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Fit to Burst

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Marc Spector x female reader x Steven Grant

Summary: Marc decides to teach you a lesson when you mistake him for Steven.

Rating: really fucking explicit

Warning/content: Marc's dirty filthy mouth, Steven's over-eager mouth, Marc is wee bit jealous, cunnilingus, overstimulation, refraction period? — we don't know her, established relationship.

Word Count: 3.5k (I have no excuse, pure self-indulgent filth)

[Tag List and Masterlist]

“Does that feel good, love? Think you can come for me again?”

You don't know how many orgasms he's pulled from you already. Everything sounds like it’s underwater. You can't tell if it’s Marc or Steven fronting right now. If it's Marc who is talking to you, or Steven, taking you apart inch by inch, one devastating orgasm at a time.

Love. He called you love. Steven calls you love. This must be Steven.

Steven’s lips come to the inside of your thigh, pressing gentle kisses meant to soothe, but the sandpaper brush of his stubble makes everything inside you that more wound up, your nerves raw like everything is going to splinter.

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he murmurs, and the soft caress of his breath is searing against your skin, wreaking havoc on you. The low rumbling of his voice, so uncharacteristic of him, is dipped in hunger and greed, and it skitters up and down your spine until it's difficult to breathe. It's a perfect counterpoint to his surprisingly skilled mouth and fingers on you, to the heat spreading under your skin and building to an explosive pitch between your legs.

“Want you to come all over my mouth, yeah?” he says, with none of his trademark shyness, before he dives back in, tongue laving at your slick folds.

You can’t help but give him what he wants.

You come, your cunt clenches down, spasming around the thick girth of his fingers where he has you stretched open. Everything else disappears for a moment, your body weightless with pure unadulterated bliss. You are so disorientated that you are almost certain you are floating in zero gravity. You can’t even hear your heartbeat anymore. Can’t feel it thump against the cage of your chest. For all you know it might have stopped entirely. All you’re capable of feeling is an abstract tingling sensation that buzzes pleasantly in your veins.

Then you hear his voice, soft and adoring, from somewhere above. His fingers slip out of you, and you whine--even overwrought as you are, you feel empty at the loss.

There’s a gentle palm with soft-worn calluses stroking down the side of your ribs. Comforting kisses press your thighs, as he murmurs quiet praises about how good you are for him and how pretty you look like this.

You can’t help but snort a laugh at that last bit, not sure what he’s on about because you’re sure you look anything but right now. Your hair is soaked with sweat and clinging to your temple; your face, sticky and clammy. You’re certain you must look a complete mess as you lie here in a shambled heap on your bed. Your vision is so blurred you can barely see the white of your ceiling, but you're still able to make out the man above you, gazing down at you like you’ve hung the moon in the sky.

“Think you can give me another one, love? Jus' one more, yeah?”

Fucking hell. This man…

He doesn’t even give you a moment to gather yourself. You barely have a chance to nod before the saliva-slicked thumb gently presses down on your clit again. For all his sweet cooing and gentle touch and care, he is always merciless in his pursuit to make you come like there’s a prize for him at the end of it.

"Fucking finally," he huffs under his breath, and if you weren't so completely out of it, you'd tell him it's his own fault for dragging that last orgasm out so long.

As cliche as it sounds, you’re so blissed out of your mind you can’t tell anymore, where the pleasure begins and ends. All you feel is clever fingers already curling inside you again; a greedy hand cupping your breast; a hungry mouth nipping at the hollow of your throat. He’s everywhere, and you spread your legs wider, open yourself up, so he can have every single inch of you.

The bed shifts, and you blink rapidly, trying to clear the watery edges of your vision. After a moment, your eyes finally refocus on the man in front of you.

He’s kneeling above you, cock in hand, as he gives it a slow lazy stroke that makes your mouth water. A slick sheen of sweat graces the muscular line of his shoulder, bathed in amber gold of your bedroom light.

“You alright, baby? Want me to keep going?” The look in his eyes is as gentle as ever he checks in on you to make sure you’re okay. Makes you feel precious and cared for.

The only thing you can do is nod.

“You say stop if it gets to be too much,” he rasps out as lines himself up against you.

The first thrust is deep and consuming, and you cry out as the perfect stretch of him has white sparks burning behind your eyelids. You’re so worked up, everything makes a little bit less sense; mind almost a little bit numb. You can barely think straight and you think to yourself ironically, this is probably why they call it being cockdumb.

And it's not being made better by the way that he’s running his fucking mouth.

"So fucking perfect,” he murmurs into your ear, rasped and breathless as he nips on your ear. “You feel so good wrapped around my cock. So wet and warm. Fuck, you're so tight right now. Always so tight after you come for us."

He stays there, buried inside you to the hilt to allow you some reprieve and to accommodate around him. You can feel his eagerness to move in the way his cock twitches excitedly inside of you. Can tell he’s resisting that very urge when he grips the bedsheets tightly with his fingers until they go bone-knuckled. It strikes heat and pleasure all at once into the pit of your stomach. It’s so good; too much; and it teethers on the edge of the overwhelming.

A warm hand comes to cup your cheeks. He’s consoling you, brushing away the hair in your eyes, and the touch of it grounds you. “Does that feel good, baby?”

His eyes are ridiculously gorgeous, deep and rich, you find yourself easily lost in him. All you can see is his sweet half-smile, one corner of his mouth curling upward just for you. All you want to do in your overwrought state of mind is to please him, to praise him on how good he always makes you feel, so you do.

"So good. Feel so full. No one fucks me like you do, Steven."

He stills.

From above, you see it, the moment his expression changes. Gone is the indulgent softness. The curl of his full lips turned into a scowl. Those deep rich eyes bleed into sternness fixed with a dark glower. You realise a bit too late that Marc is the one inside you now, not sweet Steven.

You try to think back. When did his voice change? His accent? His eyes are narrowed instead of wide adoring affection. Everything about his body language is different, must have changed before this, and how stupid is it that you didn’t notice until now? As much as you hate to admit it, you're just a little bit out of it; a little bit come dumb from how the two of them have made you come again and again.

The next thing you register is the emptiness inside you as he slips almost entirely out of you; until only the blunt tip rests inside you. There’s a look in his eyes, a flash of something determined and almost dangerous, as he adjusts his hips against you.

There’s no warning as he thrusts all the way back inside, in one long and slick stroke back inside you. Deep and hard. It strikes something absolutely fucking devastating in you until it steals away your breath and makes you cry out.

“Fuckohfuck, Marc!”

“That's right, baby.” He leans over with his lips to your ear, voice low and dark and demanding as he rolls his hips, and then grinds deep within you. “Say it again. Who fucks you like this?”

Everything’s sharp and bright inside you; the rush of pleasure that comes with every thrust mind-numbing. You don’t know how Marc expects you to give him an answer; can’t even stutter out the ‘you’ that’s right on the tip of your tongue. Instead all that comes out is a pitiful sob.

"No? Still not good enough for you?” Marc demands.

You thought at first, with what little brain power was available to you, that he was jealous, and maybe there’s some of that in there too, but there’s something else. Something almost teasing that makes you think he’s not even all that upset about your mistake. The bastard that he is, he just wants to capitalise on the opportunity to push you to your limit.

