valen

When Andrew Cody first asked you on a date, you had been hesitant to accept.  Because, well, he was a Cody. And everyone who lived in Oceanside knew what that meant. Blood money, guns, and danger. Pope especially was known as a loose cannon. But you had ultimately accepted, and the small smile that graced his face was enough to tell you that maybe you could take a chance on him. So you did. He picked you up at your apartment, hands nervously wringing together and eyes wide and unsure, helping you into his truck and looking at you with disbelief, like he wasn’t actually sure you were real. It was the same look that he donned when you eloped a few years later, looking at you with adoration from the other end of the small altar (it was really a pop-up table in the middle of a park, but it served its purpose). 

And, truly, you couldn’t believe he was real either. Andrew was such a provider. You knew what he did for work, and you had your objections at first, but after you got married, he scaled back. He only did jobs that he wanted to do, planned by his brothers, and never involving his mother. You didn’t see them much, only occasionally when Deran and Craig decided to come visit. Smurf decided to cut her losses after Andrew had made a stand against her, very clearly choosing you and your new life together over whatever nightmare of manipulation she curated. You were so proud of Andrew for taking control of his life. He had bought a property in the country after learning you were pregnant, citing the need for your kid to be able to explore nature and run as much as they wanted. He was such a good father, staying home while you worked your job, and providing for his family in every way imaginable. Groceries? Covered. Bad day at work? Bath and herbal tea ready. Gas? Your car was always full. Hell, your son, even though he was only a year old, was already on the waitlist for the most prestigious pre-school in the area. Over the years, Andrew had built a life for himself outside of simply being his family’s attack dog. He hadn’t softened, per se, but he allowed himself to relax. At least a little.

You looked out the window of your kitchen with fondness. Andrew was sitting on a blanket in your yard, holding your son in his lap and bouncing him absent-mindedly. A bird flew past and he leaned down to his eye level, pointing it out. Your son giggled and your smile widened further, if that was even possible. You grabbed the soda you had come in for and quickly walked back outside. It was nearing the end of summer, and while the sun still warmed your skin, you could feel the chill of the approaching night starting to nip at your neck. You pulled your sweater tighter around your torso as you handed Andrew the can and settled down next to him. 

“Thanks,” he popped open the tab and took a sip before setting it down carefully in the grass. The blanket faced the mountains and you watched as the sun painted them a warm golden-pink color. You rested your head on Andrew’s shoulder and sighed. “Rough day?” He hummed, leaning his head against yours. Your son crawled out of Andrew’s lap and picked fist-fulls of grass from the lawn. You both watched him with soft smiles. 

“Yea,” you confirmed “That one client is being really difficult. And of course, because I’m in a senior position, I have to figure out a way to make him accept the offer.” Andrew’s fingers intertwined with yours and brought your knuckles to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your hand. 

“He’s an asshole.”

“Andrew.” You gestured to your son, who was trying to grab a stick off the ground. Andrew huffed with amusement.

“He doesn’t understand what I’m saying.”

“I don’t want his first word to be a swear.” You murmured and your husband pressed a kiss to your temple. 

“M’sorry, you’re right.” A pause and a smirk. “It’s gonna be ‘dada’.” You rolled your eyes. You had had this conversation multiple times.

“You wish,” You scoffed “He’s mama’s boy, aren’t you?” Your son turned to look at you with a giggle and crawled into your lap. You wrapped him in your arms and pressed a kiss to his forehead. He was only a year old, but he already looked so much like Andrew. His hair was auburn and starting to curl against his neck. You were hesitant to take him for his first haircut, it was growing out so beautifully. Freckles spattered across his nose and his big, brown eyes looked up at you with the same expression as his father: like you had hung the moon and stars in the sky. 

“I thought I was your boy,” Andrew pouted, nuzzling into your cheek. You turned and bumped your nose against your husband’s.

“You are,” You confirmed softly. “Always.”

═ ═ ═ ╰☆╮ ═ ═ ═

The past year had been rough. After returning to work after maternity leave, you were plunged into new projects. You had thought your coworkers were being polite when they said they couldn’t function without you, but apparently they had been telling the truth. Somehow, in the span of twelve short weeks, your company had managed to piss off the owner of the biggest account. And when you came back, your boss had come in and practically begged on her hands and knees for you to help reign him back in. It was all you could think about for the past seven months. He was unmoving, stubborn, ‘old-school’. Most of your waking hours were spent concocting ways to perform damage control. Including the time in your bedroom, when you were supposed to be blissed-out at the hands of your husband. 

Andrew had been between your thighs for forty-three minutes. You had checked the clock on your nightstand. Forty-three minutes of your husband’s tongue pistoning in and out of your core, swiping along your folds and suckling on your clit, rutting himself against the mattress to provide relief to his strained erection. Usually, you would have been gone by now. Multiple times. And yet, not a lick of an orgasm curled in your abdomen. It didn’t feel bad, but the stimulation wasn’t catching and your arousal simmered instead of its usual burning intensity. You were too in your head, thinking about deadlines and marketing strategies and your son’s doctor’s appointment next week. Life weighed heavy on your mind and left no room for pleasure. You had told Andrew after twenty minutes that it probably wasn’t going to happen, but he had insisted that he knew you could do it. You appreciated his dedication. In all the years you had been together, he never allowed himself to cum unless you had first. But you could tell he was getting tired. He paused every so often to stretch his jaw, using his fingers to stimulate you instead. And his cock looked painfully hard, stretching the fabric of his boxers so much that you could see the veins. He wouldn’t give up without a fight and, honestly, you just wanted him to cum so you could cuddle up next to him and get some sleep. It was already past eleven. So, you did the only thing that made sense at the moment. You decided to fake an orgasm. Not for the first time in your life, but definitely the first time with Andrew. After a particularly harsh suck to your clit, your hand tangled in his hair. You pressed your thighs a bit tighter around his face. Andrew’s eyes flicked open to look up at you, excitement and accomplishment flashing in the hazel circles. He had finally been able to get you to climb up the peak. He knew you could do it. He focused, swirling his tongue in the same way that had ignited you, keeping eye contact. You knew you wouldn’t be able to fake it if he was looking at you like that so you turned your head to the side and screwed your eyes shut. And, to his credit, it felt wonderful. Just not enough to actually banish the stress from your mind. 

“Fuck, Andrew,” You gasped, bucking up into his face like you normally did. “I’m gonna…” You weren’t. But you clenched your thighs tight and forced your lower body to convulse, clenching your walls around his fingers and letting out a shaky breath and a small moan. Andrew let out a whine as you rode his mouth, hips sputtering against the mattress as he came in his boxers. You watched the wet patch grow and it shot a bit more arousal down your spine. It wasn’t a total loss. You forced yourself to breathe heavily and wiped your forehead with a palm. Andrew pulled back from you hesitantly. You met his gaze and found a subtle confusion crinkling his brow. He licked his lips and clenched his jaw, like he was trying to figure something out. You thought you gave a good performance. His lips parted like he was going to ask something, but you pulled him into a kiss before he had the chance to. You kissed him with as much passion as you could muster, but it only made his brows furrow deeper. Okay, maybe you weren’t usually that greedy immediately after a mind-shattering orgasm, but you felt a little guilty about the ordeal and wanted to show him some appreciation. Andrew pulled away after a while and muttered something about getting cleaned up. He disappeared into the bathroom with his pajama pants. You saw him staring into the mirror for a few moments, blinking hard and clenching and unclenching his fists. His lips twitched with silent words. You called out to him softly, which broke his trance. He gave you a small smile and closed the door. You heard the shower turn on. You thought you’d gotten away with it. But you truly underestimated how obsessed with you your husband was, enough to have memorized and catalogued every single noise you made when you squirmed beneath him. Those moans weren’t real, and Andrew knew it.

═ ═ ═ ╰☆╮ ═ ═ ═

Andrew sat on a bench in front of the seal habitat. The stroller rested beside him, cover pulled over as his son dozed through the afternoon. Andrew took him to the local aquarium every Thursday. He had a season pass. It was their bonding time out of the house. Andrew was always surprised by the amount of noise your son could sleep through, but he still chose the quietest spot he could find to make sure Little Man actually got his naps in. That spot was beneath an overhang overlooking the harbor seal pool. Andrew watched the sausage-shaped mammals glide back and forth through the water. He liked them. You sometimes joined them on their aquarium adventures and you always said the seals reminded you of Andrew. Apparently they had the same ‘big, wet eyes,’ whatever that meant. He was glad that it was nap time, because he had a lot to think about. He leaned forward on his knees and pressed his thumb into his palm, rubbing in little circles, as he let his eyes glaze over. 

It had been three days since The Incident, but it was still all he could think about. Those manufactured moans. The spasms you pretended were an orgasm, but your walls didn’t flutter around his fingers like they usually did. He was hurt, actually, that you thought he hadn’t noticed. How could he not notice the difference when the feeling of you coming undone around him was his favorite sensation in the world? When he had made it his life’s mission to melt you with his tongue? His wife faked an orgasm. For him. You had told him gently that you weren’t feeling it, but he had been so confident in his abilities that he promised you. And he had failed. The thought made his stomach tumble and he pressed his lips together because he genuinely thought he was going to be sick. What was worse- he actually came. He experienced release and you didn’t. His selfish act made his skin crawl. He should’ve just held back, gone to bed with you after you told him it wasn’t going to happen. But no. His stupid ego got in the way. An ego that was, apparently, unfounded.

It didn’t make sense to him. You had never faked an orgasm before. He knew that was a fact. So what was different? Andrew ran over the events of the past months in his mind. The only big change was that you had started the new account project. He knew you were stressed, he had tried his very best to help you unwind. You were staying later, getting called in on weekends. And to be fair, you never seemed thrilled to take time out of your domestic bliss with Andrew and your son. But recently, there had been a slight shift. When your phone rang, you didn’t grumble as much. You actually looked excited to go into work. You had mentioned that you got a new team member who was really helping you with ideas. Some guy from Harvard business. He began to connect the dots. Andrew’s stomach sank and the color drained from his face. Had you found someone else? Was Mr. Harvard the reason you were a touch happier in the mornings and worked longer days? Because you were about to see him at work and spend time with him? Did you…love him? Andrew’s hand began to hurt with the force he pressed his thumb into his palm. He always knew this day would happen eventually. That you would realize you could do so much better than some broken man whose resume was written in blood. Andrew had allowed himself to think that, maybe, after your son was born, that meant he was yours forever. That you actually wanted him around. Sure, you said it all the time, but he thought you had meant it. How could he be so stupid? The beratements spilled from his mind, echoing the words of Smurf and everyone else who had mocked him throughout his life. 

The only saving grace from his spiraling thoughts was a small babbling sound from the stroller. Andrew’s eyes snapped to it. Your son had woken up. Andrew took a deep breath and pressed his eyes together, willing away any remnants of his mental drowning. He put on a smile as he pulled back the cover. He was met with the groggy, chubby face of the best thing that ever happened to him. Second best, actually, behind you. 

“Hey there, little man.” He whispered, picking him up from the stroller and placing his feet on his thighs. The baby grinned widely and Andrew’s heart clenched. He had your smile. The way his cheeks pulled up and his eyes crinkled slightly at the edges was the same expression you bore when Andrew did something unintentionally hilarious. You used to wear it all the time, but he realized at that moment it had been a few weeks since he got a smile that wasn’t exhausted. Andrew swallowed and pulled his son tight against his chest, like if he let go the universe would take him away, too. After a few moments, the baby started to fuss. It was time to go. Andrew packed up the stroller and wheeled it out of the aquarium. After your son was all secured in his car seat, Andrew got into the car and sat there for a moment. He looked out at the parking lot and saw two ducks walking together. He began to cry. 

═ ═ ═ ╰☆╮ ═ ═ ═

You hummed as you worked around the kitchen. The heavenly aroma of apple cobbler filled the air. It was your first night off in a while, and you were enjoying the rare family dinner time. Jeremy, the new hire to your team, was an excellent problem solver and exactly what the project needed. He brought a fresh perspective and the client actually listened to him, which was a nice change of pace from his usual outbursts. You had thrown yourself into your work to get all the loose ends tied up as quickly as possible. You were excited to have this additional project off your plate so you could spend more time at home with Andrew and your son.

Andrew had been tense for the past few days. Deran had called him, proposing a job. Something simple, just stealing a few cars from a dealership. And yet Andrew emanated stress like he was about to rob a Las Vegas casino. He never got you too involved with the plans, for your own safety, but something about this job seemed different. Andrew seemed different. He had approached you as he usually did, in the bathroom before bed, him scrubbing his face and you brushing your teeth. He had told you that Deran called him. That’s all he said- all he needed to. And the next morning, when he said he was going “shopping” (his term for conducting surveillance) you had responded as you normally did, leaning in to kiss him and telling him to be safe. But he shifted from you, your lips only catching his cheek. Odd, no doubt, but to be fair the baby monitor had squeaked to life at the same moment and Andrew had hurried to check on your son. You brushed it off as an awkward exchange and nothing more. But…what if it was something more? Planning a job was stressful, and Andrew enjoyed taking out his stress on you. Or, more specifically, he enjoyed getting out his pent-up energy by bending you over the counter and pounding into you while he stuck his tongue in your mouth. And he had pent-up energy. He carried it in his shoulders- a small hunch that told you he was overthinking details and running through possibilities in his mind. But the second part never came, even though you were extremely ready for it. In fact, you hadn’t had sex in weeks. The only action you’d gotten was when you had to fake that orgasm. And it annoyed you. The strings of sexual frustration were beginning to pull tight. You felt it in your stomach, the deep need to be close to your husband. You were tired of waiting. So, you decided to bake something. Andrew loved to see you in your domesticity, cooking for him, folding laundry, bouncing your son on your hip. It did something to him, reminded him that he could be normal. Beneath your clothes, you wore a black lacey bra and panty set. The set that Andrew had bought you for your anniversary. One of his favorites. 

Andrew sat at the table, wiping the spaghetti sauce from your son’s chubby cheeks. You scooped a portion of cobbler into a bowl and placed a spoon in it. You walked around the counter, making a point of swaying your hips. Andrew noticed. You set the bowl down in front of him and placed a hand on his shoulder, allowing it to slightly dip onto his chest. You pressed a kiss to his cheek. You could feel the increased warmth of his skin on your lips. 

“Enjoy,” You hummed, nuzzling your cheek against his. “I’m going to put him to bed.” You lowered your voice. “I’ll be waiting for you.” A little heavy handed, sure, but you were tired of waiting for him to make the first move. It wasn’t long before you were laying on your bed, only in the lingerie piece, awaiting Andrew. When he walked in and saw you, his breath hitched slightly. He paused in the doorway, blinking hard and swallowing. His hand fiddled with the seam of his pant leg. Your head rested in your hand, allowing your breasts to spill out of your bra and your spine to curve in a way that showed off your ass. Andrew took a deep breath and held it, walking to the side of the bed and crawling beneath the covers. You watched his eyes slowly drag down your form, gaze lingering on the swell of your chest and the curve of your hips. He tentatively reached out to your face, fingers brushing the skin of your jaw. You closed the distance, capturing his lips in a deep kiss. Andrew let out a little moan, gripping your jaw and pressing his face into yours. Excitement bloomed in your chest. Finally. Your hand snaked around his neck, burying your fingers in his hair and scratching lightly against his scalp. Andrew’s hand drifted from your jaw down to your neck to your collarbone. Your heart fluttered against your sternum. His fingers were so close to brushing your nipple, to giving you any form of pleasurable stimulus. 

Andrew pulled back abruptly, like he had just remembered something. His eyes flickered between yours, searching. He didn’t find his answer, only confusion, and his gaze hardened. He retracted his hand and pulled the covers over his bottom half, covering his erection. 

“The cobbler was good,” he said, voice raspy but quiet. “I’ve…got an early day tomorrow.” He nodded, like he was convincing himself, and turned over and flicked the light off. The rejection punctured your chest cavity. Your legs went numb and embarrassment climbed up your spine and settled in your throat. Oh. Okay. You mumbled out a ‘goodnight,’ but you weren’t sure that Andrew even heard you. You pressed your face into the pillow and stared into the dark room. Fuck. Something was wrong.

═ ═ ═ ╰☆╮ ═ ═ ═

The door clicked open. It was the night of the car job, and you had been sitting on the couch, slipping in and out of sleep while you waited for Andrew to come home. You always did, just in case. In your mind, the day you went to bed and assumed he would come home safely would be the day that the unthinkable happened. You would gladly endure a bit of tiredness the next morning if it meant being able to fall asleep next to your (still alive) husband. The sound of the door immediately roused you from your dozing. You were on your feet the moment Andrew stepped through the door. He was wearing all black and a backwards baseball hat. The sight almost made you giggle. You crossed the room and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug. 

“Hey,” was all he said, arms loosely draping over your lower back. Annoyed at his lack of enthusiasm, you pressed your body further into his. 

“How did it go?” You murmured into his ear, pulling back and giving him a kiss on the forehead. Andrew shrugged. Your brow furrowed. He didn’t like to discuss the gory details, but you usually got more than that. He waited until you released him to slip past you and down the hallway. You followed him to the bathroom, not unlike a lost puppy. He looked at his hands under the light. His knuckles were bruised and there were small cuts on the back of his hands. “What happened?” 

“Had to break a window,” He murmured in that monotone voice that you could never decipher. Andrew struggled to bend one of his fingers to grab the gauze from the medicine cabinet above the sink.

“Here,” You offered, reaching out for his hand. But he pulled it away from you. Okay. That was it. You set your jaw and crossed your arms over your chest. “What is wrong with you?” You bit out “You’ve been acting weird for the past, like, month and I’m getting tired of it.” 

“That’s just my personality,” He huffed humorlessly. You met his gaze in the mirror. He wasn’t just looking at you, he was staring at you. Really, truly trying to bore into your mind and get a glance at your thoughts. There was a slight darkness to his gaze, so unlike the way he always looked at you, that it made tears prick at your eyes. 

“I mean it,” your voice wavered slightly. “We haven’t…I feel so far away from you Andrew. Please, talk to me. D-Did I do something wrong? Is it something physical? Do you not…think I’m, like…pretty? Anymore? Or is it something I said?” Andrew sighed and pressed his eyes together, his hands gripping the side of the sink and lowering his head between his shoulders. You gave him a few moments, but he didn’t say anything. “Please,” you begged softly, “Please talk to me.”

“What’s his name?” His voice is so soft, like if he said it any louder he would shatter. 

“Who’s name?” 

“The man you’re leaving me for.” Andrew’s gaze lifted again and you saw the pain in his eyes. Raw and unfiltered. He braced for your response. You just blinked at him. “You found someone else, right? Someone…better? That’s why…” He swallowed, muscle under his eye twitching, looking down at his feet. His voice cracked when he spoke. “That’s why you faked it last time? Because I’m not as good as he is?” Your jaw dropped and your eyes widened. 

