meg

the hotel room felt strangely quiet when you stepped inside. punk was already there, sitting on the edge of the bed with his hands clasped loosely between his knees. his tattoos looked darker in the low light, his expression unreadable until his eyes lifted to meet yours.

"close the door." his voice was calm, steady, but it held a weight that made your stomach flip.

you did as he asked, dropping your bag by the dresser. for a moment you thought maybe he would stand, pull you into his arms the way he usually did after days apart. but he didn’t move. instead, he gestured to the chair across from him.

"sit."

the way he said it wasn’t unkind, but it wasn’t optional either. you sat, heart starting to race, the distance between you suddenly charged with something new.

he leaned forward, elbows resting on his thighs, eyes locked on yours. "we’ve been circling this for a while" he said, tone low and deliberate. "the way you look at me when i take control, the way you give in without even realizing it. but if we’re going to do this, really do this, then i need to hear you say it."

you swallowed, your voice a little shaky. "say what?"

"that you’re mine tonight." his jaw flexed, his words heavy but steady. "not halfway. not until you change your mind. if you give me control, it’s mine. every inch of you, every sound you make, every orgasm, every tear. mine."

the silence that followed pressed down on your chest. his eyes didn’t waver; he wasn’t asking for fun, or for play. he was asking for trust.

your throat felt tight, but you managed a whisper. "and if i say yes?"

he leaned back slightly, his lips curving into the faintest smirk. "then you won’t regret it. i’ll take care of you. push you, ruin you, praise you. whatever it takes to make sure you know exactly what being mine feels like." his gaze softened for a brief second. "but i won’t let you break."

your body tingled under the weight of his words, nerves and arousal twisting together. you knew what he was offering wasn’t casual. it was a promise, and it terrified you how much you wanted it.

"i" you took a shaky breath, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. "i want to be yours."

the smirk faded into something sharper, darker. he stood then, slowly, and crossed the small space between you. he crouched in front of the chair, his tattooed hands bracing on your knees.

"say it again. for me."

your chest rose and fell quickly, your voice barely above a whisper but certain this time. "i’m yours."

his thumb stroked over your knee, grounding you. "good girl." the praise sent heat rushing straight through your core. "then from this moment on, i own tonight. you do what i say, when i say it. you trust me to take everything, and give back more than you knew you could handle."

you nodded, heart hammering.

"use your words" he reminded, his gaze sharp but steady.

"yes, sir" you breathed.

the corner of his mouth lifted, and you saw the shift in him instantly, the calm control hardening into authority. he rose to his full height, towering over you now. "then stand up. strip for me. let’s start what you just promised."

you stood in front of him, fingers trembling as you reached for the hem of your shirt. punk didn’t touch you, didn’t help, he only watched, his arms folded across his chest as you peeled the fabric away from your skin. his stare was heavy, unflinching, like he was memorizing every inch of you.

when you dropped your bra onto the chair, goosebumps prickled your skin under his gaze.

"slow down" he said suddenly, the command sharp enough to freeze your hands as you went to unbutton your jeans. his tone softened, but the authority was still there. "when you undress for me, it’s not just to get naked. it’s to show me you understand who you belong to. so take your time."

you swallowed hard and did as he asked, sliding each button loose with deliberate slowness, stepping out of your jeans and panties one leg at a time until you stood bare before him.

punk’s eyes darkened as he looked you over. "good girl. already learning."

he moved then, pulling a small black bag from his suitcase on the bed. he set it on the mattress and unzipped it, the sound loud in the quiet room. from inside, he pulled out a length of soft rope, a sleek leather blindfold, and a few toys that made your stomach flip, clamps, a small wand, a spreader bar.

your breath caught. He really had prepared for this.

"on the bed" he ordered.

you climbed onto the sheets, your body humming with nerves and need. punk followed, his movements precise, like every step was pre-planned. he took your wrists gently but firmly, guiding them above your head. the rope looped around them, snug but not painful, tethering you to the headboard.

"too tight?" he asked, his voice even, though his eyes searched yours with real concern.

"no, sir" you whispered.

he tugged the knots once, testing, then nodded in satisfaction. "good. that’s the point. you don’t move until i allow it."

the blindfold came next. he held it up for you to see before pressing it against your eyes, cutting away the light. darkness wrapped around you, amplifying every sound, the rustle of sheets, the faint creak of the mattress as he moved.