“Our girl is so greedy, isn’t she?” he continues mercilessly, ”Always wanting more. How about—" two hands come to rest on the inside of your thighs, lifting you off the mattress until your legs are hooked over his shoulders as he presses the delicious weight of his body on top of yours, folding you nearly in half. "How about this?"

His voice is pure savage glee, a kid that gets to play and pull apart his toy in whatever manner he wants. Your fingers twist into the sheets, trying to grab on tight because it feels like you are falling off the edge of the very world. Then Marc rolls his hips into you at the devastating new angle and it knocks the breath out of your lungs, tipping you past that very edge.

It doesn't matter that you're ready to repent. Doesn’t matter that you’re trying to moan your explanation in between insistent, merciless strokes. "That's not— fuck, ooooh shit, Marc, I didn’t mean—"

That man is not letting up, and with how hard you came just mere minutes ago, he's already got you so keyed up that you can feel that all familiar pressure and heat settle against the line of your spine with an alarming speed.

There’s a brief hesitation in his rhythm, like his concentration was broken for a moment, and you catch him glancing at the mirror. You wonder if Steven's there telling Marc to stop. Steven’s always looking out for you; would do anything for you, and that includes taking care of you in bed. But when you turn your head sideways, the mirror shows you the same perfect reflection of reality it always does.

If Steven's there, you can't see him. Instead, all you can see is the image of yourself being split open by Marc. How Marc towers over you, with his lean stature. The firm muscles on his back sloping down to the generous curves of his ass like he was a carved marble statue meant to depict the ancient Greek deities themselves. Those thick raven curls furl with heat and sweat against his forehead. He’s so fucking beautiful it’s unfair.

“You looking for Steven to save you?” Firm fingers grip the edge of your jaw, forcing your gaze back towards Marc. “Well too fucking bad. Steven’s not here. You’re stuck with me.”

Alright, nevermind. Definitely jealous then.

Marc’s next thrust drives a strange squeaking noise from your lungs, and you’d probably be embarrassed if you weren't so far gone.

"What was that,—” Marc taunts, huffing out a dark laugh between thrusts, “—did you want me—to stop?"

His voice is unbearably smug, and you almost want to tell him to stop just on principle, but fuck that. You don’t want him to stop. Even though it's so fucking much that it borders on the unbearable. You shake your head frantically. You never want him to stop. “That’s what I… thought,” Marc grits out, thrusting hard on the last word.

He’s driving up against something perfect and molten inside of you, and heat rises up in you like a tide, seething under your skin. You think you might actually be going to come again, but the sensation is immense, nearly unbearable, and you clutch at Marc, whimpering as it threatens to swamp your already overwhelmed and overstimulated system.

“It’s alright. You’re alright, baby,” he rasps out, not even slowing down. “You can take it, can’t you? Take it for me like a good girl.” Then he tilts your hips up even farther, and that’s it. You’re done.

Fierce, electric heat explodes outwards, crackling rapturously through your limbs, submerging you entirely until you lose track of reality for a minute.

When you come back to yourself, Marc is still thrusting into you. The rhythm of it is soothing, drawing out your pleasure in a way you’ve never known before, like you've hit a plateau rather than travelling up and down a mountain. Distantly you note that everything is a slick mess. That you are soaking Marc’s cock with how wet your cunt is for him. You can feel it leaking out of you with every press and retreat of him inside you, dripping down over the curve of your ass onto the bed sheets.

Then, out of nowhere, Marc does stop.

The sound you make is damn near inhuman. Fuck, why?? Why is he stopping when all you need is more of him?

Your eyes flutter open to see Marc staring at the mirror, his full attention focused on his reflection. On Steven.

You don’t know what Steven is saying to him, but whatever it is, has Marc chuckling.

He turns away from the mirror with a toothy grin full of mischief, and he leans back down towards you, pressing his mouth close so he can whisper in your ear like it's a secret; like Steven can't always hear him no matter how quiet he's being.

“He wants me to fuck you harder. Stretch you all the way open on our cock. Make you come again.”

You have no way of knowing if that’s true or if Marc is just saying that to get a rise out of Steven. You can’t exactly hear Steven’s end of the conversation. But it doesn’t matter, because Marc’s doing it.

You don’t know if you want to escape the sensation or demand more of it. But you can’t do either. In fact, you seem to have lost control of your body completely. All you can do is shudder and whine under him as Marc follows Steven’s alleged request and pushes himself hard and deep inside of you—oh God, just like that—again and again.

The pleasure twines and spreads slowly though your heavy limbs until you're completely drunk on the sensation of Marc's cock driving into you. He’s reduced you to a heap of bones, flesh and skin without any sentient thought left in your brain. Until you have lost all other sensation to the point where you almost miss the way that Marc is murmuring a string of filth into your ear.

“That’s right, baby. You’re not done yet.”

You can’t look away from him, the way that sweat is dripping down his collarbone, the mesmerising rise and fall of his chest as his breath is rasping in and out of his lungs.

“Gimme one more,” he says. “You come on my cock one more time, then I’ll fill you up. Make a mess of you, and Steven can clean you up with his tongue.”

This man is the devil.

You don’t know what that makes you when you’re so aroused by the picture he’s painting for you.

You’re exhausted. Every inch of you feels tender. You have been strummed and plucked and pushed over the edge again and again until all of you has become one single raw overwrought nerve. At this point you’re not even sure you’re physically capable of coming again. But still, white heat sparks and cracks and invades your numb limbs until you’re thrumming with it.

He's rutting into you, hips in an uneven jerking place, grinding as if he needs to get deeper, as deep inside you as he can to stake his claim and never leave. And fuck, you wish he could. You want him to fuck you like this forever and never stop.

Your cunt flutters around the thick girth of him involuntarily, and it does something to Marc too. He gasps and swears, hips stuttering forward into you, and it's almost enough.... almost... almost...

"Marc..." your voice breathy, pleading, barely recognizable to your own ears.

"Fuck," Marc huffs out. His hips stutter in its pace. If you didn’t know any better, from the way he closes his eyes for a brief moment, as if to gather himself, you’d think his trademark control is slipping. But then he seems to rally himself and pulls back, almost all the way out.

You clutch at him. If he stops now, if he dares to deny you, you swear to god, you will actually kill this man, or failing that, die on the spot in protest. Your fingers digging into the firm meat of his shoulders, sobbing his name. You need—more, need everything, need him, need to—

“Shh,” he hushes you with a soothing coo, comforting fingers brushing back the sweat-slicked hair clinging to your forehead. “I'm right here, baby. Let go, I've got you.”

His tone doesn’t match his actions. Marc thrusts back in, driving so deep you can fucking taste it, and you dimly realize that you're screaming as the pleasure streaks outward, tearing your world apart.

It’s a flickering light that is dimming and finally dies out from the surge of electricity. Your brain completely loses all higher functions and all that is left is the rush of heat that spreads all over you. It pours and pours until you’re lightheaded and the whole room spins with it. Everything feels blissfully tight; too much and just enough. Then you come.

