🩵

“words, use them,” leon orders, though his tone stays gentle. his fingertips squeeze your legs, dimpling into your skin as not only a reminder that he’s waiting but a tender reassurance that although he’s giving you instructions, he’s not mad that you forgot to give him a verbal answer, “need t’hear it, baby,”

“yes,” you whisper promptly but much to your dismay leon clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and shakes his head. confusion knits across your forehead as he cocks his head to the side and raises an eyebrow at you and it takes a second but once you get it, your cheeks flush, “oh—yes, daddy,”

leon chuckles at the deepened shade of red that paints across your face, “good girl,” he drawls, knowing that it’ll only make you get hotter underneath the surface of your skin. he separates your thighs slowly and with ease, letting them fall apart while he leans forwards to drag his lips over your body 

he starts at the side of your kneecap and works downwards, pressing soft kisses all the way down to your hip. a gasp catches in your throat as his warm breath fans over your bare pussy but he pays you no attention—not there at least—before he grazes his teeth over the inside of your other thigh

it’s not sharp or at all painful and yet, you jump and instinctively reach down to weave your fingers into his hair. leon knows what he’s doing and knows exactly how to rise a reaction out of you so when he pulls back to kneel between your thighs, he’s smirking something filthy and clearly very pleased with himself 

his palms push against your thighs, shoving them all the way back until the upper part of your legs are flush against your ribcage—a position you weren’t aware that you could be put into until leon came into your life. with your thighs parted, your pussy spreads wide with a little slick sound that makes leon grunt 

“fuck—there she is,” he groans fondly as his eyes flicker down to your core. his pupils blow wide and the blue of his eyes darkens with lust while his tongue darts between his lips. from your point of view, he looks like an animal admiring his prey, like he’s going to ruin you and swallow whole and knowing him, he just might

a whine erupts in your chest as you squirm under his gaze. you feel exposed, more than you ever have done before, but never once do you feel uncomfortable—leon always makes sure of it. his affinity for you and your body is one thing but his attraction to his inspections is another and it’s highly contagious 

heat blooms throughout your cunt and it’s very closely followed by the tell-tale warmth of slick that pools inside of and then overflows from your clenching hole. you moan breathily as you feel it trickle down your skin and watch as leon’s eyes track it until it soaks into the couch cushions beneath your ass 

“wet already—i haven’t even done anything yet,” leon hums a lie that causes you to wriggle. he has done something, he’s always doing something that has your cunt dripping with want. in fact, he could probably do nothing at all and you would still find yourself soaking—you’re just perpetually wet with him in your life

“have,” you correct him with a huff that’s petulant and annoying, though you can’t find it within yourself to care as your fingertips curl into the roots of his hair and tug. it’s a barely there pull and leon doesn’t really react to it but the second you do it, you regret it and know full well that you’ll pay for it later one way or another 

however—for now—leon ignores your touch to give you his own. against the most outer parts of your pussy, leon’s thumbs stroke outwards, stretching you even wider for his viewing pleasure. his eyes focus on your clit for a moment while it throbs and then flit down to your hole before he starts to blow cool air over you

it breezes up and down the center of your cunt slowly and in a straight line that connects his two main points of interest. bumps scatter over your thighs as a shiver runs the length of your spine and makes your entire body shudder, which is strange because you’re practically sweating with anticipation 

leon puffs even more cold air over you as he whistles low, “she’s real pretty, sweetheart,” he says, low and much too calm considering that his intense stare is directed right to where you’re clenching in a—so far, futile—attempt to entice him into doing something—anything

“yeah?” you breathe eagerly, indulging in his praise while actively searching for more. sometimes leon calls you greedy for it but the way it makes your brain fizzle with a pleasant sort of static is addictive. he knows just what to say and when to say it, knows exactly what you need to hear to keep you pliant and docile underneath him, so really, it’s all his fault that you want more

“yeah—prettiest little thing i’ve ever seen,” leon reiterates and before you have the chance to react, he dips forwards and wraps his lips around your clit in a sloppy—but fleeting—kiss. you hiss through gritted teeth as your thighs try to snap shut but leon is much faster than you

his extensive training works wonders for your sex life. he can predict when you’re going to move and can very easily prevent it before you’ve even managed to register that you're moving. his hands grab at your thighs, holding them in place against the couch, even as you writhe against him 

“don’t you dare—keep them there,” he orders whilst digging his fingertips into you harshly enough to leave small dotted bruises that you’ll find for days to come. he jerks his head away from your touch afterwards, prompting your hands to fall out of his hair, “hold them open—now, angel,” he huffs 

your whine gets ignored but you know better than to test his patience and so, your hands slide around your thighs and then slot into the backs of your bent knees—where leon’s hands were earlier—to do exactly as he says without a single complaint but definitely with a frown that’s very pointed 

after a moment of silence, a test that you pass with flying colors, leon  spreads your cunt wide again. his attention returns to your clit, that’s now covered in a glistening sheen of his spit, “bet she aches—huh—throbbing like that,” he purrs and ever so gently ghosts the pad of his thumb against you 

the simple sensation it creates causes your body to tense up and then relax back into it just as quickly while you hum a sound that’s something vaguely agreeable. your jaw hangs open and your lashes flutter against your cheeks as you indulge in the back and forth sweep of his thumb but then, it stops abruptly 

“words—i won’t tell you again,” leon warns 

“yes—fuck—yes, it aches so bad,” you blurt out through a moan that must satisfy him at least a little bit because his thumb settles back over your clit and starts to rub in little circles. your back arches away from the couch and another wave of slick spills from your hole to add to the puddle that’s growing under you 

“mhmm,” leon hums, laced with a faux type of contemplation that he often uses during his inspections, “that’s normal—especially since she’s so needy,” he mumbles under his breath and begins to take the circles wider and really draw them out whilst applying enough pressure to make your eyes roll back 

pleasure seeps through your veins and burns at the tip of every nerve ending that your body contains. short gasps and whimpers fall from the tip of your tongue and echo in the space around you while leon’s fingertips press deeper and circle ever so slightly faster above your steadily pulsing hole 

“she likes that,” leon observes when his eyes flicker down to see the evidence of your arousal, “what about this?” he murmurs as he takes your clit between his forefinger and thumb and pinches softly. a choked sob pulls from your throat and your thighs tremble against your palms—just more displays of your arousal for leon’s consideration, “good—and this?” 

every day—every single day—leon carries out the exact same inspection meticulously. the same routine, the same tests, and still, when his palm strikes your clit in a tame slap, it makes you flinch. by now, you should’ve learnt to expect it—you should remember it—but you never do. it always catches you off guard 

“fuck—oh my god,” you yelp as the spank stings your sensitive clit in the most satisfying way. your nails dig into the flesh of your thighs, creating half moon indents that’ll definitely hurt when your hand eventually shifts but you don’t care when leon soothes your twitching clit with a gentle kiss that makes you whine 

tears flood your waterlines and blur your vision of the older man, “perfect—as usual,” he hums as the shadowed shape of him leans to one side. you can’t see him properly but you can still feel his touch while he lightly bites your calf muscle and then relieves it with a kiss, “let’s see what else my girl has f’me,” 

leon’s thumb traces slowly downwards from your clit, eliciting your disgruntled whines over the loss of his touch against your demanding bundle of nerves. the presence of his thumb hovers over you and it’s dizzying to know that he’s so close but still not quite there. you could beg, could prove to him that you are greedy and insatiable but leon is already well aware 

he circles your hole slowly, outlining the thin and sensitive skin that has pulled taut with how wide your thighs are still stretched. your eyes clench and squeeze a fresh wave of tears over your cheeks while the breath in your lungs expels itself in a wobbly half whimper and half sob 

“she’s needy too?” leon coos, dripping with what anyone else would mistake for sympathy. it’s not that, it’s never that because it’s said with a smirk and a telling sparkle in his eyes. he’s loves watching you become ruined underneath him and as you do, you almost miss that he asked you a question

“oh god—yes,” you cry out as the slide of his thumb gets easy with the copious amount of slick that you have to offer. your pussy contracts with him that close to where you want him and slick coats his knuckles and fingertips, letting him inadvertently smear it across your thighs whilst his thumb orbits you

“god damn—pretty fuckin’ girl,” leon growls mostly to himself and whether he’s talking about you as a whole or just your cunt—you don’t know and you don’t care to ask, you whimper all the same anyway, “so messy and it’s all for me,” he groans and this time, he’s not asking, he’s stating—he knows it’s for him

still though, you answer, “all for you—always for you,” 

“yeah—i know angel,” leon chuckles at you working yourself into a state, even though he’s the culprit of it all. both of his thumbs brush against your pussy and set your body alight as he uses them to hold your hole open and make it gape, “bet she tastes real fuckin’ sweet too,” he adds, although it’s not an afterthought, while he licks his lips. animal. prey. 

you nod frantically. it’s all you can do as you fight the urge to let go of your thigh and pull him face first into your pussy with your fingers twisted deep into the roots of his hair. the mere thought of his tongue against you makes your hole weep and leon watches it happen as you watch cogs turn in his brain and then, he loses the battle he’s having within himself and dives in

he laps at your entrance like a—well, like an animal. it’s sloppy and messy, there’s no grace to any of it. he moans into you like he truly has just tasted the sweetest thing he has ever come across while your back curves and your fingertips struggle to find purchase against your thighs that so desperately want to clamp down around his head as he licks a stripe up to your clit 

around his mouth and the prickly stubble that covers his jaw is shiny with your slick and you can see it pooling on his tongue where he’s gathered it up just before he spits it lazily over your clit and watches it drip back down to your hole, “knew it—she’s always so sweet f’me,” leon grunts

each word is accentuated with a lick and a peck to your clit that rages a wildfire around your spine and winds the coil in your stomach a little bit tighter. it’s like electricity zapping through your body but it’s still nowhere near enough to satisfy you and you’re too far gone to think any less of yourself for begging 

