you down, and he tsked at you.

“Daddy’s in charge, sweetheart,” he said, clicking his tongue and enjoying the way you squirmed beneath him. He had to stop the grin that wanted to spread across his face. He gave you a stern look down the line of his nose. “Be a good girl and take what I give you.”

“If I’m good, will you fill me up all the way, daddy?” you asked in a low, breathy voice that did something to Robby’s gut, making it twist with a desire so acute, he thought he might cum right there, with only the tip of his cock inside your pussy. 

“Maybe, baby,” he sing-songed, bending down to brush a kiss to your lips. He used the distraction to thrust deeper into your cunt, swallowing your gasp and moan. He let his smile bloom against your mouth when you clutched him closer, like you couldn’t bear to have any space between you.

For the next few minutes, Robby worked you open with his cock, taking the time to make sure your tight hole was stretched to accomodate his thick girth and you weren’t in any pain or discomfort. If anything, you begged and whined for more before he knew you were ready, and he would shush you with a kiss or stern words until you submitted to his authority.

When Robby finally pushed all the way into your tight cunt, feeling his balls press against your ass as he bottomed out in your dripping hole, a half-feral groan tore from his mouth. He ducked his head, muffling the sound against your neck, and pressed you deep into the couch, covering you with his weight.

You moaned sweetly in Robby’s ear, wrapping your bare legs around his waist while your arms circled his shoulders, holding him tight against your body. Your fingers carded through his hair, nails raking lightly over his scalp and he groaned yet again, his hips thrusting on reflex at how good you felt surrounding him.

You were perfect. So tight and wet and warm. You felt like heaven around his cock, and Robby knew, all over again, that you were his unavoidable destiny. You were meant to be his, and in that moment, he vowed he would spend the rest of his life making sure he was deserving of you.

“You feel so good inside me, daddy,” you whispered against Robby’s scruffy cheek, pleasure dripping like sweet honey from your voice. “Knew you would,” you babbled, words spilling from your lips almost like you couldn’t help them. “Knew your big daddy cock would fill up my tight little cunt so perfectly—like I was made for you.”

“Fuck. Fuck, angel,” Robby growled, pulling back as far as your legs circling his body allowed—which wasn’t very far at all—before slamming inside you again, the tip of his cock hitting a spot that made you gasp. “Don’t say shit like that when I’m fucking you raw, or I’ll cum inside you.”

“Do it,” you gasped excitedly, a shiver of delight making your body tremble in his arms. “Cum inside me.” You pressed your lips against Robby’s ear, your words crisp and clear and so sweet he thought they’d be the death of him. “I’m not on birth control—knock me up, daddy.”

For a brief moment, Robby blacked out. And then all he saw was you. 

You, splayed out on your back while he fucked his cum into your pussy, shoving it deep into your womb to make sure it would take. You, with your belly rounding from his seed, growing his baby in your body. You, curled up in his arms, one of his hands on your big belly while his mouth suckled on your nipple, drinking your milk that would feed his baby. 

You, holding his child in your arms while he held you in his. You, as his family, his whole world. His destiny. His.

God would have to forgive Robby for what he was about to do, because he couldn’t help himself. Not when it came to you, not when it came to the chance of breeding his baby into you. Not when it came to the undeniable need he felt to make you his forever.

In that moment, Robby made peace with the fact that he was going to hell—because being with you was better than heaven—and he gave himself over to instinct, digging his arms beneath your body and holding you caged against his chest while he pounded into you. 

He fucked your tight, slick cunt with a fury and intent he’d never felt in all his five decades on earth. All he could do was drive deeper and deeper into your clasping body, fucking you with the sole purpose of knocking you up and making you his.

“You want my baby, baby?” Robby growled against your cheek, teeth pressing into your jaw with a teasing bite that had your pussy clenching hard around his cock. He let out a rough sound of pleasure and kept going, emboldened by the way your body yielded to his. “You want me to breed your tight cunt and fill you with my seed until it takes, huh?”  

“Yes, daddy, yes,” you cried softly, clinging to him with a desperation that had Robby’s heart pounding harder, beating a selfish, staccato rhythm. “Breed me, daddy—I want your baby. I want you to knock me up. Make me a mommy—make me yours.”

The possessive beast in Robby roared its pleasure, and he grabbed your ass in one of his big hands. Holding you tight against his body, he ground into your cunt, the tip of his dick pressing against that magical spot inside you while the base of him rubbed mercilessly against your clit. 

“Cum on daddy’s cock, angel,” he urged, pressing his forehead to yours, watching pleasure wash over your pretty face. “Be a good girl and let me feel your perfect pussy sucking on my cock, and then I’ll fill you up—make you my perfect little cumdump and breed a baby into you.”