"you trust me?" his voice was lower now, almost a growl at your ear.

"yes, sir."

his lips brushed against your jaw, barely there. "then i’ll give you everything. but remember, your body’s mine tonight. i decide when it hurts, when it feels good, when you fall apart."

the words sent a rush of heat pooling between your thighs.

then you felt it, the light graze of his fingers skimming down your side, the pause as he traced over your hip, then the sudden clink of metal as he set something beside you. the sound of the toy bag being unzipped again made your pulse race.

"every sensation is going to be a gift from me" he murmured, letting his fingertips trail up to pinch your nipple lightly before pulling back. "and you’re going to thank me for each one."

the blindfold pressed you into darkness, every breath of his audible, every sound magnified. you heard the low rasp of his zipper again as he opened the black bag wider.

one by one, he set things out on the sheets beside you, like an artist preparing brushes and paint.

clink. the cold weight of metal clamps. click. the spreader bar unfolding, a joint locking into place. hum. the faint test buzz of a wand against his palm.

your body tensed at each sound, every nerve waiting for the moment he’d decide to use them.

"relax" punk murmured, his hand smoothing along your thigh as if he could feel the tension vibrating in you. "you’re safe. but i want you trembling like this, needy, before i even touch you properly."

he pressed a kiss just below your ear, lips hot against your skin.

"i’ve been waiting to show you how far i can take you. not just fucking you. controlling you."

the mattress shifted as he moved again. you felt the edge of something cool trace over your stomach, the blunt end of the spreader bar, just teasing. he dragged it down until it brushed against your thighs, then lifted it away.

"not yet" he said softly, his voice full of promise.

next came the rope. you could hear the coils being unwound, the fibers whispering against the sheets. he tested your ankles, brushing his thumb over the delicate bone there before looping them loosely for now, measuring how far he could part your legs when he finally locked the bar in place.

"perfect" punk muttered to himself. "you’re going to look so beautiful stretched open for me."

the soft snap of leather followed, he’d pulled out a small paddle. he tested it in his palm, the sharp crack making you jolt against your bindings.

he chuckled low. "you hear that? that’s for when you get bratty. and i know you will."

finally, he lifted the wand again, switching it on and letting the hum fill the room. He didn’t touch you with it, not yet. instead, he ran the toy just above your skin, close enough for you to feel the vibration in the air, pulling it away every time you arched to chase it.

"you’ll beg for this before the night is over" punk said, his lips brushing your temple.

the mattress dipped as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "now my little experiment begins. you’re tied, blindfolded, teased to the edge and i haven’t even touched your cunt yet. by the time i’m finished, you’ll forget your own name. the only thing you’ll remember is that you’re mine."

his hand squeezed your jaw, tilting your face toward his. "and you’ll thank me for every second of it."

the ropes were tight now, your wrists bound above your head, ankles secured wide to the spreader bar. the blindfold kept you in a world of sound and sensation, every creak of the mattress, every exhale from him like a spark on raw nerves.

punk’s touch was deliberate, slow. he ran his hand over your ribs, up to your chest, dragging his thumb across one nipple until it peaked beneath his touch. then he pinched lightly, pulling a soft gasp out of you.

"there she is" he muttered. "already sensitive. already mine."

something cold brushed against the nipple he’d just teased. metal. the faint click gave it away before the clamp bit down. a sharp sting flared, pulling a moan from your throat.

"breathe through it" punk murmured, his thumb stroking the underside of your breast. "that sting? that’s control. that’s me teaching your body who owns it."

he twisted the clamp just enough to make you jolt, then secured the second one to your other nipple. your back arched involuntarily, straining against the bindings.

"beautiful" he whispered, a note of pride in his tone. "you take it so well. my good girl."

the bed dipped as he shifted, and then there was silence, save for your own breathing. until.

crack.

the paddle landed against your thigh. the leather snapped against skin, sharp enough to make your hips jerk.

punk chuckled low. "see, i haven’t even touched your cunt, and you’re already dripping. that’s what obedience looks like."

he gave you two more sharp smacks, one on each inner thigh, then soothed the burn with his palm, massaging where he’d struck. the mix of pain and tenderness made your breath hitch.

