Clink, Clink, Being This Young Is Art- J.A.
Pairing: Jack Abbot x Ditzy!Cart Girl!Reader
WC: 5.3k
Summary: Your last group of the day happen to be doctors from a local hospital. When one gets too handsy, another stands up for you, wooing you in the process.
Contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, unprotected p in v sex, semi-public (secluded) sex, reader faces sexual harrassment (ass slapping, crude comments, etc), lmk if i missed any!
A/N: divider from @thecutestgrotto ! im not even gonna lie i loved this idea but i kind of hate the way i executed it so if this sucks im sorry
The sun is hot, beating down on Jack's scalp, even through his golf cap. Sweat brews underneath, tickling his curls in a way that tells him he's going to have a rough day.
Dread bubbles in his stomach as he reluctantly shuts the door to his truck, taking in the greens before him. They're large, many acres over a large country club, one he's unsure he could pronounce the name of, let alone fit in at.
He spots the pro shop, so large and intimidating he feels like a cartoon character, cowering under an evil giant. An evil giant in white linens and golf gloves.
So to speak, this is not his crowd. All the same, he grabs his golf clubs, and begins his journey into this hellacious day.
As he approaches, he spots the reason he's here— some hospital higher up he's been sent to impress in order to garner some more PTO for his staff.
They're lucky he loves them.
"Dr. Abbot!" The big-wig croons, a plain man aptly named Dr. Alex Smith. Jack's face stretches in a tight smile as he extends his hand for a shake. "How are you? So happy you could join us."
"I'm alright," he replies, a nonchalant air in his tone. "It's a gorgeous day."
He's not typically one for niceties and small talk, but today? It's a bit of a different story.
As Dana so lovingly puts it, he's shit at hiding his feelings, and he needs to fix his fuckin' face. He's going to need all the luck he can get.
"Absolutely beautiful!" He booms, clapping him on the back.
The man's hand is large and aggressive, and Jack assumes the two adjectives will describe today quite well.
Soon, a golf cart rolls down the gravel. a blessing that spares him from more small talk. His relief is momentary, though, because what he sees behind the wheel nearly gives him a heart attack.
You're sitting there, the prettiest thing he's seen in years. Pink manicured nails perch atop the black leather as you slow down, shifting the gear.
His eyes drift from your sweet face, down to the white tennis dress clinging to your curves. It's enough to make him dizzy, and he wills himself to look at something, anything else.
He regrets this, because of course he does, as he takes in the rest of your cart. It's bigger than your average golf cart, and, in his defense, what you've done with it makes it seem a lot bigger.
Jack takes it in, a bright pink explosion assaulting his vision. A pink disco ball swings from the rearview mirror, reflecting off your pretty face in shiny glass shards.
A baby pink tarp protects you from the sun, and the protective urge in him yearns to put a cap on your head. He's seen enough scalp damage in the ED to last him a lifetime.
Jutting out of the side is a little cabinet, filled to the brim with snacks. The counter below has little handles on the side, and he can only imagine the different types of alcohol in there.
In the haze of you, he thinks he hears a low whistle coming from his left, coincidentally where Dr. Smith posts up beside him. Anger burns through him, and he extends his neck, twisting his head from side to side, desperate to shake it off.
You pop up, breaking his bubble with a sweet, 'hi!', and a wiggle of your fingers. Your manicure flashes in the sun at your greeting, and he wills himself to think of dead puppies, his grandma, anything to rid his brain of your beauty.
Smith is first to approach, holding out a hand for you to shake. Ever so polite, you accept, greeting each member of their group with the same level of enthusiasm.
"Last, but not least!" You chirp, holding your hand out to Jack.
He freezes, forgetting he's actually there, and not an invisible passerby. Eyes darting to your hand, it feels robotic, the way he extends his own, letting you lead the shake.
God, what kind of man is he?
Looking past you, Smith has already planted himself in the front seat of the cart, and nothing about that sits right with Jack. The rest of the group is relegated to another, normal golf cart, trailing behind yours to the first hole.
His eyes can't help but burn into the back of you, keeping an eye on Smith, as well. Jack doesn't know much, but he knows damn well that if he touched you, he'd simply see red.
This passion, this fire, scares him. He just learned your name all of five minutes ago, didn't even know you existed when he opened his eyes this morning.
Yet, you've captivated him. Your kind smile, your bubbly personality, it's enough to make a man go weak in the knees.
Though, he supposes that's why you were hired. He can't be the only man who's felt this way in your presence, in fact, he's probably far from it.