“Daddy!” 

Your high-pitched cry was cut off when Robby slanted his mouth to yours, swallowing your sounds of pleasure as you came apart on his cock. He could feel your body go taut beneath him, your cunt clenching down so hard on his shaft, he saw stars, and then you were coming.

He grunted into your mouth, fucking you hard through your release, and it wasn’t long before he was following after. He pressed deep into your cunt, the tip of his cock ramming right against your cervix so he could spill directly into your unprotected womb.

That thought had Robby coming even harder, the rhythmic pulsing of your pussy milking every drop of cum from his balls. His chest heaved as he tried to suck in enough air so he didn’t pass out, and he pressed his face into your neck, huffing your scent deep into his lungs. You smelled like sweet sex, and sweat—and a little bit like him. 

You both came down gradually, Robby collapsing on top of you and half-crushing you into the couch. You didn’t mind, though, keeping your legs locked around his waist, your fingers carding through his hair and beard as you made soft sounds of contentment. 

Eventually, he tried to pull away, but your legs tightened around him. You let out a little sound of protest and when he pulled back to see your face, you were pouting up at him, something like betrayal and uncertainty in your eyes.

“Sweetheart, this can’t be comfortable,” Robby rumbled, gently cupping your face and smoothing his thumb over the corner of your mouth to wipe away your frown. You turned your head and pressed a kiss to the pad of his thumb, making his cock twitch weakly in your pussy.

“Just a little bit longer,” you pleaded, giving him your wide-eyed look. “Please, daddy. I like being close to you.”

Robby felt his cock leak a little bit more cum, and he groaned, settling his weight on his forearms, braced on either side of your head and capturing your lips in a kiss. “A few more minutes,” he murmured indulgently, shifting so his hands could take turns massaging your thighs and hips.

It was more than a few minutes later when Robby finally disentangled himself from your body. He quickly righted himself, pulling up his sweatpants and boxers, then helped you redress, pressing kisses to your skin anywhere he could reach—your thighs, your belly, your neck. 

Before he could get lost in you all over again, he walked you up to your room, careful not to wake anyone else in the cabin.

You didn’t ask him to stay in your bed with you, and Robby was relieved. You both knew the situation with your father would need to be handled much more delicately than him discovering his best friend in your bed. Especially when you all were snowed in at a remote cabin in the mountains. 

How and when you’d break your newfound relationship to your father was a discussion for another time. For the night, Robby tucked you into your bed, giving you a slow, sweet kiss before he retreated back to the bastement and the couch where he’d been sleeping. 

The blankets still smelled like you—like your shampoo and your cum—and Robby found himself aching to have you in his arms. He fell asleep and dreamed of you, looking forward to the future, and the family, the two of you would build together.

thanks for reading!! reblogs and comments are appreciated ♡♡

You lifted your head briefly, intent on giving Steve a disinterested look that would hopefully be cold enough to send him packing back to his room. But then you got a look at your brother’s best friend wearing nothing but a pair of swim trunks and the sight of so much bare, golden skin on display had your belly clenching and your mind short-circuiting.

As quick as you could, you let your head fall back to the lip of the hot tub, arranging your face in an expressionless mask as you stared up into the dark night sky. Your mind raced with only one thought—it was indecent how good Steve looked in a pair of simple black swim trunks.

"If you must," you said, barely paying attention to the words as you offered him a careless wave of your hand.

You tried not to notice the way the water swished and swirled as Steve climbed gracefully into the hot tub. And you refused to acknowledge the way your body warmed further with his presence. The water was simply hotter because there was another person in the hot tub. That was all.

But in the deepest corners of your own mind, even you had to admit it was growing increasingly difficult to ignore the crush you had on Steve Rogers. Especially after so many days in such close proximity to the man.

Your crush had taken such deep root in your heart so long ago that it felt like a part of you. And no matter how many years you’d spent denying it, acting out against Steve to make sure no one—especially not him—knew your true feelings, you couldn’t hide the truth from yourself. 

All you could do was bury it deep in your heart and hope no one ever discovered the truth of how you really felt about your brother’s best friend.

"Fuck, that feels good," Steve groaned as he relaxed into the opposite corner of the hot tub from where you sat.

The sound of his pleasure did obscene things to your body. Your skin tingled with sparks of lust as heat gathered low in your belly, while a thrumming ache bloomed in your core that had you pressing your thighs together. It was all you could do to bite back a needy whimper and stop yourself from squirming beneath the water.

To distract yourself, you lifted your head again and glanced at Steve. For the briefest of moments, you were both relieved and disappointed to find so much of his glorious chest obscured by water, the surface of which bubbled and foamed from the jets in the hot tub.

