Remember my post about having Francis Forever by Mitski playing instead of that fuckass song by Maroon 5 during that montage scene in Venom: The Last Dance?
This year keeps on surprising me because I never thought I’d be seeing Henry Cavill and Jake Gyllenhaal as an old married couple who extracted damsels in distress in their free time in a movie directed by Guy Ritchie
*grabs disney* *slaps it across the face* YOU ALREADY HAVE A WHOLE PIRATES UNIVERSE. YOU COULD MAKE MOVIES ABOUT YOUNG HECTOR. OR NORRINGTON IN HIS EARLY NAVY DAYS. ANY ONE OF THE PIRATE LORDS FROM THE BRETHREN COURT -*picks up a chair and throws it across the room* MISTRISS CHING!! GENTLEMAN JOcard! AMMAND THE CORSAIR. (jack could have small roles or cameos!) *scratches nails across a chalkboard* you could make a movie about young Teague and his wife (pre headshrink) and still have Jack in it!!! *shakes disney's shoulders violently* WHAT ABOUT ALL young!JACK's OTHER ADVENTURES WHAT ABOUT HIS ASSOCIATION WITH TIA DALMA and "spitting image of will" young!BOOTSTRAP. Tia and Davy Jones FALLING IN LOVE TOXIC LOVE STORY. The "mark" Sparrow left on Cutler-Beckett!??! WHAT ABOUT- all Jack's other "relatives" his Uncle Jack when he was young!!! did Uncle Jack have 3 other annoying crewman and did they have a boat called the Boatles!?!?????????
Pairing: CEO!Bucky Barnes x Assistant!Female Reader
Summary: You saw the picture, you looked at the pairing, we all know why you're here. But, incase it's not obvious...
As the assistant to CEO Bucky Barnes of Alpine Industries, you're tasked with helping keep his life on track. As CEO of Alpine Industries, Bucky Barnes is meant to be running a multimillion dollar corporation. Not fantasizing about his assistant.
Warnings/Tags: 18+ MDNI, porn literally zero plot, like...none. daddy kink (but are we surprised?). age gap. power imbalance. ceo!bucky is kind of a perv, but it’s fine. ceo!bucky talks you through it, oral f!receiving. spitting. unprotected p in v (i'm not even going to bother telling you to wrap it, i'd baby trap him too idc). no use of y/n. no descriptors for reader at all. the pictures in the mood board are just for the aesthetic <3
Word Count: 4k
Chirps: I don't even know y'all. I blacked out and somehow this (and...other things) were on my screen. I swear it must've been the wind. Sebastian if you're seeing this, 1. Please DO NOT click read more. 2. I really do need to work on my kinkmas fics so if you can just not make an appearance until the end of November that'd be great. you're really getting me off track my guy. Not beta’d or proofread, if you see mistakes no ya don’t. I’m so sorry y’all have to witness me being a whore.
DT: @barnes-babydoll and @sassandscribbles who caught me being horny on main
Masterlist | AO3
Now, Alexa, play Freak by Doja Cat
Bucky Barnes, CEO of Alpine Industries, had a problem. And it wasn't one he could get rid of by money or negotiation like any other issue in his life.
It was you. His much younger assistant that had shown so much intellectual promise when you completed your internship with his company. He offered you the job as soon as you graduated college; contributing to furthering your education if you wanted and all but promising you whatever position at the company you desired once there was an opening.
And yes, while you did make everything in his life better and easier, you had him questioning every single moral fiber in his body and testing his restraint at every turn.
Encouraging you to call him 'sir' was a giant mistake. One that cost him his sanity every damn day. Because every time those three god damn letters slipped past those perfect lips of yours he could feel the tension rising in his body and the blood rushing to his cock.
Eventually all he imagined when he looked at you was how he could easily bend you over whatever piece of furniture you were closest to while you shuddered and clenched around him. Your mouth parted, eyes rolling back in your head while you gasped nonsense. Until he would lightly tap your cheek and make sure you said 'sir' just as …
"Mr. Barnes?" you called sweetly, pushing into his office with a file in your hand. It's lucky your eyes were preoccupied so he could situate his lap further under his desk.
You seeing how hard he was at the mere idea of claiming you would not have been appropriate.
"Bucky," he corrected you. Hearing his last name slip between your lips was almost as bad as 'sir'.
"Oh! Right, sorry sir, Bucky," you continued entirely unperturbed and oblivious to his current predicament. "Here's the forms I need you to sign, plus I have your schedule for the charity gala tomorrow."