The thought makes his stomach twist, and he pushes it down as the cart comes to a stop. He averts his gaze as you swing out of your own vehicle, though you make it difficult, you're so pretty.
With a snap of your sweet fingers, you gather the attention of the men in record time. It's impressive, the way the group flocks to you, and Jack's no exception.
Guilt roils through him as you meet his gaze, a smile spreading your lips in a way that makes his heart pound. You deserve better than his leering, though the way your eyes linger for a moment gives him a sliver of hope.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he snaps his head away from you. Your voice floods his ears, soft enough to lull him to sleep if he really tried hard enough.
"Okay," you start, clapping your hands together. "So, here is how my cart works- any time you're hungry, or thirsty, let me know, and I'll get you taken care of."
I'll get you taken care of. Fuck, Jack, you pervert.
"All of your orders will be put on the tab of an…" rummaging for a small receipt tucked in one of the cabinets. "Alex Smith?"
Jack's heart lurches, stomach turning at his name.
"Doctor, sweetheart," he clarifies, and Jack can't help his eye roll. "Dr. Alex Smith."
Fix your fuckin' face, Abbot, Dana's voice plays in his head.
He sees you tense at the nickname, and his fingers clench in a fist. Desperate to ease your discomfort, he butts in.
"Thank you," he huffs, and your gaze snaps to his. "For- y'know-" he clears his throat, regretting opening his mouth. "Being there for us today."
His breath hitches at the eye contact, the first time he's been brave enough to give your face a proper look. You're so stunning, his heart hurts. You give him a small smile, and somehow his chest puffs on its own.
"Of course! Are you a doctor too?" Your smile widens with your question, and Jack nearly trips just standing there.
"Uh-yeah, yeah, I am," he coughs into a closed fist, holding out his free one for you to shake. "Dr. Abbot."
The regret is instant, once your hand touches his. It's electric, sending shockwaves through his veins. Smooth fingers wrapping around his calloused ones, your firm shake a pleasant surprise.
He can feel his hand clamming up, a small voice in the back of his head chanting, wrong, wrong, this is wrong. Clearing his throat, he brings his hand back like he's been shocked. In a way, he has.
Your smile falters, and he's unsure if he's seeing properly as you return your attention back to the rest of the group.
"Our drink options range from water, to soda, to some beers and hard seltzers. We don't sell hard liquor, just to be clear," you hold up a stern finger, a coy smile on your pretty face.
Your instructions were met with nods and grumbles of approval, and Jack is entranced by how easily you've captivated this group of grown men.
"Okay!" You chirp, clapping your hands together. "Let me know if you guys need anything, have so much fun!"
His heart patters at your squeal, and he tampers it down as best he can. He'll never see you again after today, and it has to stay that way.
The doctors within his group saddle up to the first hole, Jack hanging towards the back. Jack has golfed before, but it's definitely not his preferred activity, especially after losing his leg.
Peeking out of his peripheral, you make it all the more enticing, much to his everlasting dismay. Perched on the bench of your cart, you give a peppy clap, maybe a 'woo-hoo!', if they swing really well.
It makes Jack's stomach hurt, knowing he won't get that from you. Walking up to the hole, his first hit is instantly out of bounds.
"Woah! Bad morning, Abbot?" Smith asks, dripping with condescension.
His heart rate spikes, flitting his gaze over to the man, but he's not looking at him. He's got a thumb pointed toward Jack, wagging it as if to say, 'get a load of this guy.'
This would irritate Jack on any normal day, but with Smith's gaze on you, the way it lingers, like it's a joke he's not in on, it's enough to make him disintegrate.
The rest of the morning, his swing is just as terrible. Silly distractions flit through his mind, the wind rustling through your skirt, the tap of your pretty nails on the beer bottles you keep popping for Smith.
Smith. Jack has half a mind to report him to the board after today. The way he leers at you, flirts with you the drunker he gets, it's enough to make him vomit all over the pristine greens.
You take it all with a smile, friendly enough to keep him at bay, but not too overindulgent, as if to suggest reciprocated interest. The amount of times you've probably had to deal with this is something Jack would rather not think about.
"Woah! You see that, pretty girl?" Smith croons, pointing toward the birdie he just hit. "Not the only stroke I'm good at."
Jack's head snaps up, white hot rage simmering deep in his belly. His mouth moves before his brain can catch up.
"I'm sorry, what did you just say to her?" He asks, and the entire group snaps their heads in is direction.
His ears turn pink, but he refuses to back down.