“please—it hurts,” you sniffle pathetically as the space between your scalp and brain fills with cotton wool and clouds that refuse to let your thoughts make it to your mouth in one piece. leon appears to get it though, his eyebrow raises and one of his thumbs returns to slipping around your hole

“poor thing,” leon coos—no, teases—as he reverses the motion he’s doing to go the other way, “where does it hurt—can you tell me?” he asks and reaches up to swipe tears from your cheek with a knuckle on his freehand, “does it hurt here?” he questions, pressing the pad of his thumb deeper into your rim

your head shakes and your breath hitches. whilst what he's doing feels incredible, it’s not where the ache is beginning to tighten and pull at your muscles, “ah—okay—maybe here then,” leon murmurs and before your brain can work out what he said, his thumb pushes past your entrance and slides into your heat 

you make a noise—a moan, a yelp, a sob, any guess is as good as yours—over the sudden intrusion. there’s no familiar stretch and he’s still far away from the ache but it’s something, “deeper, i need—please go deeper,” you sob as leon shallowly thrusts his thumb into you, barely pulling out and barely going any further 

“ungrateful,” leon sighs and snatches his hand back, making his thumb slip free of your body with a wet pop. you want to wail and thrash as he takes the feeling that was dulling the ache with him but you can’t whilst you try your hardest to keep hold of your legs and keep air steadily filtering into your lungs 

“no—no, i’m just—daddy,” you stumble over your words and blink rapidly to clear your vision to be able to see him properly. your eyes burn and your cheeks are starting to get sore and you’re at the end of your tether with his teasing, “please—daddy—it hurts, need you to fix it, ple—”

your desperate ramble gets cut off and morphs into a strained mewl while your heartbeat pounds against your eardrums as two of leon’s thick fingers slide into your cunt with no preamble. you clench around him on instinct, trying to trap him there and suck him deeper—even though you can feel his knuckles against you 

the stretch that you so badly missed earlier comes now in an all consuming ignition that makes your eyes pinch shut and your lips form into a silent—oh. when your eyes eventually open, you jerk in surprise because leon is standing above you, hovering with his free hand clutching the back of the couch and his knees pressing into the backs of your thighs, nudging your hands away roughly 

“this what you wanted—did i find the ache, sweet girl?” he growls while your hands yank at his shirt to pull him lower over you. his fingertips curl deep inside of you to find that soft spot that only he can reach and can treat so well and when he finds it, he strokes against it—hard, “go on, answer me,”

wholeheartedly—you’d love to but you can’t. your jaw hangs and your eyebrows furrow as the air gets punched out of your lungs with every drag of his fingers. you can feel him in your stomach, up in your chest and everywhere else as you blink up at him and shake with your sobs—you’re ruined and it makes leon grin

breathy moans make your chest heave as the room around you fills with the sound of your sloppy cunt accommodating leon’s fingers as they start to plunge in and out of your pussy. with every thrust, he nails his fingertips against the ache that’s dull and bruising but so—so—good that all you can do is turn into a whimpering, whining mess underneath him

“oh—i know,” leon purrs when your eyes search his, “look how well she’s taking me angel, s’like she was made just for me,” he drawls with a voice that’s like honey while he lets you pull him even closer until the tips of your noses bump together, “perfect fuckin’ cunt on a perfect fuckin’ girl—fuck,” 

leon tilts his head before he’s finished talking and crushes his mouth against yours, causing his last word to muffle somewhere in between you and him as he gives you a kiss that’s all tongue and teeth. it’s not supposed to be a good kiss—far from it in fact. it’s raw and instinctual. an animal and his prey. 

your chin tips up to chase him into it as he laps over your bottom lip and then licks messily over the underside of your tongue before he pulls back and puts just inches of space between you, “stick it out—shit—yeah, just like that,” leon huffs when your tongue lolls out so that he can spit into your mouth 

he tastes like you. he tastes like your slick and your arousal and you didn’t realise it when he was kissing you but you realise it now as your head tips back and you moan wantonly. molasses replaces your veins, making your limbs heavy and your eyelids pull down until they’re closer to being shut than open but all you care to see is leon above you and that’s enough 

a gasp catches in your throat as his thumb sweeps over your clit in time with the unrelenting thrust of his fingers. the pace he’s set it unlike any other and if you use every bit of focus that you have left, you can see the veins in his arms popping and protruding from his tanned skin—it makes your mouth water 

“m’gonna need you to come, sweetheart,” leon pants as his eyes flicker down to the bulge in his jeans. he’s rock hard and straining against the denim but he never touches himself until he’s made you come—at least—once, “gotta make sure she can still take it—yeah?” he asks, though you know it’s not up for debate 

leon’s patience is thinning to a place where it’ll be beyond repair and truthfully, so is yours. his ask isn’t a big one, not when you consider the fact that every curl of his fingertips, every thrust of his fingers, every filthy wet sound that follows them, is hurtling you towards the edge of your orgasm 

he knows that though. he can feel the clench of your pussy and how your heartbeat thrums through it. he can feel your clit throb and twitch underneath the pad of his thumb and if that wasn’t enough, he can see your half lidded eyes and hear your moans as they come in quicker succession than they did before 

there’s something else though. something deep inside of you that has been building patiently through all of his touches. it’s a hot pit that pushes back against his fingertips as he seats them ever so deep inside of you and furiously makes a—come here—motion which pushes you right to the edge and almost shoves you right off of it 

your eyes blow wide and you scramble to sink your hands into the couch cushions to push the top half of your body up. the new position puts leon’s fingers at a slightly different angle, one that feels better than anything else you’ve ever felt and one that has you choking on a gasp that doesn’t let you get your words out 

“there it is—come sweetheart,” leon groans to finish you off. his words are distant as you willingly jump from the edge and tip your forehead against his chin. searing white flashes behind your eyelids and your eardrums thump while your cunt spasms around his fingers that don’t stop pressing upwards 

whatever he’s recklessly searching for, he must find with the flood of warmth that gushes from your pussy, “there—just like that—‘atta girl,” leon murmurs into your hair, still distant, as you keen and cry out but leon doesn’t stop even then and when your eyes flutter open with a struggle, you see exactly why 

the front of his jeans is soaked and the denim is stained darker from the seemingly never ending stream that he’s prying from your body like his life depends on it. your orgasm is starting to wane and overstimulation is lingering and waiting to pounce but you can’t stop, now now and not when leon growls 

“more—more—keep going,” he orders and your body begins to vibrate. you clamp down around him like a vice as your whimpers become nothing but a scratch in the back of your throat. it could be seconds, minutes or even hours of him wringing you dry but eventually, you have nothing left to give and finally, it ends, “good girl—did so fucking good,” leon whispers 

your body sags back into the couch with a thud and your thighs don’t even have the strength left to pull together, leaving your swollen cunt on display for leon while he carefully withdraws his soaking wet fingers. your body is a live wire but your brain has long since switched off and everything feels right, it feels good. even when leon slaps your pussy and utters,

“now—let’s see if she can do that around my cock,”

thanks for reading! remember to like! reblog! and comment! i’ll give you a kiss if you do, mwah ily! send prompts to my ask box!

Also happened with liquor, and an excessive streak of the punishing hours at the gym—build as much solid mass on his arms, he persisted.

So yeah, sensible, given the circumstances.

Rational, even, when his capacity for obsession started to redirect itself the moment a new target is acquired. Barreling straight towards you.

Or your panties, specifically.

Although the entirety of you is a perfectly justifiable thing to lose his mind over. It just so happens that your own little habit for pretty underwear has easily rubbed off on him. From silk to lace to whatever impractical mesh he happily bleeds his bank accounts for. Numbers he quickly discovered ran obscenely high for a few measly inches of thread.

Not that he minds. You like to call him your sugar daddy whenever he catches you hesitating over a ridiculously expensive set, and he’d simply shrug and slide you his card in return. Maybe he is. Kind of. He’s your boyfriend above all else, but if his urge to keep you spoiled rotten qualifies him for the role, then maybe the title isn’t so wrong.

Also doesn’t hurt that every dime spent ultimately works in his favor. Every purchase is perfectly rational when he gets to peel his money's worth right off your skin. Gets to appreciate how a splash of color and fabric can accentuate every curve of your body.

He views red as undeniably sexy. Blue as soft and sweet, and thinks black is a staple that never fails. You always look gorgeous in every color of the rainbow. Divine charm, very easy on the eyes.

But this purple. This damn bruised shade of plum hugging your hips has him crossing the room to haul you onto his desk before he’s even made a conscious decision to move. The stack of reports he’s already been neglecting for a week goes completely shoved aside. Now he’s got you sprawled on your back, looking entirely too satisfied with yourself for finally breaking his focus.

Smart girl, weaponizing his own money to sabotage his productivity.

It doesn’t take much prompting for him to map the familiar lines of your body, dragging his fingers over the delicate lace until his thumb pushes over your sheer-clad breast, pinching a tight nipple.

“This new?”

He smiles when you squirm, watching the way your eyes slant over him. “Mhm. D’you like it?”

His mouth quirks higher. What a redundant question to even entertain, as if being asked whether he prefers a clear line of sight, or if he's happy to find a fully loaded rifle when he’s backed into a corner. It’s basically a fundamental law of nature for him at this point. Lacking appreciation for the way the thin stretch of fabric barely covers your crotch isn't even a possibility.

And that little triangle is downright taunting him, doing absolutely nothing but draw his attention. He finds himself taking a sufficient moment to fully appraise what’s in front of him, letting out a rough breath through his nostrils as he grips the edge of the lace. Pulls it up snugly between your folds.

Fuck if it doesn’t make his cock stir.

You’re awfully wet and swollen and he finds guilt gnawing at him for not tending to you much sooner. An idiot, really, can be too blind when he gets caught up in his own head. Quite the irony when he’s typically so attuned to your moods.