When you open your eyes, you see those gorgeous dark eyes rolling back, baring the long line of his throat and it’s a beautiful fucking sight. The sharp edge of his jaw, pink pouty lips all shiny and slick from you. You swear those thick sweat soaked curls glisten in the dim light. He’s so ridiculously gorgeous, you can hardly believe he is real.

Marc isn’t far behind you. His cock pulses, spilling warm heat inside of you with a strained moan. Every muscle in him goes rigid against you.

Then Marc collapses onto you, arms wrapped all around you as he lands on top of you on the bed, his firm weight resting on top of you. Both of you are a boneless and sweaty tangled heap against the mattress. His firm chest is pressed against you, so close the beat of his heart is hammering against your skin.

In the silence of your bedroom, your harsh, panting breaths echo as if you just finished the most harrowing marathon of your lives. There’s a gentle hand stroking the plane of your back. It’s so gentle, the touch of it so adoring that you’re not sure if it’s Marc or Steven, but you don’t think it matters much at all.

As you come down, your senses slowly flicker awake. You can feel the soft gentle comfort of a reassuring touch running along your thighs. A warm hand petting you over the wideness of your hip bones, soft stroking caresses to coax you back down from your high.

Eventually, your breaths slow, and he pushes himself up, and away from your chest with shaky arms, until you can see his soft gorgeous face that is practically glowing as he smiles down at you. Utterly boyish, utterly charming.

Steven, you realise. Steven’s back…

“You alright there, love? Was Marc too rough?” His thick brows knit together in worry. An expression of guilt bleeding into his handsome face.

In your exhaustion, you find yourself still breathless as you try to answer him, “Yeah. No, I’m alright,” you pause, and lower your voice, feeling suddenly, inexplicably shy. “I… I liked it."

At your response, that worried expression breaks out into a beaming grin that makes your heart leap and skip several beats with unadulterated fondness.

“Good. That’s good, yeah.”

Steven is a fucking sight onto himself. Your eyes trail downwards, from his chest, that’s glistening with sweat down to his torso and— bloody fucking hell. Your eyes widen at the sight. You don’t even know how, but Steven’s already hard again or maybe he just never went down for the count at all. His other hand is fisting his cock, a slick mess of white lines of cum that’s dripping down the aching length of him as it twitches and jumps with undeterred eagerness.

“Then, um…. Sorry to ask, but do you think…” It’s Steven’s turn to look down bashfully, then back up at you. His cheeks are flushed with a deep pink; hair, a tousled mess with a pleading expression in his eyes, that you cannot possibly turn down.

“Do you think we could go again? …please?”

Dear fucking God, these men. Steven may be all sweet and polite about it, but deep down he’s just as greedy and demanding as Marc. Maybe worse.

You’re not sure how you’re going to survive these two, but you’re going to enjoy the ride.

Dedication and Credits:

@krissology for chasing her dreams with such boundless courage and gumption, I'm forever proud to have a friend like her who is so absolutely fucking fierce and fearless. She's one of the most talented writers I've come across and she is publishing her debut novel Forget Me Now, available for pre-order here. Go support this brilliant human being, you won't regret it.

@thirstworldproblemss to my most beloved and brilliant co-writer, who stays up with me all night and all day to prawn like no one has prawn ever before. I never have more fun than when I am in a google doc with you, screaming about the beauty of this man and writing out the exact same suggestions to each other at the same time.

@frannyzooey for succeeding to make me cry on a Tuesday afternoon in the office with her kind words and support. You're someone that I'm endlessly proud to call a friend, for your humour, your kindness and your warmth. You are just one of the best humans and I hope you wake up everyday and know that and if you don't, I will remind you everyday.

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fictionbooksandbeyond

3 years ago

Good Boy

Pairing: Steven Grant x F!Reader

Request: What if reader edged Steven until he was nothing but a whimpering begging mess.

Author's notes: thank you so much @noodlecupcakes for this request! I usually don't write a dom!reader, so this was a challenge I thoroughly enjoyed :3

Word count: 902

Warnings: Nsfw, smut, sub!steven, dom!reader, teasing, edging, orgasm denial, sex toys, facesitting, oral sex (m and f receiving), unprotected sex.

"P-Please, darling..."

"What's that?" You looked up from your position between Steven's legs, your tongue teasing the tip of his cock as your hand tightened around the penis ring adorning the base of his erect, dripping length. Steven gasped, his hips bucking against your hand.

"Please, I-I can't...I can take anymore," Steven begged, his voice raspy and his breath coming out in shaky groans.

"Aww...well, that's too bad, baby. Cause you're gonna have to take it until you've made me come. Besides, I'm not done playing with you yet," you said, smirking as you took him into your mouth, gently sucking on the head of his cock while looking up into his frantic eyes.

Steven gasped, drops of sweat glistening on his forehead as he stared down at you, his eyes wide and fluttering. You worked him slowly into your mouth, taking him deeper and deeper until the tip of his cock pushed against the back of your throat. Steven bit his lip, his hands clenching into the sheets as he watched your plump lips glide up and down his swollen, veiny cock. He'd never been this hard before, the use of the ring was an agonizing pleasure he knew he could get addicted to. The same with giving up his control to you. There was something particularly arousing with letting you be in charge, to completely surrender his body and mind to you and just be in the moment.

Steven whimpered when you sucked one of his balls into your mouth while you stroked his cock slowly in your hand, used your tongue with perfection to make him a shaky, sweaty mess beneath you.

"F-Fuck, p-please," Steven puffed out and you glanced up, saw his red face and clenching jaw, and decided to let him rest for now.

Kissing your way up his muscular stomach and hard chest, you straddled his face and smirked down at him.

"Be a good boy and make me come."

Steven stared up at your waiting sex, face flushed at the thought of tasting you. He grabbed your ass, gently spreading your cheeks and admiring your swollen folds parting to reveal your damp, pink interior.

Steven pulled you down to his waiting mouth, instantly feeling his lips covered in your warm wetness and his cock twitched with anticipation to be buried inside your tight, wet pussy. He pushed out his tongue and started licking your swollen pussy lips in long, lingering strokes, then brought his tongue up to your throbbing clit. You moaned as he slid his tongue across your clit, pleasure shooting through your core as he flicked it lightly before flattening his tongue and pulling it through your folds. Steven pulled your sex down on his face, buried his mouth in your dripping pussy, extending his tongue inside your opening before licking his way back up to your clit, where he began to focus his attention. He pulled you closer against his flattened tongue and rotated his mouth in small circles, grinding his tongue against your clit.

"Oh," you moaned. "Oh fuck, baby. Ohhh fuck! You're gonna make me come."

"Mmm," Steven groaned into your pussy as you moved your hips and pressed yourself down against his face.

You moaned deeply, your back arching and body trembling as your climax tore through you. Steven grunted, held your hips down as you shook, and came hard on his mouth, soaking his face with your juices.

"Fuck, you're such a good boy, Steven," you panted as you climbed off his face and crawled down his body, wrapped your hand around his cock, and lowered yourself onto him.

"Oh, bloody hell!" Steven gasped when his overly swollen, leaking cock slid into your tight, wet pussy. He grabbed your waist, biting his lips as he watched your breasts bounce while you rode him. His fingers dug into your flesh as pleasure kept rising in his core while the ring around the base held back his orgasm. It was the most exquisite, agonizing pleasure he'd ever experienced.