Smith rears his head back, as if he's never been called out for his predatory behavior. He probably hasn't.
"Uhm-" he chuckles, scrambling for words. "Why do you care so much, Abbot? You wanna find out?"
Jack rolls his eyes, teeing up to his own ball.
"Just want to make sure you're keepin' it professional, Smith," he says, hitting the ball without making eye contact. "This is a work function, you know."
"Yeah, well if you care that much about being a professional, maybe you'd swing better," he condescends, clapping a hand on Jack's shoulder.
He flinches at the contact, squeezing his eyes shut.
"Boys, boys!" Your sweet voice flutters. "Please keep it kosher, or I'm going to have to end our game early."
You approach Jack as you speak, and his heart thumps louder in his chest.
"Thank you, Dr. Abbot," you coo, and his cheeks burn. "But I can take care of myself, I'm a big girl."
He rolls his eyes, desperate to tamper down his desire at the name you've bestowed upon yourself.
"Sorry, 'f course you are," he shakes his head, looking down. "'s just not right. He shouldn't speak to you that way."
Then, you do the unexpected. A delicate hand perches on his forearm, forcing his gaze back to you.
"You're sweet," you whisper, so quiet he can barely even hear it. "I'm okay, promise," you squeeze his muscle, and he expects you to walk away, for that to be the end of it.
But you don't. You stay, saddling up next to him to watch the rest of the group take their turn. The lingering smell of your sweet perfume fills his nose, and he nearly passes out.
He nods, not really wanting to believe you. The instinct to protect you looms large over his head, a solar eclipse of possession that threatens to choke him.
He shifts on his leg, a dull ache starting to settle in where the bone meets prosthetic. He leans on his golf club like it's a cane— the juxtaposition of you next to him, hands on your hips, left one jutting out, clutches his heart.
He's desperate to be as subtle as possible, not wanting to put any more attention on himself, but you notice. Of course you do, your pretty head flitting towards his stance.
"Oh! Do you need to sit? I'm so sorry, where are my manners!" You chastise, and he attempts a self-deprecating wave.
"No, no, gosh, I'm okay, you've been perfectly pleasant," he replies, training his eyes on the ground beneath him.
"Well, let me continue to do so and offer you a seat," you hold an arm out, and he accepts, grateful through the fog of his embarrassment.
Escorting him to your cart, he takes a seat, a long groan escaping his lips at the relief. Maneuvering his bad knee, his pant leg rides up, exposing the carbon fiber of his prosthetic.
A small gasp escapes your lips at the sight, and his heart sinks. The last thing he needed was your pity.
"I'm fine, please, don't," he waves a hand around, avoiding eye contact as embarrassment creeps up his spine.
"Oh! I'm sorry, I wasn't-" you shake your head, and he instantly feels guilty for opening his mouth in the first place. "I just= I should've mentioned this at first, but we have chairs for accessibility! Here-"
He watches as you reach towards the top of the cart, a pull out drawer nestled above the snack cabinet. Your waist stretches as you reach, and he nearly has to palm himself to keep his cool. In it, you reach and pull out a folding lawn chair, wiggling it in the air in offering.
He can't help but smile, despite the guilt relentless in his veins. He nods, the apples of his cheeks pink and pert.
"This will be much more comfortable, Dr. Abbot," you coo, placing your hands on his shoulders as he settles in.
A long sigh leaves him as he sits, his breath hitching at the contact. He's near a blissful state, the bubble of your attention closing in around him.
That is, until, he remembers who he's with.
"Hey!" Smith yells from across the greens. "If I knew losing my leg would get me special treatment, I would've gone with ya to Afghanistan, buddy!"
He cackles, high fiving the men surrounding him. Jack's stomach burns with shame, embarrassment, rage.
"I'm sorry, Dr. Smith," you call, and his heart stops. "That's incredibly inappropriate. It's not special treatment, I'm just making sure he's as comfortable as you guys are, please refrain from making comments like that again."
His heart sings, a symphony conducted by your sweet words. He looks down, tears pricking the back of his eyes. He can't remember the last time someone spoke up for him like that, and God, did he ache.
"Ohhh, c'mon, baby," Smith croons, his unsteady gait bringing him closer to you. "I'm just bein' funny. What? You don't like funny guys?"
Your face pinches as he comes closer, standing proud and strong nonetheless. God, he admires you so much.
"I like it when guys make jokes that don't poke fun at someone's trauma," the pep in your voice is gone, and a chill runs down Jack's spine.