"I don't think I've ever heard the golden boy swear before," you taunted, using the mocking nickname you’d given him a long time ago. You were trying to needle him, to get under his skin in the way that his mere presence did to you, so you shot him your most infuriating smirk.

But Steve didn't rise to the bait. He only chuckled good-naturedly, though there was a slight edge to it that had you holding your breath and waiting for what he'd say next.

"Y'know, I'm not as much of a goody two-shoes as you might think." 

It was damn near traitorous the way your body reacted to Steve's declaration, every part of you sitting up at attention—your nipples perking up so much, you were thankful they were hidden beneath the water. Even your pussy gave a dull throb like she thought she might be getting some prime dick that night, and you had squeeze your thighs to stave off the ache.

While your body rioted in response, outwardly you did your best to give Steve the coolest look you could muster, making a show of rolling your eyes.

"Sure you're not, golden boy," you drawled, sarcasm dripping from your voice like icicles melting in the bright sun. 

You were rewarded by a flash of emotion in Steve's eyes—something like glee, but darker—but you were quickly distracted when he stood up, water sluicing obscenely down his chiseled chest. You tracked its descent like it was the most riveting thing you'd ever seen, and you only realized your mistake when Steve gave an amused snort. 

"Have you had sex in a hot tub, sunshine?" Steve asked, prowling slowly toward you, an evil, knowing smirk on his stupid, handsome face.

You hated the way your body lit up at the way the mocking pet name rolled off his tongue—the one he'd given you because you had such a sunny disposition around him. You hated how much you loved that Steve had a special nickname for you, but you stuffed those feelings down deep and tilted your chin at him in a challenge.

"Because I have."

Your brain short-circuited at that declaration, not noticing that Steve had gotten close enough to plant his hands on the edge of the hot tub on either side of your body. He leaned over you, caging you in with his body, but his closeness barely registered. 

You were too consumed by the jealousy blooming hot and bright, lodging deep in your ribcage like a burning knife, to notice his proximity. Your mind raced as you thought through all the other girls on the trip who Steve could've had sex with in the hot tub, and you saw red.

"Who did you fuck in a hot tub, Steve?" you demanded, glaring up at the man who occupied so much of your heart and mind, your voice little more than a possessive snarl.

He had the audacity to chuckle, looming over you with a smirk twisting his perfect mouth. "Are you jealous, sunshine?" he asked lightly, the tone of his voice daring you to deny it even though you both knew you were.

His question finally slapped some sense into you and you crossed your arms over your chest, trying to regain some of your emotional distance by sniffing haughtily and looking away. Steve’s eyes were too sharp, they saw too much, and you were suddenly terrified that not only did they see right through you, he’d been seeing right through you for years. 

"Of course not," you snapped, refusing to look at him as you scrambled for some other explanation for your question. "I'm just curious,” you said, giving a one-shouldered shrug like you couldn’t care less. “Whoever they are, they must lead a pretty boring life if they think fucking a golden boy like you in a hot tub is a good time."

At that, Steve growled, sounding furious as he leaned down, making the cage of his body smaller as he crowded you into the corner of the hot tub. Inexplicably, you weren’t scared of him. No matter how much you riled him up, you knew Steve would never hurt you. You…trusted him.

So you weren’t worried by his posturing. In fact, you were practically tickled by it, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from grinning triumphantly at getting a rise out of him. 

"I assure you, sunshine,” Steve bit out through gritted teeth. “Fucking me would be anything but boring, no matter where we do it."

Steve was trying to provoke you, and you knew you shouldn’t rise to the bait, but you couldn’t pretend you were unaffected by his words, by the way he made it sound like fucking him wasn’t just a possibility, but an inevitability. And, for a brief moment, you wanted it so badly, you could practically taste your desire in the cold, wintry night.

“Prove it, golden boy,” you snarled, trying to keep up the front that you didn’t want him, but it was a losing battle.

Despite your best efforts to remain calm, a shiver skated down your spine as you imagined Steve fucking you right there in that hot tub. You knew it would be good—if you knew nothing else, you knew that—and you couldn’t help but tremble at the thought, your body weak under the weight of your lust.

A rough, pleased sound came from Steve's throat, startling you out of your thoughts. Before you could figure out what it meant, he was grabbing your chin and turning you to face him, your head craned back while he loomed over you, still caging you in with his broad form and delicious heat.

Suddenly, his nearness wasn’t enough. You wanted him closer, you wanted every inch of his hard body pressed against your softer one. You wanted your paltry swimsuits to dissolve so you could feel his bare skin against yours, so there’d be nothing hindering him from lining himself up with your body and sinking inside until you begged for relief.

