The rain started when Simon turned down the street.
This city always had a way of welcoming him with wet cobblestones and chilled air, but tonight, the street outside your shop was quieter than usual. The small glow of your sign, The Hound & Brambles Books, lit the foggy evening like a lighthouse.
He walked up, the warm light of the front window washing over his dark figure.
The little bell above the door chimed as he stepped in. He shook his shoulders free of the rain. The soft hum of jazz floated in from the back of the shop on an unseen radio. The musky scent of aged leather, mixed with the subtle spice of ink filled his lungs. Along with the faint smell of vanilla.
His gaze found you behind the counter, chatting softly with a young woman as you bagged up her purchase.
He slipped over to the nearest shelf. The books were of no interest to him. Only you.
You waved goodbye to the customer as she slid out the door and into the rain. Then, your eyes found him.
You smiled, “Hello, Simon.”
He adjusted his ball cap and a concealed smile formed behind his black medical mask. He stepped forward, crossing the shop floor in a few strides.
“Hello, love.”
You rounded the counter and met him in the middle. Your hands immediately dipped into his jacket and rested on his chest. His hands landed on your hips. As though they belonged.
“You're soaked.” You said with a chuckle.
He shrugged, “S’alright.”
You leaned in and said, “I still got about an hour before I can lock up.” You tilted your head to the stairs and with an added wink, said, “Go make yourself at home. I’ll meet you up there.”
“Come with me,” he said, quietly. Not an order. A request.
Your smile warmed, and you ran a gentle hand down his arm. “I will. Go get comfortable.”
You watched him disappear up the stairs, his footsteps creaking through your ceiling.
The flat above your shop was small. Walls lined with overstuffed shelves and soft lighting. He pulled his mask and hat off. Sitting them on the entry table as he kicked off his boots. His jacket slipped off and was tossed over a velvet chair as he walked over to the bed. It had a hundred blankets and too many pillows, but he sank into it like it was a holy thing.
He dozed off to the sound of rain and the quiet creak of shelves below. The scent of you lingered in the sheets. Vanilla.
When he heard the soft click of the door, he knew you were done for the night. You entered quietly, padding barefoot to the bed, and slipped in beside him. He shifted instinctively, pulling you close until you were pressed to his chest.
“I missed you,” he whispered into your ear.
You hummed softly, “I missed you too.”
His knuckles brushed the soft curve of your cheek as he said, “Let me show you just how much I missed you.”
He tilted your chin up. The soft brush of his lips on yours set a wave of warmth through you.
Your hands tangled in his hair as you leaned deeper into the kiss.
His hands, rough and calloused, moved with a reverence that made your breath catch.
You pulled back gently. Gazing up at him. His face was shadowed in the low lamplight. You touched his cheek, fingertips soft, tracing the edge of his jaw. The purple and green discoloration of a healing bruise lingered.
“You look like you’ve been through hell,” you whispered.
He gave you a faint, crooked smile. “Felt like it. But this…this makes it worth it.”
He kissed you again, slower this time. His moves, intentional. Every touch, every movement, a quiet confession.
You guided him gently onto his back, straddling him with a tenderness that held no dominance, only closeness. He breathed in like you were the first clean air he'd had in days, hands resting low on your hips, thumbs brushing lazy circles along your waist.
You both undressed each other without ceremony or haste.
He kissed the inside of your wrist, the dip of your collarbone, the curve of your stomach. While you ran your hands through his hair, over his shoulders, mapping every scar with your lips like you were memorizing him.
There was no rush. No frenzy. Just the steady rhythm of two people who had learned to cherish what little time they had.
“Simon…” you murmured as he pressed his forehead to yours, breath mingling.
“I’m here…not goin’ anywhere.” he said softly, voice raw. “Not tonight.”
The way he held you was nothing short of reverent. You could feel it in his hands, in the press of his mouth against your shoulder, the way he whispered your name like a plea.
You leaned back. Your hands pressing into his chest. You arched just enough to let your hips roll forward. Your moves deliberate as you dragged yourself along the thick length of him, teasing where you both ached to connect.
Simon reached between you both and took the base of his cock in hand, lifting it up to meet the slick entrance of your pussy. He hissed out a breath as you fitted yourself on the tip. Your mouth opened on a silent moan.
Then you slid down by an inch. Then up and down, inch by inch, until you were entirely seated on his lap. Your hips rolled forward with the final stretch. His hands squeezed your thighs tight as he stared up at you with a look that could be described as worship.
You began to move. Your hips rolling in a slow, rhythmic pattern. Lazy and unhurried.
Simon bit down on his bottom lip as you guided his hand to your chest, his calloused thumb brushing over your sensitive nipple. The roughness of his touch only made you sink down harder, hips grinding deep, desperate for every inch of him. Your head fell back, a moan slipping free, lost in the dizzying pleasure of how deep he was.
His hand slid up to your waist as you rode him, the tension in his jaw growing by the second. “That’s it,” he murmured, voice raw.
One hand followed the curve of your waist. Up and down. His touch barely restrained. The other hand, still toyed with your nipple in slow and deliberate ministrations. Eliciting your nails to drag down his chest.
Simon hissed out a curse.
In one fluid motion, he sat up, chest pressed to yours, arms curling around your back. Then he shifted and lifted you effortlessly, gently rolling you beneath him, never breaking the connection. Your back hit the mattress, soft and warm, his weight settling over you as he braced on one forearm.
“You’ve had your turn, love,” he rasped, breath hot against your throat. “Now let me take mine.”