"you like that" he said matter of factly, lips brushing your ear. "don’t you?"

"yes, sir" you whispered, and he rewarded you instantly with a kiss on the throat.

"good answer."

the wand buzzed to life again. the sound filled the room, making your stomach flip. he pressed it to the inside of your thigh, the vibration deep and rumbling. not where you wanted it, not yet, but close enough to make you writhe.

punk smirked. "greedy already." he dragged it closer, stopping just shy of your slick folds. "beg for it. beg me to let you feel."

"please, sir please, i need it."

"there’s my girl." he rewarded you with a slow press of the wand against your clit.

the jolt of vibration made you cry out, your back bowing against the ropes. he held it there for only a few seconds before pulling it away, making you whimper in frustration.

"uh-uh" punk scolded gently. "i decide when you get more. you’ll learn that every orgasm you ever have from now on belongs to me."

another smack from the paddle across your thigh, sharper this time, followed by the wand pressing against your clit again. your whole body trembled between the sting of pain and the rush of pleasure.

"you’ll thank me for this lesson later" punk murmured, voice low and commanding. "right now, all you need to do is give yourself to me completely. every sound. every twitch. every ounce of control. it’s mine."

your body was already humming from the clamps, the paddle, the wand but punk wasn’t close to finished. the ropes kept you spread wide, vulnerable, and blindfolded, exactly how he wanted you.

you heard him moving again, the faint jingle of chains and the clatter of something laid out on the nightstand. your heart raced.

"you hear that?" his voice was low, deliberate. "that’s me deciding what you feel next. that’s what surrender means, sweetheart."

something soft traced up your stomach, featherlight and ticklish, a flogger. he dragged the strands over your ribs, your breasts, down to your thighs. then, without warning, he struck. the leather tails snapped against your skin, sharp but not brutal, leaving a sting that made you gasp.

"breathe it in" punk instructed, striking again, this time across your hip. "every mark i leave on you is mine. every sting is me teaching you your place."

he alternated the flogger with soft strokes of his hand, soothing the sting, making the sharpness melt into warmth. the mix of pain and comfort had you moaning helplessly.

then came the ice.

you flinched when something unbearably cold pressed against your nipple clamp. he chuckled darkly. "contrast, baby. heat and ice. pleasure and pain. your body belongs to me, and i’ll confuse it until you can’t tell the difference."

he trailed the cube down your stomach, over your mound, letting the meltwater drip along your folds. the wand buzzed to life again, and he pressed it just above your clit, not enough to give you what you wanted, but enough to make you writhe against the ropes.

"you feel how wet you are?" punk’s voice was smug, taunting. "and i haven’t even fucked you yet. that’s what power looks like. that’s what my control does to you."

the ice disappeared, replaced by something harder, thicker, the unmistakable press of a dildo. he traced it along your slit, teasing, circling, never quite pushing in.

"beg me to fill you" he demanded.

"please, sir, please, i need it inside"

"good girl."

the toy pushed into you, slow, stretching, and your moan broke into a whimper. he twisted the wand against your clit at the same time, overwhelming your body with stimulation.

and just when your orgasm started to build, he pulled both away.

you cried out, frustrated, the ropes digging into your wrists as you thrashed. punk only chuckled, leaning down to kiss the corner of your mouth.

"not yet, sweetheart. you’ll cum when i say. not before. if i want you ruined and dripping from every toy in this room before you get release, that’s exactly what’ll happen. and you’ll thank me for it."

a new sound filled the air, metal, clicking open. you froze. handcuffs.

"i think it’s time we add a little more restraint" punk murmured, his lips brushing your ear as he swapped rope for cold steel. "i want you to feel owned."

he cuffed your wrists to the headboard, making sure you couldn’t move at all. his hand cupped your cheek, gentle in stark contrast to the strict control.

"you look so fucking perfect like this" he whispered. "my good little toy. mine to play with. mine to break. mine to put back together."

the cold bite of the cuffs had barely sunk in before punk was at the nightstand again. you couldn’t see him, the blindfold still in place, but you could hear the unmistakable sound of more toys being shifted, chosen, tested.