When you’re hungry for affection, you’re quick to cling your arms around his neck while settling on his lap. Yearning for comfort, you bury yourself against his chest to chase the solid thud of his heartbeat.

Desperation runs in your blood when you’re fully aroused.

Like what you’re doing now, he acknowledges. With that impatient heat in your eyes and thighs spread wide apart, openly offering yourself on a silver platter like a five-star meal.

He slacks comfortably back in his chair. Ask and you shall receive, because Leon is inherently a selfless person, hardwired to assist any person in distress with a reflex so deeply ingrained in his bones. You’re writhing so restlessly towards his open mouth that his only instinct is to give in.

The first kiss has you shuddering. The second draws a weak gasp from your throat. For the third, your fingers tangle into his hair.

There’s no gentle fourth kiss that follows because he starts making out with your pussy. Drinks you in to quench his parched taste buds. Devours the taste of intoxicating musk and damp skin, of warm arousal and delicate salt, rich flavors that continuously drool into his mouth as he grinds his tongue flat against your panties.

Can’t even be bothered to peel the thing away. Sure, the fabric scratches right along his jaw, but it does absolutely nothing to stop him from finding your clit. Sweet little thing growing desperately hard with the greedy pull of his lips.

Your nails bite sharply into his scalp. “Fuck, b-baby, I’m gonna—”

He quickly draws back, and your hands immediately clench tight against his roots.

“Babe.”

His amused laughter lingers on your skin as he gently unwinds your grip. Brings your hand down to his lips to press a kiss into your palm. “I know, honey. Promise I'll give it to you.”

You let out a keening whine. “This is not the right time to edge me.”

Leon huffs out another chuckle.

He begs to differ, actually. Not because he genuinely enjoys being a sadist. No, of course not. Ignoring you for the better part of the day already has him feeling awful enough. By way of making amends, the least he can do is be generous—selfless, as he likes to consider himself. Put you out of your goddamn misery.

But a little dragging out couldn’t possibly hurt. He couldn’t touch you all day, couldn’t even look at you properly, so why not take his time now?

Just an extra minute to be greedy, he insists. A few more seconds to admire the state he’s left you in. From the perky jut of your tits behind the see-through mesh to the dark, soaked fabric caught between your dripping pussy. Gooey honey he can still taste on the back of his tongue.

He presses his mouth to your belly, under your heart, over it. Then stands to his full height, tugs the waistband of his sweats down an inch and lets his heavy length spring free.

“Baby, come on.” You track the thick line of him, then mewl when he gives himself a stroke. “Just fuck me already.”

He pushes into you over the flimsy lace. “Like this?”

“Fuck—fuck.” Your hips grind back, partially trying to swallow him right through the damp material. “Take it off.”

“I will."

He does, by pulling the material aside, smoothly sliding back the rich purple that compliments your bare skin. It brings out the natural glow of your damp thighs, highlights the slickness coating your exposed pussy. Swollen folds so thoroughly glazed he adds his own spit, driven by another stubborn compulsion of his to see you absolutely drenched.

You can do it, right? Wet his cock to the point he barely has to put in any effort to slide in?

He starts by giving your sensitive opening a rhythmic taptaptap with his tip. Settles with rubbing the blunt length of it through the wetness he spent so much time admiring. He admires the way you submit to him, too, letting him manhandle your thighs a fraction wider. Takes whatever scraps of friction he decides to give with a soft grace.

A lot of patience, he decides. And the kissing cousin to patience is tenacity.

Your hips give a tiny roll. He smiles—grins, even. It’s hard not to when you’re strung out and teetering so precariously on the edge of the desk, fighting gravity itself to grind against him. He rewards your effort with a slow thrust, finally letting the thick crown sink into your hole.

Slowly, steadily. Watches the way he’s splitting you open, barely, before letting himself savor the sensation of you clenching around the little inch of him buried inside. Incredibly warm, so fucking tight.

His eyes travel along your body, comes to a stop to watch the distortion of your pretty face. Eyes heavy and drooping as if you’re barely conscious, your lips parted in a breathless sigh.

“Sweetheart,” he drawls in a gravelly purr. “You’re trying to swallow me.”

An incoherent noise of pure desperation spills past your lips.

“You want all of it?” Your head jerks in a nod, he does the same. “Okay, okay. You'll get it, honey, don’t worry.”

Later, he adds to himself. Later, when you’re drenching his thighs in so much slick. He settles with rutting against your tightest ring of muscle, instead, relishing the sloppy sound that blends with your high-pitched whines and the destructive crinkle of whatever document you’re currently crushing in your fist.

“I—shit," you whimper. “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, tosses a damp piece of hair across his brow. “Ruin everything for all I care.”

You huff out a small, thin laugh. “But you’ve worked so hard on it.”

“I can work hard on it again.”

Your smile is sweet and soft as your hands blindly paw into the empty air, searching for some leverage that doesn’t end in shredding the rest of his papers. He groans when they find purchase on your chest. Moans even louder when you unceremoniously yank the cups down, holding greedy handfuls in your palms.

“That’s it, play with ‘em,” he rasps. “Show me.”

You do, and it takes a huge amount of effort for him not to blow his load right there and then. He could. He would. Yeah, he definitely would. It’s become an ingrained habit for him to empty himself while being buried deep inside you. Stopped buying condoms the first time you guided him bare.

He’s never looked back since then. Might be a kink of his, come to think of it. The sensation of becoming entirely one with you, of leaving a warm part of his very soul that it feels like the ultimate culmination of a hundred different overlapping obsessions. Your immaculate taste in underwear, the very intoxicating taste of you.

Your voice. The deliberate way you pronounce his name. Your restless, wandering hands now gripping your chest, hard nipples peaking between keen fingers.

The sound your body is making. Squelching and sloshing and spilling and dripping as you openly drown in your own pleasure.

You’re wet enough, he decides. Although it doesn’t stop him from gathering a thick pool of saliva behind his teeth again. Lets the string of drool land directly onto your clit before his thumb lands right on top of it. Swirls the little nub with eager eyes as he visibly drinks in another spill of arousal leaking right through the desperate clench of your cunt.

Clench, unclench. Suck, squeeze, hold. You’re practically making a mess on his desk, squirming erratically against the wood in your own puddle the second he quickens the pressure of his thumb.

He wonders if you can cum with just the tip of his cock and the focused burn on your clit.

You show him that you can. Easily. With a tremor that forcefully smears your slickness further across the polished mahogany while your back bows sharply and your eyes roll back in absolute delirium. Watching you swim in a mindless haze is enough to shatter whatever control he had left.

He cums easily, too. Does so by dropping his head with a wildly heaving chest as he quickly strokes the remaining inches of his cock. Pleasure melts right into his bones, as does his cum, spilling hot and thick inside you before letting it overflow across your stretched folds, along the quivering juncture of your legs.

He makes sure it seeps into the edge of your panties. White on purple. Like a painter aggressively smearing his living canvas by swirling your arousal and his cum and his trail of hot saliva into one glob of a creamy mess.

He spits again. Because he can't help himself.

And you laugh. Weak and fond and amused while you lean back on your elbows to watch him obsess over his art.

“You’re such a perv, you know that?”

He does, there’s no point in denying it. But admittedly, he's your perv. And you are his, considering you’re already trying to swallow him whole the moment he tries to nudge back in. Sure, his obsessive streak can be a little overwhelming for polite society, a definite negative for most people to handle. But it’s a good thing two distinct negatives have always made a positive.

Reasonable, then, when it's both of you in the equation.

“What?” you hiccup.

“You’re shivering.”

As if to prove his point, his hands—calloused and strong from years of use—dance along your sides. They move from the dip of your hips to where your breasts bulge at their sides.

Sighing, you say, “Well, when you do that…” and bury your face into the mattress.

Leon laughs and your body absorbs it like it’s your own. As if your bones are conductors, the sound sends an addictive jolt to the pulsing organ in your chest and between your thighs.

“We don’t have to do this, you know, if you’re too nervous.”

You’re quick to shake your head and even quicker to arch back into him. A little absently, you think then about how in this position, you two slot perfectly together—like you were made to fit.

“Want to,” you add weakly. “Wanna do this with you, Lee. Please.” For good measure (as if your words in all their breathy, whiney nature weren’t indicative of how you felt), you start to roll your hips back. Leon groans loud.

His flushed, hot tip rests just inches away from your weepy hole. He watches you flutter on nothing; as the slick pooling there catches the silvery moonlight strobing through the bedroom window. You look so pretty like this, he thinks. God-sent and lovely and all his. To take, to have, to hold…

Your hips move again, slowly, dangerously, and Leon stops you with a hard hand to the dip of your spine, making you squeak. “Baby…” he warns.

“Leon, please. Please, honey…wan’ you so much.”

Leon inhales, all sharp and shaky. “Alright…yeah, yeah, okay. …Whatever you want, baby.” He kisses your spine once more as he crawls up your body.

With his thighs bracketing yours, he pushes down on you with the hard line of his abs. His pecs—all swollen and round and slick with sweat—cement to your shoulders. The sheer mass of his body feels as if it’s swallowing you whole. You preen at the contact, letting out a mewl so pathetic you even surprise yourself.

Gradually then, with the kind of control and calculation he exhibits at work, Leon pushes his thick head through your gummy walls. He’s so painfully hard that it takes everything in him to go slow. And, by the time his pelvis is flush to your ass, he already feels spent.

The crook of Leon’s chin hooks around your shoulder ensuring his face is firmly pressed against yours. He pants heavy in your ear, and out of the corner of your vision, you see his face flush a berry-red.

“Fuck, baby. You—shit—y’feel—”

“Leon…‘m ready.”

The man nods, mainly to himself, before pressing a chaste kiss to your collarbone. Slowly—just as slowly as he entered you—his hips draw back. The languid drag of him has you grasping aimlessly at the sheets; the thick vein that curves around his even thicker cock is relentless in catching the ridges of your walls. In this position, you’re able to feel all of him. “God, Leon...”