Steven was a panting, writhing mess underneath you, his face red and sweaty and you knew he couldn't take much more. Climbing off of him, you pulled the ring of his twitching cock.

Steven cried out, his eyes flying open as he had the most intense orgasm of his life. Pleasure erupted through his core, his cum spurting out of his cock like a fountain the second you removed the ring. Steven collapsed on the bed, panting heavily as he stared up at the ceiling, unable to perform a single coherent word.

Giggling, you laid down next to him, wrapping your arm around his waist.

"I told you it would be amazing," you mused, smiling up at him.

"Oh, it was. It really, really was," Steven panted and let out a breathy, joyful laugh before turning his head to look at you. "I love you, y/n."

"I love you too, Steven," you replied and looked up at him to meet his gaze, both of you smiling as he leaned down and kissed you. The deep kind of kisses that left little room for thoughts. There was only feeling and wanting. It was so easy to get lost in him, in those kind, brown eyes of his. It was only you and him, lost in this connection between the two of you where the world, the universe, ceased to exist.

Taglist: @noodlecupcakes @skvatnavle @lucy-sky

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fictionbooksandbeyond

2 years ago

Jake Lockley NSFW Alphabet (Reposted)

A/N: This fic kept on glitching whenever I tried to post it and I just kept getting mad about it. I then forgot about it and decided I might as well post it now. Enjoy!

Word Count: 1,374

Warning: This is Smut! Minors DNI!!

A = Aftercare (What They're Like After Sex)

Jake is pretty chill after sex. He likes to smoke and hardly ever covers his lower half with a sheet. He doesn't care for modesty in truth. Jake will hold you close and whispers sweet nothings in Spanish. Jake also licks you clean and tells you that he loves fucking you. Jake lowkey wants to tell you he loves you but can never voice it.

B = Body Part (Their Body Of Theirs and Their Partner's that they like)

Jake is very proud of his hands. He loves seeing them covered in blood, and he loves when that blood gets onto your tits.

Jake loves your thighs and legs. He's always staring at them; given the chance, he will always have his hands on your thighs. Jake especially loves thick thighs. He can spend hours kissing your thighs before he decides to even attack your pussy.

C = Cum (Anything to Do with Cum; basically, I'm Nasty)

FUCK! JAKE LOVES CUM! He can eat it all day. He loves to overstimulation you and just watches the come leak out of you. He can spend hours watching your beautiful cunt leak his come.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty Self Explanatory, A Dirty Secret of Theirs)

Jake wants to impregnate you. But he'll never admit it, and he pretends to hate kids. In reality, he does want kids and would love to see you bear his future children.

E = Experience (How Experience are They? Do They Know What They're Doing?)

Hell yeah, Jake knows what he's doing. Jake practically invented sex! Jake has had a lot of sex.

F = Favorite Positions (This Goes Without Saying)

Doggy style, sixty-nine, and reverse cowgirl. These are Jake Lockley's all-time favorite positions to fuck you in.

Doggy style is unique because Jake feels so primal and feral that he will runt into your pussy like he's going to die in the morning. He will come all over your sheets and won't stop until y'all are completely soaked.

Sixty-nine. He loves oral. Jake loves getting his cock sucked and eating your pussy out. It is a fucking wonderful experience.

Reverse cowgirl. Jake loves watching your ass glide back and forward. He loves gripping onto your hips and telling you to go faster.

G = Goofy (Are They More Serious In The Moment? Are They Humorous? Etc.)

Not really goofy. It's more like it's very serious. I don't think Jake can be goofy unless he's making a sex joke, not during sex. Jake is just usually very serious during the moment.

H = Hair (How Well Groomed Are They? Does The Carpet Match The Drapes? Etc.)

Jake doesn't buy into that manscaping bullshit. He prefers to let his secret hairs grow out, and he loves when you pull on them.

I = Intimacy (How Are They During the Moment? The Romantic Aspect)

Jake is almost always romantic during the moment. He's a flirt, and it's in his nature to pleasure his s/o with sweet words and physically. Jake usually lights candles for his beloved and rubs lotion on them after sex. He spends a lot of time rubbing lotion on your tits. It's his favorite place to put lotion.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation Headcanon)

Jake usually jacks off in his cab. It would be in private cause if he did that with someone in the back of the cab, that'd be shitty. He has this spot he usually stops at when he's feeling aroused. It's a parking lot that no one uses. He typically watches a video to get him in the mood. Or he facetime you and jacks off.

K = Kink (One or More of Their Kinks)

Dom Daddy and little girl and teacher (him being the teacher) and student (you being the student) are his favorites. He's a very dominant guy in the bedroom, and he hates not being in control. He loves calling you baby girl and will constantly tease you.

L = Location (Favorite Places to Do the Deed)

Mainly in his cab or at your apartment. Jake will fuck you wherever, whenever. But he does like some sort of privacy because he doesn't want to share you or have other men look at your naked body. Honestly, Jake wants to kill your exes because they've seen you naked, and that just pisses him off cause he doesn't like the idea of anyone knowing what you look like naked. That's for him to know and others to wonder about. He's pretty possessive.

M = Motivation (What Gets them Turn on, What Gets Them Going)

Jake is always horny. He is just really good at hiding it. If you're horny, he's ready to get freaky.

N = No (Something They Wouldn't do, Turn Offs)

Jake doesn't let people watch y'all fuck. If he finds out Steven was watching, he gets hella pissed. (I headcanon that Steven and Jake hate each other, but one day they become buddies. Kinda like what happened with Marc and Steven. But with more yelling and more Spanish swear words. Plus, more death.)

O = Oral (Preferences in Giving and Receiving, Skill, Etc.)

Loves giving and receiving oral. Jake wants to die while eating you out.

P = Pace (Are They Fast and Rough? Slow and Sensual? Etc.)

Jake doesn't have a speed. He'll go whatever speed you want. But he does love it rough.

Q = Quickies (Their Opinion on Quickie, How Often, Etc.)

Y'all usually fuck before Jake goes to work. He typically sleeps in, so y'all usually fuck in the shower. It's always rushed, and for the most part, you're putting shampoo in his hair while he's pounding into you.

R = Risk (Are They Game to Experiment? Do They Like Taking Risks? Etc.)

Jake fucks in his cab all the time; of course, he loves to experiment and take risks. He loves the idea of being caught but will be cautious to not get caught.

S = Stamina (How Many Rounds Can They Go For? How Long Do They Last?)

Jake only gets tired after fighting. Otherwise, he'll be fucking you for as long as you want. I think he can last five rounds in a day. Maybe nine rounds. But he can't do nine again the next day because that pushing it.

T = Toys (Do They Own Any Toys? Do They Use Them? On A Partner or Themselves?)

TOYS! JAKE LOVES THEM! He loves cuffing you, tying you up, and using vibes and dildos on you. He likes using toys more than having them be used on himself.

U = Unfair (How Much Do They Like To Tease?)

JAKE LOVES TEASING! He typically ties you up and makes to come until you beg for him to stop. He's always putting his fingers in your pussy when y'all are watching Netflix. At family dinners, he'll fingerfuck you while telling your crazy aunt off about how her political opinion is incorrect.