You leaned over the desk using two freshly manicured fingers to slide the paperwork towards him. Your other hand had wrapped along the edge of the desk for balance. Bucky briefly had a vision of what your hand would look wrapped around something else entirely while you begged him to…
His thoughts were cut short as you held a pen in his vision. His eyes snapped up to your small saccharine smile…and then they betrayed him by dipping to the v-neck of your blouse where your perfect tits were sitting so elegantly in what he could only assume was a pushup bra designed for temptation. Your necklace disappearing between the valley of your breasts was basically begging for him to lift a finger and pluck it free.
He really needed to enforce a dress code. Maybe full length nun robes may quell these flashes of desire.
"Thank you, sir," you said, gathering the now signed forms.
"I'd like for you to attend the gala as well," Bucky suddenly found himself saying. The schedule looked dreadfully boring, as they all were, and at least your company would preoccupy his mind during whatever long winded speeches the other benefactors would give.
Your eyes turned wide as you adjusted the papers in your arms. Oh what he wouldn't give to see you with that expression on your knees with your mouth open and…
"I don't, uh…I didn't prepare to attend so I don't have anything appropriate to wear," you stuttered out, dragging Bucky's attention back to reality. Your posture going rigid when you realized you failed to meet an expectation.
So eager to please, here you were endearingly nervous at the mere thought of disappointing him.
Bucky produced a sleek black card from his wallet holding it in the space between you. "Go get yourself something."
Your fingers reached out hesitantly, plucking the card from his grasp. In doing so, you grant him the rare pleasure of feeling your smooth skin as your hand brushes his. You take a step back, heels clicking on the tile floor unsteadily. Your thumb is brushing along the black metal when Bucky can tell you're about to protest.
He shut it down before you could even start. "Just say thank you and go shopping. I trust you not to get too carried away."
Your mouth snaps shut, teeth dragging across your bottom lip before you whisper a quiet, "thank you, sir." You turn slowly and make your way back out of his office. He's momentarily entranced by the subtle sway of your hips in that damn skirt you just insisted on wearing, the only thing breaking him from the hypnotic spell is when the door clicks and you're on the other side of it.
At this point he's sure you're some kind of temptress disguised as the picture of innocence. Because he just handed over his no limit American Express card without hesitation, his dick was still achingly hard, and all you had to do was get a little flustered and bat your eyelashes.
He scrubbed a hand down his face, tapping his fingers along his jaw as he glanced back at the door. "Fuck it," he grumbled, undoing his belt and palming his erection.
He wasn't going to be able to focus on his next conference call if all he could think about was replacing his cock with that damned necklace of yours.
The following afternoon, the tailor pulled a pinstriped three-piece suit from a garment bag. “This is the one, Mr. Barnes.”
His name didn't sound as good coming from the elderly man as it did from you…
Speaking of you, once he dressed, he snapped a picture and sent it off. You had orchestrated the fitting after all, and he wasn't even sure if this is what you had chosen.
'Does this look right?'
Your phone buzzed just as you were putting the finishing touches on your makeup. In a chain reaction of events you certianly weren't prepared for when you picked your boss's outfit out months ago, your mouth went dry, the brush in your hand went clattering into the sink, and your knees threatened to give out.
Did it look right, you scoffed internally. In theory yes, that was the correct suit. In all actuality, you had several other answers lined up.
It would look better on the floor.
That tie would look great around your wrists.
His hand would look better wrapped around your throat instead of that phone.
You rolled your shoulders back, the heat already rising in your body did not bode well for the fact that you were about to spend the rest of the night next to him. No matter, you could let your imagination run wild when you got home still smelling of his cologne.
You quickly typed back 'yes, sir' and went back to the task at hand: making yourself presentable enough to spend a night surrounded by glitz and glamour.
The phone nearly dropped from his grip when he saw your response. Surely…surely you had made a mistake. A typo somehow.
But what an error for it to be.
The words 'yes, daddy' were branded across the screen in response to his question.
It should not have felt like you poured gasoline on the fire simmering under his veins. But now…now Bucky's imagination was running faster with those eight letters, wondering how you would sound saying them in the throes of pleasure while pressed into a mattress. Your breasts bouncing with each thrust while he held your thighs open, your back arching as your pussy…
"Is that the correct suit, sir?"
Bucky cleared his throat, nodding his thanks. When was he ever going to get to finish a thought around here?