In that charged moment, your need was so exquisite, you nearly whined, but you bit it back at the last second, refusing to give Steve the satisfaction of knowing how much he’d gotten to you. Still, his blue eyes flashed like he knew exactly what he was doing to you—that your challenge for him to prove he could fuck you good was more than a furious rejoinder.

But before he could get to that, his expression softened, and his grip on your face became more affectionate. There was something he wanted to clear up before you continued your conversation, and it derailed you entirely.

“Don't worry, baby, I haven't fucked anyone else on this trip," Steve said, stroking his thumb along your lower lip. His voice was gentler than it had been, and you hated how his words soothed the jagged edges of your jealousy. "I was talking about a trip I took with Sharon back when we were together."

A snarl gathered at the base of your throat. You hated being reminded of Steve's ex-girlfriend, the one he’d been dating when you first met him and was a big reason why you didn’t want him knowing how you truly felt. 

But it was only you and Steve in that hot tub, and you felt laid bare beneath the intensity of his gaze. Before you could think better of it, a question fell from your lips.

"Was she good?" you asked, hating how small your voice sounded. 

It became immediately clear that you weren’t fooling Steve with your question—he knew what you were really asking: Was she better than you? It was a ridiculous question, since you and Steve had never fucked, but it revealed too much of your insecurity when it came to him. 

You tried to pull away from Steve's grip and turn your cheek to him as tears threatened to fall, but he gathered your face in both hands, his thumbs stroking softly over your cheeks. He held you reverently, grounding you back in the moment, and you found the strength to roll your eyes in an attempt to save face. 

"The hot tub sex, I mean,” you clarified, your voice only wavering a little. “Was it fun?"

Steve closed more of the meager space between your bodies, until his stomach was nearly brushing your chest, and tipped your head all the way back. He leaned down over you so there was no possible escape from the way his shoulders were bunched like a predator ready to pounce, his eyes darkened with desire. 

"If you promise to be a good girl, sunshine, I could show you just how good it can be to fuck in a hot tub."

It was on the tip of your tongue to say yes, your answer spurred by the way your pulse was throbbing insistently between your thighs. But at the last second, you remembered yourself, and you remembered you couldn't give in so easily to your brother's best friend. 

Somewhere deep inside your heart, you wanted Steve to earn you—and he could only do that if you continued pushing him. So that’s what you did.

"Why don't you show me what ya got, golden boy, and then I'll be the judge of how good it is," you taunted, hoping you weren’t pushing Steve too far.

You got a brief glimpse of bright delight and deeply buried affection flashing in Steve's eyes before he was moving. His mouth crashed down on yours in a kiss that was blisteringly hot from the moment it began, stealing all the air from your lungs and making you gasp from the sheer heat of it.

Steve kissed you like a feral beast that had finally been unleashed on the prey he'd been stalking for years, and you met his fervor with all the pent-up lust you'd been hiding since you'd first started crushing on your brother's best friend. 

The kiss was brutal, all clashing lips and nipping teeth, your desire finally unbound and untethered. Steve’s teeth sank deep into your lower lip, biting you hard enough to nearly draw blood, and in retaliation, you grabbed his face, pulling him closer and licking into his mouth like you were daring him to consume you.

With a bitten off growl, Steve crouched down and hooked an arm around your waist, spinning you around with him as he turned and sat down heavily on the bench of the hot tub. He manhandled your body so easily into the position he wanted, with you straddling his lap, it made you dizzy with desire. 

Once you were settled on his lap, you kept right on kissing him, your hands braced on his shoulders. Steve let out a muffled moan, his hand cupping the back of your head and kissing you deeper until you went wild. 

When he plunged his tongue into your mouth, seeking to claim the air straight from your lungs, you wrapped your lips around it and sucked on him obscenely, pulling him deeper into your hot mouth. You were rewarded by Steve’s low, tortured groan, and his hips kicking up between your thighs like he was overcome.

In answer, you spread your knees wide on the bench seat, grinding your pussy down on the hard ridge of his cock through your thin bathing suits. It felt so good—the hot, hard length of him pressing between your folds and rubbing so perfectly against your clit—that you finally pulled away from his kiss with a reckless moan.

"Oh, does that feel good, sunshine?" Steve asked, his voice teasing and mocking even through the huskiness of his own lust. While you gasped for air, he pressed heated kisses to the underside of your jaw and down the line of your neck. "Do you think my cock will feel even better when it's inside you?"

A needy, ravenous shiver skated down your spine and you let out an impatient snarl as you carded your fingers in the hair at the back of Steve's head, pulling him back from your neck so you could glare directly into his infuriating, gorgeous eyes.

"Shut up and fuck me already, golden boy," you bit out through snapping teeth, refusing to acknowledge just how desperate you were for him already, your pussy slippery and throbbing with need. "Or are you gonna make me do all the work myself?"