Of course, sex with Leon has always been something else entirely…but this? There aren’t enough words in any language to describe the way you’re feeling right now.

“I know, baby, I know. I need you just as bad,” Leon purrs. You just nod along, jaw falling as Leon slowly slides back into you. He braces himself then, arching and tightly curving over your figure.

“How do you want it, baby? Like this?” His hips speed up then, shallow thrusts that have your thighs immediately stinging with the friction of being stationary. Still, you groan, eyes rolling back into your head as he keeps pace. After a while, Leon shifts over top of you again. “Or do you want it like this?” With steady hips, he suddenly slams forward, the action practically punching your soul straight out of your body. You cry when his head shoves directly into that spongey notch deep inside you.

Desperately, you reach for the hand braced by your head. Leon locks your fingers with his before bringing them to the soft skin of his mouth.

“Hm, you like that?” You try to crane your head so that you can meet your boyfriend’s eyes, but Leon ‘tsks’ at you. You aren’t at all ashamed by the attempt or his response, though. It’s done without any sort of malice. Nothing more than light teasing, born from a place of reverence and pure, unadulterated love. “Use your words, baby. Gotta know you want it. Need to know I’m making you feel good, y’know?”

“Shit, Le—yes. Yes, like that. Fuck—“ you manage to eventually get the words out, only for another thrust to leave you blubbering.

Leon lets go of your hand, but only for the briefest of moments, before his fingers come up under your jaw. He cradles your face as he finds your mouth, a curtain of his blonde hair hanging low over your eyes. He licks at your own tongue, at the corners of your lips, behind your teeth… Any and every inch of space he can reach becomes learned in a matter of seconds (as if he already wasn’t so intimately accustomed).

Because of the pillow beneath your hips, Leon’s able to fix his grip on you every once in a while—whether the pads of his fingers are digging into the tempting plains of your waist, or the fat of your shuddering thighs. Each thrust has his pubic bone bouncing against your ass in an even, but incredibly hard-hitting pace.

Leon nips at your earlobe, gently tugging on the loose flesh so as strengthen (or perhaps ground) his dwindling resolve. In little time, he feels the effects of his impending orgasm: his balls tightening against your puffy clit, dick swelling deep within your walls…

You’re just so warm, and so wet, and so…so good to him, so good for him, Leon can’t resist the flurry of emotions threatening to escape him. “Fuck, I love you. Love you so much, baby. Always so tight for me. Shit. Y’love sucking me in like this, don’t you?”

“Leon…” is all you can manage to say. It’s the only warning your hazy brain can conjure up; the only thing on the tip of your tongue other than another strangled whimper.

Leon understands though. He always does.

You’re close. Really, really close. The sound of your squelching slick as he rifles through you over and over; the way your spine arches and your feet start to helplessly kick out from beneath you—it’s all the confirmation he needs.

The muscles in his arms have begun to strain, a sharp tightness that blooms from his wrist all the way up to his shoulders. He takes the opportunity then to collapse onto you, carefully accommodating some of his weight with his knees so as not to smother you entirely (though he would without question if that’s what you asked).

The sounds of your whines pitch higher and higher with every snap of his hips. You’re shaking again, though this time it’s for sure an unconscious act. In relieving his arms from the awkward angle, Leon’s able to wrap an arm around your head, and you nearly choke on spit when you realize what he’s doing.

Leon’s arm—meaty bicep, veins, and all—rests safely against your collarbone, holding you snug to his chest. His cheek is pressed to yours again, so close that you’re convinced you’re practically becoming one (as if you haven’t already…). You’re both two halves of one heart stitched together; all haphazard, but terrifyingly real.

“I need you to come for me. Can you do that, baby? Can you make a mess for me?” His voice is a beautiful ragged sound—one that in any other situation would have you pushing your hips back to meet his. But not this time. Leon has you locked in place, pliant and safe as the knot of your orgasm pulls tighter and tighter, threatening to snap.

So with that, you opt to just nod into Leon’s arm, albeit rather weakly. Suddenly, you feel a different kind of pressure come up between your hips.

Leon somehow managed to sneak his free hand down to your cunt, calculated fingers once again toying with your clit in easy circles. And that alone that has you coming with a sharp and stuttered gasp. While you shudder and twitch, Leon continues his ministrations; humping and grinding into you while his own release crests.

He grunts and huffs as he spills into you, as if his fucked-out body can’t decide on which sound it wants or needs to make. Regardless, all that really matters is that you’re holding on tight to him, whispering something about how good he makes you feel and how much you love him.

Of course, Leon has to return the sentiment tenfold. He doesn’t say it exactly like how you did (he’s never been the best with words), but as he cleans you up, petting your head and kissing everywhere the damp cloth doesn’t—from the inner curve of your knee, to your navel, to the hollow of your throat—he knows that you understand.

It was you, the light of his life, fire of his loins, texting from what he assumes is a very cozy position on his bed, right where he left you this morning. He pictures you, wrapped up in the sheets, still wearing one of his t-shirts. You like the smell of them, you said. It reminds you of him while he’s away. 

His little sap. 

Boring, he responds, tapping away at the glass keyboard. What are you up to?

He sets his phone against his thigh, giving you time to respond. And you do. Quickly. Too quickly. Almost as quickly as he picks up the phone. Beside your name, the message reads ‘image: one’, and Leon looks to his left and right to make sure no one is watching him open the photo. 

It’s you, in bed like he had imagined, but you’re wearing a whole lot more than your birthday suit, and though he can salivate on command at the thought of your naked form, this is just as exciting. 

His eyes study the way your back is arched, your ass up in the air. You’re on your stomach, arms stretched out in front of you, giving him the perfect view of your heart-shaped cheeks. Black lingerie, too much to take in all at once, dons every curve of your body. Fishnet stockings clad your thighs. A garter belt digs into the flesh of your hips. A bra and panty set he can barely make out the details of from the photo. 

It doesn’t matter. It all goes straight to his dick anyway. 

I’m ripping all of that off as soon as I get home, he types. Sends. 

Hurry up, then. I’m waiting. Another photo, this one more obscene than the one before. He’s not even sure how you were able to snap such a masterpiece from that angle. Again, doesn’t matter. All that matters is that he can see right down your cleavage, the line of your abdomen, to the space between your open legs, where your hand occupies the mound 

A video from the same angle. Leon quickly turns the volume down and presses play. He can imagine the sounds just fine in his head as he watches you finger yourself. Five seconds. That’s all you gave him. 

Fuck, he swallows the curse, glancing around once more to double-check that no one is paying attention to the erection straining the crotch of his pants. Fuck. 

He needs more. 

I’ll be home for lunch.

You better have a snack waiting for him. 

“Naughty girl,” is all he says when he storms into the bedroom. You’re reclining on your back, the perfect position to take in the sight of Leon in a suit–a sight you rarely get to see. He’s always donning cargo pants or something elastic that shows off the swell of his muscles, and you’re not complaining. Gosh, do those compression shirts make your pussy throb. But on special occasions, like the meeting he had this morning, he likes to dress up, and apparently it has been a while, because the suit he’s wearing looks a little tight.

The fabric of his dress shirt is pulled tight across his chest, the buttons puckering beneath the tension. Even the shoulders are far too snug, and the seams stitched up and down the wool arms of the blazer are one flex away from ripping. Either the fabric shrunk in the back of the closet, or Leon has been hitting the gym twice as hard lately. 

It looks uncomfortable. He should take it off. 

But not yet. 

“Naughty? How have I been naughty?” You press a hand to your chest, feigning disbelief as you suck in a dramatic breath. 

“Teasing me while I was at work.”

“Those were gifts,” you say in a tone far too sultry to be taken seriously. “I thought I was being gracious.” 

He cocks his head, arching a brow. “You were being mean.” Leon crawls onto the bed, climbing over you until his lips are inches away from your own. “I was in a meeting.” 

It takes all the strength in your body not to bust out into a twinkling giggle. “I know.” 

“Anyone could have seen.” 

“Did they?” 

Another sly tilt of his head. “No, but they could have.” 

“But they didn’t.” 

“You’re asking to be punished.” 

You let out the teensiest giggle against his mouth as he leans down to press a kiss onto it. “You just now realized that?” 

He growls, the vibration tickling your lips. “That’s it.” With a swift grab, he flips you over onto your stomach, one forearm at the small of your back, pressing you down while the other yanks your panties down the flesh of your thighs. As he does so, you hear fabric ripping, and you internally mourn your favorite pair of panties. “You asked for it. Remember that when you’re screaming, telling me it’s too much.”

“Yessir.” 

You’re sure you’ll regret it, just like Leon said, but the temptation is too much to ignore. He’s far too fun to bait.

His hand takes a moment to appreciate the curve of your ass, giving each cheek a squeeze before he moves down between your thighs and begins playing with your pussy. Teasing and taunting, he draws slow, languid strokes up and down your folds, already slick with want. 

“Leon,” you murmur, already aching for more. “Need you inside.” Your walls clench around nothing as they eagerly await his arrival. 

He chuckles darkly, already situating the tips of his fingers at your entrance. “I know, baby. I know.” Although he tries so hard to act tough and withholding, Leon can’t help but give into your every desire. Such a saint. 

“How’s that, baby?” He asks, and though his voice is rough, his words are oh-so sweet, made sweeter by the sensation of his fingers–all three of them–stretching you out. 

“So good,” you cry into the pillow as he continues to pump into you from behind. His hand–the one that isn’t working your insides–is flush against your lower back, pressing your stomach into the mattress, amplifying your pleasure. 

“More, more. Please.” 

He’s happy to oblige, hardening each thrust of his fingers until he has to remind himself to hold back his own strength lest he accidentally harm you. 

“I’m so close, please don’t stop.” 

Some punishment, he thinks to himself, letting you come all over his hands. And then a mean idea pops into his head. 

Right as he feels the tension in your abdomen, you clenching his fingers until he’s barely able to pull them out, Leon does just that. The immediate emptiness has the tears welling in your eyes stall half-way down your cheeks, and a moan caught in your throat.