He looked back down at his phone to make sure he hadn't imagined the words. And he hadn't. Which meant he had two choices. Leave it be for you to realize and handle the situation somehow, or him to draw attention to it.
His brain told him what the rational option was. Too bad his cock seemed to be calling for him to rectify this situation louder.
Bucky arrived to your apartment in a sleek, black town car, looking entirely out of place among your modest neighborhood. Once he got over the initial jolt of desire, he had decided to just let it go. The last thing he wanted to do was embarrass you, and drawing attention to your little faux pas would make for an embarrassing evening. It was better to just leave it.
But then you opened the door.
His credit card had seemingly delivered the final test of temptation on a silver platter, in the form of a deep red satin dress that hugged your curves in all of the right places. The strapless sweetheart neckline pushed the supple flesh of your breasts up in a tantalizing way that made it hard for Bucky to not to want to bury his face between them.
The A line skirt accentuated your waist and hips, pouring down your body like molten lava that matched the rising temperature in his very being. A daringly high slit was cut in the fabric, showing off more of your leg than he'd ever seen before.
"Is it not okay?" your voice sounded panicked as your hands timidly smoothed over the bodice.
It was perfect. So perfect, Bucky was having a hard time not saying fuck it to the charity gala, pushing you back into your apartment, and ripping it off of you with his teeth.
But he couldn't say that.
"It's…no, you look great," Bucky cleared his throat offering his arm.
You ducked your head, but he didn't miss that proud smile at the compliment as he led you to the waiting car. Nodding politely at the driver, he held the door open and watched you gracefully slide in.
The car pulled away from the curb when you were both situated. Bucky hit a small button causing a dark privacy partition to slowly slide up, separating the both of you from the driver and isolating you in a bubble of heat and Italian leather.
Working beside him and coming into his office was vastly different than sitting here in an enclosed space. And you were sure you were just imagining the heat behind his gaze as he glanced over at you while city lights flickered past your features.
You reached for your phone, needing something to preoccupy your hands and mind. Instead of pulling up an app or going over his schedule, your heart stopped and what felt like ice flooded your veins.
Right there, encased in pixels under his name in the messages app: "Yes, daddy."
Not "sir." Not "Mr. Barnes." Hell, not even "Bucky." Daddy.
Something you really only called him in your private daydreams or nighttime rituals. There was no talking yourself out of this one.
You were sure you were fired and would likely have to pay for this dress from your last paycheck. How humiliating. You'd be out of a job, and have nothing to show for it except a red satin reminder of your Freudian fuck-up. Your hand scrambled for the car door handle, desperate to put space between you and the shame that was slowly filling the car.
But just as you were about to push the door open at a stop light, Bucky moved faster. Caging you against the sleek leather seats as his arm grabbed the door and held it closed.
He wasn't even sure what he was about to do, just that he was not about to let you run away when you looked like the embodiment of every single sinful thought he'd have had.
"You have daddy issues, sweetheart?" Voice low and amused. Almost dangerous underneath the tone that always made your thighs clench involuntarily.
You blink up at him, first surprised at the sheer power rolling from his frame, then at the pet name that had warmth flooding into your lower belly, then the fact that he clocked you so easily. He didn't look angry. He looked…curious.
Lamely all you could do was nod, because yeah, your dad not being present in your life had kind of fucked up any relationship you'd ever had with older men with any sort of authority over you. To your surprise Bucky's mouth quirked up into a teasing grin before he leaned in closer so his mouth was right by your ear.
"Do you want me to help you work through those issues?" his voice was a rough whisper, a shadow caressing along every dark thought in the deepest corners of your mind. The intent in his words dripping with honeyed lust.
Your breath hitched feeling the stubble of his beard skate across your skin, sending even more want through your body.
This was so wrong. You shouldn't want this; sleeping with your boss who was nearly double your age couldn't end well. The fact that it was happening after some subconscious slip of a nickname you'd never called any man before, let out alone your own father, was just morally reprehensible. So why was your body aching like you had already said yes?
There was a brief blink and you'd miss it moment where you debated saying no. But then his hand drifted from the door to your thigh. Heat and electricity traveled through the fabric of your dress, settling low in your belly until you found yourself drifting towards it. And then you realize this very may well be your only chance to see if he's as skilled as your fantasies about him are.
You meet his gaze finally, seeing the bold hunger in those blue irises that are almost swallowed by the black of his pupils. Your heart skips every other beat while you lean into the warmth of his touch.
All you can really do is nod, not trusting your voice to come out as anything more than a strangled noise.