Something dangerous and hot flashed in Steve's eyes, his mouth twisting into a feral smirk, but he didn't move right away like you expected him to after your vicious provocation. Instead, he let you languish in the breathless moment, waiting to see what he would do.

"Oh sunshine, you really have no idea what you do to me, do you?" he rumbled, but didn't stop to let you answer before continuing, his eyes growing impossibly dark as his pupils blew wide, eclipsing the blue of his irises. "If you did, you wouldn't keep pushing me the way you do."

You didn’t know what he was talking about, so you resorted to taunting him. Rolling your eyes, you only had enough time to scoff out an "Oh please," before, suddenly, Steve was moving. 

You let out a startled little yelp as he stood, maneuvering your body deftly as he pried you away from his chest and spun you around beneath the churning water of the hot tub.

In a matter of seconds, Steve had you bent over, your knees planted on the bench, upper body hanging over the edge. It felt like you were about to topple out of the warm water entirely, and you were so off-balance that you might’ve, if not for the tight way Steve held onto your hips. 

You pushed yourself up, not fighting against Steve’s hold but wanting to sink further into him. Your shoulders collided with Steve’s chest, and he held you tightly against him, one arm banding around your waist. His other hand trailed up the center of your body, tugging the top of your bathing suit down until your tits popped free. 

You gasped as the cold air and icy snowflakes brushed over your heated skin. It was such a contrast from the warm water swirling around your thighs that your nipples peaked immediately. Throwing your head back against his shoulder, you arched your spine, offering yourself up to Steve’s touch—and he happily took everything you had to give.

He groped you brazenly on the deck of the chalet, and you were thankful that there wasn't any chance of the two of you being caught. You both faced the mountains, only the snow and darkness a witness to the obscene way your body shuddered beneath Steve’s rough handling of your tits.

His big hands kneaded your soft flesh, deft fingers pinching and plucking your nipples until you were moaning wantonly and grinding your ass back against his cock. As much as you enjoyed feeling him play with your tits, you hoped to urge him along until he was sliding himself inside you.

"God, I've dreamed of these tits for years, sunshine," Steve groaned in your ear, hanging his head over your shoulder so he could watch himself play with your nipples. "Knew I shouldn’t…You're my best friend's little sister, you should be off limits, but I couldn't fucking help myself."

"Steve," you cried, as much from his confession as the zings of pleasure tingling down your spine at the way he teased your tightened peaks so ruthlessly. 

The possibility that Steve had yearned for you just as long as you’d ached for him was too much to comprehend in that moment. It hurt just as much as it made you happy, and you didn’t have the capacity for the conflicting emotions. You just wanted more sensation—you wanted more of him. 

"Please, Steve,” you whimpered, squirming more insistently against his cock. You tried to reach between your bodies, to skate your palm down the firm line of his cock, but he batted your hand away and laughed as he redoubled his efforts on torturing your tits.

"Do you need something, baby?" he cooed mockingly against your cheek, his laugh ghosting over your skin and making you shudder hard in his arms. "Do you need my cock, huh? Need me to pound your tight, hot pussy like you’re my own personal fuck toy and make you cum all over my dick?"

Something in your brain broke hearing your brother’s best friend murmur such filthy things in your ear, and you let out a low, helpless moan as you melted into his strong arms and hard body. It was too fucking hot hearing Steve talk to you like that, and you finally gave in to him, unable to make it difficult for him any longer.

"Yes!" you cried, driven to desperation by your need for him. Your pussy was throbbing insistently between your thighs, and your nipples ached from his attention—and you still needed more. You needed him inside you so badly, you couldn’t think, could only beg. "Please, Steve,” you sobbed. “Please fuck me." 

Gentler than you expected, Steve kissed the tears spilling onto your cheeks, one hand collaring your throat just beneath your jaw so he could keep your face turned to the side for him. With the other, he shoved his swim trunks down and pulled the gusset of your bathing suit to the side. 

Before he could slide inside and put you out of your misery, though, Steve paused. Staring deep into your eyes, his voice turned serious as he spoke.

"I've been tested, I'm all good—are you on birth control, baby?" 

Steve's question swam in your mind for a moment before you could make sense of the words. When you did, a glimmer of gratefulness took root in your ribs, but you were too far gone to appreciate his thoughtfulness. Not when you were so close to getting what you most desperately wanted. So all you did was nod frantically.

"I'm on birth control, I got tested, I’m clear. I want to feel you bare, Steve, please," you babbled, your words tripping over each other in your haste to get them out, making you sound almost incoherent. "Fuck me raw, please, please, please, please.”