"you thought i was done?" his voice came from behind you this time, closer to your ear, and it made you shiver. "sweetheart, i’ve barely started."

something soft and rounded pressed between your cheeks. he spread you carefully, deliberately, and pushed the small plug against your entrance.

"relax for me" he said, firm but calm. "i want you filled everywhere."

the pressure increased, slow, steady, until the toy seated itself snugly inside. you whimpered, squirming at the unfamiliar fullness, and punk’s hand immediately went to your hip to keep you still.

"good girl" he praised, voice warm even as the control was absolute. "that’s it. you’re taking me so well."

before you could adjust, he was back at your clit with the wand. the vibration made your whole body jolt, the plug making every movement sharper, deeper. you gasped, a moan tumbling out before you could stop it.

"that’s right. let me hear it. you can’t hide from me, not tied up, not cuffed, not filled."

a sharp tug at your nipples had you crying out. the clamps. he gave them a little flick, then a twist, making your chest arch helplessly against the restraints.

"every part of you is mine to play with."

the wand moved away, leaving you desperate, and something harder, longer, pressed at your pussy. this time it wasn’t just a toy, it was a double-ended one. you felt the push of it as punk held the other side, sliding it deep inside you until the stretch made your head fall back against the pillows.

"you feel that? i could take you like this all night. fuck you with toys, make you cum without ever even touching you with my cock."

he rocked the toy in and out, angling it so every thrust hit that spot deep inside. at the same time, he brought the wand back, pressing it firmly against your clit. the mix of pressure, vibration, and fullness made you shake against the cuffs.

"sir, please" you whined, your voice breaking.

"you’re begging already?" punk chuckled darkly, speeding up the thrust of the toy. "pathetic. so desperate to cum, you’ll cry for me. and i fucking love it."

your moans got louder, the overstimulation overwhelming, but just as your release started to crest, everything stopped again.

the wand lifted. the toy stilled. his hand came down sharply on your thigh, the smack making you yelp.

"not yet" he growled, leaning in close enough that you could feel his breath. "i decide when this sweet little body gets to cum. not you. not ever you."

you were panting now, your skin buzzing, your insides aching from fullness and denial. and then, he pressed something else against your folds. Smaller, buzzing, insistent. a bullet vibrator.

he let it hum against your clit, low speed, maddeningly light. "we’ll see how many toys it takes before you’re sobbing" punk murmured. "and then maybe just maybe, i’ll give you what you’re begging for."

the cuffs rattled as you pulled against them, body trembling, sweat dripping down your temple. you were strung so tight you could barely think.

every nerve burned. your pussy throbbed from being filled, your nipples ached under the clamps, and your clit buzzed from the bullet punk had left teasing you at the lowest speed.

and still, he wouldn’t let you fall over the edge.

"sir" your voice cracked, tears finally spilling under the blindfold. "please, i can’t, i can’t take it anymore"

punk crouched beside you, one large hand gripping your jaw. his thumb stroked over your wet cheek, almost gentle, before he leaned in and kissed the corner of your mouth.

"you can take it" he whispered, low and commanding. "you will take it. because this is mine. your body, your orgasms, every cry, every tear, it belongs to me."

a broken sob fell from your lips as he pressed the wand back against your clit. this time at full strength.

your back arched violently, the plug pressing deeper inside you, the double-ended toy grinding against that spot that had you seeing stars. you screamed, raw, desperate but just as you were about to cum, punk lifted the wand away.

the sudden absence left you shaking, wailing in frustration.

"sir!" you cried, chest heaving, nipples throbbing from the tug of the clamps. "please, i'll do anything, i swear"

"that’s what i wanted to hear" punk said darkly. he leaned down to bite at your throat, sharp enough to sting. "you’ll do anything for me. you’ll beg, you’ll cry, you’ll break."

he set the wand back down, but this time he didn’t move it away completely. he held it hovering, just close enough that every vibration hummed along your folds, torturing you with almost-contact.