He smiles like a wolf who has finally cornered its prey. And you were ready to be devoured.
His lips claim yours, soft at first, while his fingers slipped under the slit of your dress, warm and exploratory traveling directly for what he had been dreaming about since he hired you. You sigh into it, letting shaky hands drift up his chest and under the suit coat.
A hand came up to cup your jaw, a commanding thumb unhinging it so he could deepen the kiss. His tongue slid in, greedy and hungry, leaving you whimpering and completely at his mercy.
"You always take such good care of me, sweetheart, always know what I need," he murmured, when he pulled away just enough for his lips to brush yours with every word.
Your heart leapt into your throat, the mind melting realization that oh, he does indeed talk you through it had your legs parting on instinct to make room for his large body.
He took the invitation, turning you gently in the cramped space of the backseat. The cool window kissed your shoulder as you settled back on the door, the red material of your dress bunching around your hips as Bucky wrapped your thigh around his waist.
Just as he commanded a boardroom, he didn't ask for permission. He just started to claim. Hands already traveling up your bare thigh until they reached the lace edge of your panties that were doing very little to conceal the pool of your desire.
"Fuck you're soaked, sweetheart," he growled against your neck as his thumb swiped along your clothed center. The light touch sent sparks through every limb, your fingers scrambled to hold onto the expensive leather seats, hoping something would ground you against the way he was already pulling you apart.
"I haven't even properly touched you and you're trembling."
He pushed the lace fabric aside as his mouth continued its assault on your neck and shoulder. Two large fingers stroked one long swipe through your arousal before settling into an easy circular rhythm on your clit.
Your mouth fell open on a moan, nails clawing into the leather as heat built in your belly with every slow stroke.
"There you go," he hummed in approval, pulling back to watch pleasure crest over your features. "Does that feel good?"
"Yes sir," you managed to breath out, just as a finger pressed past your entrance. The stretch had you arching into his touch, body begging for more before you had a chance to think about it.
You were so fucking perfect. So pliable under his touch. And he hadn't even needed to ask you to call him that. You just did it.
"Such a good girl, always knowing exactly what I need," he cooed, adding in a second finger. "You know what I need right now? Need you to let me taste that pussy and see if it's as sweet as you are."
Your eyes flew open just in time to see him already ducking his head, using the hand that wasn't already preoccupied he pushed your skirt out of the way. He withdrew enough to slide the ruined lace down your legs, a whimper leaving your throat at the sudden absence.
"Such a pretty little thing," Bucky mumbled against your inner thighs as he settled between your legs. "I'm going to fucking ruin you."
His tongue ran one broad swipe between your folds just as his fingers had, a deep groan vibrating against your core as he finally tasted what he'd been dreaming about for months.
His movements were precise; circling the bundle of nerves, laying his tongue flat until it curled and sucked your clit between his lips.
Your hips jerked at the sensation, thighs clamping around his head as a moan that may have been his name spilled from your mouth. Even as the car rounded a corner, he held you steady in the small space, not even reacting to the movement. It seemed he was solely intent on seeing just how loud he could get you to moan his name.
Your back arched off the leather, fingers tangling in his hair that had once been perfectly coifed as another shaky whine broke from your throat. Loud and shameless, you could only hope the partition was also soundproof or you'd never be able to look the driver in the eye for awhile after this.
"That's it, let me have it baby," Bucky groaned against your cunt. "Be a good girl and come for me."
The coil in your belly snapped, pushing you over the edge, and you came with a brutal shudder and his name on your lips.
Bucky pulled back, his salt and pepper beard messy with the evidence of your ruin. He moved to hover over your body again, confident and steady, hair mussed from where your fingers had been.
"Taste," he ordered —tilting your mouth open with his thumb on your chin. You didn't have time to react before he spat in your mouth, your slick mixing with his saliva in a cocktail that had you drunk before you swallowed it.
"Good girl," he praised. Smoothly, he sat back against the seat, hands guiding your hips to follow until you were straddling his waist.
"You have no fuckin' idea how often I jerked off in my office to the thought of burying myself in your tight cunt. Always bet myself you would feel like heaven," he directed your arms to hold onto his shoulders before he moved to his belt, freeing his thick and flushed cock. "Let's see if I can fuck my way past the pearly gates."
You weren't sure if you were rendered more speechless from the sight of his length; hard and leaking just for you, the words he was saying over the steady hum of the car around you, or the way he was already lifting you and positioning the tip at your entrance like he owned you.