V = Volume (How Loud They Are, What Sounds They Make. Etc.)

Jake will grunt a lot during sex. He only speaks Spanish in the bedroom and will growl when you come around him. Everything about sex with Jake is loud.

W = Wild Card (A Random Headcanon For The Character)

Jake probably asks Khonshu to watch y'all fuck. Even though Jake hates the idea of anyone watching you fuck he allows Khonshu to watch each time. This is because Khonshu is his buddy and wants to brag about how well he can dick you down. Khonshu is usually speechless while watching. Sometimes, he'll suggest to Jake that he should eat you out more. Or tell him to switch positions.

X = X-ray (Let's See What's Going Under Those Clothes)

Jake is thick. He is very gritty, and his cock makes your mouth water each time you see it.

Y = Yearning (How High Is There Sex Drive?)

VERY HIGH! Jake loves fucking and is ready whenever you are ready.

Z = Zzz (How Quickly They Fall Asleep Afterwards)

Jake has terrible insomnia. He hardly sleeps; when he does, it's typically restless sleep full of nightmares. He just prefers to hold you and smoke for hours after sex.

345 notes View Post

fictionbooksandbeyond

7 years ago

stranded all in love

Pairing: Jake Lockleyx F!Reader Wordcount: 2.16K Warnings: Explicit AF. Rough smut. Gore. Public Sex. Oral. Marc has srs issues with him. squirting. Summary: And then he’s lunging for her, pinning her underneath him, tongue already in her mouth as he rips the blankets and sheets down and there is nothing between them. A/N: title from kings of leon's closer

Jake’s jealousy can be venomous at times. It can overwhelm him - shudder throughout his body while he tries to swallow the fact that Marc and Steven are the ones appropriate for the daylight. Jake does not do well with normalcy. He doesn’t fit into cafes or restaurants or long walks around a park.

The jealous can be subtle. It can infect and nip and pierce. It grows until he unleashes on something or someone. Not her. Never her.

But, the people that Khonshu wants dead?

They’re fucked.

He doesn’t return to her often. He’s a moment - a flash of a man in between sleeps. Sometimes, she’ll wake up with him hovering over her. There will be the ripe smell of death. Jake's head is cocked to the side and the remnants of whatever fight he’d been in burns across his face. It’s like injury looks good on him. It’s like violence is his second skin. It belongs there.

“What is it?” she murmurs as she feels his hand on her. He pets her arms and shoulders. He squeezes her wrist.

“Didn’t mean to wake you.”

When Jake says this, she knows he’s being truthful. Steven will pretend like he didn’t intend to disturb her sleep when he absolutely did. He doesn’t like to go under alone. Marc will just lie on top of her until she kicks him and then he’ll fuck her to exhaustion.

Jake enjoys the simplicity of watching her. He enjoys the quiet after whatever hurricane of violence he has doled out earlier that night. Of course, he’ll also bury himself inside her if he has the opportunity.

“It’s okay, Jake,” she says before he lunges forward.

He pins her underneath him, tongue already in her mouth as he rips the blankets and sheets down and then there is nothing between them.

“Was it bad?” she asks against the bite of his teeth.

“Not now,” he growls. “Later.”

She knows that he will tell her. He will confess like she’s his priest though he is his own God’s servant.

He’ll probably go into detail. It is nothing for him to kill. He shrugs his shoulders and jokes about how he’s going to get the blood out of the roof of Marc’s car or remind her that they’re gonna need a lot of bleach for the downstairs bathroom.

***

“He’s a fucking monster,” Marc declares one night. “He-He isn’t right in the head.”

It befuddles her. He can make peace with Steven and yet not with the darker side of himself - a piece of him that is as essential as anything else. His heart. His brain. His bones.

Jake shares his body. Jake shares her.

“He does what’s necessary,” she reminds, fingertips trailing over the hard line of Marc’s brow. “I know it’s so easy for you to love Steven because of his goodness, but Jake handles what you can’t.”

There’s a distinct twitch in Marc’s eye. A glimmer around the iris as he regards her with an unreadable expression. She frowns as he watches her, as a muscle in his jaw flexes. He looks as if he wants to say something - tell her she’s wrong - tell her she’s naive - but then it clears.

It is nothing and everything at once. Marc’s face disappears completely to reveal Jake.

“You’re really on my side, huh?” He leans back against the wall, arms folded across his chest. “Trying to convince big daddy that I play nice?”

She rolls her eyes and, in a flash - a pop of a second, Jake’s hands are on her waist. He spins her around until she knocks up against the edge of the table and forces her onto it. Her breasts are crushed into the wood, her cheek flat on the surface. An orange rolls from of the arrangement at its center. A lime bounces out and hits the floor with a thud. His fingers trail down the curve of her spine, skimming the width of her waist.

“I’m going to fuck you now.”

Jake can be blunt. He barely speaks at all unless he finds his head too loud - too messy - then all of it bursts out of him: spilling, frothing, turning to spittle.

I can’t stop.

It feels good.

What day is it? Where am I? What’s on the docket? Where are the knives?

The sex is furious. It is rough and frantic because he never knows when the other two will rip him away. He kisses her with such aggression that she tastes blood. His teeth slip across her throat. He stares down between them as he fucks her, his gaze locked on the place he’s disappearing inside the slick of her cunt.

He can be almost clinical about the act at times. He enjoys seeing how her body reacts to the things he does. It is the same feral look he gets when he’s murdering someone slow. Curiosity etched across his handsome face. His brows lifted in surprise when she whimpers or clenches just as they lift when whoever he’s breaking shudders or screams.

“That feel good, yeah? What if I add a third? Would you take it for me? C’mon, sweetheart….princess…lift your hips a bit higher.”

“No-no, Jack! Don’t fucking die on me too fast. We’re just getting started. Let me try and fit my fist in there.”

He is awful and he is not. He wraps himself around her as a dragon would with its mountain of treasure or its golden eggs. She has never seen anyone kill with the kind of precision he does. He has the same make-up of a shadow, flickering between spots of light, breaking apart into the dark corners of old rooms.

He comes to her with his hands still bloody. He cradles her cheeks - his dark, luminous eyes half-mad and still his. His lashes flutter as he drops his head to crash their mouths together like it’s the last thing left for him.

This. This. This. Just this. Just you and me.

***

There are times, she’s in danger and it’s not Marc or Steven who can handle what has to be done, but Jake. “Did he hurt you?” Jake asks as his gaze scrutinizes every part of her body. The hood and the mask are gone. His expression is contorted in a rage that she cannot reach or touch. She is the one thing he has and when someone touches her, then God help them. It is so much of Marc’s doubt and guilt that is locked in the fury that burns inside Jake. Jake takes it. Jakes absorbs it all and he shoves it back at the world tenfold.

“I’m fine,” she reassures him. He always thinks the worst.

“You’re not,” he replies flatly before turning around, walking quickly toward the man in question and slicing through his jugular. The blood spurts on his hands, his wrists, it makes a fine mist across the white front of his armor. A quick job because he has other things on his mind.

He doesn’t give the man a second look. He kicks his head away before returning to her. He advances, grabbing her firmly around the wrist and tugging her into the black cavernous space of the alley behind them.