"how badly do you want it, sweetheart?" he asked, tilting his head, studying you like prey. "tell me how desperate you are."

your voice shook as you tried to form the words. "i'll die if i don’t cum, sir. i’ll die."

punk chuckled, cruel and satisfied. "not die, baby. but you’ll break. and that’s exactly what i want."

he slammed the wand back onto your clit, unrelenting now, holding it tight against you. the toy inside you was thrust deeper, his pace merciless, the plug amplifying every sensation until you were screaming his name.

your body convulsed, every muscle locking, the orgasm tearing through you with such force you sobbed with the release.

but punk didn’t stop.

he kept the wand pressed to your clit, kept thrusting the toy inside you, even as your thighs shook violently, even as your cries turned hoarse.

"cum again" he ordered, voice sharp. "give me more. don’t hold back, let it all out for me."

you thrashed in the cuffs, tears streaming, every nerve overstimulated to hell, but your body obeyed him anyway. another orgasm ripped through you, harder, almost painful, and you cried out so loudly you barely recognized your own voice.

when your body collapsed limp against the mattress, punk finally eased the toys away. He unclipped the clamps with care, rubbed your sore nipples, then leaned in to press kisses over your tear-streaked cheeks.

"that’s my girl" he murmured softly, brushing the damp hair from your face. "you broke so beautifully for me. my perfect little toy."

your body was limp, trembling, every nerve fried. you barely registered the snap of the cuffs unlocking or the way punk gathered you up against his chest, but you knew his hands, strong, firm, owning, were the only thing keeping you grounded.

he carried you into the bathroom, steam already rising from the bath he’d drawn earlier. when he lowered you into the warm water, you whimpered at the sting against your overstimulated skin.

punk crouched beside the tub, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and began to run the cloth over your body with deliberate slowness. he cleaned you with the same care he had destroyed you with, but his words never softened.

"you look so wrecked, baby. tears on your cheeks, thighs still shaking." he dipped the cloth between your legs, brushing gently over your swollen folds, making you jolt. "all because i made you mine over and over."

you bit your lip, too dazed to speak, and he smirked.

"you know what i love about this?" punk leaned down, lips ghosting over your ear. "even like this, weak, trembling, too fucked-out to stand, you’re still mine. you’ll always be mine. no one else gets to see you like this. no one else gets to break you."

he trailed the cloth up your chest, over your sore nipples, and you whimpered again. his other hand slid behind your neck, gripping lightly, not choking, just a reminder.

"you’ll remember this every time you look at me" he murmured darkly. "every time you cum, you’ll think about tonight. about how I tore you apart and built you back up. about how i own your pleasure. your body. your fucking soul."

his thumb stroked your jaw, then pressed into your mouth. you sucked on it weakly, and he grinned, satisfied.

"that’s my good girl. even now, you obey."

when he finally lifted you from the bath, wrapping you in a towel, he pressed a hard kiss to your temple.

Despite never being enthusiastic about air travel, you were exceedingly grateful for how quickly it allowed you to get from your apartment to whichever city Punk found himself in waiting for you.

You were taking a whole week off work, having squirreled away as many vacation hours as you could all year, just to be with him. It would be a whirlwind of backseats, hotel rooms, and arena halls, but you would be together.

You would share a full 24-hour day that wasn’t split apart; breakfast together and then states apart by dinner, or a morning started in an empty bed rectified by late evening. It was a luxury you had never known was a luxury before falling in love with Punk, and now you would never take it for granted again.

You were determined to treasure all seven of those days, to celebrate every precious moment of those 168 hours in the same state, in the same city, in the same building, in the same room, in the same bed.

Your small Steve Madden backpack sat in your lap and you clutched it like a lifeline. All the things you absolutely had to have on your person when you travelled were in there—the most important of which was Oswald, a very soft plush brontosaurus gifted to you by Punk to help with your travel anxiety.

His primary objective was to look after you in Punk’s absence, and make you feel safe. “He’s my proxy, right? My tag partner,” Punk had explained when he gifted him to you. Before every goodbye, he low-fived one of Oswald’s feet to tag him in. “You’re it, pal.” His fur smelled like Punk, because last time you had been with him in person, you had insisted that he stay between you two while you slept so that he would preserve a bit of a memory for you to keep.

Once the plane landed, you felt like you were on autopilot, numb and tactical as you navigated the procedures that led, in the end, to your boyfriend. It wasn’t until you left the terminal with your carry-on in hand, searching faces for one in particular, that the numbness abruptly reverted back to anxious adrenaline.