"Tell me what you want sweet girl," he said, letting you sink down slowly, eyes locked on your face as he split you open. "Want me to fuck those issues right outta you?"
"Yes," you moaned, wanton and undiscerning, tears pricking at your eyes, the stretch almost too much.
"Yes, what?"
Your throat worked around another stuttering noise of pleasure once you were fully seated. "Yes daddy."
"Christ," Bucky whispered, cock already twitching against your tight walls. Your grip only constricted as you moved on instinct, hips rolling in a languid pace as he let you take control for once.
His hands roamed along your body, wishing he could see what else this dress was hiding. He'd have to settle for the delicate way the tops of your breasts bounced as you fucked yourself on him. No matter, he'd rip the dress off you as soon as this damn event was over and he got you alone again.
He settled his grip on your waist, not wanting to ruin your hair more than it already was. "Just needed a real man to take care of you, didn't you baby?"
You nod as your movements become messier, chasing the drag of his cock against every nerve ending.
"Gonna take real good care of you, don't you worry." His hands slid down to your hips, taking over. He thrust up into your tight heat, your muscles clenching hard around him every time he tried to pull out.
"C'mon sweet girl, we're almost at the gala and I need to fill this perfect pussy up so you can feel me dripping out of you until I can have you again."
Your head fell forward, burying your nose in the crook of his neck while you let him move your body how he needed. "Harder," you managed to whimper. The scent of his expensive cologne coupled with the feeling of a suit worth thousands of dollars had a deep seated want to be completely ruined bubbling to the surface.
"Ask me like I know you want to," Bucky growled, wrapping his muscular arms around your waist, one holding the nape of your neck steady as he slowed down. Like he was going to deny you until you gave him what he wanted. And after all, this all started for one reason.
"Harder daddy, please," you breathed into his ear, already bracing a hand against the head rests. They creaked against the stress as his thrusts got rougher, more desperate, angling your body so his cock nudged impossibly deeper.
"That what you wanted, angel? Want me to make you forget how to walk and have you stumbling around all cockdrunk at this damn thing?"
"Yes, sir."
You were rewarded with his thumb going to where you were joined; rubbing quick and practiced circles along your clit. Your orgasm came crashing down not a second later, the sensations too much on nerve endings that had already been wrecked by his mouth.
"That's my girl," Bucky groaned, and with one final thrust up you felt his release spilling from his pulsating cock; covering your still fluttering walls.
In a stark contrast to how roughly he just manhandled you, he ever so gently lifted you off his lap and into the seat next to him. The car pulled up to the hotel the gala was in not a moment later.
"Pull yourself together, sweetheart, can't let everyone know how hard I ruined you." His thumb gently swiped at where your lipstick was smudged as the door opened.
You smoothed your dress as best you could, kicking your ruined panties off your legs and stepped onto the curb with his assistance. "Yes, sir."
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After Chirps: OH, you're still here? Well, how'd you enjoy the porn? Good? Bad? Don't tell me, keep your secrets. Either way, I don't know when this became a WHORE HOUSE yet here we are. Now that this is outta my system, I can focus on Mentor!Bucky...as long as there are no more distractions. ꨄ︎
Prompt: anon requested "Our wedding vows were whispered over your sister's grave. She was just practice for you." with Nick Fowler for my Valentine's Dead Dove event !
Pairing: Nick Fowler x Female!Reader
Word Count: 1.1k
Tags: DDDNE (dead dove do not eat); obsessive love; unhinged relationship (trust me); mutual obsession; gunpoint wedding (technically......); graveyard sex; literally sex on a grave; blood play (very very brief during a kiss); p in v; creampie; death of sibling (no heavy details); no redemption (for who?); unapologetic villainy
Rain stopped quite some time ago, but the scent of wet earth still lingers in the cemetery air. Your sister’s grave is modest, a flat granite marker half-sunk into the spoil because the groundskeeper hasn’t bothered to set it properly yet. No visitors come here anymore. No one but you, really.
And sometimes, like today, him.
Nick stands behind you, chest to your back, one arm banded around your waist like he is afraid you’ll change your mind some time soon and bolt. The other hand held the Beretta low, muzzle resting against the outside of your thigh. It’s not a threat, because you don’t need one, just a reminder.
White is your color today. Not a wedding dress, but sometime simpler, silk slip that clings when the wind moves. No bouquet, no veil. On your finger, the thin platinum band is already settling heavy after he slipped it twenty minutes earlier. It’s still warm from his pocket. You feel it against your chilled skin.