"Pssh, please," Smith rolls his eyes, saddling up beside you. "You can't pretend you haven't been giving me eyes all morning."
Jack watches the scene unfold, tensing up as he wraps his arm around your waist.
"Smith-" Jack warns, but it's too late.
His hand goes lower, until it's reached your backside, a pinch followed by a swat. You jump, your hands instinctively reaching back to protect you. Jack sees red.
He's up, the ache in his leg now next to nothing, nothing compared to the rage he feels on your behalf. Rearing his fist back, he socks Smith in the face before he can think otherwise.
"Oh my God!" You squeal, and he darts his gaze over to you.
Your eyes are wide, scared and glossy. His heart hurts.
"What the fuck Abbot!" Smith seethes, gritting through his teeth and writhing on the ground.
"Smith I-" Jack starts, but he bites his apology back. He's not fucking sorry, so why should he try to save face now?
"You can kiss your position fucking goodbye," he spits up at him
"Uhm- I have to=let me call my manager," you croak, shaky fingers fumbling for your cell phone.
You lift the device to your ear as you run behind the cart. Jack's heart clutches, he swears he can see you wipe away a tear before you fully disappeared.
Jack's heart pounds in his chest the longer he can't see you, adrenaline pumping through his veins as his hands start to shake.
He itches to chase you, to follow you and wipe your tears and ask if you're okay. His heart drops, though, knowing that it's not possible, that he's absolutely fucked it.
You're soon replaced by a man, approaching the group with his own golf cart. You don't take off until he's there, but when you do, you nearly kick up dust with your speed.
Guilt is acid in his stomach, bubbling and popping like witch's stew. His adrenaline is relentless, moving his feet for him as he runs to the spare golf cart.
He thanks whatever powers that be that the keys rest in the ignition. Wasting no time, he turns it, moving the gear into drive and pressing his foot on the pedal.
He finds you in the main hall, nursing a fruity drink at the bar. His heart sinks looking at you, slumped over, head down, quiet shakes rocking your shoulders.
It's only now that the adrenaline eventually subsides, deep breaths heaving his chest. Regret swoops over him, that live long guilt he's wrestled with all day rearing its ugly head.
He doesn't back down, though. He's just slower, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants as he nears your bar stool.
"Hey," he says.
It's slow, careful. His heart hurts when you look up, your glossy eyes meeting his. He watches you snap back into your professionalism, wiping your tears and offering him a watery smile.
"Hi, Dr. Abbot," you croak. "I'm so sorry I took off on you guys, I just- that's never happened to me before."
"No," he waves a gentle hand. "No apologies, if anything, it's me who should be apologizing. I feel like I made it worse. You told me you could handle yourself, and I should have listened."
He hovers by the neighboring stool, not wanting to push your boundaries unless offered.
"No, no, it's okay," you say, sitting up a bit straighter. "You can sit, I won't break."
Your smile lights him up from the inside out, and he slides onto the brown leather. His heart picks up in speed as he settles into the new proximity, his thigh brushing against yours.
"Hey! Josh!" You call to the bartender, a young man who immediately responds. "Can I get a…" you trail off, eyeing Jack up and down before deciding, "a jack and coke. Thanks!"
"My name's actually Jack. How'd you know?" He asks, and your mouth drops in sweet surprise.
"What! No way!" You swat his bicep, and the brief contact gives him enough energy to run to the moon. "Dr. Jack Abbot. I like it!"
He flushes a deep red, one that spreads from his cheeks all the way down his neck. Bringing a hand to his nape, he scruffs once, twice, three times to quell his rapid heart rate.
It's then that Josh brings his drink, and he gratefully accepts. Taking a big swig, he feels your eyes burning into him.
"Hey, Jack?" You ask, your voice tender and sweet. "Wanna go for a drive?"
Your question intrigues him, and he winds up in your passenger's seat, down the back roads of a country club you intimately know.
"This is where my dad would take me when I was little," you tell him, pulling into a cove of willow trees along the path.
"Yeah? You've been coming here for a while?" He asks as you park, the wind rustling the beautiful view in front of you two.
"My dad is now president of the board," you admit with an eye roll. "This job was just to keep me out of his hair."
"Wow," he blinks. "So that's why you didn't care about running off in the middle of your group?"
It's a risky tease, he knows that, but it's so worth it when he sees you smile. He flushes, can't help himself when he says,
"You're so pretty."
Your breath hitches at the compliment, and he'd regret it if your eyes hadn't sparkled. It's so easy for him to get lost in your eyes, to almost forget how you got to this point, but then he does, and his face falls.