And when you saw him, dressed down in jeans and a hoodie with a baseball cap beneath the hood, your stomach was frantic with butterflies.

He sensed your gaze as he always seemed to without explanation, and grinned boyishly at the sight of you. Which was comforting given how exhausted you felt and looked after such an early morning. Carefully, he shouldered his way past a few people waiting for their own loved ones, murmuring apologies while his eyes never left yours.

Already your skin was buzzing with the anticipation of feeling him again. Just hugging him would feel like such relief after such an inconsistent and unreliable few months that had kept the two of you apart.

“Hey, stranger,” you giggled when he was within earshot, dropping your duffel so you could wrap both arms around his broad shoulders. “I missed you so much.”

Your eyes were already wet and your vision blurred, so you hid your face against his neck under the guise of drinking him in. Which, to be fair, you were doing as well; drawing in slow, deep inhales of the cologne he wore, mixed with the travel shampoo and body wash set you had lovingly insisted he use instead of the sad mini bottles offered in hotels.

Punk laughed boisterously as he returned the embrace, one hand tenderly cradling the back of your head to keep you close. “You don’t even know how bad I missed you, kid.” His fingers had slid beneath your hair to press lightly on your scalp, and the sensation made you feel weak in the knees.  

“A fucking week,” you murmured, shaking your head against him. “I can’t believe we get a whole week.”

“I’ll make it feel like an eternity, love. I promise.”

The whole walk through the airport, he kept your hand held tightly in his, thumb occasionally rubbing a soft little circle across your knuckles. It was unclear whether it was intended more for soothing you or him. He always oriented himself around you as a protective barrier, a fixture of comfort.

In his other hand, Punk carried your duffel for you. He hadn’t asked if you needed it, he just did it without a thought. That was what he did—eased your burdens, not because you couldn’t carry them but because they were there.

“I really, really missed you,” you said once the two of you stepped out into the connected parking garage. The abrupt shift away from the noise and overstimulation of the airport made the silence feel loud in your ears.

When you looked up at him, you could see the little twist at the corner of Punk’s lips even as he stared ahead at the expanse of the parking garage. “Almost lost my mind without you.”

He glanced around quickly, then scrambled for privacy by steering you alongside the back of a nondescript SUV. “We’re in the security camera’s blindspot here.” It was the furthest row to the right of the structure, and down far enough that the dividing pillars and cement structures that accommodated things like charging stations, light fixtures, and emergency equipment acted as camouflage. “I parked here special, just for my girl.”

You giggled, and he wrapped his arms around you at the base of your spine, letting your bag slip down to the ground so he could palm your skin beneath your shirt with hot, smooth hands. “Whoever said romance is dead never met you.”

“Damn right.” Punk leaned down and trailed his nose along the warm spot behind your ear to follow the line down to your jugular vein where your pulse beat steady and strong. “Mm, you smell so incredible. How is that possible after a long flight during the height of summer?”

“Bias? Pheromones?”

His teeth nipped at your neck just sharply enough to capture your attention in the palm of his hand and hold it fast. Stilling you. “Love. What a cynic you’re becoming. I really have been a bad influence.” His hips pushed into you firmly, pressing the unyielding line of the erection now straining against the confines of his jeans up against the low spot of your abdomen. “Lemme make it up to you.” His right palm slid down your stomach and his fingers found their way under the waistband of your sweatpants.

“Punk…”

“Just gonna tide us over until we get to the hotel and I can fuck you properly,” he reassured you softly. “But I’m gonna make it so, so good.”

True to his word, it took only a few minutes, and two fingers inside you while his thumb grazed your clit, for you to be whimpering softly through a gentle orgasm.

Your nails dug into his skin as your gripped him tightly. You could feel the way the muscles and tendons jumped and twitched with his efforts. “Fuck,” you gasped, wriggling in his grasp from the overstimulation.

“I missed this so much.” Punk’s breath was hot against your skin, and when he finally eased his fingers out, he brought them to his lips to savor the taste of you slowly. He was luxuriating in the sharp tang on his tongue, and it made you shiver to see him be so brazen. “We gotta go. Please.”