Nick lowers his mouth to the shell of your ear.
“I, Nick Fowler,” he says, deliberately slow, “take you… to have. To hold. To keep.” A pause. “I fucked your sister for two years because she looked like you from behind. Because when she laughed it almost sounded like you.”
You can swear you feel his heartbeat against your spine. He feels too calm for the words he’s saying. Like none of this ever mattered until his hand and yours finally shared the same wedding band.
“She talked about you all the time,” he continues. “How smart you are. How you’re always watching everything like you’re waiting for someone to make a mistake.” He leans down, presses his lips to the nape of your neck. “Every time she came, I closed my eyes and pictured your face instead.”
The gun in his hand slides higher, tracing the curve of your hip over silk.
“When I found out about her accident, the brakes failing and the car flipping… I just felt relieved. Like the universe had finally stopped fucking around and given me a straight line to you.”
Slowly, he finally turns you to face him, eyes careful on your face watching out to see if you’ll break. As if you were glass instead of venom.
“Our wedding vows were whispered over your sister's grave, because she was just practice for you.”
You study him, then. How his jaw ticks while he’s trying not to smile while saying the most fucked up thing. The way his blue eyes seem to search into the depths of your sould. You reach up, fingers curling into his collar and pull him down until your mouths were only a breath apart.
“Fuck me here,” you whisper.
His pupils blow wide.
“On her grave.”
After a moment of silence, one where you wonder if this is how he gives up on you, Nick lets out a rough laugh.
“You’re fucking insane,” but he’s already moving, rolling you down with him and laying you by the headstone, on the damp grass, knee shoving your thighs apart roughly. The gun remains in his right hand, and he braces it on the stone beside you.
You hook one leg around his waist, the other slightly bent by the side of his body. The cold, wet earth under your body makes you shiver, but you’re far too gone as Nick pushes the skirt of your dress up and pushes your panties to the side.
Never the gentleman, he doesn’t bother with gentleness. He shoves inside in one hard thrust, burying himself to the hilt. You gasp, not in pain but in surprise mixed with pleasure, before he swallows the sound with his mouth. Tongue, wet lips, teeth digging into the flesh and pulling until it draws blood, one hand digging into the muscle of your thigh. Kissing you like he’s trying to crawl inside your ribs and make nest.
“Mine,” he growls against your lips. “Finally fucking mine.”
You laugh, breathless, the air punched out of your lungs with each of his thrusts. “I’m yours,” you agree. Clench around him until he groans and fucks you harder.
Dirt crumbles under your nails where you claw at the floor under you. There’s still rainwater pooling in the engraved letters under you, soaking through the silk. You tilt your head back, staring up at the gray sky while he drives into you, a little faster, cock throbbing in your wet heat.
And then, almost too quiet and definitely too conversational, you say:
“I messed with her brakes.”
Nick freezes mid-thrust.
You don’t really look at him, just keep staring at the clouds with an all too strange smile on your lips.
“Three nights before the crash. Waited until she went to bed and slipped under the car in the garage. Made sure it looked like wear and tear.” You roll your hips, forcing him deeper even though he’s gone still. A pause, of moment where he seems to remain paused before he starts moving again, slower this time. Each thrust careful, with a different purpose now.
“You killed her,” he tells you. It’s not a question.
“For you.”
Nick stares at you like he is finally seeing you for the first time. In a way, he is. He’d never met this side of you before. You’re not sure he likes what he sees, but you push forward anyway, unable to stop now.
“I watched her die so I could have this,” you whisper, bringing dirt cover fingers to curl around his shirt. “So you’d stop looking past me.”
An unusually soft hand comes up to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing your lower lip with a taste of reverence you had never tried until now.
“You’re worse than me,” is all he says.
“I know.”
And that’s when he kisses you again, licking the truth from your lips before he begins moving once again, harder, each thrust sending you back and forcing the beginning of your spine to grind against the stone until you could feel it leaving marks behind.
“Come for me,” he orders you. “On top of her, now that she can’t fucking interrupt us anymore.”
Back arched, nails almost drawing blood as you cling to his neck, you come, crying his name loud enough that it echoes off the headstones around you. Blinded by pleasure, waves rolling off your muscles, you barely register how he follows you seconds later, hips slamming forward one last time as he spills inside of you.
Nick stays buried in your warmth, forehead presses to yours and then kisses your temple.
“My beautiful, murderous wife,” he mumurs almost teasingly.