"Listen, I'm sorry, I don't want to put myself on you, especially if you don't want it. Not after today," he shakes his head, eyes trained in his lap. "But I think you're incredibly beautiful, and way out of my league. I'm thankful you even looked at me today, let alone-"
He's cut off by your lips on his, a gentle, soft hand scraping his cheek. It pushes a light 'oomph!' from his lips, though he doesn't hesitate to kiss you back.
There's a string of spit connecting you when you pull away, and Jack breathes out a long, heavy sigh.
"I actually couldn't stop looking at you, Jack," you confess, and his heart swells. "Even when you missed every single hole."
He throws his head back in a sweet laugh, grasping your arm as you lean into your own giggles.
"I only missed because I couldn't stop thinking about the prettiest girl in the world only feet away," he confesses, rubbing the fabric of your dress between his fingertips.
"You're too nice to me," you mutter, resting your hands on his shoulders. "I want you, Jack. Is that okay?"
He shoots his gaze up, his mouth slightly parted.
"You do?" He asks, not quite believing his own ears.
His belly burns as you nod your head, leaning your face closer to his.
"And I don't want this to be just sex, how do you feel about that?" You whisper, your lips against his, taunting him.
He nods, his hand finding your waist.
"Yeah, I feel good about that," he chokes out, a Cheshire smile spreading your lips.
"Good," you quip, swinging your legs over his hips. "But we're gonna start with sex. That okay?"
He nods, eager like a school boy, but he doesn't have time to be embarrassed when your mouth meets his.
It's intense this time, deep and passionate, your tongue running over his bottom lip. His hands settle on your waist, a light squeeze encouraging you to put your full weight on him.
It's electrifying, the way you connect. your weight coating him with desire. He feels himself twitch in his pants, a muffled groan escaping him as you roll your hips.
"Feel good, Doctor?" You ask, eliciting a gasp from the deepest parts of his chest.
"So good, you're a dream," he mumbles, grazing his nose against yours.
You kiss him again, rolling your tongue over his at your newfound access. Rolling your hips once more, he plants his feet on the ground, thrusting up into your clothed center.
"Ah!" You whine, throwing your head back. He peppers kisses along your neck, surprised when you press down on his hips with yours, wiggling a little. "You're not doing any of the work, handsome," a coy smile spreads your lips. "Let me, your poor leg's been through enough."
He swears he could cum right then and there. Fully hard now, you continue your motions, now slipping your arms through your sleeves.
The top of your dress falls, exposing your pretty tits to the late afternoon sun. His head darts around, looking for any stragglers. There's no one, and a wave of relief floods through him.
"You're sweet," you coo, fingertips returning his gaze to you. "But nobody comes back here, trust me."
"Oh, so you take all your golf guys here, huh?" He asks. It's playful, but the possibility of your answer makes him seethe.
"Only the important ones, the ones I really need," you mutter, nipping his lobe before sitting up on your knees.
You wiggle the rest of your dress off, sliding it down your knees and flinging it off your ankles. His eyes widen as you mount him again, now in nothing but your panties.
His finger traces the waistband, and your breath hitches in his ear.
"You're so fucking beautiful, Jesus Christ," he whispers, smashing his lips against yours once more.
You fiddle with his belt buckle, moving to his zipper, pulling him out with an eagerness that strokes his ego. He's heavy, his cock flopping against his polo shirt.
Your eyes go wide, and his heart pounds against his ribcage. He can't believe you, sweet, beautiful, stunning you, is interested in him. He feels like a million bucks.
"God, how's this gonna fit in me, Jackie?" You ask, giving him a few strokes.
A shiver unzips his spine, and he throws his head back against the seat. Chest heaving, his stomach burns with desire for you. The curve of your waist under his fingers, the delicate touch on his cock, it's enough to make him insane. You make him insane.
Swinging your legs off of him, you kneel along the bench, ass up in the air. He pouts at the loss of your warmth, and you smile. You pinch his cheek, placing a chaste kiss there after.
"You're cute," you dote, and he blushes. "I'm gonna put your cock in my mouth now, 'kay?"
He nods, still in disbelief this is even happening. Your lips wrap around him, and his vision goes white. Jaw going slack, he lets a strangled groan pass through him.
"Wow, wow, oh God, sweetheart, that's so good," he whispers, hand in your hair as you take more and more of him. "Holy shit."