“Wh-What?” You were truly dumbfounded. Never in your life would you have thought Andrew would be able to tell, let alone come to that conclusion. “No,” You reached out for him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Thankfully, he allowed you. You curled your other hand around his arm. “Andrew, I would never, ever do that to you. I love you so much. I’ll only ever love you.” You assured him, eyes wide and pleading. “And the faking it? It…it was a one-time thing.” You let out a small chuckle. “Honestly, I’m impressed you could tell. I was just so stressed and you were trying so hard. I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“So you’re not leaving me?” Andrew’s eyes lightened a bit, but his mouth was still pressed together, as if he was debating whether or not to believe you.

“Never.” You confirmed, nuzzling your face against his shoulder and pressing a kiss against his shirt. “You’re stuck with me. Until death do us part. And even then, I’m going to haunt you.” You waved your ring finger at the mirror, your wedding ring catching the light. A faint smile twitched at Andrew’s lips. He turned and pulled you into a hug, pressing his lips to the crown of your head. 

“I’m sorry I’ve been acting odd. I was just worried, I guess. I just…I still can’t believe that you chose me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’ll never have to find out.” You pressed a kiss to his lips. You had meant for it to be gentle, reassuring, but Andrew immediately deepened it, running his tongue along your bottom lip. His hands drifted down to your hips and tugged you closer to him, pressing his thigh between your legs. The kiss got sloppy fast and when Andrew pulled back, his lips were puffy and red. His eyes held a glint of amusement and the simmering arousal you had missed so deeply.

“I’m a little hurt, you know,” He muttered, running a thumb over your cheek “That you think that’d work on me. When I know what makes you tick.” You were about to protest that your performance wasn’t that bad, but you were quickly silenced by the feeling of him dragging you against his thigh, the ridge of his hard cock rubbing sweetly against your fast-dampening folds.

Suddenly, you were on the bed, fully naked, with Andrew kissing down your navel. Your skin was on fire, and you squirmed beneath him. You could feel every pulse of your heart throughout your body, but it culminated between your thighs. It was a hammering need and you kept murmuring ‘please’s while Andrew took his sweet time getting down to his prize. When you felt his mouth on yours, a firework of pleasure fizzled in your abdomen. His tongue was warm and wet and prodded at your opening. His nose bumped at your clit and his hands pulled you further against him. Your eyes fluttered open to the sight of him between your thighs, pupils blown, hair slightly sweaty, and bloody knuckles gripping onto the soft flesh of your thighs like if he let go you’d disappear. You moaned, high pitched and needy, at the scene. God he was so fucking hot. And he was all yours. Andrew lapped at your cunt like a man starved, and he was. Usually he liked to taste you every night, and the weeks-long drought had driven him to the edge of madness. A fact that made itself known in the way that he devoured you. Andrew’s lips suckled on your clit as he pushed his two middle fingers inside you to the knuckle. You gasped when you felt the cool metal of his wedding band slip between your walls. He curled his digits into you, immediately finding the spot that made your toes curl and your back arch into the bed. Andrew was relentless, lapping at your pussy and stroking your walls vigorously. It wasn’t long before you felt the tingling tightness of your orgasm building. It started with a catch deep in your core and built from there, spreading until it shook your legs and consumed your brain. Your eyes pressed together and your mouth fell open. It hit you hard. Your legs shot closed around Andrew’s face, practically drowning him in your cunt as you rode his face for every ounce of pleasure you could get from it. A moan tore from your throat as you hurtled over the edge, walls clamping on his fingers and breath coming out in short pants. Andrew rode it out, hips involuntarily humping against the mattress in time with the way you bucked against his face. When you came back down to earth, your vision was a little blurry and your legs were shaking. Quite possibly the most intense orgasm of your life. Andrew pulled away from you and you looked down at him, breathing still uneven. He sucked on his fingers and shook his head.

“Can’t believe you thought I couldn’t tell the difference,” He growled, crawling over you and pressing his lips against yours. The kiss was sloppy and consuming, the mixture of your saliva and juices running down both yours and Andrew’s chins. He slipped his arm behind your back and rolled you over on top of him. You pressed yourself up and planted your palms on his chest. When you sunk down on his cock, Andrew watched you take every inch. He rested his head against the pillows only when he had bottomed out. You gave an experimental roll of your hips and Andrew caught his bottom lip between his teeth. He watched, unblinking, as you found your rhythm. He looked up at you with wide eyes, gaze moving from your face to the way your breasts bounced as you rode him. You loved when he looked at you like that. Not appraising, but adoring. So caught up in the impossibility that you were actually allowing him to help you feel good. One of his hands settled loosely on your abdomen, fingers brushing the outside of your hip while his thumb stroked your clit. It was more to keep you steady than actually helping you glide along his length. His other thumb went to your mouth, pressing against your lips. You opened readily and sucked around his finger. He used the newly-wettened pad of his thumb to rub circles around your nipple. You gasped and dug your nails into his chest.

“Yea, you like that?” He breathed, pinching the hardened bud between his fingers. You moaned and nodded, picking up your pace. You slammed yourself down on his cock, letting out little gasps every time the head brushed against your cervix. Andrew just laid there in awe, rubbing against you and helping you build to your next orgasm. “Please cum for me,” He whined “Need to feel it. M’so close. Use me. Use me to get yourself off. That’s it.”

“Fuck, Andrew,” You praised, voice shaky. The edges of your brain were starting to blur again, but you wanted to make sure he heard your words. “Feels s’good. You take such good care of me.” Andrew bit down harder on his lip and began rutting up into you frantically. “I love you so much.”

“Cum with me,” he pleaded. And you did. Your body went limp as another orgasm crashed through you. Your pussy spasmed around his cock and you squeezed your walls around him, milking him for everything he had. Andrew spilled inside you only moments later, face twisted up with ecstasy and small gasps puffing from his lips. You collapsed onto him, nuzzling your face into his neck. Andrew’s arms were around you instantly, pulling you impossibly close into his chest. You felt so full of him. His cum dribbled out of you and cooled on your thighs while the pressure of his hug soothed you. Your hearts beat rapidly against each other and you laid together until they both returned to their normal rhythms. Andrew pressed kisses to your forehead and petted your head. “I love you so much,” He whispered. You smiled against his chest and he felt it. “I mean it. You’re my everything. All I want to do is to take care of you. Always. If you’re not feeling it one night, just tell me. I don’t want you to think you have to perform for me. Okay?” You nodded. “Promise me.” You lifted your head and kissed him slowly, fingers finding the hair at the base of his neck.

When Andrew Cody first asked you on a date, you had been hesitant to accept.  Because, well, he was a Cody. And everyone who lived in Oceanside knew what that meant. Blood money, guns, and danger. Pope especially was known as a loose cannon. But you had ultimately accepted, and the small smile that graced his face was enough to tell you that maybe you could take a chance on him. So you did. He picked you up at your apartment, hands nervously wringing together and eyes wide and unsure, helping you into his truck and looking at you with disbelief, like he wasn’t actually sure you were real. It was the same look that he donned when you eloped a few years later, looking at you with adoration from the other end of the small altar (it was really a pop-up table in the middle of a park, but it served its purpose). 

And, truly, you couldn’t believe he was real either. Andrew was such a provider. You knew what he did for work, and you had your objections at first, but after you got married, he scaled back. He only did jobs that he wanted to do, planned by his brothers, and never involving his mother. You didn’t see them much, only occasionally when Deran and Craig decided to come visit. Smurf decided to cut her losses after Andrew had made a stand against her, very clearly choosing you and your new life together over whatever nightmare of manipulation she curated. You were so proud of Andrew for taking control of his life. He had bought a property in the country after learning you were pregnant, citing the need for your kid to be able to explore nature and run as much as they wanted. He was such a good father, staying home while you worked your job, and providing for his family in every way imaginable. Groceries? Covered. Bad day at work? Bath and herbal tea ready. Gas? Your car was always full. Hell, your son, even though he was only a year old, was already on the waitlist for the most prestigious pre-school in the area. Over the years, Andrew had built a life for himself outside of simply being his family’s attack dog. He hadn’t softened, per se, but he allowed himself to relax. At least a little.

You looked out the window of your kitchen with fondness. Andrew was sitting on a blanket in your yard, holding your son in his lap and bouncing him absent-mindedly. A bird flew past and he leaned down to his eye level, pointing it out. Your son giggled and your smile widened further, if that was even possible. You grabbed the soda you had come in for and quickly walked back outside. It was nearing the end of summer, and while the sun still warmed your skin, you could feel the chill of the approaching night starting to nip at your neck. You pulled your sweater tighter around your torso as you handed Andrew the can and settled down next to him. 

“Thanks,” he popped open the tab and took a sip before setting it down carefully in the grass. The blanket faced the mountains and you watched as the sun painted them a warm golden-pink color. You rested your head on Andrew’s shoulder and sighed. “Rough day?” He hummed, leaning his head against yours. Your son crawled out of Andrew’s lap and picked fist-fulls of grass from the lawn. You both watched him with soft smiles. 

“Yea,” you confirmed “That one client is being really difficult. And of course, because I’m in a senior position, I have to figure out a way to make him accept the offer.” Andrew’s fingers intertwined with yours and brought your knuckles to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your hand. 

“He’s an asshole.”

“Andrew.” You gestured to your son, who was trying to grab a stick off the ground. Andrew huffed with amusement.

“He doesn’t understand what I’m saying.”

“I don’t want his first word to be a swear.” You murmured and your husband pressed a kiss to your temple. 

“M’sorry, you’re right.” A pause and a smirk. “It’s gonna be ‘dada’.” You rolled your eyes. You had had this conversation multiple times.

“You wish,” You scoffed “He’s mama’s boy, aren’t you?” Your son turned to look at you with a giggle and crawled into your lap. You wrapped him in your arms and pressed a kiss to his forehead. He was only a year old, but he already looked so much like Andrew. His hair was auburn and starting to curl against his neck. You were hesitant to take him for his first haircut, it was growing out so beautifully. Freckles spattered across his nose and his big, brown eyes looked up at you with the same expression as his father: like you had hung the moon and stars in the sky. 

“I thought I was your boy,” Andrew pouted, nuzzling into your cheek. You turned and bumped your nose against your husband’s.

“You are,” You confirmed softly. “Always.”

═ ═ ═ ╰☆╮ ═ ═ ═

The past year had been rough. After returning to work after maternity leave, you were plunged into new projects. You had thought your coworkers were being polite when they said they couldn’t function without you, but apparently they had been telling the truth. Somehow, in the span of twelve short weeks, your company had managed to piss off the owner of the biggest account. And when you came back, your boss had come in and practically begged on her hands and knees for you to help reign him back in. It was all you could think about for the past seven months. He was unmoving, stubborn, ‘old-school’. Most of your waking hours were spent concocting ways to perform damage control. Including the time in your bedroom, when you were supposed to be blissed-out at the hands of your husband. 

Andrew had been between your thighs for forty-three minutes. You had checked the clock on your nightstand. Forty-three minutes of your husband’s tongue pistoning in and out of your core, swiping along your folds and suckling on your clit, rutting himself against the mattress to provide relief to his strained erection. Usually, you would have been gone by now. Multiple times. And yet, not a lick of an orgasm curled in your abdomen. It didn’t feel bad, but the stimulation wasn’t catching and your arousal simmered instead of its usual burning intensity. You were too in your head, thinking about deadlines and marketing strategies and your son’s doctor’s appointment next week. Life weighed heavy on your mind and left no room for pleasure. You had told Andrew after twenty minutes that it probably wasn’t going to happen, but he had insisted that he knew you could do it. You appreciated his dedication. In all the years you had been together, he never allowed himself to cum unless you had first. But you could tell he was getting tired. He paused every so often to stretch his jaw, using his fingers to stimulate you instead. And his cock looked painfully hard, stretching the fabric of his boxers so much that you could see the veins. He wouldn’t give up without a fight and, honestly, you just wanted him to cum so you could cuddle up next to him and get some sleep. It was already past eleven. So, you did the only thing that made sense at the moment. You decided to fake an orgasm. Not for the first time in your life, but definitely the first time with Andrew. After a particularly harsh suck to your clit, your hand tangled in his hair. You pressed your thighs a bit tighter around his face. Andrew’s eyes flicked open to look up at you, excitement and accomplishment flashing in the hazel circles. He had finally been able to get you to climb up the peak. He knew you could do it. He focused, swirling his tongue in the same way that had ignited you, keeping eye contact. You knew you wouldn’t be able to fake it if he was looking at you like that so you turned your head to the side and screwed your eyes shut. And, to his credit, it felt wonderful. Just not enough to actually banish the stress from your mind. 

“Fuck, Andrew,” You gasped, bucking up into his face like you normally did. “I’m gonna…” You weren’t. But you clenched your thighs tight and forced your lower body to convulse, clenching your walls around his fingers and letting out a shaky breath and a small moan. Andrew let out a whine as you rode his mouth, hips sputtering against the mattress as he came in his boxers. You watched the wet patch grow and it shot a bit more arousal down your spine. It wasn’t a total loss. You forced yourself to breathe heavily and wiped your forehead with a palm. Andrew pulled back from you hesitantly. You met his gaze and found a subtle confusion crinkling his brow. He licked his lips and clenched his jaw, like he was trying to figure something out. You thought you gave a good performance. His lips parted like he was going to ask something, but you pulled him into a kiss before he had the chance to. You kissed him with as much passion as you could muster, but it only made his brows furrow deeper. Okay, maybe you weren’t usually that greedy immediately after a mind-shattering orgasm, but you felt a little guilty about the ordeal and wanted to show him some appreciation. Andrew pulled away after a while and muttered something about getting cleaned up. He disappeared into the bathroom with his pajama pants. You saw him staring into the mirror for a few moments, blinking hard and clenching and unclenching his fists. His lips twitched with silent words. You called out to him softly, which broke his trance. He gave you a small smile and closed the door. You heard the shower turn on. You thought you’d gotten away with it. But you truly underestimated how obsessed with you your husband was, enough to have memorized and catalogued every single noise you made when you squirmed beneath him. Those moans weren’t real, and Andrew knew it.

═ ═ ═ ╰☆╮ ═ ═ ═

Andrew sat on a bench in front of the seal habitat. The stroller rested beside him, cover pulled over as his son dozed through the afternoon. Andrew took him to the local aquarium every Thursday. He had a season pass. It was their bonding time out of the house. Andrew was always surprised by the amount of noise your son could sleep through, but he still chose the quietest spot he could find to make sure Little Man actually got his naps in. That spot was beneath an overhang overlooking the harbor seal pool. Andrew watched the sausage-shaped mammals glide back and forth through the water. He liked them. You sometimes joined them on their aquarium adventures and you always said the seals reminded you of Andrew. Apparently they had the same ‘big, wet eyes,’ whatever that meant. He was glad that it was nap time, because he had a lot to think about. He leaned forward on his knees and pressed his thumb into his palm, rubbing in little circles, as he let his eyes glaze over. 

It had been three days since The Incident, but it was still all he could think about. Those manufactured moans. The spasms you pretended were an orgasm, but your walls didn’t flutter around his fingers like they usually did. He was hurt, actually, that you thought he hadn’t noticed. How could he not notice the difference when the feeling of you coming undone around him was his favorite sensation in the world? When he had made it his life’s mission to melt you with his tongue? His wife faked an orgasm. For him. You had told him gently that you weren’t feeling it, but he had been so confident in his abilities that he promised you. And he had failed. The thought made his stomach tumble and he pressed his lips together because he genuinely thought he was going to be sick. What was worse- he actually came. He experienced release and you didn’t. His selfish act made his skin crawl. He should’ve just held back, gone to bed with you after you told him it wasn’t going to happen. But no. His stupid ego got in the way. An ego that was, apparently, unfounded.

It didn’t make sense to him. You had never faked an orgasm before. He knew that was a fact. So what was different? Andrew ran over the events of the past months in his mind. The only big change was that you had started the new account project. He knew you were stressed, he had tried his very best to help you unwind. You were staying later, getting called in on weekends. And to be fair, you never seemed thrilled to take time out of your domestic bliss with Andrew and your son. But recently, there had been a slight shift. When your phone rang, you didn’t grumble as much. You actually looked excited to go into work. You had mentioned that you got a new team member who was really helping you with ideas. Some guy from Harvard business. He began to connect the dots. Andrew’s stomach sank and the color drained from his face. Had you found someone else? Was Mr. Harvard the reason you were a touch happier in the mornings and worked longer days? Because you were about to see him at work and spend time with him? Did you…love him? Andrew’s hand began to hurt with the force he pressed his thumb into his palm. He always knew this day would happen eventually. That you would realize you could do so much better than some broken man whose resume was written in blood. Andrew had allowed himself to think that, maybe, after your son was born, that meant he was yours forever. That you actually wanted him around. Sure, you said it all the time, but he thought you had meant it. How could he be so stupid? The beratements spilled from his mind, echoing the words of Smurf and everyone else who had mocked him throughout his life. 

The only saving grace from his spiraling thoughts was a small babbling sound from the stroller. Andrew’s eyes snapped to it. Your son had woken up. Andrew took a deep breath and pressed his eyes together, willing away any remnants of his mental drowning. He put on a smile as he pulled back the cover. He was met with the groggy, chubby face of the best thing that ever happened to him. Second best, actually, behind you. 

“Hey there, little man.” He whispered, picking him up from the stroller and placing his feet on his thighs. The baby grinned widely and Andrew’s heart clenched. He had your smile. The way his cheeks pulled up and his eyes crinkled slightly at the edges was the same expression you bore when Andrew did something unintentionally hilarious. You used to wear it all the time, but he realized at that moment it had been a few weeks since he got a smile that wasn’t exhausted. Andrew swallowed and pulled his son tight against his chest, like if he let go the universe would take him away, too. After a few moments, the baby started to fuss. It was time to go. Andrew packed up the stroller and wheeled it out of the aquarium. After your son was all secured in his car seat, Andrew got into the car and sat there for a moment. He looked out at the parking lot and saw two ducks walking together. He began to cry. 

═ ═ ═ ╰☆╮ ═ ═ ═

You hummed as you worked around the kitchen. The heavenly aroma of apple cobbler filled the air. It was your first night off in a while, and you were enjoying the rare family dinner time. Jeremy, the new hire to your team, was an excellent problem solver and exactly what the project needed. He brought a fresh perspective and the client actually listened to him, which was a nice change of pace from his usual outbursts. You had thrown yourself into your work to get all the loose ends tied up as quickly as possible. You were excited to have this additional project off your plate so you could spend more time at home with Andrew and your son.