That was the first crack in his cool façade, betraying the desperation that he held at bay.

The ride was a blur of buildings and cars that didn’t stick with you. The hotel seemed nice, but all you really took in were the glass fixtures, anodyne wall art, and sleek tile.

Punk kept an arm around you as he steered you to the elevator. “The room key’s in my pocket, can you grab it for me?”

When you reached inside the pocket, the back of your fingers brushed his erection. It hadn’t flagged in the least, and at the gentle and unintended tease, it jumped against the fabric.

It would always make your heart race to know how affected he was by you. That he wanted you with a craving that was insatiable and endless. That his body knew you enough to respond with such hunger. He chased after your touch as it retreated with the little plastic keycard in hand, and you felt a rush of pride at the response.

You were barely through the door to his room when Punk grabbed your hips with a bruising intensity and kissed you with far less restraint. There was no need to stand on formalities, pretending you weren’t feeling the need to tear out of your skin to feel closer to him.

Both of you hurried through discarding your clothes, and Punk wasted no time laying you out on the king-sized bed to kiss and lick over your skin as he moved up your body. “You’re still wet for me.” You already knew it, but hearing him say it so casually, when you were trapped beneath him and pinned in his stare was something else. “You’re such a Daddy’s girl, aren’t you?”

You nodded eagerly.

“What a sweet, filthy dream you are.”

Then suddenly, Punk was folding you up with your knees to your chest with his palms a steady weight against the underside of your thighs. He lowered himself down onto his stomach, letting his facial hair scratch against your lips softly before he dragged his tongue through the mess of sticky arousal.

The first touch had you arching off the mattress, and he ate you out with an obscene enthusiasm that only made you wetter. You could see your wetness dripping off his beard and feel it further dampening the inside of your thighs.

“I need you,” you gasped, your fingers gripping his hair in a white-knuckle grasp. “Need you inside.”

Punk raised his head and suckled a hickey just this side of too painful into your upper thigh that he sealed with a soft kiss. “I know, baby.” It was sweetly condescending in a way that made you stomach twist. “Daddy’s got you, got just what you need.”

He reached down to stroke himself, tight and slow in a way that made him moan. The wetness of his grip and the noise he made had you aching to have your mouth where his fingers were. When he pressed the head to your slick entrance, it took little more than one thrust for him to be engulfed by your heat.

The kind of pleasure that made tears well up in your eyes made your eyelashes wet and you blinked them back to look up at him.

“Oh sweetheart. You’re feeling good? That’s my girl.” His fingers had to be bruising your thighs where they held you in place, and his hips worked smooth and steady to keep the steady pulse of blood-hot pleasure beating. “Fuck, this is home, right here.”

A few times, it seemed like he was considering rolling you over onto your knees to get deeper, but the magnetism of looking at each other cracked open and raw while you chased a lightning-strike high was inescapable.

There was a little trail of drool sliding down the corner of his mouth and along the curve of his chin, and you surged up to lick it sweetly. The motion caused your muscles to contract around him, and the warm, tight squeeze made him spill suddenly with a pained noise of need.

“Fuck,” you giggled, shifting your hips to tighten your legs around his waist.

“Too damn perfect for your own good, baby,” Punk managed breathlessly. “Now I owe you. And I pay debts up front.”

He was merciless on behalf of your pleasure, a paradox of sorts that you were addicted to. Only when the softest touch of his lips against your clit made you whimper and squeeze your legs shut did he consider his job done.

Punk immediately moved up the bed to wrap you in his arms, your head tucked beneath his chin and his hand rubbing your back.

His voice sounded soft and muffled as he spun intricate webs of love and devotion in your ear, and all you could do was mumble back the occasional, sleepy “I love you” until you eventually drifted off to the sound of his heartbeat.

The two of you slept in late and took a long, hot shower together, relishing in the luxuries of hotel living, before finally finding the motivation to put on clothes and leave the room.

Punk found a small, family-owned coffee shop a few minutes down the road where you shared lattes and pastries before he would have to go to the gym. He offered to drop you off first, but you insisted you wanted to stay with him. You had spent enough time apart.

“You were made to be my girl,” he cooed softly, his fingers beneath your chin to ensure you were looking at him. It wasn’t a question, but a confident proclamation.