“That’s my good girl,” Steve groaned, his praise washing over you and warming you from the inside out. “Such a good fuck toy, telling me what you want and that you’re safe.” He pressed a kiss to your ravaged lips and you took it as the reward it was.

A pleased smile bloomed on your face even as your pussy clenched at the degrading name he called you. You never would’ve expected Steve to have such a filthy mouth, but you fucking loved it. And you were about to tease him for it, but then he was notching the head of his cock at your entrance and starting to push inside. 

"Oh fuck, baby,” he swore when your tight heat enveloped the tip of his cock. Burying his face against your neck, his hot mouth pressed to your thrumming pulse so you could feel his words burrow beneath your skin and fizzle through your bloodstream. “You feel better than I ever imagined. So tight you’re choking my dick, and so fucking warm—”

Steve cut himself off on a strangled grunt as he pushed deeper, your slick cunt clasping his hard shaft, enticing him further into your body. You sucked in a sharp breath, reveling in the way his hot, hard length was stretching you open, making room for himself in the most intimate part of your body.

“Ya like that, sunshine?” Steve rumbled against your ear, pausing long enough to bite the corner of your jaw and drag another pleasured cry from your lips. “You like the feel of my dick splitting you open, huh? Claiming this cunt like I fucking own it?” 

Steve’s voice was so rough and furious, you barely recognized it, but it was so hot—what he was saying and the tenor of his lust reverberating through your chest—that you never wanted him to stop. You didn’t have the breath to tell him to keep going, but somehow he knew, and he even upped the ante of the filthy things he was saying.

“Tell me how good it feels, sunshine,” Steve growled in your ear. “Tell me my cock feels better than anything you’ve ever had—tell me this pussy is all mine because no one’ll ever feel as good as I do inside you.”

If it weren’t for the fact that your brain was broken from how good Steve’s dick felt inside you, pushing deeper and deeper into your tight heat, until your entire being was focused on the feel of him, you might’ve bitten out some scathing reply about his possessiveness. But instead, it just ratcheted your need higher than you’d ever felt.

"Yuh huh, yuh huh," you babbled, your lips forming words before you could think them through—because Steve had already fucked you dumb on his cock and he hadn’t even started fucking you yet. “Feels sooo good, Steve. Feels like I was made for you—I was made to be fucked by you.”

“That’s fucking right,” Steve seethed, surging forward until he was almost entirely buried in your body. “You were made to be mine. My good girl, my fuck toy, mine—all fucking mine. Fuck, oh god, fuck." 

A litany of curses and obscene sounds of pleasure poured from Steve's mouth unbidden, and it was all you could do to join him, even as the air was knocked from your lungs by the exquisite feeling of his cock shoving into your cunt. He was almost there…just a little more.

When Steve finally bottomed out, his hips pressing flush against your ass, you felt overcome with relief, like you’d been waiting for years and finally—finally—you were right where you were supposed to be. You sucked in a deep breath of air and melted into Steve’s embrace as you exhaled. 

Your body sagged forward until you were hanging over the lip of the hot tub, and Steve followed you down. His hand stayed collared around your throat and his forehead pressed between your shoulder blades as his chest heaved and heavy breaths puffed against your spine. 

For a moment, the two of you stayed like that, basking in the feeling of being joined together so intimately and wrapped up in each other. Then Steve’s hand gripped your neck firmly, his other palm skimming down your side to anchor in the curve of your waist. 

"You ready, baby?" he asked in a voice so rough, it sounded like the growl of a snow plow on an icy road. 

"Just fuck me already, Steve," you whined weakly, putting up a fight with words even as your body fully submitted to Steve’s domination. But you weren’t paying as close attention to what you were saying as you should’ve, letting your true feelings for him slip through. "How many times do I have to beg—I want this, I've wanted you for years. Please!”

Steve’s reaction to your confession was instantaneous, his fingers digging into the sides of your throat, holding you tight enough to cut off any other provoking words you might utter. He growled a wordless, desperate vibration in your ear, sounding like he was unraveling—and yet he still held you like you were something precious.

Then, Steve's strong arms and powerful body shoved you forward, so your hips were pinned against the lip of the hot tub. The movement pushed your ass up out of the water and Steve lifted one of his feet onto the bench, giving him the leverage he needed to fuck you. 

"You've done it now, sunshine," Steve rumbled in your ear, pulling back until only the tip of him remained inside your grasping channel before surging forward and pounding into you hard.

All you could do was sit there and take it, a sound of pleasure bursting from your lips as your hot breath puffed into the midnight mountain air. You were pinned completely by Steve, unable to move—and you’d never been happier. You clung to the arm wedged between your tits, holding him tight while he lightly choked you and thrust into you again.