Andrew had been tense for the past few days. Deran had called him, proposing a job. Something simple, just stealing a few cars from a dealership. And yet Andrew emanated stress like he was about to rob a Las Vegas casino. He never got you too involved with the plans, for your own safety, but something about this job seemed different. Andrew seemed different. He had approached you as he usually did, in the bathroom before bed, him scrubbing his face and you brushing your teeth. He had told you that Deran called him. That’s all he said- all he needed to. And the next morning, when he said he was going “shopping” (his term for conducting surveillance) you had responded as you normally did, leaning in to kiss him and telling him to be safe. But he shifted from you, your lips only catching his cheek. Odd, no doubt, but to be fair the baby monitor had squeaked to life at the same moment and Andrew had hurried to check on your son. You brushed it off as an awkward exchange and nothing more. But…what if it was something more? Planning a job was stressful, and Andrew enjoyed taking out his stress on you. Or, more specifically, he enjoyed getting out his pent-up energy by bending you over the counter and pounding into you while he stuck his tongue in your mouth. And he had pent-up energy. He carried it in his shoulders- a small hunch that told you he was overthinking details and running through possibilities in his mind. But the second part never came, even though you were extremely ready for it. In fact, you hadn’t had sex in weeks. The only action you’d gotten was when you had to fake that orgasm. And it annoyed you. The strings of sexual frustration were beginning to pull tight. You felt it in your stomach, the deep need to be close to your husband. You were tired of waiting. So, you decided to bake something. Andrew loved to see you in your domesticity, cooking for him, folding laundry, bouncing your son on your hip. It did something to him, reminded him that he could be normal. Beneath your clothes, you wore a black lacey bra and panty set. The set that Andrew had bought you for your anniversary. One of his favorites. 

Andrew sat at the table, wiping the spaghetti sauce from your son’s chubby cheeks. You scooped a portion of cobbler into a bowl and placed a spoon in it. You walked around the counter, making a point of swaying your hips. Andrew noticed. You set the bowl down in front of him and placed a hand on his shoulder, allowing it to slightly dip onto his chest. You pressed a kiss to his cheek. You could feel the increased warmth of his skin on your lips. 

“Enjoy,” You hummed, nuzzling your cheek against his. “I’m going to put him to bed.” You lowered your voice. “I’ll be waiting for you.” A little heavy handed, sure, but you were tired of waiting for him to make the first move. It wasn’t long before you were laying on your bed, only in the lingerie piece, awaiting Andrew. When he walked in and saw you, his breath hitched slightly. He paused in the doorway, blinking hard and swallowing. His hand fiddled with the seam of his pant leg. Your head rested in your hand, allowing your breasts to spill out of your bra and your spine to curve in a way that showed off your ass. Andrew took a deep breath and held it, walking to the side of the bed and crawling beneath the covers. You watched his eyes slowly drag down your form, gaze lingering on the swell of your chest and the curve of your hips. He tentatively reached out to your face, fingers brushing the skin of your jaw. You closed the distance, capturing his lips in a deep kiss. Andrew let out a little moan, gripping your jaw and pressing his face into yours. Excitement bloomed in your chest. Finally. Your hand snaked around his neck, burying your fingers in his hair and scratching lightly against his scalp. Andrew’s hand drifted from your jaw down to your neck to your collarbone. Your heart fluttered against your sternum. His fingers were so close to brushing your nipple, to giving you any form of pleasurable stimulus. 

Andrew pulled back abruptly, like he had just remembered something. His eyes flickered between yours, searching. He didn’t find his answer, only confusion, and his gaze hardened. He retracted his hand and pulled the covers over his bottom half, covering his erection. 

“The cobbler was good,” he said, voice raspy but quiet. “I’ve…got an early day tomorrow.” He nodded, like he was convincing himself, and turned over and flicked the light off. The rejection punctured your chest cavity. Your legs went numb and embarrassment climbed up your spine and settled in your throat. Oh. Okay. You mumbled out a ‘goodnight,’ but you weren’t sure that Andrew even heard you. You pressed your face into the pillow and stared into the dark room. Fuck. Something was wrong.

═ ═ ═ ╰☆╮ ═ ═ ═

The door clicked open. It was the night of the car job, and you had been sitting on the couch, slipping in and out of sleep while you waited for Andrew to come home. You always did, just in case. In your mind, the day you went to bed and assumed he would come home safely would be the day that the unthinkable happened. You would gladly endure a bit of tiredness the next morning if it meant being able to fall asleep next to your (still alive) husband. The sound of the door immediately roused you from your dozing. You were on your feet the moment Andrew stepped through the door. He was wearing all black and a backwards baseball hat. The sight almost made you giggle. You crossed the room and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug. 

“Hey,” was all he said, arms loosely draping over your lower back. Annoyed at his lack of enthusiasm, you pressed your body further into his. 

“How did it go?” You murmured into his ear, pulling back and giving him a kiss on the forehead. Andrew shrugged. Your brow furrowed. He didn’t like to discuss the gory details, but you usually got more than that. He waited until you released him to slip past you and down the hallway. You followed him to the bathroom, not unlike a lost puppy. He looked at his hands under the light. His knuckles were bruised and there were small cuts on the back of his hands. “What happened?” 

“Had to break a window,” He murmured in that monotone voice that you could never decipher. Andrew struggled to bend one of his fingers to grab the gauze from the medicine cabinet above the sink.

“Here,” You offered, reaching out for his hand. But he pulled it away from you. Okay. That was it. You set your jaw and crossed your arms over your chest. “What is wrong with you?” You bit out “You’ve been acting weird for the past, like, month and I’m getting tired of it.” 

“That’s just my personality,” He huffed humorlessly. You met his gaze in the mirror. He wasn’t just looking at you, he was staring at you. Really, truly trying to bore into your mind and get a glance at your thoughts. There was a slight darkness to his gaze, so unlike the way he always looked at you, that it made tears prick at your eyes. 

“I mean it,” your voice wavered slightly. “We haven’t…I feel so far away from you Andrew. Please, talk to me. D-Did I do something wrong? Is it something physical? Do you not…think I’m, like…pretty? Anymore? Or is it something I said?” Andrew sighed and pressed his eyes together, his hands gripping the side of the sink and lowering his head between his shoulders. You gave him a few moments, but he didn’t say anything. “Please,” you begged softly, “Please talk to me.”

“What’s his name?” His voice is so soft, like if he said it any louder he would shatter. 

“Who’s name?” 

“The man you’re leaving me for.” Andrew’s gaze lifted again and you saw the pain in his eyes. Raw and unfiltered. He braced for your response. You just blinked at him. “You found someone else, right? Someone…better? That’s why…” He swallowed, muscle under his eye twitching, looking down at his feet. His voice cracked when he spoke. “That’s why you faked it last time? Because I’m not as good as he is?” Your jaw dropped and your eyes widened. 

“Wh-What?” You were truly dumbfounded. Never in your life would you have thought Andrew would be able to tell, let alone come to that conclusion. “No,” You reached out for him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Thankfully, he allowed you. You curled your other hand around his arm. “Andrew, I would never, ever do that to you. I love you so much. I’ll only ever love you.” You assured him, eyes wide and pleading. “And the faking it? It…it was a one-time thing.” You let out a small chuckle. “Honestly, I’m impressed you could tell. I was just so stressed and you were trying so hard. I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“So you’re not leaving me?” Andrew’s eyes lightened a bit, but his mouth was still pressed together, as if he was debating whether or not to believe you.

“Never.” You confirmed, nuzzling your face against his shoulder and pressing a kiss against his shirt. “You’re stuck with me. Until death do us part. And even then, I’m going to haunt you.” You waved your ring finger at the mirror, your wedding ring catching the light. A faint smile twitched at Andrew’s lips. He turned and pulled you into a hug, pressing his lips to the crown of your head. 

“I’m sorry I’ve been acting odd. I was just worried, I guess. I just…I still can’t believe that you chose me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’ll never have to find out.” You pressed a kiss to his lips. You had meant for it to be gentle, reassuring, but Andrew immediately deepened it, running his tongue along your bottom lip. His hands drifted down to your hips and tugged you closer to him, pressing his thigh between your legs. The kiss got sloppy fast and when Andrew pulled back, his lips were puffy and red. His eyes held a glint of amusement and the simmering arousal you had missed so deeply.

“I’m a little hurt, you know,” He muttered, running a thumb over your cheek “That you think that’d work on me. When I know what makes you tick.” You were about to protest that your performance wasn’t that bad, but you were quickly silenced by the feeling of him dragging you against his thigh, the ridge of his hard cock rubbing sweetly against your fast-dampening folds.

Suddenly, you were on the bed, fully naked, with Andrew kissing down your navel. Your skin was on fire, and you squirmed beneath him. You could feel every pulse of your heart throughout your body, but it culminated between your thighs. It was a hammering need and you kept murmuring ‘please’s while Andrew took his sweet time getting down to his prize. When you felt his mouth on yours, a firework of pleasure fizzled in your abdomen. His tongue was warm and wet and prodded at your opening. His nose bumped at your clit and his hands pulled you further against him. Your eyes fluttered open to the sight of him between your thighs, pupils blown, hair slightly sweaty, and bloody knuckles gripping onto the soft flesh of your thighs like if he let go you’d disappear. You moaned, high pitched and needy, at the scene. God he was so fucking hot. And he was all yours. Andrew lapped at your cunt like a man starved, and he was. Usually he liked to taste you every night, and the weeks-long drought had driven him to the edge of madness. A fact that made itself known in the way that he devoured you. Andrew’s lips suckled on your clit as he pushed his two middle fingers inside you to the knuckle. You gasped when you felt the cool metal of his wedding band slip between your walls. He curled his digits into you, immediately finding the spot that made your toes curl and your back arch into the bed. Andrew was relentless, lapping at your pussy and stroking your walls vigorously. It wasn’t long before you felt the tingling tightness of your orgasm building. It started with a catch deep in your core and built from there, spreading until it shook your legs and consumed your brain. Your eyes pressed together and your mouth fell open. It hit you hard. Your legs shot closed around Andrew’s face, practically drowning him in your cunt as you rode his face for every ounce of pleasure you could get from it. A moan tore from your throat as you hurtled over the edge, walls clamping on his fingers and breath coming out in short pants. Andrew rode it out, hips involuntarily humping against the mattress in time with the way you bucked against his face. When you came back down to earth, your vision was a little blurry and your legs were shaking. Quite possibly the most intense orgasm of your life. Andrew pulled away from you and you looked down at him, breathing still uneven. He sucked on his fingers and shook his head.

“Can’t believe you thought I couldn’t tell the difference,” He growled, crawling over you and pressing his lips against yours. The kiss was sloppy and consuming, the mixture of your saliva and juices running down both yours and Andrew’s chins. He slipped his arm behind your back and rolled you over on top of him. You pressed yourself up and planted your palms on his chest. When you sunk down on his cock, Andrew watched you take every inch. He rested his head against the pillows only when he had bottomed out. You gave an experimental roll of your hips and Andrew caught his bottom lip between his teeth. He watched, unblinking, as you found your rhythm. He looked up at you with wide eyes, gaze moving from your face to the way your breasts bounced as you rode him. You loved when he looked at you like that. Not appraising, but adoring. So caught up in the impossibility that you were actually allowing him to help you feel good. One of his hands settled loosely on your abdomen, fingers brushing the outside of your hip while his thumb stroked your clit. It was more to keep you steady than actually helping you glide along his length. His other thumb went to your mouth, pressing against your lips. You opened readily and sucked around his finger. He used the newly-wettened pad of his thumb to rub circles around your nipple. You gasped and dug your nails into his chest.

“Yea, you like that?” He breathed, pinching the hardened bud between his fingers. You moaned and nodded, picking up your pace. You slammed yourself down on his cock, letting out little gasps every time the head brushed against your cervix. Andrew just laid there in awe, rubbing against you and helping you build to your next orgasm. “Please cum for me,” He whined “Need to feel it. M’so close. Use me. Use me to get yourself off. That’s it.”

“Fuck, Andrew,” You praised, voice shaky. The edges of your brain were starting to blur again, but you wanted to make sure he heard your words. “Feels s’good. You take such good care of me.” Andrew bit down harder on his lip and began rutting up into you frantically. “I love you so much.”

“Cum with me,” he pleaded. And you did. Your body went limp as another orgasm crashed through you. Your pussy spasmed around his cock and you squeezed your walls around him, milking him for everything he had. Andrew spilled inside you only moments later, face twisted up with ecstasy and small gasps puffing from his lips. You collapsed onto him, nuzzling your face into his neck. Andrew’s arms were around you instantly, pulling you impossibly close into his chest. You felt so full of him. His cum dribbled out of you and cooled on your thighs while the pressure of his hug soothed you. Your hearts beat rapidly against each other and you laid together until they both returned to their normal rhythms. Andrew pressed kisses to your forehead and petted your head. “I love you so much,” He whispered. You smiled against his chest and he felt it. “I mean it. You’re my everything. All I want to do is to take care of you. Always. If you’re not feeling it one night, just tell me. I don’t want you to think you have to perform for me. Okay?” You nodded. “Promise me.” You lifted your head and kissed him slowly, fingers finding the hair at the base of his neck.

you whine, though it's muffled from his digit. he spanks you again, and again, and again.

"i thought it was so fun when you went out with your friends while i was on a job," another hit, "i thought it was fun when you put on a short dress and let other guys look at you," another hit.

this one's different, though, because his voice cracks on that last sentence, his chest giving a heavy shake.

"popey, i'm sorry," you whine, but he's merciless. he smacks you again and again and again, relentless in his pursuits.

"'m sorry, angel, hurts me more than it hurts you, y'know that?" he croaks, and tears stream down your own face. "hurts me that my girl doesn't listen."

"i'm so sorry, popey, i won't do it again," you whine, and he kisses your poor, bruised ass.

"good girl, that's what i like to hear," he continues to kiss, to smooth his hands over your flaming skin. "need you safe. dunno what i'd do if something happened to you while i was away. don't think i would make it."

you squeeze your eyes shut, heart clutching as you take in his words.

"'m gonna go get your lotion," he starts, lips moving along the skin of your ass. "lay on your stomach for me when i get back, hm?" you nod, and he continues. "gonna rub your lotion into this sweet little ass, then i'm gonna eat you pussy, 'kay?" he asks.

Whining like a child, you needed to come up for air, realizing the shared space did not leave much oxygen. You pulled away again, straightening your back as you settled back into your position of straddling his lap, with him laid back against his bedframe.

"What's that pout for? Why're you lookin' at me like that?" Andrew's voice sounded, again in that flat tone, blank stare, but with a higher pitch now, and you could see the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "'Cause its never enough. 'M never get close enough." Lips in a pout, you settled for fidgeting with the strings of his dark brown hoodie.

"You know, you're so pretty, Andy. 'S unfair." Andrew doesn't even try to fight the shy smile slowly gracing his features. A rosy pink flush creeping up the freckled skin of his neck and ears.

"Why unfair?"

"'Cause I don't wanna look away. Your face's so pretty. 'Love the way your bones 're aligned." You gently trace one of your index fingers from his forehead, over his nose, down to his chin as a sound best described as a snort leaves pope, genuine smile now on his face.

"My bone structure...?"

"Mhm. Your nose. Your Jaw. The way your upper lip's slightly more forward than your chin. Those pretty puppy eyes. Your teeth...'m love it sou much."

"O-okay" Andrew's grin softens, the shy, boyish charm leaking through again as he shifts his gaze to your hands that are back to mindlessly playing with the strings of his hoodie.

"You're pretty too. Prettiest. And sweet..." his voice suddenly speaks up, making your lips twitch into a shy, slightly teasing smile. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Thank you, Andy." You say as you lean forward to press a kiss to the tip of his nose, as his hands massage the plush of where your hips meet your thighs.

"So beautiful." Andrew's now looking right at you as he whispers those two small words, more to himself than anyone else really. The look your boyfriend has while his gaze drifts over your features makes it hard to breathe for a second.

Adoration. Like you're the light in his otherwise rather dark world. Like you're something etheral he's scared to touch with his bloodied hands but too selfish not to.

Smile widening, you lean in again, this time to pepper kisses all over his features, his nose, cheeks, forehead and eyelids, all the way down to his chin and jawline. Each press of lips accompanied by an overexaggerated 'mwah' sound.

The obnoxious display has the flush spread to his cheeks, a genuine, wide smile spreading over his face.

Those puppy dog eyes fixed on you like you're all he sees, his whole world, basking in the affection you're willing to give to him and thanking whatever deity out there for letting him have this.

Swearing on everything he has, he'll do whatever it takes to protect it.

ever since spencer and reader’s 1 year dating anniversary he’s been actually obsessed with the thought of forever with her

really he’s been fantasizing about it since he first saw her, but he’s having a harder and harder time pushing the thoughts away

the thoughts of being married to her, getting to call her his wife

of having a house with her, a picket fence and a garden and a yard

and children, of course

he wants to have kids with her so so badly

the thought of having little versions of the two of them running around makes him feel dizzy with excitement

when he spends too long envisioning her pregnant he has to sneak away to take care of himself, jerking off in the bathroom, he just can’t contain himself

he knows that she wants it too, but they’ve both agreed that they want to wait until they’re married and settled in a house to have kids

she’s literally still on birth control

but that doesn’t stop him from panting into her mouth as he’s slowly fucking her “let me make you a mommy”

“please baby let’s have a baby”

“i’m gonna fill you up with my cum”

he’s lifted one of her legs around his waist so he can get even deeper inside of her and she moans at the feeling of his cock in her stomach

“you wanna be a daddy, spence?”

“yes baby yes, gonna make you a mommy so i can be a daddy, we’ll be the best parents, yeah?” she’s delirious and drunk on him, he’s everywhere all at once, so all she can do is whine and nod

“fuck, you’re gonna look so beautiful carrying our child”

“can’t wait to make you my beautiful pregnant wife”

she’s completely breathless with how full she feels, he’s fucking her so deeply that she can barely get air into her lungs

after he’s emptied himself inside of her and has pulled out, he can’t stop himself from kneeling between her legs to stop any of his cum from dripping out of her

he uses his fingertip to push it all back in and slowly finger fucks her to pump it all in as deep as he can

“gotta make sure it takes, right baby?”

-

after they’ve discussed it and have decided that they are ready to try for a baby, they both become insatiable

she’s riding him into the mattress, his hands squeezing at her hips as she lifts up and drops herself back down again and again and again

his face is flushed and he has this sparkle in his eye as he looks at her and she’s just so in love with him

she sinks completely down on him and grinds her hips to keep him as deep inside of her as possible and he throws his head back, “fuck, baby”

speaking of

“gonna come inside me spence? put a baby in me?” she whispers in his ear

he lets out the most visceral groan of pleasure

“fuck me, yes, yes, please, need to see my wife so full of me”

“please, i’m so deep in you, it’ll be so easy to”

“please, i can’t wait to see my wife pregnant”

she bites her lip to hide a smile at how her words affect him, she never knew that he’d get so worked up by these words

she lifts up his cock until only his tip is left inside of her and sinks back down, over and over until he’s whimpering and he can’t keep his hands off her bouncing tits

“i cant wait for these to get all swollen and leaky, they’re already so perfect i wont be able to handle it”

“so close, baby, so close to giving you a baby”

“yeah, spence? gonna make me a mommy?”