You wiggle your ass at the compliment, hollowing your cheeks as you reach his base. Your nose tickles the curls that pepper his skin, and he has to hold himself back from bucking up into you.
"Fuck!" He shouts, squeezing his eyes shut as he free hand finds your ass.
It slips into your panties, palming your bare ass in his big hand. You shake into him again, and he nearly blows his load then.
He feels the front of your panties move, then, and he looks to find your hand slipping in them.
"Ah, ah!" He swats your hand away, taking over. "Let me, gorgeous."
Your folds are so slick, his stomach burns. They're silky, smooth with your desire, and if all he does for the rest of his life is make you cum. he'd be happy with that.
He finds your clit, reveling in your little jump, little squeal around his dick. The vibrations rattle through him, and his stomach burns with hot desire.
Pulling off of him with a gasp, you rest your head on his thigh, stroking his cock as he continues to touch you.
"I'm gonna cum, Jackie, feels too good," you squeeze your eyes shut, pressing a sweet kiss to the thick skin.
"Yeah, go ahead, baby, that's such a good idea, hm?" He asks, picking up his pace a little. "Gonna get you nice and relaxed so you can take this cock, 'kay sweetie?"
You nod, squeezing your eyes shut, a few loose moans escaping your lips. It's like a dream, the pleasure etching itself across your face. Fire blooms in his veins, his desire for you almost palpable.
"Oh, Jackie!" You squeal, body tensing as you soak his fingers.
"Thaaat's it," he coos, rubbing you through your release. "That's my girl, good job, good job."
You gasp, clinging to his forearm as you come down.
"Oh my gosh, that was incredible, thank you Jackie," you smile up at him, slowly sitting up.
His hands stabilize you, settling your shaking body back over his. Your tits dangle in his face, and he can't help but pepper kisses along the plush skin.
"You ready, angel?" He looks up at you, and your eager nod is his final cue before he pushes your hips down.
You swallow his tip, your walls tight and slick, his eyes rolling back into his head. It's dizzying, how tight you are around him.
"Oh! Jackie it's already so big, how am I gonna take all of you?" You ask, and his heart pounds.
"God, you can't say that to me, gonna blow my load before you can even do that," he breathes out a laugh, finding your eyes.
Your eyes glaze over as you sink further down onto him, his stomach burning. He grips your hips, pushing you further down onto him.
Once you're seated, he nearly blacks out. He gives you a swift slap to your ass, encouraging you to find your rhythm.
You listen, the good girl you are, bouncing up and down, up and down. It's slow at first, intoxicating and tantalizing as you drag his length through your walls.
"Fuck," he breaths, squeezing his eyes shut.
"Good?" You ask, lips pressed to his temple.
The warm air of your words absorb in his skin, if he could eat them, he would.
"So good, fuckin' perfect," he whispers, hands gripping your ass as you speed up.
Blood roars in his ears, his eyes blazing as they follow your breasts, bouncing with each thrust.
It's overwhelming, almost, the jiggle of your plush skin against his.
"Oh Jackie, 'm gonna cum again," you whimper, planting your hands on his shoulders and speeding up.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he breathes. "Me too, gonna cum. Cum with me?"
You nod, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. Embarrassingly enough, this is what does it for him. The intimacy pushes him over the edge, fire pooling low in his abdomen with his release.
He dissolves into the pleasure, helping you rock against him. Your sweet cries echo through the empty space, mixing with his grunts and groans.
"Jackie, fuck, that's so good, fuck, fuck," you whine, and he presses a quick slap to your ass as he twitches, coming down from his high.
You settle on him with a shiver, relaxing into his chest and wrapping your arms around his shoulders.
Breathing together, he rubs his hand up and down your back, adding a light scratch and invoking goosebumps.
You press kisses all along his shoulder, on each freckle, his tummy burning with something sweeter, brighter than before.
"Hey," you whisper, biting the shell of his ear. "I know this is totally backwards, but hear me out."
Before you get any further, he lifts up your head, boring his eyes into yours.
"What, sweet girl?" He asks, pressing a quick kiss to your smile.
"I say," you start, "we get cleaned up, and you come join me in the Great Hall for dinner. I memorized Smith's tab, we can put it on there," you finish with a wink.
He throws his head back with a laugh, bringing you in for another kiss.
"That sounds amazing," he coos, cradling the nape of your neck in his hand.
"And theennnn," you drawl, slipping off him and reaching for your dress. "We can go back to mine, and I can show you something that no other customer has seen," you wiggle your eyebrows, and his heart skips.
"Deal, baby."