“Wha–” You try to turn around, to look into his eyes and beg for mercy, for a continuance to your pleasure, but he holds you down. 

The next thing you hear is the sound of metal teeth being pulled apart as Leon unzips his pants, shoving the slacks to his thighs, too impatient to pull them all the way off before he pumps himself twice in his hand before gliding himself into your weeping hole. 

Already wet and sopping, you make it far too easy for him to begin thrusting in and out of you, and his pleasure builds as he relishes the whimpers and whines leaving your parted lips. The lingerie on your body, all strappy and black. You vixen. The way your arousal coats him in a slippery sheen. How your hands grapple at the sheets, anything to tether you to the earth as your ecstasy threatens to sweep you into the sky. It’s all too much, and all too quickly, his own orgasm approaches, not long after you climax and he lets you.

“Fuck, I’m close.” His last words before he collapses onto your back, the cotton of his dress shirt kissing your dewy skin. It’s not long before he unglues himself from you, and begins to clean himself up so he can redress. 

“I swore I heard these rip,” you say, turning around to inspect the in-tact panties still at your thighs.

“I think it was my shirt.” Leon lifts his arm, and sure enough, there’s a small tear in the seam, just under his shoulder. An ivory button dangles from a loose thread, leaving a gaping hole down the front of the shirt. “Might need to change shirts.”

“Might need a bigger size, big boy.”

“okay.”

“the shoulder?”

“just bruised.”

“leon.”

“just bruised,” he repeats.

you move to the shoulder anyway, peeling back his jacket and the shirt beneath, and he lets you check it without complaint, which is how you know he’s exhausted. the man argues on principle when he’s got energy to spare. you clean it and tape what needs taping and try very hard not to notice the warmth of his skin under your hands or the way he’s been watching your face this entire time with an expression you can’t quite look at directly.

you’re reaching for the antiseptic when his hand closes around your wrist.

“leon—”

“i just need a minute,” he says quietly. he tugs, gently, and you let him pull you in, let him wrap both arms around you and press his face into your neck and breathe. you feel him exhale, long and slow, and something in him unknots by degrees.

you’d been so careful. so focused on not smothering him, not making it about you when he was the one who’d been gone for six days doing god knows what, and here he is holding on like you’re the thing he’s been waiting to get back to.

“i missed you,” he says into your neck. low and a little rough. “the whole time. just kept thinking about coming home.”

you pull back just enough to look at him and he looks back, tired and earnest and it makes your chest ache, and you kiss him soft and he makes a quiet sound and kisses you back deeper, hands sliding from your waist to your hips and pulling you closer, tongue pressing against yours.

“your ribs,” you say against his mouth.

“are fine.”

“leon—”

“are fine,” he says again, and stands, and you go with him.

he takes his time with you the way he always does after he’s been gone. hands relearning you like he’s been thinking about it the whole ride home.

he presses his mouth to your throat first, lips dragging slow, then your collarbone, then down your arm, the inside of your elbow, your wrist, back up to the soft skin of your inner arm and closer to your underarm and you feel heat rise to your face because it’s so intimate, so careful, like he’s paying attention to parts of you that nobody else thinks to.

he reaches behind you and unclips your bra and pulls it off and then presses his face between your breasts and hums, a satisfied sound, cheek against your skin. not rushing. you card your hands through his hair and feel the tight thing in your chest finally, finally come undone.

when he finally settles between your thighs and looks at you, blue eyes soft, you reach up and touch the bandage above his brow without thinking.

“hi,” you say softly.

“hi,” he says back.

he pushes into you slow and you feel every inch of him. the thick drag of his cock stretching you open, his heat filling you so completely your breath stutters and your walls flutter around him instinctively, pulling him deeper. he goes still for a moment, forehead dropping to yours, panting.

“god,” he exhales. sounding a little wrecked. “missed you so much. missed my girl.”

he starts to move and you feel everything. every slow thorough roll of his hips, the slick grip of your walls around his girth pulling tight each time he draws back, the warm wet heat building between you with every stroke until you’re arching up into him and gripping his shoulders. his forehead stays on yours, one hand laced through yours against the pillow, the other spread warm at your hip like an anchor.

“missed you,” he murmurs again, like he can’t stop saying it now that he’s started.

his mouth finds your neck and he’s kissing you, licking at your skin, so very desperate, like he’s been starved of you, which he has, dragging his lips up to your jaw and back down to your collarbone and back up again like he can’t decide where he needs to be, like everywhere isn’t enough. his hips keep their rhythm but his mouth is everywhere, tasting you, breathing you in, and you feel the low sound he makes vibrate against your throat.

“just need you,” he mumbles against your skin. “just my girl—ah—just need my girl.”

you don’t answer. you can’t. he feels too good, in too deep, filling you so completely that coherent thought is somewhere far away and you never want to come back from this, never want to move from this exact spot, his weight and his warmth and his mouth on your skin.

his hips stutter, pace faltering, and you feel him getting close, but his hand slides between you without hesitation, thumb finding your clit, pressing in slow circles like even now, even while edging closer to his own release, he’s not going to cum without you. you gasp and clench around him and he groans into your neck.

“cum,” he breathes. ragged. “with me. cum with me, baby.”

you do. your walls grip and flutter around him and he comes apart right after, shuddering, face pressed hard into your neck, your name leaving him in breathless moan.

he stays there after. his body heavy, face in your neck, very still. you don’t move either. you’re not sure either of you could.

a long quiet moment passes.

“…sorry,” he says eventually. muffled against your skin.

“for what.”

“came straight from a mission.” he murmurs. “didn’t even shower. just got you all—” he shifts slightly, almost self conscious about it, which is so endearing on him you could cry. “sorry.”

you laugh softly, hand moving through his greyish blonde hair. “leon. i genuinely do not care.”

“still.” he lifts his head and looks at you, a little sheepish. “shower with me.”

he peels himself off you with great effort and pulls you up with him and you both stand there for a second, equally wrecked, and he looks at you in the low light of the bedroom with something so soft in his face.

then he takes your hand and walks you to the bathroom.

You’re on your knees for him, having taken his cock into your mouth only moments ago, the salty taste still pungent on your tongue. Hands running up and down his clothed thighs, you await your next command, oh so eager to please the man you’ve been waiting to see and touch for weeks.

“I wanna try something,” he says, voice dripping with sex, all honey and spice and marzipan. The way he’s looking down at you, his eyes heavy and low..that look alone could make you do anything for the man. He bends at the hips to lean over you, prompting you to tilt your head back even further. “That’s it. Open up.” 

Holding your jaw in his hand, he moves his thumb across your plush, gloss-swiped lips, and once you do as you are told, he presses the digit onto your tongue, keeping the muscle flat as he shoots a glob of saliva down your throat. It’s lewd–probably one of the most disgusting things either of you have ever done to the other–but you revel in its obscenity.

“Alright, so that’s done…” You mumble to yourself after deep cleaning the kitchen. You rubbed away all the stuck oil from the stoves, broomed the floors, and even said goodbye to snacks you didn’t even know you had in your pantry. Everything was now organized and spotless as you appreciate your work.

You run through your mental checklist in your head. Bedroom? Done. Bathroom? Done. Living room? Done. Dining room? Done. Now all that’s left is the couple of closets that were throughout the apartment. You started with the one near the front door, though, there wasn’t much to do other than organize the endless amounts of leather jackets Leon kept up in there.

But yet again, you were doing your annual spring cleaning, so you ended up doing more than what was necessary. Once the closet was to your liking, you moved onto the next one, which was in the hallway leading to your and Leon’s shared bedroom. You don’t really go into this closet as much, as you usually have everything you need already out or stored in your own closet. Leon would use this closet a lot when he’s home, so you’d suspect there will be things such as tool kits or even some of his gear from work.

When you opened the closet, your suspicions were right. Along with those things were even more of his leather jackets, the safe he showed you a while back where he said there’s a handgun stored in case of emergencies, and a cardboard box. The closet was very full, but it seems like Leon kept a good job on keeping it clean. Nonetheless, some dusting wouldn’t hurt, especially since from what you remembered, he hasn’t been in this closet since he left for his mission a bit over a month ago.

Mindful of his belongings, you got the light coating of dust off everything, only touching things to move them out of the way to make sure you didn’t miss any spots. Once you got near the cardboard box, you lifted it off the shelf it was on and moved to place it on the ground, however, scribblings on top of it caught your eye. You looked at the box to see it was labeled “Raccoon City.”

You knew of the city, of what happened to it. It was after a bit over a year of dating Leon where he finally opened up about it. He was just going to his first day as a cop, was late, and stumbled into an apocalypse. Right place at the wrong time. He was the very few of many that managed to escape the place before it was wiped off the map. Leon actually went back to its ruins recently on a previous mission, to look for answers to the disease he was carrying. You were so relieved when he came back good as new.

Contemplation weighed on your shoulders as you stared at the box in your arms. You shouldn’t look into it, this is Leon’s personal belongings, but a feeling in you wanted to take a look at his past and what it contained. You decided against it, if he wants to show you its contents, he will when he is ready. As you stepped down the stepstool you brought it to put the box down on the floor, you heard the front door open.

“Sweetheart, I’m home!” Leon shouted as he closed the door behind him, paper rustling echoed throughout the apartment.

“Hi hun, I’m in here!” You exclaimed back as you dusted your hands off on your shorts. Leon appeared not even a second later carrying a bunch of paperbags.

“There you are. I bought the groceries you asked for dinner tonight,” Leon raised the bags a little before seeing what you were doing in the closet. “I see you’re still in the process of cleaning.”

“Yeah, almost done with it,” you said, a little nervous as you feel like you were caught, especially near that box. Leon caught you looking down, and followed your eyes to the box.

“Oh,” Leon said simply, “Seems like you found my box of memories.”