“show everyone that i’m yours?”

after he paints her walls with his cum, he lays her flat on her back so that gravity can’t ruin his plans

“i can feel you dripping out, spence” and he can’t have that so he pushes it all back in and grinds a finger deep inside of her

he doesn’t want to pump them too fast and risk any of his cum spilling out of her, so he just buries his finger as deep as he can

he keeps at it until he’s hard again and he pumps load after load of his cum in her, determined for it to take

he makes sure that she cums as many times as he does, if not more, just to make sure his sperm transfers

“some people say it’s a myth but you’re gonna cum again for me baby, okay? just to be safe”

he fills her over and over again until she’s literally overflowing with it and there’s too much for it to all fit inside of her

he makes sure to try alll of the positions with her, he’s absolutely researched which ones are the most effective for fertility

his favorite is definitely propping both of her legs on his shoulders, nearly folding her in half

he’s absolutely mesmerized by the sight of her pretty pussy gushing with his cum and tries his best to push it back in, but there’s just too much of it

-

when she is pregnant and swollen with his child, every inch of her body changed because of him, he can’t keep his hands off of her

he’s enthralled, captivated, absolutely fascinated by her

he’s constantly rubbing her bump

he sucks marks over her stretch marks, so proud of himself for forever altering her body and skin

he sucks and licks on her sensitive tits

he loves fucking her with her on the edge of their bed, her laying down and him standing between her legs

he gets the perfect view of her protruding belly, and he can’t handle it

“fuck, baby, i knew you’d look so beautiful like this”

“thank you for carrying our baby”

“wish i could keep you pregnant forever”

her hormones make her so so needy for him, she constantly needs him inside of her, loves having his mouth all over her, she’s always on fire for him

“my beautiful wife, so full of me”

“you were made to look like this. you were made just for me”

“just looking at you like this turns me on so much, i get hard in public seeing what i did to you”

“you’re glowing, baby”

“as if the ring wasn’t proof enough that you’re taken, everyone can see that i’ve claimed you”

“i always thought you were the most beautiful girl in the world, but you’re even more beautiful like this, so perfect, so gorgeous”

and if her breasts start to leak before she gives birth? he’s absolutely mesmerized and can’t stop squeezing at them to watch her leak more

he’d follow the trails of milk with his tongue, moaning like he’s never tasted anything better, because he hasn’t

he’s almost even more entranced by the way his cum looks when it’s dripping out of her when she’s like this

the sight of her so so full of him has him literally moaning at just the sight

she jokingly reminds him that she’s already pregnant, he can’t do it again

and he already can’t wait to do it again, already looking forward to watching her grow and swell because of him again

-

after birth he’d be counting down the days until they can start trying again, desperate to see her so full and so round of him again

The age gap between the two of you had always been something you both navigated quietly, the twenty years of wear, loss and hard earned medical instincts that gave him those faint silver threads at his temples.

Usually, that difference felt like a safe harbor.

But tonight, right now, it felt like a burden.

"Jack-" you started, your voice trembling as you held the bleeding wound on your forearm.

"Don't," he snapped, his voice was cold, sharp, and vibrating with danger. You had never seen him direct at you that way.

He finally turned to face you, stepping into the center of the room. His jaw was clenched so hard the muscle jabbed against his skin.

"What were you thinking?" he asked, pointing a finger directly at you, his voice trembling despite his best efforts to keep it steady. "Answer me. What in God's name was going through your head back there?"

"The, the patient had a knife! He was escalating, and security was at the other end of the floor-"

"So you stepped in front of him?!" Jack raised his voice, a sharp laugh bursting from his throat before turning deadly serious again. "You stepped into the reach of an intoxicated patient holding a fucking knife, bare handed? Without gear, without training, without waiting five bloody seconds for back-up?!"

"He was going to hurt a nurse!" you shouted back, the adrenaline still coursing hot through your veins. "I was right there! I reacted!"

"You didn't react, you acted like a reckless child with a savior complex!"

The words hit you. You flinched, the sting of the insult cutting deeper than the actual slice on your arm.

Jack instantly closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, pressing two fingers to the bridge of his nose. But when he opened his eyes again, the fury hadn't faded, it had just shifted into something far darker, laced with terror.

"You could have been killed," he whispered, his voice dropping, trying to calm himself down. "Do you understand that? One inch to the right, one sudden movement, and he would have stab you on the chest. And I would have been dragging your body onto a gurney. I would have been the one running the code on my own girlfriend."

"I made a decision-"

"It was a stupid decision!" Jack slammed his hand down on the metal table. You flinched, with a mix of fear and hurt. "It was completely undeniably reckless! You aren't invincible. You think you're helping, but all you did was put yourself in fatal danger!"

He ran both hands through his hair, pacing the narrow length of the room. The angry on his face was agonizing to look at.

"This isn't a fucking videogame, he stabs you and you're gone," Jack murmured, his voice cracking slightly as he stopped pacing, looking at you with eyes that were red rimmed and filled with agony. "You can't do something so impossibly stupid, so utterly careless with your own life..."

He paused, swallowing hard, his chest heaving.

"I hate it when you're like this" he breathed, the words heavy and devastating. "How easily I could lose you because you don't respect how fast a life can end in this place."

Tears finally welled up in your eyes, slipping down your cheeks. "Jack, please..."

"No," he said softly, holding up a hand, refusing to let you touch him even as his own hands shook violently. "I need you to listen to me. I love you, baby. I love you so much it frightens me every damn day. I cannot watch you throw yourself into a fire just to prove you're brave. If you ever, ever, do something like that again, I won't be able to keep doing this."

He stood there for a moment, watching you cry.

Then, he reached into the cabinet, pulled out a strip of sterile bandages and an antiseptic wipe, and walked slowly over to you. "Come here,"

As his hand brushed against your skin, you pulled your arm back sharply, taking a sudden step away from him.

"Don't," you choked out, wiping the tears from your cheek with your shoulder. "I can do it myself."

Jack stopped, his hand hovering in mid air. A deep frustration crossed his features, pulling his brow down tight.

He had reached his absolute limit, the adrenaline and sheer terror of the night twisting his patience thin.

"Don't be immature," Jack said, his voice dropping into a firm tone. "Stop acting hysterical. You're bleeding, sit down and let me fix it."

The words immature and hysterical sliced through you, burning far worse than the cut on your arm.

The built up fear, the humiliation of being berated like a child, and the weight of his anger all exploded at once. You were done with him tonight.

"I said I can do it!" you gasped out, your voice cracking into a choked sob. You shoved at his chest, hard enough to pus him and make the boundaries clear. "Just go away! Leave me alone!"

Jack froze, taking a step back, shocked by the pain in your voice. But before he could say another word, the door opened.

Outside, Shen was by the doorway, listening. When he heard your voice, he step in. He took in the scene instantly: you backed from Jack, chest heaving and sobbing hysterically, and Jack standing over you with bandages in hand, looking stormily defensive.

Shen didn't hesitate for a second.

"Jack," Shen said, his voice was completely non negotiable as he stepped directly between him and you. "Out. Now."

"Shen, this isn't-" Jack started as he looked at him.

"I said out, Abbot," Shen interrupted, pointing firmly toward the open door. "You're done in here. I'll take care of her."

Jack looked from Shen back to you. You wouldn't meet his eyes, your head turned away as quiet sobs tore from your chest.

For a second, the anger in his eyes vanished, replaced by the realization of how he had just hurt you.

With a tight nod, Jack swallowed hard, set the bandage strip down and walked out without another word.

The rest of the night shift passed in a cold fog.

Shen had cleaned and bandaged the cut on your arm, giving you a little speech before sending you back out to work.

For the remaining four hours, you actively avoided Trauma Bays, took the long way around the nurse's station, and kept your head down whenever his figure in scrubs moved through the hallway.

Jack did the same. Whenever you were in the same general area, his presence felt impossibly heavy, but he never approached.

When 7 AM finally rolled around, you clocked out, feeling bruised down to your bones. You walked out to the parking garage, cold morning air biting at your face.

You half expected him to have left without you, but there he was.

Jack was leaning against the passenger side of his car, holding two paper cups of coffee from the cafeteria. He always drove you home after your shift. It was a rhythm you’d built together, a quiet ritual of transitioning from the madness of the ER back to normal life.

Neither of you spoke on the drive. The silence in the car felt suffocating.

When he finally pulled up outside your apartment building, Jack cut the engine. He didn't unbuckle immediately. Instead, he rested his hands on the steering wheel, staring straight ahead through the windshield before turning to look at you when you opened the car door to leave.

"Can we talk?" he asked quietly as you where already walking to the building with wet eyes. "Please."

You turned around, nodding slowly. You didn't want to bring him inside, so you two stayed in the hallway outside your apartment door, key resting heavy in your palm.

Jack stood a step away, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets.

"I shouldn't have raised my voice at you," Jack began, taking a breath and looking at youy. "And I shouldn't have... used those words. I was... terrified. I was out of my mind with fear, watching you put yourself in front of a blade like that. But I handled it wrong."

You swallowed down the lump in your throat, trying to keep your voice steady. "You spoke to me like I was a child, Jack. You called me immature and hysterical."

"Because you were acting on pure emotion!" Jack said, stepping a fraction closer, though his tone was defensive despite his apology. "You're a talented healthcare worker, but you lack the experience to know when a situation is beyond your pay grade. You rushed in without thinking about the consequences. That is impulse. That is a young and reckless reaction, and I can't just ignore it because it hurts your feelings to hear it."

His words settled over you heavily.

He is apologizing for how he said it, but not for what he thought.

Standing there, looking into his eyes, you saw it clearly. He didn't see an equal who had made a high stress judgment call in a chaotic trauma center. He saw a young, naive girl he had to manage and protect from her own foolishness.

The age gap between you wasn't just a number to him right now; it was a wall he was using to put himself above you.

A cold clarity washed over the anger, leaving behind an ache.

"You really see me like that, don't you?" you whispered, the realization pulling a broken breath from you. "Just a young, immature girl who doesn't know any better."

Jack blinked, panic entering his eyes by the calm of your voice. "That's not what I'm saying-"

"It is," you interrupted, shaking your head gently. "You think I'm too young to understand the risks, and you think you're the only one in this relationship who has any wisdom. Profesional and personal talking."

"I'm trying to keep you alive!" Jack snapped softly, reaching out to touch your arm, but dropping his hand when you took a small step back. "I care about you. I love you. But I've been doing this for longer than you've been in medicine. I know how this ends when people get careless."

"I know you love me," you said, tears brimming in your eyes again. "And I love you, too."

Jack let out a breath, his shoulders dropping slightly in relief. "Okay. Good. Then let's just go inside, get some sleep, and-"

"No," you said firmly, lifting your chin. "We need space. I need space."

Jack froze, his forehead furrowing. "What does that mean?"

"I'm not breaking up with you. But I see how you see me during some shifts. I'm going to ask to be switched to day shift for a few days," you said, your voice remarkably steady despite the tremble in your hands. "I need to work without you staring over my shoulder waiting for me to to fail and you need time to decide if you actually respect me as an adult, or if you just see me as someone you have to babysit."

Jack stared at you, stunned into silence. For the first time all night, the authority drained out of his posture, replaced by vulnerability.

"Day shift?" he repeated quietly, the reality sinking in. "We won't see each other at work. We won't even have the same sleep schedule."

"I know," you replied feeling your heart break and a tear escaping your eyes. You turned the key in the lock and opened your apartment door. "I don't liked how you talked to me tonight. I understand your point but I think that's what we need right now."

You stepped inside, but paused.

You looked back at him standing alone in the hallway. Despite everything, the sadness and terror in his eyes was still raw.

You leaned forward, rising on your tiptoes to press a soft kiss against his cheek.

Jack’s breath hitched. His hand shot forward, wrapping tightly around your waist, pulling you against him so suddenly it felt like a silent plea. He squeezed your waist with a desperate warmth, his whole body shaking as if he were trying to convince himself you were still whole and unhurt. For a fleeting second, he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his uneven breath felt hot against your skin.

He wanted to hold on. He wanted to pull you back inside the safety of his arms, but the unspoken wall of his condescension still stood cold and immovable between you.

You gently placed your hand over his wrist and slowly pushed back.

His grip loosened with agonizing slowness, his fingers lingering on your waist as if letting go was tearing something out of him. He lifted his head, his eyes glossy, and completely shattered by the realization that his own need to protect you had pushed you away.

"Get some sleep, Jack," you whispered, your voice breaking on his name. "I will... I will text you later. Okay?"

His hand finally slipped off your side.

He didn't speak. He couldn't. He just nodded.

You stepped into the safety of your apartment and pulled the door shut. The click echoed down the hallway, leaving him standing in the cold alone. Regretting all he has said.

⋆｡˚☤🩺✧˖°.｡⋆💉

the pitt masterlist

“Why are you doing that?” you ask. 

“You’re soft,” he replies with a shrug, like your question was pointless.

Soft. Not your favourite word. It makes the corners of your mouth droop, and you try to catch his hands to stop him from prodding at you any further. 

Jack looks at you incredulously. 

“Hey.” He grabs your fingers. “Stop that. Let me.”

He continues pawing at you like a cat, practically making biscuits on your stomach. 

“Are you… are you, like, subtly trying to tell me to lose weight?” you ask. Worry taints your voice. 

Jack’s head whips up to stare at you.

“What?” he questions. “No. Why?”

“You’re poking me and calling me soft,” you answer.

“Jesus, bunny, I’m—no. I meant… I like touching you because you’re beautiful and soft and warm, like… just like you should be,” he explains quickly.  

You frown a little—a mix of disbelief and discontent. 

“Bun, c’mon,” he murmurs and grabs hold of your chin. “I mean it. You’re beautiful. My most beautiful girl.” 

His fingers mush your cheeks together, propping up your lips for him to kiss. You can’t help but giggle, which in return makes him smile.  

“That’s better,” he praises gently. “Haven’t I been loving you enough?” 

He rubs the tip of his nose against yours, then waits for your answer while his eyes bore into you. 

“No, of course you have,” you mumble.

It’s true. You really are nothing short of spoiled in that regard. 

“Hm,” Jack muses. “I’m not so sure.”

With that, he starts peppering the softest of kisses from the corner of your mouth to your jawline. Like a thousand little butterflies, he nibs tenderly at your neck. 

“Sweet babygirl,” he murmurs. “So gorgeous and she doesn’t even know it, hm?”

You almost roll your eyes. It’s not that serious, you want to say.  But then he kisses your collarbone, and one of his hands slips under your shirt, grazing the lace of your bra just slightly, and every word of protest dies down before it can even spill out.

“Jackie,” you gasp. 

“Uh-uh,” he replies, barely lifting his mouth from your chest. “Shh… let Daddy take care of you.”

Somewhere between the twentieth kiss and the third hickey, he had taken off your shirt and bra. Kissed your nipples one by one, then down your ribs to your belly. 

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he whispers as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your sweats and panties, then drags them down to expose every inch of your skin. The cool air hits your skin, causing goosebumps to erupt all over your tummy. 

While Jack discards his own clothes in no time, you reach down to take off your frilly white socks, but he stops you.

“Sweet pea,” he says softly. “If I wanted you to take ‘em off, I would’ve done so myself. Keep ‘em on.”

You smile sheepishly and nod. 

“Sorry, Daddy,” you murmur.

“Nuh-uh, no apology needed,” he replies.

He kisses the top of your head before he climbs onto you, your legs making room for him easily. His hard cock throbs against your core as he leans down to kiss you breathless, his tip almost painfully red. You wonder how long he’s been hard and how you didn’t notice. 

Despite that, he doesn’t enter you yet.  Instead, Jack folds you in half like you weigh nothing, hooking your legs over his shoulders easily. You squeak slightly, feeling utterly exposed at the new angle. 

“Pretty,” he whispers, then kisses your ankle just above the cuff of your sock. 

With one hand, he guides himself to your cunt, but not without sliding his cock through your wet folds first. He bumps himself against your clit twice, smiling when breathy whimpers fall from your lips. 

“Daddy,” you plead, “No teasing, please.”

“Oh, but it’s my favourite thing to do with my favourite girl.”

He smirks as you pout, then swipes his tip through your folds again, eliciting a soft moan from you. 

“I know that’s right,” he murmurs. “Let me hear you, baby.”

Then, without warning, Jack aims his cock at your opening and feeds you the first few inches. You gasp, your fingers curling into the thick sun-kissed skin of his biceps. 

“Easy,” he mumbles.

His fingers find your clit as he slowly buries himself to the hilt, watching your mouth fall open. He starts with little circles, practically no pressure, but your reaction is imminent.  Pleasure blooms through your core, and you gasp out another breathy “Daddy.”

 “You’re being so good,” he whispers. “Making the prettiest sounds for me and looking so beautiful at the same time.”

His weight keeps you folded in half as he slowly withdraws his cock from your cunt until only the tip of him is enveloped by your tight heat.  You can’t help it as you clench around him, your walls fluttering around him. 

“Fuck,” Jack grunts, “Oh, you’re killing me. Do that again, bunny.”

You can’t control it—it just happens as he thumbs at your clit, making you gasp and tighten. 

“Good fucking girl,” he whispers and thrusts back into you.  

This angle has him hitting spots you didn’t know existed. His tip bullies your cervix with every roll of his hips, forcing husky moans out of you. 

Every time you clench around him, he groans like it hurts. 

“Fuck, bunny,” he whispers. 

There seems to be only one solution: the next time he feels your cunt strangling his cock, he whips his head and quickly kisses the thrilly hem of your sock to keep him from cumming on the spot.  

first, a startled register of his environment and then, a confused glance at the very naked girl draped over his body. his arms come up, hovering, sputtering, and then politely putting his palms over your shoulders. nudging you to look up at him.

jesus christ, those eyes. 

“hi.”

so quiet. “hey, handsome.”

he lets out a long, contemplative sigh, thinking, thinking, thinking. when does this guy ever stop thinking? “we kissed,” he says it like a fact, but with questioning lilt that makes it sound otherwise. 

you prop an elbow on the bed, joint wedged into the space above his shoulder so you can see him better. the blanket keeping you decent slips a bit and spencer unconsciously tucks it more securely under your arm. you catalogue that for later. 