"I'm gonna fuck you so hard and so deep, you'll be feeling me in your cunt for fucking days, sunshine,” Steve seethed, his bared teeth pressed to your cheek so you could feel his feverish lust and desire on your skin. “And you're gonna take everything I give you with a smile and a 'thank you, sir.' Do you hear me?"

He punctuated his question with another rough slam of his hips, the sharp smacking sound of his skin against yours sounding loud in the quiet night. Thankfully, the snow blanketing the chalet muffled the obscene sounds of your fucking, swallowing them up in the darkness.

So you didn’t worry about staying quiet when your mouth fell open, intending to respond, only to discover you couldn't. Your breath was stolen by the delicious ruination Steve was delivering unto your body, and all the words you might've said fled from your lips.

"I said, ‘Do you fucking hear me,’ baby?” Steve demanded, slowing his thrusts and loosening the tight grip he held on your throat enough for you to answer. You’d never been more eager to give him what he wanted.

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir—thank you so much, sir," you babbled, unable to say anything else.

Steve huffed an all-too-self-satisfied chuckle, murmuring a patronizing, "Good girl," before his fingers tightened around your throat again and he resumed his brutal, punishing strokes. 

He choked you tenderly as he fucked you hard and fast, pounding into you until you were nothing but sensation—pleasure and pain riding you so hard you went cross-eyed staring out into the snowy mountain night. His cock was thick and hot, thrusting so deep it felt like he reached the very end of you, claiming your body as his territory. 

And your body was only too happy to be his, your pussy making the most indecent sounds as your inner walls gripped tight around his hardness. You could hear the obscene wet slaps of Steve’s cock hammering your cunt, and it only made you hotter, made you gush with more desire, until the sounds of your sopping pussy being fucked were loud in your ears.

Your pleasure ratcheted higher, until it was almost too much. Then, when you were teetering on the edge, Steve’s hand slipped from your hip to between your thighs. He rubbed your clit with a merciless determination you didn't know he possessed, shoving you right over the cliff of your pleasure. 

You let out a shattered, muffled scream as you came apart at the seams. Your entire vision went white and your throat went dry as all your muscles seized. All you knew, all you were, was blistering pleasure. And you came harder than you ever had in your entire life.

"That's it, baby, cum all over my cock,” Steve rumbled in your ear, tethering you back to earth as he fucked you through your release. “Be a good girl and give it to me, milk my dick with that tight cunt, suck my cock deeper into that greedy pussy.”

All you could do was exactly as he said, your body shaking, your pussy pulsing around his hard length. You were so far gone, it took you a moment to realize you were letting out desperate little gasps and whines, his hand having loosened on your throat so your sounds of pleasure could spill freely from your lips.

Steve pressed his feral grin against your cheek, thrusts falling out of rhythm as he chased his release in your body. “You want my cum, sunshine?” he muttered against your skin. “Want me to fill you up so deep that you'll be dripping my cum down your thighs for days, huh?"

"Yes, please, sir," you rasped, your voice ragged from pleasure. You didn’t think, just answered him honestly, baring your soul for him in a way you never would have before. "Mark me, claim me—my pussy is yours, Steve. I’m all yours.”

"Oh fuck—fuck, baby," Steve groaned like he was overcome by your admission. He thrust hard into your cunt and began grinding deep, enjoying the way your inner walls rippled and sucked his hard length like your body was trying to pull him deeper. "Who do you belong to—say it again, sunshine."

"You, sir," you gasped, and when he bit out an unhappy sound through clenched teeth, you went on, babbling, "My body, my heart, my soul belongs to Steven Grant Rogers."

"Fucking right—that’s my fucking girl,” Steve growled, the words so righteous and satisfied that your heart thumped in your chest. “You’re all mine, just like I’m all yours, sunshine,” he rumbled right before sinking his teeth into the skin of your shoulder and exploding inside you. 

Steve's big body shuddered and pinned you hard to the edge of the hot tub, his hand around your throat bracing you against his chest while he fucked you full of his cum, his hips grinding so deep in your cunt that it set off another, smaller release in your body. 

You moaned as you came right along with him, dizzy from his confession that had so quickly followed yours. You were his—a truth you’d known a long time—but he was yours too. It almost seemed too good to be true, but then Steve repeated it.

“You own me, body and soul, baby,” Steve murmured, pressing kisses to your cheek, your chin, the corner of your mouth, anywhere he could reach. “You hold my heart in the palm of your hands, sunshine. Be gentle with me.”

The weight of his words settled deep in your heart and you smiled, a true, joyful smile before turning your head and capturing Steve’s mouth in a kiss. It was so much softer and sweeter than the first one you’d shared. 