You were a little taken aback from his calm composure, but then, he is a trained agent. “Yeah. But don’t worry, I didn’t look in it or anything. Gosh, this looks so bad right now.”

Leon chuckles. “No, it doesn’t baby. I believe you.”

You both look down at the box some more.

“Do you want me to show you what’s inside? I feel like I can share this with you.” Leon says after the silence. Your eyes widen as you look up to him.

“Are you sure?” You ask.

“Yeah, I already told you enough context. Let me just put these groceries down in the kitchen,” Leon says as he walks away, “You bring the box to the bedroom. I’ll be right there.”

You took the box back into your arms, albeit a little shaky now. Whether that’s from excitement or anxiety, you couldn’t tell. You went into the room, placed it down on the bed before taking a seat next to it, patiently waiting for Leon. He then comes in, and you just couldn’t help but admire his appearance. How decades of battles have supposedly withered him, he aged with it perfectly. While it wasn’t graceful the whole process, he managed to be in a good spot now. Secure. Stable. Relaxed.

“Okay, let’s see what we got here,” Leon groaned out as he sat on the bed, “Haven’t looked into this box in a while myself.”

His calloused hands carefully unfolded the top of the box. Once opened, he took a peek inside while you waited for him to show you whatever he found. He dips his hand in and brings it out, holding something that shined in gold.

“It’s my police badge,” he said, almost like he was reminiscing. He held it out to you to see and you smiled, imagining him proudly displaying it on the job. Your smile grew smaller knowing he probably only had the chance to do it once. Leon brings his hand back and looks at it a little longer, running his thumb over the detailed surface before putting it back in the box. Rummaging through it, he chuckled when he lifted a square piece of paper.

“Ever wondered what I looked like as a rookie?” He asked as he turned the polaroid towards you. Your face reacted before you could stop it and you ripped the photo out of his hand.

“Stop-” You blinked hard at the photo. You couldn’t stop the grin growing on your face. There was your Leon, but he looked way younger, he looked like he had a baby face. He had squishy cheeks and still sported that side part he has now, but shorter. “You looked so cute!”

Leon smiled as his face turned slightly red from your reaction. “You’re telling me I don’t look cute now?”

You turned to him with a scoff. “You know that's not what I meant. You come back home bloody and battered and I still would call you cute. This is a wholesome kind of cute though.”

Leon laughed at your self defense. “Just messing with you, baby.” He held his hand out to take the photo back before putting it back. He then moved a couple things and inhaled sharply.

“What’d you find?” You asked softly. Leon went into the box with both hands now and brought it out. The room went still.

“It’s my cop uniform.” He said as he inspected it. It looked almost new.

“Oh. It looks very nice, not like the uniforms you see around today. This looks like it has personality and pride,” you said, trying to lighten the energy in the room as you took in the uniform. It consisted of a navy collared shirt with matching pants with shields for the knees and elbows and straps to hold resources. It would all be completed with the vest with the abbreviation RPD in big white, bold letters.

“Yeah, I was so excited to get it,” he smiled softly, “Kinda sucks I only wore it once.”

“Do you want to try it on now?” You said before you realized what you were asking. You can be asking that, now with this and now.

“Oh shit. That’s-” You panicked before his voice rang out to stop you.

“I guess it doesn’t hurt to try?” He looked at you, anticipation in his eyes. Your jaw slightly dropped, but the moment you got he was as curious as you were about the uniform, you shrugged and nodded your head. He took the uniform and went to the conjoined bathroom to change.

You waited on the bed, your hands together on your lap. Thoughts were running in your head saying this might be a little too far, that it was disrespectful to make him put the uniform on, especially since the last time he wore it, he was fighting for survival. The door then creaked open slowly.

“What do you think?” Leon asked as he stepped out. Your mouth flew open for the billionth time today.

The uniform looked amazing on him. While it might’ve fit slightly baggy on his rookie self, the uniform hugged his form perfectly. He looked like a seasoned professional cop going on a regular shift around town.

“The fabric has some pretty good stretch, but geez I don’t remember it being this fitted…” he dragged on as he looked down at himself.

“You look so good,” you said as you stood up from the bed and walked up to him. You ran your hands up his vest, still somehow able to feel the hard muscle underneath.

“You seem to enjoy this on me a little too much,” Leon teased.

“And if I say that I am? Is that wrong?” You ask cautiously. Leon looked into your eyes before his own darkened a bit. You know that look.

“Are… Are you being serious?” He asked slowly. You nodded your head, biting your lip. Leon then huffed out a laugh as he shook your head.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you planned this,” he said, and you swore his voice went down an octave as his hands landed on your waist. It was then you saw he also put his gloves on as well.

“Maybe I did,” You said as you leaned into him, “Officer.”

“Shit…” Leon breathed out before giving you a consuming kiss, “You can’t be calling me those things.”

“It’s just for tonight, sir. I’ll promise to be good,” you said as you caught your breath from his kisses.

“Yeah? You’ll be a good girl and not give me any trouble?” You nodded your head enthusiastically this time. He tutted as his hand went on to the back of your head, tilting your head up. “Use your words, princess. I get you have the right to remain silent and all, but not in here.”

“God…” you grinned hard to hide your snickering from his lame reference before getting back into whatever you two were playing. “Yes, sir. I will be on my best behavior.”

“Good,” Leon said as you leaned up to kiss him again. Then all the sudden, you were whipped around and felt Leon get your arms behind your back. You heard metal jingling when it hits you to what he is doing. Cold metal hits your wrists.

“Is this okay?” He asks, putting a brief pause to this roleplay you were doing. You answer by rubbing your ass on his crotch, feeling his hard on.

“More than okay. But if I may ask, officer, why did you cuff me?” You fake pouted over your shoulder. Leon snapped back into his role quickly.

“Just in case you pull anything,” Leon said as he turned you back around, holding your chin in between his thumb and index finger, “I trust you and all, but better be safe than sorry. It’s protocol.”

Leon then pushed you onto the bed. He moved the box to the floor before getting on top of you. He was practically devouring you with his eyes, and with your sense of not being able to touch anything or any part of him with your hands, it made everything feel much more intense. You squirmed under his gaze.

“Now what am I going to do with you…” Leon pondered as he looked down at your body.

“Maybe fuck me.” You said, which he was taken aback by your straightforwardness. However, he liked your new found confidence.

“As you wish,” he said as he looked at what seemed like your chest, thinking for a moment. He then puts his hands on your shoulders. “Gotta prep you first, though.”

You hear it before you feel it. The sound of fabric ripping.

You moaned as the cold air hit your torso, making your nipples pebble immediately as Leon tossed the ruined fabric to the side. He leaned down towards your breast, but didn't act before he said, “Don’t worry, I’ll buy you a new one later.”

His mouth enveloped one of your tits as his other gloved hand went to play with the other. You cried out in pleasure as everything that happened the past minute just made you wetter. You couldn’t go to grab at Leon’s hair like you usually do when he would suck and lick on your breasts, so you resorted to arching your back, trying to get more of your tit into his mouth. He seemed to get the message as he held you down and went to lather his mouth all over your other nipple.

As he did that, his other hand left your breast and started to slowly drag down your body. He slipped his hand under short shorts and dragged two fingers down your slit over your panties.

“Fuck, all wet already. Practically ruined these panties.” Leon’s voice dripped with lust as he tugs them to the side, running his fingers through your slick. You began to whine as he circled his finger perfectly over your clit, making you gush some more. He then brings two fingers to your entrance and slowly pushes it in.

“Damn, you’re so tight.” He moans out as he quickly goes to find that spongey spot inside you. He perfectly curls his fingers on it, causing you to let out breathy calls of his name. “There you go, darling. That’s it.”

He then adds his thumb back to your swollen pearl, circling it causing your cunt to open up more for him, allowing him to slide in a third digit. His fingers are long and thick, not equivalent to his cock, but does the same job as you're quickly approaching your climax. Just as you are teetering over the edge, it all gets taken away from you as Leon removes his hand from your pussy.

“Leon-” you exclaim as you feel the pressure between your legs instantly fade away. You clench around nothing as you hear him undo his belt. You open your eyes to see Leon crawl up the bed, confused until you are lifted to sit up against his chest.

Your eyes roll back as you feel Leon run his length through your folds from behind. He spreads your legs and lifts you up a bit, nudging the tip right on your entrance.

“Holy shit-” you say breathlessly once you realize this is how Leon is going to take you. You get cut off as he spears you onto his cock.

“Fuck baby!” He winces out as he feels overwhelmed with your walls closing in on his dick. He pushes you down some more every couple of seconds until he is fully bottomed out into your pussy. He lays his head over your shoulder, his breath warm on your pulse. “Let me know when you’re ready to continue, hun.”

Your mind is mush, already cockdrunk despite Leon just now getting in you. You eventually catch up and tell him, “Now, please, just move-fuck!”

Leon lifts you until only his tip remains in your pussy before pulling you back down again. He repeats this motion, grinding his hips up towards you to match your movements. You could only sit there and take it, as the handcuffs chains clinked from you pulling on it from behind.

Everything felt deliciously too much. The fabric of his vest rubbing harshly on your back to the firm grip Leon had on your thighs, it all felt so good. You brought a hand up to your breast to knead as you tried to support Leon with your bounces, his tip hitting on your g-spot with every downward movement.

Leon struggled to keep his eyes open as he fucked into you. He couldn’t miss a single second of the display right in front of him. Your legs parted displaying your swollen, stretched out pussy greedily taking his cock. Your tits bouncing with every movement as your head leaned on the other shoulder he is not on, almost drooling. He couldn’t resist the groan he let out at the sight of the creamy ring forming on the base of his dick whenever he lifted you up.

“Shit, you’re so good for me, such a good girl. Fuck-” Leon grunted into your ear before licking down your neck, biting down once he reached your shoulder. He then brought a hand to your count, assisting you on reaching your high as he pressed firm circles on your overstimulated clit. “Let’s get you there, yeah?”