“we did a lot more than that. forgive me for being untoward but we fucked,” you clarify, innocent with your chin in the heel of your palm.

spencer groans, he groans! “don't be crude.”

“we're naked.”

“i know that,” he murmurs, disgruntled, leaning up to press a chaste kiss to your jaw and falling back into the pillow. you sport an amused little smile when you see the pout on his lips. 

you slept with spencer reid.

your coworker, your friend, the man you’d been terribly smitten with for who knows how long (7 months and 3 days.)

spencer reid who lingered by your side for hours last night, unassuming, unbothered, who smiled softly at your wine induced flush whenever he’d lean in to hear you better, who sat with you while you tipped your chin up at the sky to point out stars and asked him to name them, who pressed a sobering kiss to your lips in rossi's backyard after a clumsily delivered compliment.

you’re so pretty.

your response is a blur, forgotten, but you do remember how he drove you home with his hand idly playing with your fingers over the center console. how he tried but inevitably failed to be a gentleman as you led him up to your apartment, shared, hushed giggles echoing down the hallway and quite gracefully falling into bed leaving a very telling breadcrumb trail of clothes. 

and now, half a second of thought passes on whether you should ask him or surprise him. the latter wins and you dip down and kiss the corner of his mouth. you’re not evil, he deserves some warning before you really plant one on him. he wastes no time, bringing his lips to yours with those big hands cradling your face. 

his lips press against yours gingerly in a sweet, lingering kiss, followed by another and another. mouth slotted over yours, like perfect puzzle pieces, his tongue traces the seam of your lips and you grant him entrance, letting him gently lick into your mouth. you let out a small, needy sound at the warmth of his tongue against yours, melting into him. it makes him chuckle quietly.

“spence,” you gasp against his lips.

a subtle shudder makes its way down his spine at the desperation in your voice, the same need slowly fogging up his own brain, remnants of last night catching up. 

“i know, angel,” he cups your neck, what is happening?

“can i admit something?”

spencer smiles at you, boyish and stupid spread across his face, “please do.”

“you kiss nice, had i known you were this good of a kisser i would’ve done it ages ago,” you mumble, forcing words out to keep a sliver of your dignity.

he laughs again, a small pleased sound that makes you feel good. “you do too. you are wildly better than anything i have ever imagined–”

“you’ve imagined me?” you turn timid in a way that you hate but spencer kisses you and it melts away.

“of course i have. you’re wonderful.”

spencer pulls your leg over his and sits the two of you up, thighs bracketing his hips. the blanket falls unabashedly into the space between your bodies, pooled dangerously low over his lap. you thank whatever god there is for the enticing view of the scattering of light hair that trails beneath the covers.

you’re surprised with the ease in which spencer's hands drag down your sides, like he's done it a million times before. he pushes the pads of his thumbs into the area above your hipbone like he knows you’ll twitch when he does, and you do. damn his eidetic memory and damn his perfect mouth when he attaches his lips to your jaw, angling you as he lightly works the skin. he's careful enough not to leave a mark somewhere visible but it doesn't stop him from reminding himself he can do it elsewhere, somewhere more concealed.

“pretty girl,” he coos, kissing over your pulse point, below your ear, “lay back, please.” please. he murmurs against your skin, nodding behind you. he pecks your cheek, rather sweetly considering your state of undress and swiftly returns to your neck like he can’t believe he pulled away.

now wait.

you forget about your own hands through all of this, hanging limply over his right shoulder and heavy by your side. you thread your fingers into his hair and path something more devious for the other. spencer jolts when your fingertips graze over his cock, you’d think he’d expect it but he reacts like it's completely sudden. it scares you momentarily, were you too forward? but then he looks at you with something beggy and glazed over in his eyes and it motivates you to ease the shelter of the blanket fully off, baring him.

spencer pinks, tips of his ears to the top of his chest. you inch off his lap and sit in front of him. you watch the features in his face twist into realisation and cut him off before he can say something polite, "i wanna taste you, spence.”

you’ve stunned spencer reid. for the first time in his fucking life he doesn’t know what to say. so he pushes out a, “yeah? fuck, okay. yeah.” an embarrassing stutter of words but it's enough to reassure you. 

a firm finger pokes him square in the chest, not so hard that it hurts but enough to have him lean back against the headboard. he follows dutifully, letting the pillows take him, allowing him some semblance of solid ground beneath him. because he's convinced he might pass out at the sight of you settling between his outstretched legs, looking sinfully unaware of just how much you affect him.

although the effect itself becomes glaringly obvious when his cock twitches, two pairs of eyes darting down immediately. you can't tell if he's bigger than what you remember from last night, but you do know that you want him in your mouth immediately.

your head dips down, a slow hand curling around the base of his length, guiding it to your lips. the head, flushed and red, meets soft and plush, a light kiss against him. and spencer thinks he might die. your lips part, taking the tip into your mouth, tongue laving against his slit. your eyes flutter shut when a bead of precum settles over your tastebuds, slightly salty. you glide down, the weight of him in your mouth is deliriously good.

at some point between drawing back and swirling your tongue around his tip, spencer tangles his hands in your hair. fingertips soft over your scalp, he doesn't push, just holds you. your head bobs down again, forming a steady rhythm. your eyes start to water when he nudges at the back of your throat, breath faltering as the hair low on his stomach begins to tickle your nose. he immediately pulls you off with a gentle hand fixed to your jaw.

“you don’t have to do it all.” the concern in his eyes is sickening as he wipes off the saliva smeared to the corner of your mouth. you smile at him, a little sheepish, tilting into his palm. “i know.”

you press a kiss to his wrist and return to the task at hand, cock standing proud over his abdomen and possibly redder than when you left it. you lean down, letting a little dribble of spit fall from your lips to his length. decidedly, you wrap your fingers around him, letting the saliva act as a lubricant. you press a thumb to a vein running along the side of his cock, tracing it with every up and down of your hand. he lets out a shuddering exhale in response. 

you hope the look you give him is sultry at best, you don't know that his vision is starting to blur at the corners when your head dips down again. only to mouth at the tip this time, a sloppy makeout around the flushed head as your hand continues to work at the rest of him.

“god, angel. you’re so-” he cuts himself off with a moan when your wrist twists. “so good at that.”

you let the words get to your head, a burning heat that creeps up your neck. emboldened, you take more of him into your mouth, hollowing out your cheeks as you go. spencer can't help the way his hips buck up and you almost gag again. you pull off with a breathless giggle, wiping your mouth while spencer regards you with that same sickening concern, except now there's guilt in his comforting touch when he inspects your face. he doesn’t find this funny at all.

you hold his wrist as you laugh again and put on your most reassuring voice, "i'm okay.”

a skeptical purse of his lips. you gravitate forward, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “i promise,” you whisper, followed by a nip at his skin. it elicits a gasped sound from the depths of his chest.

he pulls you into a kiss, relishing in the ever so slight taste of him on your lips as he turns the two of you around, you let him lay you down this time. the moment feels kismet when his fingers trail lower. one hand keeping him propped up and the other parting your folds. you're unbelievably wet, the lingering effects of last night and spencer on your tongue leaving you as much.

“oh, spencer.” your hips rise to his touch when he dips a finger into your entrance and he's immediately determined to make you say his name like that again. the way you gush around him as his finger curls up allows him to add another one to the mix. you think he’s ruined you forever with how fast the peak builds, a heavy, honey-like pressure pushing down on your stomach as his fingers move, relentless between your thighs. you stop him before he can put his thumb to your clit with an urgent gasp, knowing that if you come now you won’t be able to keep going, “fuck me.” swallow, “please.”

spencer pulls his fingers out, kissing your chin when your head tips back at the emptiness. he can't help the tug at the corner of his lips, eyes possibly filled with too much affection when your thighs give a needy squeeze around his hips. “i got you,” he whispers, pulling you closer with two firm hands at your hips. 

he pushes in, and it's an easy fit, you’ve been ready for what feels like forever. but where he lacks in overwhelming thickness he makes up for in length so it truly just keeps going. your hands brace at his side when he finally bottoms out. “i swear you weren’t this big,” you huff against his shoulder, almost exasperated. 

spencer laughs, though it skirts the edge of something aching, “ha-ah, you’re boosting my ego, sweetheart.”

“good,” you hum, eyebrows pinching when he begins to move. your walls flutter around him, adjusting, you don’t know how you took it last night without his rearranging you from the inside out. “you’re so- feels so good, spence.”

he whines into your neck, the speed of his hips increasing with every subsequent clench around his cock, he doesn’t know if he can handle this much praise. lewd noises fill the room, moans and flush inducing wet squelches echoing off the walls and forming into something tangible between your bodies. it's not enough, something's missing, you need him even closer. 

“baby, wait. flip me over.”

baby.

he hesitates before turning your body under his. upon re-entering you, it all clicks into place. you melt in satisfaction, cheek smushed against the pillow with your mouth stupidly hanging open. he gives an experimental roll of his hips, slow and deliberate, hitting places you never deemed possible.

“there?” he asks when you simultaneously mumble an incoherent y-uhuh, there, he lays over you and starts fucking you into the sheets.

his chest molds perfectly to your back, head fitted somewhere between your shoulders with his lips attached to the nape of your neck. he murmurs things, things you can't possibly comprehend with how deep he is, you swear you could feel him in your throat. your hips push back, meeting his thrusts with every persistent plap. sweat blooms. a light sheen everywhere your skin touches him, you feel warm all over. you feel him all over. spencer. spencer. spencer. 

spencer snakes a hand under your body with an unwitting amount of familiarity when he starts rubbing circles into your clit

you feel it again, pulsing, a pleasant ringing in your ears that drowns everything out except his voice. “gonna cum for me again? huh, angel? just like last night?” quiet encouragement, awe, tinged with a bit of condescension, it sends sparks down your spine, setting off fireworks between your legs. 

your head tips over to his arm, where it's planted beside you on the pillow, to sink teeth into flesh. canines dig into muscle, and if you were any more coherent, you would’ve drawn blood. your scream muffles against him, legs twitching out and shaking under his body, spencer blankets you with a heavy grounding pressure as your orgasm crests. his lips press to your cheek when you look over your shoulder at him, eyebrows imploringly upturned, he follows right after you and he is beautiful. 

he slumps, heavy. but the good kind. you welcome the pressure and the closeness for a minute while your breathing evens out. in and out.

“i need to pee, reid."

“oh please, don't call me that when i'm still inside you.”

you laugh into the pillow, shoulders shaking while he pulls out. funny boy. you pull a shirt over your head and watch as spencer stumbles trying to put on his underwear. he trails behind you quietly as you walk into the attached bathroom and pretend to ignore the pout he tries to hide when you close the door. 

you feel a little stupid talking to him from the toilet but it makes it somewhat easier to ask him. “can we do this again?” your voice muffles through the wood. 

he squeaks something panicked, “i don’t know if i can–”

you push an amused smile into your knuckles, “not now, spencer. at some point, in the near future.”

“yeah?” he asks, sickeningly hopeful. “would you let me take you to dinner first? preferably not at rossi’s house?”

spencer hears the flush and then the door clicks open. you have your hands joined behind your back, he takes a step forward.

“i’d really like that.”

you’ve got an expression on your face that doesn’t warrant a confirmation, still, spencer asks. “yeah?” 

you lean forward and kiss him, a few seconds too long. “it’s a date.”

"They're three, Jack!" you said. "It's the perfect age. They need to socialize, they need routine, and I need to go back to work!"

Jack stood on the other side of the island, his arms crossed over his chest, his jaw set in that stubborn line you knew too well.

His nerves were shot but his stance was unshakeable.

"They just turned three!" Jack countered, rising his voice to match your energy. "They don't need to be shoved into some crowded room with twenty other germ ridden toddlers all day. I work enough for this family. I pull the shifts, I make the money so you don't have to go back to work yet. Why are you in such a rush to hand our kids over to strangers?"

"This isn't just about money," you snapped back, tears of frustration prickling your eyes as your voice elevated. "It's about me wanting to work! It's about me wanting to use my brain for something other than cartoons and baby cups! You get to leave the house, you get to have an adult identity, and I am just here every single day!"

"So I don't get a say in how my kids are raised?" Jack roared back, leaning over the counter. "I'm trying to protect them. I work myself to the bone so they can stay safe at home with their mother."

In the twin's room, toys were scattered everywhere, but neither of them were playing.

Lily was huddled in the corner, her knees pulled into her chest. Her bottom lip trembled violently. When Jack’s voice boomed, louder than she had ever heard it, Lily snapped. She pressed her hands over her ears, tears erupting from her eyes, sobbing, completely overwhelmed by the conflict outside.

Luca, sitting a few feet away with a toy truck, froze. He looked at the bedroom door, then turned his eyes to his twin sister. He was only three minutes older, but the protective instinct hit him instantly.

Dropping his truck, Luca shuffled over on his hands and knees to the corner.

"Lily, s okay," Luca whispered, his own voice wobbling, though he tried to act big. He wrapped his arms awkwardly around her, pulling her against his chest the way he had seen you do a hundred times. "Lily, okay."

"They mad!" Lily cried out.

"N-no," Luca lied softly, patting her back with his hand.

Out in the kitchen, the argument was reaching a boiling point.

"You're not listening to me!" you shouted, throwing your hands in the air. "You never listen when it comes to-"

A small figure in the doorway interrupted you.

Your fighting mode stopped instantly.

It was Luca.

His face was set in a dead serious, completely overwhelmed scowl that looked like a miniature version of Jack. His bottom lip was pinched tight, his eyes wide with unshed tears, and his fingers were twining nervously into the front of his shirt.

"Luca..." Jack breathed out, his anger vanishing from his voice as if it had never been there at all.

Luca stopped right in the middle of the kitchen, looking up at the two adults who had just been yelling. He swallowed hard with worry.

"Lily cry- crying," Luca stated, his voice trembling. He pointed a finger back down the hallway, his chest heaving. "She... Lily cry a lot. I don't know what to do."

The guilt hit you. You dropped to your knees right there, your hands shaking as you opened your arms to him.

"Oh, baby... Come here" you choked out, your throat tight.

Luca hurried into your arms, burying his face right into the crook of your neck. You squeezed him tight, pressing your cheek to his hair, tears spilling over your eyes; not out of anger at Jack but out of absolute heartbreak.

Jack looked at the two of you before quietly turning and striding down the hall to the twins' room.

"Lily-bug?" Jack called softly, pushing the bedroom door open.

Lily was still curled in the corner, her small frame shuddering with hiccuping sobs. The moment she saw Jack, she flinched slightly, her eyes wide with fear.

"Princess... come here..." Jack’s voice broke.

Lily hesitated for a second before launching herself into him. Jack lifted her up, wrapping her tight against him as he sat on the floor.

"I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry Daddy was loud," Jack whispered into her curls, rubbing her back in slow circles.

Lily pulled back, her small voice choking out through her hiccups.

"Are... 'kay?" she whimpered, her little hand reaching up to touch his cheek. "You, Mama 'kay?"

"Yes, my sweet girl, Mama and Daddy are okay," Jack murmured, his thumb gently smoothing away the tears from her cheek. "We were just having a noisy talk about adult stuff. But we're okay."

Lily let out a shaky breath, nodding, like what Jack's said made sense.

You walked into the bedroom, Luca resting securely on your hip. His arms were wrapped tightly around your neck, sniffling.

The moment Lily saw you, her chin wobbled again. "Mama..."

You dropped down to sit on the carpet right beside Jack, pulling Luca into your lap. Tears shone in your eyes, but you gave Lily the softest smile you could muster.

"Hey, my baby girl," you whispered, reaching out to stroke her soft hair. "Don't be sad, everything is okay."

Jack looked over at you and shifted slightly, sliding one arm around you so the four of you were pulled into one grounded knot on the floor.

Luca reached out his little hand, patting Lily's leg gently. "See? Okay."

A wet giggle escaped Lily's lips through her remaining hiccups, breaking the tension in the room for good.

-

But the air in the house over the next few days was heavy.

The core of the argument hadn't magically disappeared.

You were still trying to figure out how to bring up the work life you wanted back. Jack was still stressed, overprotective, and stubborn.

You were both walking on eggshells, speaking in polite tones, avoiding the topic of kindergarten entirely.

The twins, however, were tiny emotional barometers.

They picked up on the quiet distance immediately.

And they decided to take matters into their own hands.

— Operation 1: the forced hand hold

It started on Monday afternoon during park time.

Usually, you and Jack walked side by side, bickering playfully or holding hands.

Today, you were walking a few steps ahead, while Jack walked behind with his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

Luca stopped dead in his tracks on the sidewalk. He looked back at Jack, then ran forward to catch up with you, grabbing your wrist.

"Mama, stop," Luca commanded.

You paused, turning around. "Mh? What is it, sweetie?"

Luca didn't answer. He dragged your hand backward until you were standing right in front of Jack. Then, Luca grabbed Jack’s hand, pulled it out of his pocket, and forcefully smashed your palm against Jack's. He squeezed your fingers together, holding them in place.

"Like this," Luca declared, glaring up at both of you until Jack’s fingers naturally laced through yours. "Together."

Jack swallowed hard, his thumb lightly brushing the back of your hand. He looked at you with a soft look. You bit your lip, and you didn't pull away.

Luca nodded, satisfied, and scampered off to chase his twin.

— Operation 2: the snack emergency

On Thursday evening, Jack was sitting on the living room couch, staring blankly at his phone. You were folding laundry, keeping a polite distance.

Suddenly, Lily marched into the room, a baggie of goldfish crackers clutched in her hand. She grabbed you by the hem of your shirt, tugging with all her three year old might.

"Mama, come! Snack problem!"

Panicked that someone was choking or spilling something, you dropped the towels and hurried behind her.

Instead of a mess, Lily led you straight to the couch where Jack was sitting. She pointed a cracker dusted finger at the empty place next to him and demanded, "Sit! We need help!"

You looked over at Luca, who was sitting on the rug holding an open pouch of fruit snacks. "Lily, Mama’s folding laundry-"

"SIT!" she insisted, stomping her foot so hard her light up shoes flashed.

The moment you lowered yourself onto the cushion, Lily scrambled right up onto Jack's lap, while Luca climbed onto yours.

Then came the real reason for the snack emergency: Luca was holding the fruit snacks, while Lily was holding the goldfish-shaped cookies. Lily wanted fruit while Luca wanted cookies, so both toddlers bent down at exactly the same time to grab what the other had.

By leaning forward, they force you two to move, pressing you against each other until your shoulders and thighs are pressed together.

Lily reached out, taking Jack’s hand and placed it firmly over yours on your lap, all while casually popping a fruit into her mouth.

"Help hold," Luca ordered, his mouth full as he leaned his heavy head against your chest and you held his fruits. "Snacks and cuddle. 'tay still."