The battle between you was over. You’d laid yourselves bare and been accepted, flaws and all, and all that was left was to rejoice. So you reveled in Steve’s kiss, in the simple pleasure of being open and honest together.

For long, languid moments, you hung suspended in time, your body so disgustingly sated that all you could do was let out a contented sigh and keep kissing Steve, the corners of your mouth curling up with a smile. He huffed a soft laugh against your lips, winding down the kiss until he pulled away.

Steve looked so deliciously wrecked, his blond hair mussed, his cheeks an adorable shade of pink and his mouth looking so plump from your kisses that it made you want to ruin him more. At that thought, your pussy throbbed with renewed lust around Steve’s softening cock, and you had to hide a smile in your shoulder when his dick gave an answering twitch.

"You gonna take me back to your room so we can do that again, golden boy?" you tried to snark at Steve, but your voice was too breathless for the comment to have much of heat. Instead, you came off sounding desperate, though it was worth it from the way his eyes sharpened on your face.

Steve captured your mouth in a searing, conquering kiss, only pulling away when you’d melted back into submission—though you both knew it wouldn't last for long. Even if you were done hiding your feelings from Steve, that didn’t mean you were going to stop provoking him, especially when it led to such delicious consequences.

"First, tell me one thing, sunshine—admit it was good."

Steve looked so serious, like your answer really meant something to him, that you knew you couldn’t lie. But you could still play with him, just a little bit, right?

So you heaved a beleaguered sigh, making a show of thinking about it, drawing out the moment to annoy him. But when you caught Steve's eye over your shoulder and found a little furrow of unease forming between his brows, you knocked it off and gave him a shy smile. 

"It was better than good," you confessed in a whisper, so only Steve and the cold, mountain night were witness to your admission.

The uncertainty cleared from Steve’s face immediately, and his mouth broke out in a broad, self-satisfied grin. You couldn't help yourself, your smile turning impish, the only warning of what was to come out of your mouth. 

"It was a spectacular performance, golden boy,” you teased, delight sparking in your belly when Steve’s eyes darkened with lust at the nickname. “But I think I need a repeat before I can determine whether it was a one-off or not."

Steve's laugh was loud and incredulous, bouncing off the mountains and filling your heart with joy. He shook his head at you as he helped you up off the lip of the hot tub.

“You’re a menace, sunshine,” he growled, but there was no heat to his words, only the warmth of affection. 

With his arms wrapped around your waist to keep your bodies connected, his cock staying nice and warm in the heat of your cunt, Steve sat down on the bench of the hot tub, gathering you up in his lap and holding you close. 

Before he could kiss you, you giggled, your hands cupping his handsome face. “But I’m your menace.” 

“Damn, right,” Steve muttered moments before kissing you. 

It was slower and sweeter than ever before and you let a soft moan slip from your lips as you melted into Steve’s arms, savoring his kiss and the warmth of the hot tub.

When he finally pulled away, Steve stared deep into your eyes, all his affection for you etched into every line of his face. You stared at him with your own expression open, so he could see how much you adored him right back. 

"Don't you worry, sunshine,” Steve murmured, his thumb stroking reverently over the curves of your face, like he was committing it to memory. “I’ll give you as many repeat performances as it'll take for you to understand just how good I am for you.”

Although his words sounded like a dare, Steve said them so sweetly, they sounded like a promise—one that had your heart thudding harder in your chest. Unable to stop yourself, you beamed at him.

"Prove it, golden boy," you challenged, your voice husky with need, as you began grinding your ass on his lap and clenching your cunt around his cock. 

Steve went a little cross-eyed and he let out a tortured groan. You used his distraction to give him one more kiss, then slipped off his cock—feeling more than a little bereft without the hot, hard length of him inside you—and clamored out of the hot tub. 

On trembling legs, you darted toward the chalet, intent on your next time with Steve being in a bed. Just as you were flinging open the sliding door of the deck, you heard water sloshing as Steve launched himself into pursuit.

In seconds, Steve was hot on your heels, chasing you through the chalet and up to his room, where the two of you fell into bed. You were still slick with his cum and your renewed desire, and he buried his dick deep in your cunt with one stroke, setting a brutal pace as he murmured sweet words in your ear about how good you felt on his cock.

For the rest of the night, he proved to you just how perfect he was and by the time dawn broke over the mountains, you were utterly and irrevocably gone for him. You fell asleep entwined together, Steve’s cock still buried in your pussy, right where he was always meant to be.

From that night on, your heart belonged to the golden boy you’d antagonized for so many years, and he went to great lengths to keep it safe and prove he was deserving of your devotion. As if that wasn’t enough, he gave you his heart in return.

Steve Rogers was all yours—and you cherished him for the rest of your life.