You let out a scream of pleasure at all the sensations. After a couple more thrusts, your orgasm hit hard out of nowhere. You leaned forward, but Leon caught you by wrapping his arms around your waist and kept you up as you went through your aftershocks. He also used this hold to keep fucking up into you until he reached his own peak, spilling his thick, warm load deep inside you and with call of your name. He then leaned back into the headboard, taking you with him as his cock was still inside you, making you whine.

“Christ, that was a lot,” Leon huffed out, still catching his breath. He then looked down at you, moving your damp hair out of your face, “How are you doing, baby? You with me?”

“Mhmm…” you hummed out as you basked in the afterglow. Your bodies were sweaty and worn out, but damn that was one of the best fucks Leon has ever given you.

“Look at you, let’s clean you up, yeah?” Leon said as he slowly sat up and lifted you off his dick. Your combined juices quickly started to run down your thighs and Leon quickly picked you up bridal-style to bring you to the bathroom. You noticed his regular clothes from earlier on the counter as he placed you to sit on the toilet as he got out of his remaining uniform and turned to get the bath ready. You leaned back on the bathroom mirror and stared at your doting husband. How lucky you were to have him.

END NOTES: We finally completed 13 Days of Leon Kennedy!! Thank you so much for joining me on this ride and for your much appreciated patience. I wanted to do these 13 days right, and with how chaotic May-June was, I didn't want to rush any of it. Thank you for the 100 (now 300!!) followers, I hope you love this celebration as much as I did, lets do this again some time!!<33

TAGLIST: @nocturnalstar, @kennedysbbyy (Let me know in the comments below if you want to be tagged in this celebration's fics!!)

13 DAYS OF LEON KENNEDY: 100 FOLLOWERS CELEBRATION

LEON S. KENNEDY MASTERLIST

REQUEST GUIDELINES

Keys jangle as he tosses them onto the crescent-moon table in the foyer. The sound echoes off the walls, alerting you like Pavlov’s dog to strip your top layer: a wool knit piece that comes in handy when you pedal your bike back to your apartment and the chill is amplified by the breeze thrashing against your skin. 

You’re left in nothing but a nearly-sheer piece of cotton. A white t-shirt that clings to your skin, and the lace bra beneath it. Just that and your jeans–low rise ones that flare at your ankles and do something magnificent to your ass. Looking at your figure in the reflection of the window, the pane now inky black and mottled with rain, you blush, wondering if you’re being far too obvious with your outfit choice. 

Too late to do anything about it now. Your name is called from the hallway by the disembodied voice of your employer, his steps following, which grow clearer as he meets you in the kitchen.

“Hi there,” he says. “How’d it go today?” His question cuts through the silence you were left with once you tucked the kids in bed an hour ago and threatened to withhold ice cream from them tomorrow if they dared to leave their rooms. At eight and ten, they take those sorts of promises very seriously. Not a peep have you heard since. 

You greet him with a smile. “So great. We had pancakes for breakfast this morning, played a few games, and then I took them to the pool for the rest of the day.” 

“Sounds like a blast.” 

“What about you? Did you have a good day?”

“It was long.” He quickly changes the subject. “Are they in bed?” 

“A bunch of sleeping beauties,” you reply sweetly, sliding your hands into the back pockets of your jeans. Mr. Kennedy stands on the other side of the island, already pouring himself a drink from the collection of alcohol he keeps safely away from the children, locked in a cabinet. “Swimming always tuckers them out, so it was pretty easy getting them in bed.”

“Oh, good. Thanks for taking them by the way,” he says, his gruff voice no match for the polite words he speaks with it. He takes a swig of his drink, the amber liquid sloshing against his upper lip. “I hope they didn’t give you too much trouble.” 

You shake your head to dismiss the notion of his children misbehaving. Truthfully, they’re angels, both of them. Beside the fact that neither of them like to obey their bed time, they’re the sweetest kids you’ve ever met, completely pliant and quick to listen. “No, of course not. They were perfect. As always.” 

“Good, good.” Another gulp, this time taking the entire shot down his throat, setting the crystal glass back onto the counter. It clinks against the swirling marble top. 

He’s dressed in slacks and a white button-down shirt–the typical uniform he dons during the work week. Not that you see him any other time–not often, at least. 

The sight practically makes you salivate, eyes glistening across the forearms he reveals as he unbuttons the cuffs of his sleeve, rolling the fabric up to his elbows. They stay affixed to him as he loosens the argyle tie around his neck, tilting his head side to side to release the tension there. Mr. Kennedy is a handsome man, the fact never having been lost on you. 

He groans under his breath, pouring himself another drink, eyes glued to the glass as though he’s completely forgotten you’re standing four feet away on the opposite pole of the island. It’s a signal you’re receptive enough to understand. He’s had a long day and it’s time for you to go. He never says it explicitly, being far too polite to kick you out of his home after you watched his children for the previous eight hours. Instead, he simply starts his routine around you, which typically begins with a drink, and lets you fill in the blanks. 

“Is there anything you’d like me to do before I get out of your hair?” You ask meekly, grabbing your phone, wallet, and keys from the counter, suddenly feeling shy and far too exposed. 

“Right. Sorry, kid, I’m kind of out of it tonight,” he says, downing the second shot. Licking the dribble of liquor from his lips, he glances up. His eyes quickly dart past you, looking out the bay window behind the breakfast table. His brows knit together. “You’re not planning on biking home in that, are you?” 

“Um, yeah, I guess I have to” you say matter-of-factly, pivoting just slightly toward the window. You heard the thunder earlier, but just now noticed the lightning striking in flashes behind the storm clouds hanging low. “I’ll be fine–” 

“No,” he interjects, waving a dismissive hand. “I’ll drive you home, come on.” 

You hesitate as he grabs his suit jacket off the back of the barstool. “Mr. Kennedy…” 

He crooks an eyebrow, glancing up at you. “Yeah?”

“You had two drinks.” 

His shoulders fall and he nods, pressing his palms onto the counter. “Right, of course. You can stay here tonight.” 

Parting your lips to speak, he makes sure you know there’s no use in refusing the invitation, and the next thing you know, he’s at the door of the guest bedroom with a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt. 

“Here you go, sweetie,” he says, the pet name dripping from his tongue like honey, the tongue that is loosened by liquor. The tongue that knows better than to get too cozy with a girl half his age. 

“Thanks,” you give in return, taking the clothes from his hands, not shutting the door, not turning around, not telling him to leave. 

Your eyes fall to the articles–the feminine floral print of the pants–and you begin to wonder if these belonged to her at one point. 

The former Mrs. Kennedy who made your employer a single father four years ago, leaving him with two young children, a tricky predicament given the nature of his career. All the traveling, the sudden deployments to foreign countries you couldn’t place on a map. Apparently she couldn’t handle it, and left her children to bear the brunt.

He had hired you while you were a freshman in college and needed the extra cash to mitigate the cost of living–part-time while the kids were in school, full-time during the summer. Once you graduated last year, unable to find a lucrative job in your field and already drowning in debt, Mr. Kennedy offered to take you on as a full-time nanny. He paid you way too much and the perks were impossible to turn down. 

Perks that seem to be quickly expanding.

“For bed,” he details, an unnecessary addition, as he lingers in the doorway. “Though you look really nice in those–in that…yeah.” His eyes fall down your figure, taking in your denim-clad thighs, the strip of midsection poking out from under your shirt. 

“Oh, thank you.” You sound much shyer than you intend, blushing fiercely beneath the compliment, cheeks turning an even deeper shade of red (you’re sure) as he steps closer. The smell of whiskey still strong on his breath as he exhales through parted lips. His presence, closer than it has ever been before, makes your stomach drop to your knees, which are consequently as solid as jelly on a platter by now. 

“Mr. Kennedy–”

“Leon,” he corrects for the thousandth time, taking another step forward, causing you to take one backward, giving him enough space to close the door behind him. You know what’s coming next. “I’ve told you to call me Leon.” 

“Leon,” you repeat, his name as sweet as candy on your tongue. “What are you doing?” The question is silly, considering you know exactly what he is doing, that you’ve been dreaming of this exact moment for the past two years–that you have left subtle hints whether in the way you glance at him from beneath your lashes, or wear outfits that show off your curves, all in the hope that he would do this exact thing. 

His hands move to the waist band of your jeans, quickly making work of the button, the zipper. “Helping you get undressed,” he speaks into your mouth as he plants a kiss there, the vibrations of his speech tickling your bottom lip. “Is that alright?”

You nod, leaning into the kiss, pressing your body against his but not close enough to keep him from the ministrations at your jeans.

He jolts away as if your body’s on fire, running a manic hand down his face as he mumbles something incoherent to himself, his back flush against the door.

“What is it?” Your brows bind as you inch toward him, approaching with caution as though he’s a scared animal, backed into a corner. 

“I’m sorry. Tell me to stop.” It’s not an option given in the event you get cold feet. It’s a plea whispered in desperation. 

He spits out a string of excuses, none of which are strong enough to turn you away. 

I’m too old.

You’re too young. 

You’re my employee. 

I pay you. It would feel like I’m taking advantage of you, and I don’t want to put you in that position.

Something about the dynamics of it all. They’re bad, he promises. So bad.

“No, Leon. The last thing I want you to do is to stop.” You step forward to place a palm on his cheek. Now that you’re up close again, you’re able to admire the details of his face: lines on either side of his mouth, the fine wrinkles near his eyes, the crease between his brow–all reminders that Leon is a man who has lived. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, kissing you on the lips once more as his hands move from your unzipped jeans to the hem of your t-shirt, which is quickly removed and discarded to the floor, leaving your upper body covered in nothing by the lace of your bra. His rough, calloused hand crawls up the curve of your waist to cup your breast, applying not even a unit of pressure. 

“I’ve been wanting this for so long,” he confesses, his thumb grazing over your nipple, hardened through the fabric. His voice is strained, the admission coming out weak and without any power behind it. “But I’m not sure I should.” He huffs another swear under his breath. “I shouldn’t.” His hands don’t leave your body, however.