Jack let out a low laugh, his arm naturally sliding around your waist to keep you close as the twins babbled and munched away between you. He pulled you just a little bit closer.

"Guess the snack rules are non-negotiable," Jack whispered softly to you over the twins' heads, his thumb gently stroking your side.

"Guess so," you murmured with a soft smile, resting your hand over his, feeling a little relief after days.

— Operation 3: the royal coronation

By Saturday morning, the twins decided it was time for you two to kiss.

You walked into the kitchen to find Jack already making coffee. The silence was still a little thick, both of you bracing for the necessary conversation you knew you needed to have.

Suddenly, Luca and Lily trotted into the room wearing their plastic dress up crowns sideways on their heads.

"Mama! Daddy! Come!" Lily shouted, waving her wand frantically toward the living room rug. "Royal game! Now!"

Jack raised an eyebrow, looking at you with a smirk as he set his coffee mug down. "We can't ignore a royal summons, don't we?"

You followed the twins into the living room. Luca grabbed Jack by the hand, dragging him over, while Lily forcefully pushed you by the back of your leg.

"Daddy sit here," Luca commanded, patting the couch. "You're King."

"Mama sit right next to King," Lily instructed. "You're Queen."

You and Jack plopped down on the sofa. Luca climbed onto the couch and placed a king's crown on Jack's head, while Lily, also on the couch, carefully placed a tilted plastic crown on your head.

"Now," Luca said, both stepping down with seriousness. He tapped Jack's shoulder with a toy sword. "King Daddy protect Queen Mama."

"Always, bud," Jack murmured softly, his eyes flicking over to you with genuine warmth.

Lily stepped forward next, holding her glittery wand high in the air over both of your heads. She puffed out her tiny chest, her voice echoing with grand authority.

"I pronounce you King and Queen!" Lily declared cheerfully. Then, she pointed the wand right between your faces. "King kiss Queen! To make the kingdom happy!"

Jack chuckled. He looked at you, his eyes softening as he reached up to gently adjust the plastic crown slipping off your hair.

"You heard our royal high priestess," Jack whispered with affection. "It's for the good of the kingdom."

You smiled softly, tears of relief pricking the corners of your eyes.

Jack reached out, his hand cupping the side of your neck as he leaned in. He pressed a warm kiss to your lips, slow and filled with a quiet apology. You leaned into his touch, resting your hand against his neck crook.

When Jack finally pulled back, Luca let out a gasp.

"Yeah! Kingdom happy!" Luca cheered, throwing his arms in the air.

Lily giggled, waving her wand in wild circles before hugging Luca, pushing him to the floor.

As the twins babbled happily, Jack caught your eyes, his hand never leaving your neck.

"We're okay," Jack whispered gently over the noise. "We'll figure it out. I promise, my queen."

⋆｡˚☤🩺✧˖°.｡⋆💉

the reminder makes him clutch you tighter. it's true, him and the turbulent relationship between him and sleep. but you make it easier. better. slumber feels a touch more conceivable after pinning you with an arm and slurping you his chin is all slick and drippy.

"c'mon, baby." jack's hands snake down to grab at your ass. kneading a silent plea. "stay, okay? just for a little bit..."

just a little bit. long enough to stuff him inside you and make you do that thing where you forget how to do anything except hug the guy and sob in his ear.

god, he likes that.

loves it.

lives for it, plus getting to kiss up on you like this after feeding you dinner and wine.

jack's victory comes in the stripping of your jack and your palms reaching to grab at his cheeks. hands scratching the stubble along his jaw, he feels you push yourself into his front. growing just as needy as him.

"...okay."

jack tugs your bottom lip between his teeth and pulls enough for you to feel it. he keeps the plus there as a tiny sound pushes out of him.

"yeah? okay?"

One month, 4 days, 7 hours, and 23 minutes had passed since you told Spencer about your history regarding sex, your aversions, and why you wouldn’t let him touch you. In the infinite moments between now and then, he still hadn’t tried to initiate anything with you. If anything, the frequent (and somewhat juvenile) hasty makeout sessions had all but ceased in the weeks following. Not that Spencer was outright turning you down, but he seemed more preoccupied. Always reading or tacking away at a laptop, too busy to pursue getting into your pants. Whenever you came onto him, however, in the small way you did, he never denied you. If you were able to pry his eyes away from whatever it was he was working on, get your hands in his hair and bring his lips to yours, it would be as if his laptop never existed. Like the printing press was never made— everything else but you melted away. Despite the progress you had made in your healing, you hadn’t gotten to the point of anything, “real”.

However, with every passing day, your wants began to overtake your worries. You knew Spencer loved you, and honestly, you were getting needy. Spencer had always been the most attractive man you’d ever met, but it seemed like every time he did something kind, it made your mouth water. He’d hold the door for you, smile at you and tell you you were pretty mid brushing your teeth. Every normal action elicited something absolutely primal to stir inside of you. It was only a matter of time, and you confided in Penelope as much.

…

“Pen, it’s bad. Like really bad. He looks at me with this sweetheart puppy dog look and I absolutely unravel.”

Penelope smiled deviously and twirled her hair with a fuzzy pen. “All those brains and he still can’t see you basically panting for him? You practically jump out of your seat whenever he mentions sexual sadism just because he’s saying the word ‘sex’.”

Your face burned. Of course, only you and Penelope really noticed, but when he was describing the habits of one of the usual monsters you dealt with, lord forgive you, you were imagining all of the other ways he could bring up that word. You groaned and put your face in your hands.

“Oh, god, I’m SICK, Garcia! I don’t know what to do.”

She smirked devilishly.

“Yes, you do.”

You cocked your head and removed your hands to look at her. “What?”

She smiled.

“Him. Do him!” She threw her head back and laughed as you rolled your eyes.

“It’s not that simple, Pen, and you know it.” You sat down in the chair next to her, and she gave you a sympathetic look.

“Look, angelface, I know — it is hard to move on. But you want him. It might be worth it to give him the chance to prove to you how different he is. More importantly, shouldn’t you help yourself heal? If this is what you want, don’t let those villains from your past rob you of this.”

You were quiet for a moment, then slumped into your seat a little further. “You’re right,” you said. “You are… and honestly, Pen, I don’t think I can wait any longer anyways.” You gave her a small smile, and she grinned back at you.

“I know I am! Now go get him, Tiger! Your resident gossip goddess wants to know how boy wonder treats my girl!”

..

When you entered your shared apartment that night, the room had a different air to it. The atmosphere was heavier, your heart was racing. And there was Spencer, sitting on the couch, reading like nothing was different. But right now, everything was different.

“Hi, hunny!” You said, trying to keep your voice even. He perked up instantly, his eyes filling with a light when they met yours.

“Hi! How was your day? You went to see Garcia, right?” He asked, always the caring lover. He never asked out of principal, only ever because he genuinely wanted to know. You felt the familiar heat pool in your core. You smiled and tried not to let it show, not yet.

“Yeah, I did. My day was good, we talked about… we- yeah. Just chatted. Gabbed..” You winced and let yourself smile, hearing how ridiculous you sounded. ‘Couldn’t just be normal, could you?’ you thought to yourself.

Spencer smiled and cocked his head, amused by your ridiculously obvious coverup. “Gabbed, huh?” He laughed and waved you over. You moved to him and sat on his lap. He wrapped his arms around you – he smelt like cologne and book ink. It was intoxicating. A blush, ever so slight, crept up your face as you tried not to focus on the fact you were just a couple layers of fabric from your fantasies coming true. You looked at him with a self-pitying, half-wince, half-smile. “Are you okay?” He asked, still smiling, only a hint of worry gracing his features.

You felt your stomach drop, and your palms grow sweaty. You closed your eyes and let out a sigh before facing him. You looked at him, his deep hazel puppy eyes making you squirm.

“Spence.” you said, putting your hands on his shoulders, the blush on your face deepening.

“Baby?” He said, utterly confused by your strange behavior. He knew there had been a lot on your mind recently, but this was extra out of the ordinary.

You considered what to say. ‘I want to have sex with you now please,’ seemed immature and very cold. ‘I’ve decided to take destiny into my hands, let’s fuck’ also seemed.. not right. You bit your lip, your eyes tracing the outline of his own. You could see his expression grow more worried, and you knew you were kind of freaking him out. Not the mood you want your partner to be in when you’re trying to do him for the first time. You decided to ditch words completely. In a last ditch effort to get your point across, you shifted so you were straddling his lap. You grabbed his face in your hands, tangling your fingers in his soft curls. You smiled– a real, steadying smile, and leaned in to kiss him.

Kissing Spencer always felt like the world’s problems were melting away. You kissed him softly, unhurried. Light brushes of your lips to his, then pulling him closer for more contact. He was warm- so, so warm. Your grip tightened in his hair, ever so slightly, and he whined softly. The noise reminded you of your intentions tonight. But unlike so much of the buildup so far, the reminder didn’t stress you. It brought you closer to him, and you ground your hips down onto his lap.

He shuddered, passing over your lips softly with his tongue, asking for polite entry. Polite– that was so much of Spencer’s behavior. He held the door, bought you flowers, massaged your aching body at the end of a long day. He read to you when he couldn’t sleep, asked “please” every time he wanted you to play in his hair, in the gentle way only you could. He was a kind, responsible man, and that did things to you.

You welcomed his tongue into your mouth, brushing yours against his, the kiss now becoming more feverish. His hands gripped your waist, grounding him. You were so beautiful, and he was in awe at his luck. The most beautiful woman in the world was on top of him, kissing him, pulling his hair and grinding on him. He felt his cock stir in his pants, and gently thrust up into your grinding. The pressure coaxed a soft gasp from you, and you moved your hands to his face and neck. You grabbed his chin to face you, and looked deeply into his eyes. “Spencer,” you panted, “I want you.”

Spencer’s eyes went wide as saucers, and his mouth fell open just so. “Baby…” he hesitated. Ever since you had told him about your past, he had held off from pressuring you in a way that might make you concede to an act you didn’t fully consent to. Your eyebrows furrowed, and you brushed your thumb over his lip, barely resisting the urge to slip it past and have him suck on it. “Don’t you want me, Spence?” You leaned in, whispering into his ear.

Spencer’s eyes fluttered shut and he swallowed hard. “I.. you have no idea… But, are you… sure? I’ve been..” he blushed, harder than he was before. You pulled back to look at him when he spoke.

“I’ve been, uh, reading? Researching, on- on how to aid recovery for those with negative sexual experiences?” He said it like it was a question. He was terrified– terrified that he might make you feel like a case study, but he wanted to show you how he cared. And statistics, experiment reports, that was how he cared. You nodded slightly, letting him know he was okay, that you were okay. He looked at you, then looked away. You brought your hand to the side of his face so he’d face you again.

“I found that, in numerous studies that regarding sexual experiences and, uh, there was a study that found the more space that the partner of the person who had a negative sexual partner, the easier the survivor found ways to enjoy sex– in this particular study, all but one survivor/couple group was able to make sex enjoyable for their partner after their negative encounter, and all of them in some way credit the enjoyment to the creation of a space where consent can be expressed and explored frequently. A-all this is to say, I want you. Badly- I want you badly. But I was trying to implement a space where you could explore your own wants without feeling entrapped into a false consent. Basically, I wanted to give you your own time.” He nervously smiled, sheepish at his admittance of his secret project.

You felt your eyes fill with the familiar sting of tears. Spencer wasn’t avoiding you, he was building you your own comfort zone. Letting you come to him, taking the pressure off. You hadn’t realized it fully, but before your first conversation, you always felt this kind of.. Clock ticking. Something inside you telling you that if you didn’t give it up, and soon, Spencer would move on. He’d leave for someone easier, though he never gave you the indication that was true. But ever since the conversation, when you initiated intimacy in the way you did, kissing and holding, marking and whispering, the clock was off. There was no more ticking, no more deadline you felt you had to meet. Your actions were your own. Spencer never gave you any reason to think he wanted you to give it up, he was never desperate. Just willing. Just there for you, in every way he could.

“I…” You trailed off, your voice choking up as you smiled at him, a single tear dripping down your face. You’d never felt more cared for in your life. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you. I… I want you, Spencer. I want all of you, and I want to give you all of me. Penelope said something today… and she’s right. You’re different. You’re nothing like the people I knew, the people who hurt me. Spencer… will you sleep with me?”

Spencer smiled at you, and brought his hands from your hips to your hands. “Are you sure? Like I said, I’d wait forever-”

He was cut off by you crushing your mouth to his. You knew, you knew he’d wait forever, and hearing him say it made you want to do nothing more than jump his bones. His kindness had you dripping, his thoughtfulness its own kind of dirty talk. “Spencer, I’ve never been more sure in my life.” You wiped your face and smiled. “Now, get naked.”

…

Spencer’s hands flew to the buttons on his shirt, making quick work of it before he shrugged it off and threw it behind him. Your mouth watered at the sight of him. Lean and toned, with the faintest happy trail. You pressed kisses to his neck, making your way down his chest. You shimmied down his body until you were at a good enough position, and began to palm him through his pants. Spencer let out a broken gasp, and gripped the side of the couch till his knuckles turned white. Your hands went to his waistband, but before you could pull it down, he grabbed your hands. “Wait,” he simply said. You sat up, confused. He stood up, walked to face you, and picked you up bridal style.

You squealed, and he smiled. “If we’re doing this now, I want to be in our bed. I need to make sure you’re as comfortable as possible, and statistically-” you cut him off once more, by kissing him as he walked you to the room. He smiled and laid you on the bed. He climbed over you, straddling your hips and leaning down to kiss your neck. His mouth found the spot just behind your ear that made you sigh, one hand on the side of your head and the other holding your waist.

Spencer moved his kisses down your body until he got to the hem of your shirt, and grabbed onto it before looking at you with a question in his eyes. You smiled and nodded, and he smiled back. You sat up slightly so he could pull it off of your head, and when he sat back on his heels, all he could do was admire you. You hadn’t been wearing a bra, so you were bare in front of him. He’d seen your chest a couple of times before, but never like this. He was in awe, and bent down to place gentle, reverent kisses. He took one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking on it and swirling around it with his tongue, massaging the other with his hand. You moaned, and laced your hands in his hair and grasped hard. He nipped you slightly, and you writhed in pleasure.

Once he decided he couldn’t wait any longer, he moved away from your chest and moved to where you wanted him most. He settled his head between your thighs and gently massaged your legs. You looked at him, and felt a tremor of nervousness and excitement course through you. Ever so gently, he hooked his finger and pulled your shorts to the side. You had chosen a pair of flexible lounge shorts for your in-home coffee date with Penelope, and now you were thanking your lucky stars that you’d done so. He hadn’t pulled your panties aside as well, giving him an all-access look at the pool of wetness that marked your underwear. He breathed heavily in utter disbelief that you could feel this way about him. He licked a stripe up the spot and you moaned and wrapped his hair in your hands. He did it again, and again, licking and sucking until he could tease himself no more.

“Baby,” he panted, “Lift your hips, please.” You did as he asked, arching your back so he could slide your pants down. Along with them went your panties, and as soon as your legs were freed of the clothes, you were struck with another wave of nervousness. You had planted your hips back down, and before Spencer settled once more between your thighs, his eyes met yours. There was so much love in that look — complete adoration. You gave him a shy smile and nodded, and he smiled back. He moved back to the spot he was at, and paused, looking in complete infatuation at your core. You were wet, so wet to the point of nearly dripping.

“So beautiful… you’re so perfect.” He brushed a thumb across your clit, featherlight, and you whimpered into his touch. You squirmed, eager to get what you’d waited so long for. He laughed, before pressing a kiss to the very same spot. There was more pressure this time, and you moaned, pressing into him. He groaned in response, wanting nothing more than to please you. Holding back no longer, he began to eat you like you were the fruit of an oasis in the desert. He was starving, he was begging, and he held onto your thighs like any moment you might disappear.

You were in heaven, between the strong strokes of his tongue and the vibrations of his moans, you couldn’t believe you had waited this long.

“S-spence, ohmygod-” you ground yourself into him, chasing the release of the coil you felt building in your stomach. Spencer moved one of his hands to slip a finger inside of you, curling it so it hit the roof of your walls. You yelped, and your back arched. The pleasure was building, but there was something stopping you from reaching your release.

“I- I- Spence, I can’t.. I ah, can’t do ittt….” you whined, clenching your fists and pulling his hair.

“Shh, it’s okay.. You can do it… you can let go…” He added a second finger and moved a little faster, and you cried out. “Please baby, let go for me.. Please, come on my fingers. I’ve got you.”

The reassurance and added stimuli combined were just too much for you. When he stopped talking and went back to your clit, your vision went white and you saw stars. You came hard around his hand, body spasming and twitching as you sobbed. Spencer only moaned, determined to continue until you had fully ridden out your orgasm. Once he saw your body’s reactions slow, he kissed your clit gently and moved up to kiss you, not removing his fingers. They slowly pumped in and out of you, sticky and warm. “Hi, baby, you did so well.” Spencer said, kissing your face and your lips, while you began to come down from the intense high. You panted, looking at Spencer and seeing only complete adoration.

Even though you just had one of the most amazing orgasms of your life, you found yourself still unsated. Like he’d awoken a beast inside of you that screamed to be fed. You launched to bring your lips to his, and he startled for a moment before kissing you with the same fervor you had. He finally removed his fingers and brought his hands to your head. You could taste yourself on his tongue, and Spencer whimpered at the intensity of your connection. You rolled over, so you were straddling him. Spencer’s eyes went wide and his mouth gaped with a broken whine as you ground yourself onto his pronounced bulge, still trapped in his sweats. You cocked your head and smiled deviously. “Didn’t I tell you to get naked?”

Spencer felt a flurry of butterflies as you moved to the side, freeing his lap so he could take off his bottom layers. When he moved his boxers down his legs, his cock hit his stomach with a mouth-watering thud. His length was about as big as you’d assumed based on the print you had become familiar with over the months you’d been together, but seeing it now almost had you drooling. It was shiny, precum dripping down the length, weeping with intent. When his pants were on the floor, he grabbed the base of his cock, desperate to relieve some of the ache. You whined at the sight. You were sure you could get off to the sight of him touching himself in front of you, but that was a theory you’d test another day. You bent down, giving the head a kitten-lick, the salty taste of his precum tastier than you’d ever believed it could be. Spencer bit his lip and moaned, determined to make this last as long as possible, but quickly realizing that time was burning like kerosene. Quick, hot, hotter than in even his fantasies. And god, did he have fantasies. Before he knew what he was saying, words tumbled out of his mouth.

“I’ve thought about this so many times, you’re s-so pretty, “ he mumbled as you licked up his length once more. He bucked, sensitive and leaking still. “Y-you’re all I think about, all I wanna do is make you feel– oh fuck–,” He choked out as you took his length into your mouth as far as you could. Such a sweetheart, he was. You were ravenous, and began to suck him off, determined to make him feel as good as he made you feel. His hand dropped from the base of his cock and fisted the sheets beside him, the other hand instinctively coming to your hair.