“Jake,” she protests. “It’s too dark.”

He scoffs, flashing her a disarming grin. There’s blood on his lip. “Like I’d let anything touch you now…no….I wouldn’t….I”d never…” his words roll and tumble over each other as he begins to speak to himself. Her chest grows tight. Is this how he handles everything? There’s no Marc or Steven for him to vent to…they’re far too weary of him…there’s only her and she doubts even that is enough…

He’s got his gloved-hands on her shoulders as he pushes her back against the brick wall. She thinks he’s going to fuck her - ruin her - splither apart on his cock until things make sense for him, until everything returns to living-color. He doesn’t. He looms over her. The shadows make patterns across his sweat-damp face. A shock of a curl fall across his eyes. He grips the hinge of her jaw and lifts her mouth to his and he kisses her gently - tenderly - soft as the tickle of his lashes against her cheek.

“What are y-?”

“Shh,” he warns before his tongue traces the seam of her mouth, caresses her own tongue in something that should feel dirty, but is not. He draws away from her, peppering kisses across her chin and throat before stepping backward. He appears bigger with the suit - the broadness of it - the packed chest.

He smirks before lowering himself to his knees. He grabs her by the ankle and hitches her knee over his shoulder and then shoves her skirt up and wedges his face between her legs.

She can feel him. He inhales her crudely, his nose nudging against the lace of her underwear before he uses his fingers to tug it aside so he can access the wet flesh of her cunt. “Does seeing me save you get you soaked?” he chuckles, though it’s muffled against her skin. He uses the tip of his nose to trace the seam of her sex, up and down and down and up before he latches to the nub of her clit with his talented mouth.

“Jesus,” she blurts out as she curls inward, as she fists his hair in surprise. He smacks her thigh - a hushed tut tut tut against the swell of her pussy. Each warm breath against her sends sparks driving up her belly.

“Stay open for me,” he mutters before he licks into her. The muscle of his tongue splits her. He thrusts it deep before easing back so that he can lap through the fever-hot slit of her folds. She jerks, shudders, and he loves it. He groans and grunts like an animal in heat. He eats her for what feels like hours - the lewd noises of his mouth working on her, his enjoyment of the whole act.

He finally pulls himself away just enough so that she can see that the lower half of his face is coated in a glossy sheen of her.

His gaze is hungry - unsettling, even - and he takes two of his fingers and plunges them into his mouth, wetting them with his own saliva before sinking them into her. He sits back on his heels as he does it. He studies her face as he pushes them inside with the same brute force he does with his cock. He twists his hand so that his thumb can reach her clit. He circles it tightly while his fingers rock into her - massaging her - stretching her apart.

“Fuck my hand a little, princess,” he taunts. “C’mon - it’ll feel good.”

She does. She can’t help it. Her hips chase his stupid thick fingers that are pumping into her. It’s all too fucking much. His handsome face alight with that slightly maniacal adoration he has for her. There’s blood on his suit. There’s blood in his hair. It makes his teeth white as the coin-silver circle of the moon above them.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he murmurs more to himself than to her. His eyes are directed at her cunt and his fingers moving inside it. Her dress is rucked up around his hand so he’s the only one who can see. She can feel it though. He’s making her too slippery - too fucking scorched. She can feel heat behind her nose. Her chest stutters - grows tight. Pressure building building building too damn high as he begins to fuck her faster - fingertips brushing the furthest part of her that’s its own knot of sensation.

“I’m - I’m gonna -”

She can’t breathe. She can’t swallow right. He stares at her, his lips twitching into a half-smile. His eyes so big and round as they jump from her stuffed pussy to her blissed-out, edged-out expression.

“Get it all wet,” he rumbles - his voice deeper than she’s ever heard it - as if it’s coming from the bottom of him. “Do it for me.”

He’s thrusting thrusting thrusting before he rips his fingers free, forcing a slip of liquid from her. She doesn’t scream; she makes a sort of choked-off noise because her tongue has gone numb. She hears it though. The sound of her bursting like an over-ripe fruit, her skin burning with a shame that Jake no doubt finds exquisite.

Don’t you dare look away from me. I wanted you to come like that. I wanted it and you did it like the good girl you are.

“Fucking Christ,” she whimpers - slightly embarrassed and slightly desperate for it again. He strokes her leg that is still hitched over his shoulder. He turns his head to press a kiss to the inside of her knee.

“Poor baby,” he husks. “Was that too much?”

She glares at him. She knows that he did it a bit out of spite.

Does Steven make you squirt like that? I highly doubt it.

Marc’s too stiff - too locked up.

You can let go with me. You can let go because I’m already gone.

Jake inches forward, lifting the skirt of her dress to savor the quivering, puffy flesh between her legs. His slippery tongue is like a lighter zapping her skin with tiny flicks of flame.

“I can’t,” she murmurs - flinching - trembling to pieces and she should know better. Jake fucking loves that - loves when she’s docile and pushed to the edge and brought to a climax that vibrates throughout her hull.

“You can,” he encourages as he licks her again - the tip of his tongue flicking her clit and making her twitch. “You can take it. You can always handle me.”

There’s still a dead man at the corner of her eye - a man he’d brutally murdered for her. All acts that he would do on repeat because it’s what he knows. Sex and death and her. He nuzzles into her thigh - his mouth making soft, coaxing noises.

“Let me, princess,” he croons. “Let Jake help you feel good.”

4K notes View Post

fictionbooksandbeyond

2 years ago

safe house

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader Wordcount: 3.1k Warnings: semi public sex. rough smut. pain kink. size difference. ghost is a simp. sex on a couch. cum play Summary: “Kid,” he husks. “I wouldn’t give a shit if they all came in and watched.” Simon 'Ghost' Riley Masterlist

Of all the risky shit you've participated in, deciding to sit with Ghost post-mission takes the cake. Things just happen. Out of your control.

You can't not listen to him.

Even your teammates give you nervous glances when Simon barks at you to come see him for a "debrief."

You're screwed, lass.

Eat a dick, Soap.

So here you are, forced to brush shoulders with your hulking lieutenant while the others shower or scrape cold chili out of cans in the tiny safe house kitchen.

Everything is secure.

Ghost smells like fireworks. There’s snow still melting in his boots. He’s managed to remove all his gear aside from his gun on the coffee table, but he’s just as enormous. Burly. Rippling with that animal aggression, he can’t shake off after a mission.

“You should shower,” you suggest sweetly. You’d gotten first dibs, but you’d been unable to scrape off the blood wedged under your fingernails and mud crusted to your hairline like sea barnacles. You feel dirty, as if the job had left you withered and full of dust. There’s the particular flavor of guilt clinging to the underside of your mouth.

“You didn’t listen to a direct order,” Ghost utters in a voice so quiet it could flicker into smoke. He was screaming at you earlier, demanding that you return to him instead of toward the USB drive with the intel. Red Fox. You take one more bloody step, and I’ll suspend your ass.

“It would have been for nothing had we not gotten it,” you protest. Deny. Deny. Double down. Invent excuses, even though the scariest man alive is speaking to you like he may just break your neck.