“You think you’re the only one who has been waiting for this?” He glances up at you, blue eyes wild and savage. “I want this, Leon. More than anything. Please don’t leave me now.” 

It’s your turn to kiss him, pressing your lips to his in a brush of hunger. Tooth and tongue meet in a marriage of fire and need. There’s passion behind this kiss, no longer chaste and sweet as the ones that came before, strained with hesitation. 

“I’ve wanted you too,” you promise, hands weaving through his hair. The strands, silky and smooth, tickle your palm like blades of grass beneath bare feet. “For as long as I can remember.” 

“You don’t know how good it feels to hear that.” 

You have an idea. 

“Can I take these off?” He asks, gesturing to your pants. You give him a simple nod of approval, and expect him to rip them off, then and there. Instead, he grabs you with one arm, and your legs reflexively wrap around his hips as he carries you  a few feet to the bed, setting you down gingerly on the mattress. The bed dressings are cool beneath you, a paradoxical sensation against the heat of his hands as they make work of your pants, your panties, the clasp of your bra behind your back. 

He mumbles at the sight of your bare breasts, your pussy damp and dewy, glistening beneath the pale moonlight that seeps through the window. It’s odd being so exposed in front of him, seeing that he is still fully clothed, and looking down at you, a puddle of wanton desire on the sheets. The chill from the air conditioning does nothing to soothe the itch of vulnerability crawling up your spine, leaving goosebumps across your skin, little marks that prove your need. 

Your hands extend to his belt buckle, your feet flat on the mattress, knees bent at either side of your hips as he places his palms on the caps, caressing them. 

“Not yet,” he says, manually pressing your thighs together to block the goal of your outreached arms. “Let’s stay like this for a while, okay?” Him, dressed in his work slacks and button-up. You, naked and bare.

He comes down onto his forearms, bracketing your head as one hand smoothes the hair at your temple, the other holding your cheek. Your legs open to accommodate his size, hips already burning at the stretch. 

For what feels like hours, every torturous moment passing by at a turtle’s pace, he kisses you, deeply and with such intimate care. You wonder if he’s being a tease on purpose, or if he’s just that into you, holding off on his own desires–the ones shooting down between his legs, causing a strain at his pants–to savor the taste of your mouth. 

“More, Daddy,” you cry out beneath the ache that begins to boil between your legs.

Leon stills at your lips, tilting his head back just an inch to look down at you. He’s wearing a smirk. 

Your eyes grow wide and your cheeks burn with shame. “Oh no, I’m so sorry,” you choke, cupping a hand over your mouth at the realization of what you just said. Against your palm, you continue to explain the slip. “I guess I’m just used to hearing the kids call you that and I–”

“It’s okay,” he says, cutting off your rambling with a chuckle before giving you a sweet kiss on the cheek. “Don’t be embarrassed.” You can feel him smiling against your face, though he’s trying to hide in the crook of your neck, picking up the lobe of your ear between his teeth.

“Easier said than done,” you retort, still feeling warmth blistering across your skin like a disease.

“If it makes you feel better,” he starts, pulling back to look at you, cocking his head, “I kind of like it when you say it.” Crinkling the bridge of his nose, it’s like he can’t believe the words that just come out of his mouth.

“Really?” Your voice raises an octave, more shrill than you anticipated. 

“Yeah, but don’t read into that too much, ‘kay?” 

“‘Kay.”

And he goes back to kissing you, long and hard, like there’s more than twenty-four hours in the day and he can afford to waste them all. You let him make love to your mouth, granting his tongue entry to wherever it pleases. His fingers too. They head south, tip-toeing down your bare abdomen to your bare cunt. Three of them, mean and punishing, plunge into you, stretching your walls. 

You whine at the sensation, the pain so deliciously sweet, you crave the feeling of your muscles being pushed to their limits before you get used to the size and the pain dissipates. It leaves a wave of pleasure in its wake, causing your back to arch off the mattress, your thighs to quake. 

He knows what he’s doing, crooking his fingers at the knuckle, searching for the spot that will make you whine like a dog in heat. He finds it, all too quickly, and your climax builds…all too fast. 

“Ah,” he coos. “There it is.” 

Your hips buck uncontrollably, the muscles of your abdomen contracting. The familiar pattern apprises you of your impending orgasm, and you quickly wrap your arms around Leon’s clothed back, scratching at his trapezius through the soft cotton of his shirt. 

He takes your I’m so close as an invitation to stop. 

“Wha–”

“We’re not done yet.” 

He pushes himself off the mattress, sucking your arousal from his fingers. Then, he starts to tear at his clothing, removing article after article until he’s standing in front of the foot of the bed, fully nude. You knew he was a government agent, but you did not know that government agents looked like that. Soldiers, maybe. Paid fighters, definitely. It just goes to show how little you know about his job.

A body chiseled by the mallet of the good Lord himself stands before you. With cartoonishly big eyes, you drink up every inch–every line of his abdomen, the strength he carries in his square shoulders, the bulge of his biceps. His skin is smooth, mottled with a few translucent scars here and there, blue veins that creep up his arms like vines on a tree trunk. His pileous chest is sprinkled with thin, dark hair–thinner near his collarbone–but coarse as it trails down the line of his abs and between the sharp bones of his hips, right above his cock. It’s just as pretty as he is, of course. You had guessed so yourself. 

He needn’t ask if you like what you see, especially not as you cry out for him to hurry up and get inside you, and definitely not when tears fall from the tips of your lashes as he thrusts inside you over and over. 

Leon has you bent in half, your knees pressed up by your breasts by his palms as they grip the backs of your legs like they’re his last tether to earth. Bottoming out, he curses something as sharp as the breath he sucks in through gritted teeth. 

You’re not sure how your body is able to stretch to welcome his size sans orgasm, but you’re glad it does, because you wouldn’t trade this feeling for the most precious gem. The stretch is delicious and mean as he pulls out and enters you once more with twice the ferocity. 

You whine, grappling at his bare back for any ledge to anchor yourself, sure you’re slipping off the edge of the world until you can dig the pads of your fingers into the sinew of his shoulder blades, pulling him further down onto you.  

Leon is completely cool and collected as he works through his pleasure, a stark contrast to the way you’re yelping and writing beneath him. He rolls his hips, the movement as fluid and smooth as that of waves lapping onto the shore. 

“You take such good care of my kids, baby,” he whispers in your ear, breath humid against your skin. For a man you know to be of very few words outside of it, Leon sure is talkative in the bedroom. You’re not complaining, though, the sound of his voice going straight to your clit, like the lightning bolt that shoots through the summer storm outside. “Such a good mommy to them.” 

Mommy. That’s not something you’ve heard before.

You giggle, and he retreats, pulling back from your face so he has room to gaze down upon it, taking half the length of his cock with him, the absence of the last four inches excruciating. “What’s the problem?” There’s a playful mirth in his voice you don’t get to hear very often. “You can call me ‘Daddy’ but I can’t return the favor?” 

Still giggling, you shake your head ever so slightly. “No, of course not. It’s just funny, that’s all.”

He clicks his tongue in disapproval, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lip. “Nothing funny about it, sweetheart. Closest thing to a mother they’ve got.” The tip of his cock kisses your cervix as he thrusts his full length into you once more. You yelp at the stretch. “What do you say you give me another one, huh?”

Your eyes shoot wide open, but you’re not sure whether the catalyst of your shock is what Leon said or why the idea sends a warm gush between your thighs. It’s scary just how much that turns you on and just how much you want to explore this newfound pleasure. 

“What?” 

Maybe the time for this conversation isn’t when he’s fucking you out of your mind, but you humor him regardless, expecting the notion to be nothing more than pillow talk–words sputtered when the blood rushes from your brain to other parts, leaving you dumb and undependable.

“Give me a baby,” he says, voice steady, unwavering. Perhaps there’s still blood pumping to Leon’s brain because he seems far less air-headed than you do at the moment. 

It’s sobering just how calm he is. 

“Are you serious?” 

There’s nothing but stark sincerity in his eyes as he narrows them down at you. “Dead serious, sweetheart. I mean it.” 

He ignores you, head dipping to watch the act taking place between your two bodies. You follow him with your gaze, watching his cock piston into your pussy like a machine, his battering tip visible at your lower stomach. The sight–a testament to your union–makes you dizzy, so dizzy you think about granting him his every wish, despite everything it would mean for you. 

“Fuck, I’m so close.” He returns to look at you, brows furrowed. “Are you on birth control?” 

“N–no,” you stutter as he thrusts even harder into you. “But I have a condom in my bag–”

“No, no condom,” he growls. 

You should push him away, scratch at his back, claw up his face–anything until he removes himself from you–but you don’t. You’re stupefied beneath the idea of Leon wanting to have a child with you. It should scare you–you’re not married, not even in a relationship. You’re his nanny, the otherwise unemployed and listless twenty-something that watches his children and gets paid to do so. You’re not his wife. You’re not even his girlfriend. Yet he wants you to be the one to grow his family. 

“I’m gonna come inside, yeah?” He looks at you, begging for permission. “You’ll have my baby?” For some insane, illogical reason, you give it, nodding like a bobble head. Whether not you’ll regret this in ten minutes when the fog of pleasure has worn off, or in nine months when your little crush has his eyes and your nose…you’re not sure. All you know now is that there’s nothing you want more than for Mr. Kennedy to make you his–not just through the monetary exchange of a check every Friday, an employment contract; but through a shared life the two of you helped create. 

“Yes, please,” you cry out, the thought alone pushing you toward your peak. “I will.” You’re no longer able to stave off your climax, and the pleasure is suddenly too intense. Walls clenching erratically, abdominal muscles tensing, you reach your high. It only ushers Leon into his own orgasm, and before you know it, he’s shooting his spend up inside you, painting your walls, making good on his threat.