He made no move to force your pace, just needing the contact with you to ground himself so he’d last any amount of time longer. “Oh my god, oh my god- fuck, y-you’re really –ngh– good at that,” He babbled, lost in the feeling of it. You pressed up with your tongue as you sucked, hollowing your cheeks. He already felt himself climbing to the edge of his orgasm. He twitched, and you knew he was close.

“W-wait, I’m- if- I’m gonna cum, y-you’re gonna make me-,” He let out something in between a moan and a sob, a broken cry as his hips stuttered. His cock pulsed, letting out warm spurts of salty cum into your mouth. You continued to stroke him as he came, swirling his head with your tongue. He came hard, whimpering with every continued motion. When you felt he’d finished, you pulled off with a pop! and swallowed in one quick motion. You bit back a gag, the taste and texture not quite appealing, but the action itself hot enough to ignore. Spencer panted where he sat, cock still not shrinking. Your eyes widened, and you smiled. He opened his eyes to look at you apologetically.

“I’m sorry, you just felt really really good, and you looked really good, and-” You cut him off once more.

“Shh, it’s okay. I knew you were close, I wanted to make you feel good.” You grinned at him and licked your lips. “Do you think… you’re able to go again..?”

Spencer let out a soft laugh and smiled, looking down at his still stiff erection. “I’d love to. Actually, I’m kind of surprised? Not surprised that I want to, but surprised at being able to so soon. Typically men 25 or younger have a minimum refractory period of 15 minutes, at least.” Spencer grasped his erection and gave it a quick stroke before let out a shuddering breath. “Still very sensitive, but I can definitely go again.”

Your eyes glinted as you laid on your back and opened your arms, beckoning him to climb atop you. He did so, embracing you as your legs wrapped around him. His cock pressed to your clit, still wet, and you melted into the feeling. He pulled back to look at you, and he paused.

“I love you. I’m so grateful I get to share this part of myself with you, and that you feel comfortable doing the same.” Your heart soared as you pressed your mouth to his in a gentle kiss.

“I love you. I’m grateful, too,” was all you said before looking down your body to see his erection pressed against your core, and you pulsed around nothing, needing to have him inside you. Spencer received your silent message and pulled back to sit on his heels. He grabbed his cock and aligned with your entrance. You met his gaze and nodded, and he began to slide in.

The stretch was addictive. Just a couple of his seven inches slid inside your aching hole and your back arched. There was a slight burn, filling you so perfectly. He drew soothing shapes onto your hips in reassurance. His head was tipped back in pleasure, in almost disbelief at your softness. You were so tight, it felt unbelievable. “So good, so perfect for me…” he whispered. He brought his head back to meet your gaze, your eyes glazed in pure pleasure. He pushed in slowly before bottoming out, both of you moaning in unison. You hadn’t felt this full or cared for in your life, and felt tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. Spencer waited just a moment before slowly, ever so slowly, pulling out. The drag along your insides had your eyes rolling back inside your head, and Spencer was biting his lip so hard he was worried it’d bleed. He didn’t stop though, the pain necessary to prevent him from getting lost in the pleasure and cumming right then. He pictured the first time you’d kissed him, grabbing him by his tie and pulling him in. He thought he was enamoured then. But now, as he thrust back into you and you moaned his name, he was on cloud nine. He pressed on your uterus as he thrust in, and you let out a guttural sound.

Spencer began to thrust faster, but with just as much intention as before. Just as you were drunk off the feeling of his cock, he was completely intoxicated by the feeling of being inside you. He was babbling and moaning, nonsense coming out of his mouth. How you smelt good, how good you felt, how lucky he was.

“I’m so lucky- you’re so mngh beautiful, so so perfect, feels so good… you’re so good, wanna be good for you, can’t believe you’re oh my– m-mine…” His words made you clench around his cock. It’s like his every move was magic, made to coax your orgasm from you. Every stroke was beckoning your climax, every moan he let out just for you. It was almost too much, but the final straw came when he folded you just to be closer.

He moved his hands and slid them underneath your thighs, using a gentle strength you didn’t really know he possessed to push them up. He folded you, ever so gently, into one of the meanest mating presses there was, and fucked you so deep you saw stars.

“Oh, god Spence, it’s so- s-so deep,” you exclaimed, feeling your orgasm creeping up on you.

“I know baby, I know,” he said, eyes shut tight, deep in concentration. He sped up now, using the new angle to try and brush against the spot that made you cry out with every thrust. “Touch yourself, angel, wanna m-make you cum,” he whimpered, opening his eyes to look at you with the sweetest puppy dog expression. You moaned at his words and reached down to circle your clit, and you knew it wouldn’t be long.

“S-spence, I’m close, s-so close,” you cried out, and Spencer continued to fuck into you like his life depended on it.

“P-please come, please come on my cock baby please,” Spencer babbled, his eyes now brimming with tears. His poor overstimulated cock begged to release, but he was determined to please you. His pleas were too much, the angle too deep, your clit buzzing with pleasure. Your orgasm crashed over you like a tsunami, making your legs tremor and shake. Your pussy drenched his cock, clenching around him like you’d never let him go, and Spencer cried out.

“Thankyouthankyouthankyou, oh god, oh god I’m gonna cum, you’re so good, f-feels too good,” Spencer moved to pull out but you grabbed his hand on your thigh and had him look at you. You shook your head, purposely tightening around him, dizzy in pleasure. His eyes widened, and you whined.

“Cum inside, please don’t pull out–” You went to beg for him to stay once more, but who was Spencer to deny you? His orgasm hit him like a train, and he felt himself release inside of you, warm and sticky and just too good. He felt tears run down his face. To you, he looked like the picture of beauty. His hair was disheveled and he was red, sweating. He panted as he rutted inside you, his crushing orgasm finally subsiding.

You both lay there a moment, Spencer letting your shaking legs down. You panted, letting yourselves come down. You wrapped your legs around Spencer, having him lay on you. He practically collapsed when he did so. His softening cock twitched inside you. You held him, and began to giggle. Just a little at first, and then uncontrollably. Soft laughs, and without really knowing why, Spencer joined you. You both lay there laughing, the picture of post-coital bliss.

After who knows how long, he finally lifted off of you to pull out. You felt the pressure change, then his release began to leak out of you.

“Stay here,” he said. “I’ll go grab a towel.” He stood up, and went to the closet outside your bedroom, then the bathroom to rinse it with warm water. You looked at his surprisingly sculpted ass as he left, smiling and giggling once more. When he returned, you were sleepy, and felt comforted by the warm washcloth cleaning you.

“You look so beautiful,” he whispered as he cleaned you, then handed you the pajama top he had grabbed on his way back in. “That was incredible…did you have a nice time?” He asked, gentle and kind, doing one final swipe with the rag on the bed just beneath you, though you’d still have to wash the sheets before you went to bed. Your heart melted at his thoughtfulness as you sat up to put on the top, which was really just one of his softer button ups you often wore to bed.

“I had the best time, Spencer. It was everything I’ve ever hoped for and more.” You smirked. “We should do it again.”

Spencer laughed and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Don’t tempt me. After the lack of a refractory period earlier, I’m both eager to and terrified to find out how many rounds I could consecutively ejaculate, and I just went flaccid.” You hummed, and brushed the hair from his face.

“Another time, then. Do you want to order some food? Indian, maybe?” You asked, and he gave you a look of pure adoration.

She angled her body to mirror his, bringing one foot up onto the couch. "Okay. That's not ominous at all."

"It's not ominous. It's neurobiology, actually." He spoke faster now he'd cleared the threshold. "Specifically the neurochemistry of prolonged arousal and its relationship to orgasmic intensity. There's a substantial body of research. Admittedly some of it more anecdotal than empirical, but the underlying mechanisms are well-documented, involving dopamine accumulation, oxytocin receptor sensitisation, and the role of the sympathetic nervous system in..."

"Spence" She squeezed his hand. "English."

He blinked. A flush crept up from his collar, and she watched it travel up his throat and along the underside of his jaw. Even after six months, that blush did something to her.

"Have you heard of edging?" He said. The word hung between them.

"Go on."

"I want to try edging you."

His posture shifted, shoulders squaring as he slipped into what she secretly called his Lecture Mode. But his thumb kept moving back and forth over her knuckles, and that small motion undercut the clinical delivery.

"When sexual arousal is sustained over an extended period without allowing orgasmic release, the body continues producing dopamine and norepinephrine without the prolactin surge that typically follows climax. Prolactin is what creates the refractory period - it's essentially a neurochemical brake. By delaying that brake, you're essentially building up a reservoir of excitatory neurotransmitters. The result, anecdotally and in the limited studies available, is a significantly more intense orgasm when release is finally permitted."

He paused for breath. She said nothing. His thumb stopped moving.

"I'm explaining it badly."

"No, you're not." She turned her hand over in his, palm to palm. "You're explaining it like you explain everything. Thoroughly."

One corner of his mouth twitched.

Warmth spread through her chest. She tucked that away for later examination. "Okay. Tell me the rest."

"The rest?"

"Spence, you've got that look. The one you get when you're eighty percent of the way through a dissertation and someone interrupts you. There's more."

His blush deepened, and she watched him regroup. She watched the way his free hand came up to push hair behind his ear, a nervous gesture that never stopped being endearing. "I'd like to incorporate elements of sensory deprivation. A blindfold. And..." He swallowed. "Maybe some restraints. Gentle ones. Nothing extreme. Soft cuffs, or even just silk scarves. Something that won't leave marks, and we'd establish a safeword beforehand, obviously, and I'd check in constantly, and nothing happens without your explicit consent at every stage..."

"Spencer."

"...and I know this might seem like it's coming out of nowhere, but I've been thinking about it for weeks, and I did the research, and I think - I think it could be good. For you. For us. But only if you want it. If you don't, we never speak of it again. I'm perfectly happy with..."

"Spencer."

He stopped. He looked at her, his honey-brown eyes wide and earnest.

"Breathe."

He breathed.

"I have follow-up questions," she said. "But the first answer is yes."

"Wait. Really?"

"I'm curious. And I trust you." She tugged his hand, pulling him slightly off-balance, and he caught himself on the back of the couch. Their faces were close now. "But you're going to have to walk me through the rules. Your research had rules, I assume."

His smile broke loose - not the polite one he gave colleagues, but the real one, the one that lit up his whole face. "Several. Would you like them enumerated?"

"I would like you to kiss me first. Then enumerate."

He did.

------

The bedroom was warm, lit only by the lamp on her nightstand. Amber light pooled across the duvet, catching the edges of things - the brass bedframe, the books next to her bed, the dark purple silk scarf folded neat and precise beside the pillow.

Spencer stood at the foot of the bed, rolling his sleeves up.

She watched him from her seat on the mattress edge, legs dangling, heels bumping the box spring. He had the same expression he got when approaching a complex geographical profile - furrowed brow, internal calculations running. But his hands were gentle as they finished cuffing each sleeve at the elbow, and when his eyes lifted to hers, calculation gave way to something softer.

"The safeword," he said, "is 'red.' Standard traffic light system. 'Yellow' means pause, check in, adjust. 'Green' means continue. If at any point you cannot speak - and you should always be able to speak, I'm not going to gag you, that's not part of this - but if for any reason you find yourself unable to verbalise, snapping your fingers three times will serve the same function."

"Three snaps. Got it."

"Say the safeword for me."

"Red."

"And the caution signal?"

"Yellow. Spence, I'm not going to forget."

"I know." He moved around the bed, mattress dipping as he sat beside her. The proximity brought his scent with him - coffee, old books, the sandalwood soap she'd bought him last month. "But hearing you say it matters. It matters to me."

She turned her head. His face was close enough that she could count his eyelashes if she wanted to. "Then I'll say it again. Red. Red means stop. Yellow means pause. And if I can't talk, I snap." She demonstrated. Three sharp clicks of her fingers. "See?"

"Thank you." The words came out a little rough.

"Your turn," she said. "Research. Sensory deprivation. Explain."

The shift into Lecture Mode was immediate, she could almost see the gears engage. But this time there was an undercurrent of something else. Anticipation, maybe. Or the particular focus he reserved for things he considered important.

"The neurological principle is straightforward. The human brain processes an enormous amount of sensory information at any given moment - visual stimuli, auditory input, tactile sensation, proprioceptive feedback. By removing some of those inputs, we force the brain to reallocate its processing resources. When you can't see, your brain amplifies what remains. Touch becomes more acute. Sound becomes more vivid. Every sensation is heightened because there's less competing data."

He reached for the blindfold - a simple sleep mask she kept in her bedside drawer, dark grey, elasticated - and held it between his hands like an offering.

"It's not just about intensity, though. It's about trust. Surrender. Removing sight means you have to rely on me to guide the experience. That's a vulnerable position. I don't take that lightly."

She looked at the blindfold. Then at him. "I know you don't."

"The restraints serve a similar function. By limiting movement, we eliminate the impulse to control, to direct, to participate actively. Not because you're passive, but because your role shifts. You receive. You feel. You exist entirely in your body without having to manage it."

His voice had dropped slightly, the pace slowing. She'd heard him lecture hundreds of times by now, at conferences, on video calls, over dinner when he got excited about some obscure fact. But this was different. This was intimate. This was for her alone.

"What if I want to touch you?"

"Then you tell me. And I remove the restraints. This isn't..." He paused, searching for words. "This isn't a BDSM power exchange in the formal sense. I'm not your dominant. I'm not going to deny you comfort or connection or anything you genuinely want. The denial is temporary. Controlled. It serves a purpose. The second it stops serving you, it stops."

"And if I want to come? Before you're done?"

"Then you come." No hesitation. "You tell me, and I get you there. The edging only works if you're genuinely invested in it. If it tips over into frustration or discomfort, we stop. I want this to be good for you. Only good."

Something in her chest loosened. She hadn't even realised it was tight.

"Okay," she said. "I'm ready."

"One more thing." His hand found hers again. "I need you to talk to me. Throughout. I need to know where you are - how close, how you're feeling, what's working. The science is useful, but your feedback is essential. I can't read your mind, and I won't guess. Not with this."

"I can do that."

"And if you can't do that - if it becomes too much to articulate - I need you to tell me that too. Just say 'I can't.' Or snap. Whichever comes first."

She lifted his hand to her mouth and kissed his knuckles. "Spencer. I know. I trust you. I'm ready."

His exhale was long and unsteady. "Okay," he said, and it came out almost reverent. "Okay. Lie back for me."

---

She lay back, letting her head sink into the pillow. It was cool against her skin, a welcome contrast to the warmth that lingered in her cheeks. Above her, the ceiling was bathed in soft amber light, shadows stretching across the familiar crack in the plaster.

Then the blindfold settled over her eyes.

The world went dark. Not black, the lamplight  filtered through the silk as a diffuse orange glow. But dark enough. She had a sudden, disorienting awareness of her own body in space, the way her arms lay at her sides, the flex of her ankles, the rise and fall of her chest.

"Tell me what you're feeling."

Spencer's voice came from somewhere to her left. Without visual input, she couldn't pinpoint him precisely.

"Floaty," she said. "Aware of my breathing. The sheets are cool."

"Good. I'm going to take your left wrist now. Same as we discussed."

His fingers found her - warm, dry, slightly calloused from all that pen-and-paper work he refused to give up. He guided her arm gently upward, toward the headboard, and she felt silk wrap around her wrist, the careful loop, the knot that was snug but not tight. Two fingers slipped between the restraint and her skin, testing the gap.

"Too loose? Too tight?"

"Good. It's good."

"Flex your fingers for me."

She did. The silk held, but there was no pinch, no restriction of circulation. She'd seen him practice the knot three times that afternoon, tongue caught between his teeth, murmuring about pressure points and nerve pathways.

"Right wrist now."

The process repeated. When both arms were secured, she gave an experimental tug. The restraints held, but the give was generous - she could twist her wrists, curl her fingers, find comfortable positions. Enough to feel contained without feeling trapped.

"How does it feel?"

"Secure." She searched for a better word. "Safe. Like a weighted blanket."

She heard his smile. "That's the oxytocin. Physical restraint can trigger a parasympathetic response when administered in a context of trust. Your brain interprets the pressure as a hug."

"You're lecturing me while I'm tied to the bed."

"Force of habit."

"I didn't say stop."

A soft laugh. The mattress dipped, and she felt his weight shift beside her. Then nothing. Silence. The absence of contact became its own sensation - a prickling awareness of where he wasn't touching her.

"Spencer?"

"I'm here. I'm looking at you."

Heat rose to her face. She was suddenly intensely conscious of her own body - the thin cotton of her tank top, the shorts she'd worn to bed, the way her hair was fanned across the pillow. She couldn't see him seeing her. That was the point. That was the whole point. But the vulnerability of it struck her all at once, a wave of self-consciousness that tightened her shoulders.

"Talk to me." His voice was soft. "Where did you just go?"

"Self-conscious."

"About what?"

"Being... looked at. Not knowing what you're seeing."

"I'm seeing the woman I love." No hesitation. No self-consciousness of his own. "I'm seeing her trust me enough to do this. I'm seeing how beautiful she looks in this light, with her hair spread out like that, and I'm thinking I should have told her that before I took her sight away, because now she doesn't know, and I want her to know."

The tightness in her shoulders eased. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Keep going. I want to hear it."

So he did. His voice became a current she could float on, telling her how the lamplight caught the curve of her neck, how her breathing had changed when he mentioned the oxytocin, how he could see her pulse in the hollow of her throat and it was faster now, wasn't it, and that was his doing, and he liked that. He liked it very much.

His fingers brushed her collarbone.

Her whole body jerked. The touch was featherlight, barely there, but without sight to dilute it, the sensation bloomed across her skin like a drop of ink in water.

"That's the neural amplification I mentioned." He traced the line of her clavicle, slow, deliberate. "Your skin has approximately four million tactile receptors. Without visual processing competing for bandwidth, your somatosensory cortex dedicates more resources to each one. Every touch is..."

"Spence."

"...I know. I'm talking too much." His laugh was soft, self-deprecating. "Tell me if you want me to stop. Tell me if you want me to be quiet. I can be quiet."

"No." The word came out faster than she intended. "Don't stop. I like it. I like hearing you. Just..." She swallowed. "Maybe touch me somewhere that isn't my collarbone."

"Where?"

"You're the one with the research."

Another laugh, warmer this time. "Fair point." His fingers left her collarbone, trailing down. They skimmed the neckline of her tank top, tracing the edge of the cotton where it met her skin. "Here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to remove your clothes. Slowly. You won't know what I'm going to touch next, or when, or how. That's the point. The anticipation..." His fingers dipped beneath the strap of her tank top. "...is part of the neurochemistry. Dopamine isn't just released at the moment of pleasure. It spikes during the anticipation of pleasure. The wanting is as powerful as the having."