He shifts on the couch. The sounds of your teammates seem very far away, although they’re only in the next room. Simon is angry, and it’s not the familiar hot-headed fury he favors. No. It’s chilling. He’s holding himself back. Out of the corner of your eye, you see his gloveless fingers curl around the edge of the couch. They’re enormous hands. They can wrap entirely around your bicep, the nape of your neck, or the crown of your skull.

He leans back, thighs spread open, stealing space and shoving you toward the end of the couch without even moving a muscle.

“I’m sorry,” you offer rather pathetically. Your voice is audibly weary, utterly subservient. Ghost runs a tight fucking ship, and everything can collapse if you step a hair out of line.

He presses his arm against yours, lowering his head closer to your ear. “I don’t give a fuck.”

His hand finds your hip, and before you realize it, he’s got one arm banded around your chest while keeping you pinned to his front. Hee slides behind you until you’re both horizontal, your legs tangled together, his covered mouth puffing warm air against your jaw. You could be spooning if his embrace wasn’t so carved with aggression.

“You know it’s not about bloody fuckin’ orders,” he growls as he shoves your sweats down your thighs.

“Wha-”

You choke on a gasp as the muscular forearm around your cotton-covered tits squeezes, sealing you into him until you can’t budge an inch. You can hear him fumbling with the button on his pants. There’s blood on his boots. The denim and his sweatshirt irritate your bare skin. You’re damp from your shower, and he’s coated in a thin film of battle. “Simon,” you warn. “They’ll - they’ll come in.”

Unbothered, he continues, and you can feel him, heavy and hot against your lower back. “What did I tell you?” he mutters into your hair. “Before we left...when I had you on your knees?”

Your mind is sprinting on overdrive. The blood rushing under your skin is flaring to an almost unbearable heat. Yesterday morning? You’d snuck into the bathroom with Simon...gotten on the cold tile floor, and sucked him off until he’d nearly punched a hole in the cheap plaster wall. He’d been surprised. It’s not like you hadn’t screwed before, but anytime you ever gave him pleasure when it was only about him, he’d get totally weird.

Like he didn’t deserve it even though he -

Without warning, he breaches you with a thick finger. You bite down on your lower lip, swallowing a grunt. Your sweats are caught around your knees, and his tree trunks for legs spread you open and stretched like you’re latched into an intricate web. He lazily thrusts into your soaked cunt, drawing his finger out to the tip before sinking it back to the knuckle.

“Jesus, Riley,” you moan, and the arm across your breasts lifts just enough so he can cover your mouth with his hand.

“What did I say, love?”

Your brain isn’t working. Your entire focus has narrowed to the overwhelming sensation of him finger-fucking you from behind. It is a rare show on his part. It’s risky, but Simon Riley is a super soldier, and his hyper-fixation is now firmly on the task of ruining you.

He lowers the hand from your lips to allow you to speak.

“Swallow it?” you try, and he pauses before an unsettling, baritone noise reverberates within his massive chest and he withdraws his finger only to bury two inside you.

You jerk, keeping silent but dangerously on the brink of a damn orgasm. You’re drenched, and Ghost’s slow, drawn-out movements squelch with every perfunctory pump of his hand.

You can feel the hard shell of his mask against the crown of your head. “You’re going to be the death of me, kid,” Ghost sighs.

He sounds...exasperated. Perhaps, you had, admittedly, fucked up. You shouldn’t have done it. You should have listened to him. Escape had been narrow and made even more narrow by you wasting precious seconds to grab the intel. Even if Ghost had the countenance of a bull shark, he cared more than most. He was staunchly loyal. He wouldn’t lose people under his watch.

But you aren’t just people.

Fuck buddy? Sure.

More than that?

You weren’t entirely oblivious to how he touched you outside their secret trysts. His gaze lingered, his presence curled around you like an oversized shadow.

What had he said yesterday morning?

“Stay alive,” he husked as his palm enveloped the top of your skull, those sleepy, ink-filled eyes searching yours. His thumb traced your cheek as you rested the side of your face against his thigh. The salt of him coated your throat, the nape of your neck still tingled from his iron grip when he finished in your mouth. “Please.”

Gingerly, you tug an arm free to grasp the hand silencing you. You pull it away, and Ghost, Simon, allows it. Shooting him a desperate, aching glance over your shoulder, you press your lips to his fingertips. “I’m sorry,” you repeat. “I’ll stay alive for you.”

You give his words back, hoping it’s enough.

See? I was listening. I was listening as you throat-fucked me.

Pleased, he murmurs your name as he presses closer before you force two of his fingers into your mouth and suck. He goes rigid, and the other set of fingers inside you become still as if he’s trying to assess this startling development and figure out the next strategy. It is only a moment, a few seconds, and then he draws away from your cunt to grasp the underside of your thigh. He eases it up before shifting his hips forward, and there he is: his thick, unforgiving length crudely gliding through your folds. The pleasure comes in bursts. Tiny pricks. Stars. Each time the head of his cock grazes your clit, it sends sparks unfurling in your belly. You shove your ass back into him, demanding and needy.

You started this, you want to say when you know he’d turn it around with: You did when you didn’t fucking listen.

His hand returns to your hip, his thumb rubbing small, tight circles into the flesh. “Desperate, are we?” His voice is rough - all gravel and artillery smoke and so low it sweeps like a tongue against the seam of your pussy. “I thought you were scared the others would see us?”

You release his fingers with a slick pop, and he, once again, wraps his forearm around your chest in order to anchor you to him. You can just imagine the scene the team would walk in on.

Ghost, fully clothed, with his tattooed arm snug around your tits. You’re in a flimsy tank top with your sweats tangled around your knees. His mask-covered face is notched over your shoulder. To anyone, he’d look untouched while you were ruined. Bare thighs glistening with your own arousal. Humiliating.

“Do you care?”

He chuckles, and it vibrates against your back. “Kid,” he husks. “I wouldn’t give a shit if they all came in and watched.”

You shiver, involuntarily clenching around nothing. “Right,” you croak as you feel his hips draw back again, the fingers holding your thigh in the air, are digging into your skin. Blunt nails. Dirt. “Because...because then they’d know I’m yours.”

That must do something to him because he sucks in a breath and suddenly, without hesitation, slides into you until his groin is nestled against your ass. You black-out. Your vision swims and blurs until you can’t distinguish between the dark fireplace and the shitty armchairs. His cock is too big. That’s a stone-cold fact. The first time he’d fucked you had been more than a challenge. He’d prepared you with his tongue, fingers, spit and lube you filched from Soap, but it had still been difficult.

He’s breathing steadily as his heart thumps against your back. His hand falls to your stomach, where he can, undoubtedly, feel the head of his cock nudging one of your internal organs. You feel full - crammed to the brim and feverish. Sweat collects at your hairline as you endure the pressure of him inside you. The girth. The weight. Every time Ghost fucks you, it’s a lesson in endurance. He can go for hours, and you take it like his well-trained soldier. The two of you are an HR nightmare.

You squeak when Ghost presses his balaclava-covered mouth to your neck. “Good girl,” he soothes, clucking his tongue. “Good girl...just take it like you are. Fuckin’ perfect.”

Well-endowed fuck.