Her breathing had gone shallow. "More science."

"Always more science." He eased the strap down over her shoulder. The fabric dragged against her skin, and she felt every thread. "Lift your hips for me."

She did. The shorts came off, then the underwear beneath. His hands - both of them now - skimmed up her legs, from ankle to knee to thigh, and she felt herself open to him, felt the cool air of the bedroom on skin that was suddenly very bare.

"The tank top," he murmured. "I'm going to take it off now. But I'll need to..." He paused. "I should have done this before the restraints. I'm going to undo them temporarily. Once for each wrist. Then I'm putting them back on. Is that okay?"

"Green."

"Good. Left wrist first."

She felt the silk loosen, his fingers guiding her arm free. He worked the tank top up and over her shoulder, her head, then paused. "Other wrist." The process repeated. The tank top vanished somewhere, she heard the soft whisper of it landing on the floor. And then her wrists were being guided back into the restraints, the silk snugging into place, and she was naked.

Completely naked.

The awareness of it swept through her like a fever. She was spread out on his bed, arms bound, eyes blindfolded, and she could feel him looking at her. The weight of his gaze was a physical thing, a pressure on her skin.

"Beautiful." His voice had changed. The lecture cadence was gone, replaced by something rawer. "You're so beautiful. I wish you could see yourself. Maybe next time. Next time I'll get a mirror. But tonight..." His hand settled on her stomach, palm flat, fingers spread. "Tonight you're just going to feel."

She arched into the touch. His palm slid up, over her ribs, the underside of her breast, and she made a sound she didn't recognise. A small, desperate noise that came from somewhere deep in her chest.

"That's it." His thumb found her nipple, circled once, feather-light. "Is this good?"

"Green. Very green. Don't stop."

"I won't." His other hand found her other breast, and he worked both nipples in slow, asynchronous circles. The dual sensation was maddening. She couldn't track both at once, couldn't predict the rhythm. One would tighten to a peak while the other was still soft, and then he'd switch, and the pleasure zigzagged through her nervous system like lightning.

Minutes passed. Maybe longer. She lost track of time the way she always did with him, but this was different. Deeper. The blindfold created a pocket of timelessness. There was only the dark, and his hands, and the sound of her own breathing.

"Spence..."

"I'm here."

"I'm..." She licked her lips. "I'm getting close. Not yet. But. Soon."

"Thank you." His hands stilled immediately, and she almost sobbed at the loss. "That's perfect. That's exactly what I need. How close? On a scale of one to ten?"

"Six. No, seven. Seven and climbing."

"Then we pause here." He shifted on the bed, and she felt his weight settle beside her hip. "Breathe with me. In..." He inhaled audibly. "Out." She followed, matching his pace. Her pulse slowed. The urgency receded from a roar to a murmur.

"Back to a three," she reported. "Maybe four."

"Good." He kissed her shoulder. "You're doing so well. I'm going to start again now."

His hand slid down her stomach, lower this time. Fingers brushed through her pubic hair, then lower still, and when he touched her clit she whimpered. It was barely a touch - just the pad of his middle finger, resting there, not moving.

"Tell me what you feel."

"Pressure. Warmth. Your finger."

"What else?"

"I want you to move it. Please."

"Since you asked nicely." He moved. Slow, lazy circles that sent ripples of sensation through her pelvis. Her hips began to roll, chasing his rhythm, and he matched her pace and then exceeded it, building the pressure incrementally. His other hand found her breast again, thumb working her nipple in counterpoint, and the combined sensation was like a chord struck inside her body.

Her thighs tensed. Her breathing went ragged. "Close. Eight. Eight and a half."

He stopped.

She groaned, a frustrated sound that bordered on anger. Her hips bucked once against empty air. "Spencer."

"I know." His voice was impossibly calm. "I know. Breathe."

"I don't want to breathe. I want..."

"What do you want?"

"You. Your fingers. Inside me."

A beat of silence. Then: "Okay. But we're going to build again from the bottom. Start at a one."

"You're torturing me."

"No." He kissed her hip, then her stomach, then the inside of her thigh. "I'm building something. Trust the process."

His finger slid inside her. One. Just one. He crooked it forward, finding the spot behind her pubic bone that made her back arch off the mattress. The pressure was exquisite. Not enough to tip her over, but enough to remind her body what it was reaching for. He began to thrust, slow and shallow, and his thumb found her clit with just enough pressure to keep her hovering.

"Talk to me."

"Four," she managed. "No, five. That's... that's really good."

"Good. Stay there." He added a second finger, stretching her, and she felt her body adjust to accommodate him. The fullness was a relief and a new kind of torment. He fucked her with his fingers, patient and methodical, and when she hit seven and a half he stopped again.

"Goddammit, Spence."

He laughed, genuinely laughed, and the sound of it made her laugh too even through the frustration. "I'm sorry. I'm not sorry, but I'm also sorry." He kissed the crease of her thigh.

"That's number three," he said. "How does it feel?"

"Torturous. Perfect. I hate you."

"You don't hate me."

"No. I don't hate you."

He waited until her breathing slowed, until the tension in her body began to ease.

"Three? Or still high?"

"Three. Maybe three and a half."

"Good. I'm going to use my mouth now."

Her whole body tightened in anticipation. "Okay. Yes. Green."

His tongue touched her clit.

It was barely anything, just the tip, a single point of wet heat. But after the build-up, after the denial, after everything, it hit her like a freight train. She cried out, hips jerking, and he pressed a forearm across her pelvis to hold her steady. His tongue traced a slow line from her entrance to her clit, then back down, then up again, painting her with saliva.

The sensation was too much and not enough at the same time. She heard herself making sounds - small, desperate, animal sounds - and she couldn't stop them. His tongue was relentless, dragging her up toward the edge with terrible precision.

"Close. Nine. Nine and a half. Spence, I'm going to..."

He stopped.

The whimper that escaped her was almost a sob. Her body was shaking. Her thighs were slick with her own wetness. She could feel her pulse in her clit, a hot insistent throb that demanded satisfaction and received none.

"Breathe," he said. "You're doing so well. You're incredible. Just breathe."

"Spencer." His name came out broken. "How many more?"

"A few. Can you give me a few more?"

She swallowed. Her throat was dry. "Yes. Green. I can."

"Thank you." He kissed her knee, her thigh, her hip. "Thank you for trusting me."

He gave her a full minute to come down, stroking her stomach and murmuring praise. When her breathing steadied, he shifted again on the mattress.

"I'm going to use both now. Fingers and mouth. It's going to be intense. I need you to tell me when you're at seven. Not eight. Seven. Can you do that?"

"Y-yes. Seven. Got it."

"Good girl."

The words hit her somewhere primal. Before she could process them, his fingers were inside her again - two this time, crooking forward - and his mouth was on her clit, and the combined sensation was so overwhelming that she nearly screamed. He sucked, gently at first, then with more pressure, and his fingers kept a steady rhythm against that spot inside her that made her vision do strange things.

"Seven. Seven. Seven..."

He stopped.

Her whole body was shaking now, fine tremors that ran from her shoulders to her calves. Sweat beaded at her hairline. The blindfold was damp with it. "I can't," she gasped. "I can't do that again. That was..."

"You can." His voice was steady, certain. "You're doing it. You're doing it right now. Three more. Can you give me three more?"

Three. Three more edges. The number felt insurmountable. But his hand was on her stomach, warm and grounding, and his voice was her anchor in the dark.

"Three," she agreed. "Three more."

The next one came from his fingers alone, three this time, thrusting deep while his thumb circled her clit. She rode it to eight and called warning, and he withdrew, and the comedown was almost worse than the denial, her body so primed for release that the absence of touch felt like grief.

Then tongue and fingers together again, pulling her up faster this time, and she barely managed to gasp "seven" before he stopped.

Then another pause. Another descent. Her mind was going strange at the edges, time dissolving into a series of peaks and valleys, and she wasn't sure if she was speaking out loud or only in her head, wasn't sure where her body ended and the bed began.

"Last one," Spencer said, and she heard the hum of the vibrator before she felt it.

Her legs tried to close on instinct. He'd never used it on her before. It was hers, a small bullet-shaped thing she kept in her nightstand, that she only ever brought out when Spencer was away on a case. The buzz filled the quiet room like a purr.

"Lowest setting first," he said. "Just the toy. Nothing else. I want you to tell me what it feels like."

The silicone touched her clit.

If his tongue had been a freight train, this was electricity. The vibration radiated outward, into her labia, her pubic bone, the root of her clit where it branched deep into her pelvis. She hadn't known a sensation could be so localised and so diffuse at the same time.

"Talk to me."

"It's..." She struggled for words. "It buzzes. I can feel it in my teeth. My bones. Everywhere. It's unrelenting."

"Good. Close your eyes. No, wait..." He laughed at himself. "You can't close them. Forget I said that. Focus on the sensation. Where exactly do you feel it?"

"Everywhere. No - front. The front of my clit. The tip. But also deeper. Inside."

"That's the internal clitoral structure. The external glans is only about ten percent of the total organ. The rest extends internally, wrapping around the vaginal canal." The clinical description was undercut by the way his voice had gone rough. "I'm going to turn it up now. And I'm adding fingers."

The buzz intensified. Two fingers slid inside her, and she was suddenly full in both directions, the vibration from above, the pressure from within. Her hips began to move of their own accord, grinding into his hand.

"Close. Seven. Eight."

"Not yet. Hold it. Just a little longer."

"I can't..."

"You can." His fingers crooked, finding her g-spot, and the vibrator jumped to the next setting. She heard herself make a noise that wasn't a word, wasn't even a moan - something guttural and desperate that came from the base of her throat.

A third finger stretched her open. The vibrator kicked up again. The dual stimulation was so intense it bordered on pain, but it wasn't pain, it was something beyond language, a pressure building at the base of her spine like a wave preparing to crest.

He worked her with the vibrator, his other hand still inside her, still pressing against her g-spot. She was babbling now, words that weren't quite words, prayers and pleas all tangled together. Her thighs were trembling, her stomach clenching, her hands white-knuckled around the restraints.

"I'm going to... I'm so close, I'm going to..."

He stopped.

She wailed.

He watched her fight it. Watched the battle between her body's need to climax and her mind's determination to hold on, and felt a surge of something fierce. Pride. Adoration. Awe.

Then her voice cracked. "I can't. I can't anymore. I need... Spencer, I need to come. Please. Please let me come."

Everything stopped.

Then his hand was on her cheek, his thumb wiping sweat from her temple. "Okay. Okay, sweetheart. You're done. You did it. You were perfect."

"Please." She was crying now, tears soaking into the blindfold. "I need - I need you inside me. I want to see you. I want..."

"I know what you need. Hold still."

He slipped the blindfold from her eyes. The lamp was blinding after so long in the dark, and she squinted against it, her vision swimming. She blinked, her eyes glassy and wet, her face flushed and beautiful. Spencer's face materialised above her, his hair disheveled, eyes dark with concern and desire and something that looked a lot like awe.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi." Her voice was wrecked.

"I'm going to undo the restraints now." He reached for her left wrist, working the knot with steady fingers. "How are you feeling? Talk to me."

"Desperate. Empty. I need you inside me. Now."

"Working on it." The left wrist came free, then the right. He brought her hands down to her sides, massaging each wrist in turn, checking the skin. "Any numbness? Tingling?"

"Spence, I swear to God..."

"Circulation first." But he was smiling. "Then orgasm. Those are the priorities."

Her wrists were fine. Her whole body was fine, if you defined fine as vibrating at a frequency that might shatter glass. She grabbed his shirt in both fists and pulled him down, kissing him hard. He tasted like her, and the realisation made her moan into his mouth.

She touched his chest. "I want to see you. All of you. Take your clothes off."

He obeyed with a speed that would have been comical under other circumstances. Shirt over his head, pants shoved down, boxers kicked somewhere into the corner. His erection sprang free, thick, heavy and already leaking, and the sight of it made her mouth water.

"Look at you," she breathed. "Look what you did to yourself. You've been hard this whole time."

"Ignored it." He settled between her legs, fingers tracing the length of her thighs. "This isn't about me. It's about you."

"It's about us. I want you to feel good too."

His eyes found hers. "Believe me. I'm about to feel very, very good."

He reached for the cushion he'd prepared earlier - a firm throw pillow from her couch. Sliding it beneath her hips, he tilted her pelvis upward, creating the angle he needed. She reached between them, wrapping her hand around him. He was hot and hard and so sensitive that he flinched at her touch. She guided him to her entrance, and the first press of him against her made them both gasp.

"Ready?" His voice cracked on the word.

"Green. So green. Please."

He pushed inside.

The sensation was overwhelming. Her body, after all the denial, was exquisitely sensitive, every ridge of him, every vein felt magnified. She was so wet, so ready, her walls clenching around him the moment he entered. He slid in to the hilt in one long, smooth stroke, and the fullness of it made her cry out.

He groaned, his forehead dropping to hers. "You feel incredible."

"You do too. Please. Move. Please."

He moved.

The rhythm was precise. He'd mapped her body over the past months, cataloged every response, every trigger, every spot that made her gasp. He knew exactly where her g-spot was, exactly what angle would hit it with each thrust, exactly how much pressure would push her closer without pushing her over.

"Oh God. Oh God, yes."

Not yet. Not yet. Spencer shuddered above her. "You feel... I can't... give me a second. I need a second or this is going to be over very quickly."

She clenched around him deliberately, and he groaned. "You're not helping."

"Sorry." She wasn't sorry at all.

He took a breath, steadied himself. Then he lifted her leg, hooking it over his shoulder, and the new angle shifted everything. He was deeper now, pressing directly against her g-spot, and when he started to move again - slow, deep thrusts that dragged against every sensitive place inside her - the pleasure was so sharp it almost hurt.

"The vibrator." He fumbled beside her hip, finding where he'd dropped it. "Highest setting now. Are you ready?"

"Yes. Yes. Do it."

The buzz filled the room. He pressed the silicone against her clit, and her back arched off the mattress. The dual stimulation of his cock driving into her g-spot and the vibrator humming against her clit was more than she'd ever experienced. More than she'd known was possible.

She screamed.

It was a raw, broken sound. Not pain, but pleasure so intense it bordered on agony. Her eyes went wide, her mouth dropping open, her whole body convulsing around him.

"Look at me." His voice was strained. "I want to see your eyes when you come."

She opened her eyes (when had she closed them?) and met his gaze. His pupils were blown wide, his expression fierce and tender and completely focused on her. He thrust harder, faster, the rhythm building toward something catastrophic.

The pleasure was accumulating. Not building, that word wasn't strong enough. This was something else. Every edge she'd endured, every peak she'd climbed and then fallen from, was still inside her somewhere, and now they were all rising at once, a symphony of sensation that was too much and not enough and...

"Spence, I don't... it's too much...I can't..."

"Yes, you can." He thrust harder, the vibrator steady on her clit, his cock hitting her g-spot with each stroke. "Look at me. You can. I've got you. Come for me. Let go. I've got you."

Something broke.

The orgasm didn't build. It detonated.

She came with a cry that was almost a roar, her back arching off the mattress, her nails raking down his arms. The pleasure was so immense it stopped being pleasure and became something else entirely. An out-of-body experience where she was just sensation, just light, just release. Her walls clamped around him harder than he'd ever felt, and he felt a rush of liquid, hot and sudden, as she gushed around his cock. The sensation sent him over the edge. He came with a groan that was torn from somewhere deep, his own release pulsing inside her as she continued to convulse around him.

Her vision - she'd tell him later - went white. Pure, blinding white, like staring into the sun.

She was still trembling, still gasping, when the world finally faded back in.

The first thing she registered was his voice.

"...got you. I've got you. You're okay. You're amazing. You're so amazing." The words were murmured soft and steady against her hair. She was being held, she realised. Cradled against his chest. His arms were wrapped around her, his body curved around hers.

"Spencer?"

"I'm here. I'm right here."

He held her close, fingers combing slowly through her hair, murmuring how amazing she was. Then, reluctantly, he let go. She was acutely aware of the loss that followed, of the cool air hitting her overheated skin.

Then his weight left the bed entirely.

She blinked, her vision slowly clearing.

A warm washcloth pressed against her inner thigh, and she realised he was cleaning her.

"Hold still," he said. "I'm almost done."

He finished cleaning her with gentle, careful strokes, then tossed the washcloth aside. When he lay down beside her, she turned into him, her body curling against his like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He turned his head, pressing a kiss to her palm. "How do you feel?"

"Like I've been turned inside out. In the best possible way. That was incredible. I didn't know it could be like that."

His smile was so bright it almost hurt to look at. "The research was accurate."

She laughed weakly. "Did you just cite your research right now?"

"Force of habit." He kissed her forehead. "Stay here. I'm getting you water."

He was gone again. She heard the kitchen faucet, the clink of a glass, his bare feet on the hardwood. When he returned, he helped her sit up - her arms were still shaky - and held the glass to her lips.

"Small sips. You lost a lot of fluid."

"I'm aware." She drank, and the water was cold and perfect. "Did I really...?"

"You did. It was..." He set the glass aside, pulling her against his chest. "I don't have words. And I always have words."

She curled into him, boneless and spent. His arms came around her, one hand threading into her hair, the other rubbing slow circles on her back. His heartbeat was steady under her ear, a counterpoint to her own still-racing pulse.

They lay in silence for a while, the lamp still lit on the dresser, the city humming outside. Her body was humming too. A pleasant, exhausted thrum that seemed to vibrate in her bones.

"I can't feel my legs," she said.

He laughed. "That's probably temporary."

"It better had be. I have things to do tomorrow."

"What things?"

She thought about it. "Absolutely nothing. I have absolutely nothing to do tomorrow."

"Good. Then we can stay in bed all day."

"Deal."

He pulled the covers up around them, tucking the edges around her shoulders. She closed her eyes, listening to his heartbeat, steady and familiar. Her anchor. Her home.

"Was it worth it?" he asked quietly. "All the stopping and starting? Were the edges worth the destination?"

"Spence." She tilted her head to look at him. "I saw God."

He burst out laughing, and she felt the vibration of it through his chest. "That's a new one."

"I'm serious. I transcended. I left my body and visited another plane of existence."

"Should I be jealous?"

"No. You should be proud." She settled against him again, her eyes growing heavy. "You did research. And then you applied it. Very thoroughly."

"That's what I do." He kissed the top of her head. "Sleep. I've got you."

She was already halfway there, floating in the warm dark of his arms. The last thing she felt before sleep claimed her was his lips against her hair, and the soft murmur of his voice saying something she was too far gone to hear.