It’s only painful in a good way. Your body accommodates him, allowing him to squeeze an inch deeper as his hand slides down from your belly to your clit. He presses it gently before drawing circles. He retreats, his cock dragging through your walls until he’s halfway out before he plunges back in. The pace is unhurried. He’s grinding into you as if he’s savoring every part of your pussy. He cups your tits, grasps your throat, and explores the sensitive flesh stretched around his enormous shaft.

You’re never having anal.

Unless he asked really nicely.

“I want to mark you,” he muses through long, deliberate strokes. “If I come in that lovely cunt, you’d keep me in there, yeah?”

“Of course,” you reply immediately, even though you sound like you’ve been drowned and spit back onto the beach. You’re so sick with him, overwhelmed and a little in love and how did this fucking happen? “Anything you want, Luitenant.”

He delivers a sharper thrust that nearly propels you off the couch, but his grasp on your waist is unforgivable. His strength. His presence. He smells like sweat and packed dirt and a forest fire. “You’re bloody obedient when I’ve got my cock in you.”

Obviously.

“I know,” you murmur as you bite your lip again when he strikes something tender. He’s rubbing your clit in time with every snap of his hips, dick pistoning inside you as your lower muscles buckle, your thighs quivering as your pleasure hangs precariously over a steep drop. His legs wedge yours open, keeping your cunt spread as he manipulates your body like one of his precious guns. If I move this, what will this do? Let me make it better.

“I’m so - so fucking easy,” you slur.

“No,” he grits as his pelvis begins to stutter against your ass, his breathing ragged. “No, you’re the most difficult thing I’ve ever had beneath me - ever - ever had to fuckin’ handle.”

God - that has double meanings. You’re his subordinate. You’re his lover. You’re on your knees for him, but it goes both ways. It had been Ghost who had turned the lights off the first time and removed his mask. He’d trusted you enough to shut your eyes and let him lick your pussy until you were in tears.

I wouldn’t look, Riley. That’s something I won’t take unless you give it.

You had felt his face, though. In the pitch blank, you had touched his full lips, the defined lines of his cheekbones. You’d felt his thick, silky hair and the bumps of various scars.

You feel sexy.

You’re trying to butter me up.

The sounds from the kitchen startle you. The men are taunting each other. A pan clatters. The volume turns up, and you suddenly realize that you and Ghost are making quite a bit of noise. The couch is creaking. Your cunt indecently squelches with every spear of his cock. He’s grunting into your hair, the skin at his groin smacking the full flesh of your ass as he bottoms out.

“They’re going to hear us,” you warn. You’re on the cusp of exploding, breaking into fragments.

“They probably already do,” he quips before fucking you harder. Your hand flies up to clutch at his burly forearm, your other hand rises higher to grasp the back of his head. You want his hair, you want to fist it and hurt him just a little. “Easy, love,” he urges. “Relax...relax...you’re getting too tense.”

He’s right. Your orgasm has fluttered away because now you’re fully aware that your teammates have probably created a racket to drown out their Lieutenant, their stiff, cold enigma of a Lieutenant, railing their comrade into the couch.

“Focus, kid,” he orders bluntly as if he was chastising you on a mission. He ducks his head and nuzzles your cheek to coax you back into his fold. “They won’t come in,” he drawls in a low, piercing rumble. “They won’t say a goddamn word because they know I’d murder every one of them if they tried ripping me away from this cunt.”

Holy. Fuck.

Everything has climbed up your throat. Your head is on backward. The pressure of his cock, his fingers on your clit, and his massive body wrapped around your own is causing the air to crackle.

“Simon,” you gasp as he readjusts his grip and forces you forward. He shifts his hips so he’s thrusting down, and it’s impossible to know when he’ll be done. He rides your ass until his pace falters and his cock twitches and throbs before he abruptly settles, douses out the fire, and continues at a more even, lazy rhythm.

“I need you to come for me, darling,” he encourages softly. It’s dipped in a tenderness that surprises you. His voice remains deep and gruff, but there’s a gentleness behind it. You’ve never seen his face, and the intimacy with which he handles you is nothing you have ever experienced. It is too much.

Ghost gives you his history in patches. There are brief moments where finishes and rolls off you, and you both just stare at the ceiling, fingers brushing in the dark. “There’s this pub by the Irwell that I think you’d fancy,” he remarks. “Jesus knows if it’s still around, but I reckon you’d like it.”

It’s not just sex. This is not just sex at all.

Stay alive.

Please.

You know it’s not about bloody fuckin’ orders.

Simon is coaxing you into your climax. He’s buried so deep that you can feel the tip of him nudge against your womb. You feel swollen and raw, and his muscles twitch against you. You’re throbbing like an open wound as he maneuvers your ragdoll body on his cock. It should be overwhelming, but his fearsome rough voice is full of yearning when he motivates you to find your pleasure.

The tang of your climax builds until there’s nowhere else for it to go. It roars forward, jolting through your limbs as it forces you to curl into a fetal position, but Simon is right there. He holds you in place, his mask grazing your cheek. “C’mon, love,” he says. “That’s it. Good girl.”

As his palm clamps over your mouth, you erupt, and you bathe his cock in your climax. Hot and flooded as the punch of a tropical storm. “Bite me,” Ghost demands, instinctively thrusting into your soaked, fluttering heat. “Do what you need, love. Take it out on me.”

He groans when your teeth nip his palm. You bite harder, and he nearly chokes.

You don’t understand how this has gone from him enraged to riding you to a full gallop to allowing you to use him for your own pleasure. As he fucks you through it, jamming into the searing, wet clutch of your spasming sex, he hits his end. His hands on you tighten as he makes a deep, grating noise from his chest, filling you up. It’s warm and somewhat soothing. Shuddering, Ghost has to brace his arm on the couch to keep himself from collapsing on top of you.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters as he buries his face into your neck. “Jesus.”

He slips out, and there is only emptiness. You’re aching and sore, and he pets at your cunt, pressing his come deeper so it doesn’t drip. You shift onto your side to face him, his hand still nestled against your pussy, his eyes black and heavy-lidded as they regard you with subtle affection.

“Keep me in there,” he reminds you.

Hesitantly, you snag the edge of his black ski mask and slowly lift it. He stops breathing, his heart beginning to thump wildly as his gaze widens. However, he doesn’t stop you, and it’s a test you predicted.

“Red,” he warns. Your call sign. The bite of his authority rippling between you.

You hitch the mask just a centimeter above his top lip. You sit up awkwardly, your sweats still knotted around your knees, your lower half gone to jello. You grasp his stubbled jaw and kiss him tenderly. He stiffens, making a startled noise in the back of his throat before he decidedly returns it, licking into the cavern of your mouth as he forces you onto your back and wedges himself between your legs. The pointed edge of his skull mask digs into the top of your cheek, but you’re past caring. You can feel his cock filling against the crease of your thigh.

Again? You can’t go again. You’d surely split in half.

“Don’t worry,” he says as if he can read your mind. “I just want this.”

Just this. The couch, the safe house, and their teammates only a room away.

He breathes against your mouth, the sliver of his secret skin scratching your own. You nudge your thumb along a scar and kiss him harder.

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fictionbooksandbeyond

7 years ago