And when he rocked into you, deeper and heavier, you gasped like you hadn’t already taken him to the hilt. He smirked at that.
His movements were slow and fervent.
His hands clamped around your hips, holding you down as you tried rolling against him, every grind making his breath hitch just a little rougher. His eyes were dark, wild, and hungry as they stayed locked on yours.
“Fuckin’ hell…” he growled low, cut off by the way your body clenched around him. “Keep doin’ that and I’m not gonna be gentle.”
You smirked, hips rolling again, “Is that a promise?”
“You wanna play?” he rasped, voice right against your ear. “Alright, then.”
He slammed back into you, hard enough to make the headboard knock against the wall, your breath catching in a strangled moan. His grip on you tightened, fingertips digging in like he needed the anchor.
No patience now. No sweet build-up.
Just raw need.
And the look in his eyes, like he’d been starving for you, made your whole body light up.
The headboard slammed against the wall in time with his thrusts, rough and relentless. Every snap of his hips punched a whimper or a sigh from your throat. You were helpless and wanting.
Simon was fully over you now, chest nearly flush to yours, pinning your wrists with one hand while the other gripped your jaw, forcing you to look up at him.
“Eyes on me,” his voice, a deep rumble.
You whimpered, trying to nod. His thumb pressed to your bottom lip, dragging it down, and he smirked when you moaned around it. You were shaking, mouth open, every nerve ending lit up.
He pulled his thumb from your mouth and growled out, “You’re takin’ it so well. Look at you, my good fuckin’ girl, makin’ a mess all over me.”
You were. You could feel it, the slick heat where your bodies met, the obscene sound of skin on skin and your soaking wet cunt gripping him with every stroke. Your legs were trembling, thighs clamped around his hips, trying to anchor yourself, trying not to fall apart too soon.
“Simon…fuck! Please!”
He leaned in, mouth dragging up your throat, hot breath against your ear. “Not yet. You’re gonna hold it,” he whispered, rough and low, “You don’t come till I say.”
And then he bit down, sharp enough to make you cry out, hips stuttering, walls fluttering around him in a warning tremor.
“Don’t,” he growled again, hand releasing your wrists just to snake between you, fingers rough on your clit. “You wanna come? You beg me.”
Your pride warred with your need, but not for long. Not with that voice, that pressure, that command.
“Please…please, Simon.” you gasped, barely more than a whisper.
And the sound he made, half groan and half growl, as he slammed into you even harder. Your whole body tightened beneath him.
“That’s what I like to hear.”
He never let up. Not once.
Your body was trembling under him, a fragile thing that might shatter with just one more push. Your hands clawed at his shoulders and back, desperate for something to hold onto.
Simon let out a guttural sound before he snapped his hips one final time, hard, and pressed deep inside you. His fingers dug into your clit one last time, fast and tight. Then, that was it.
The world shattered.
Your body convulsed beneath him as that intense, white-hot pressure finally burst. You screamed his name, your back arching off the bed as the orgasm ripped through you, deep and all-consuming. Making everything stop for a moment as you shattered in his arms.
Simon followed right after you, his body going taut, his control finally breaking. His name slipped from your lips like a prayer, and he let go. Flooding you with his release. His head dropped into the crook of your neck as he shuddered, breath heavy and uneven.
The room was still, save for the ragged sound of your breathing and Simon’s weight pressing down on you, grounding you.
His forehead rested against your shoulder, lips brushing the damp skin there. He didn’t move, not right away. Just stayed buried deep inside you, his chest rising and falling against yours, his arms wound around you like he needed to hold something, or else he’d fall apart.
Your hands, trembling and unsteady, slid into his messy hair. Damp with sweat. Your fingertips combed gently through it as your heart tried to find a rhythm again.
Neither of you spoke.
Eventually, he shifted just enough to press a kiss to your collarbone. Then another, lower. His mouth lingered over your skin like he was still trying to memorize the taste of you.
“Y’alright?” he murmured, voice low and hoarse.
You smiled, dazed and warm, your chest still heaving. “Mmhmm,” you whispered, eyes fluttering shut. “Wrecked... but in the best way.”
He huffed out a soft laugh against your skin. “Yeah. You and me both, love.”
Simon finally lifted himself just enough to look at you. His eyes, once dark and wild, were softer now. Languid, worn out, and almost vulnerable. There was something different in the way he looked at you in moments like this. Something that didn’t need words.
Still inside you, still holding you close, he leaned in and pressed the gentlest kiss to your temple.
He eased out of you slowly, tender now, the edge gone but the intimacy still wrapped around the two of you like a blanket. He rolled to the side and pulled you with him, settling you into the curve of his body, your back pressed to his chest, his arm slung tight around your waist.
You nestled in closer, tangled and warm, letting the silence stretch.
After a long pause, his voice came quiet and raw against your ear. “I missed you.”
Your fingers curled around his forearm. “I missed you too.”
And there, in the afterglow, with his body wrapped around yours and your heartbeat finally steady, you let the world fall away.
Congratulations! Ghost will be the leading man in my next fic! I have been outlining an idea for him. I can't give an ETA on it. Hopefully, I will have it out in next two or three days. Friday, at the latest.
Same rules apply for the next two COD men. In the next 24 hours, whoever is the next winner on the poll, will be the lead of the next fic. After Ghost.
It's shaping up to be Gaz, but Alejandro may pull through.
The air in the supply closet was stuffy, unconformably so. A single fluorescent light hovered overhead, not giving you nearly enough illumination. The room, much too small for your own comfort. Except, inventory had to be done.
You sat crossed legged on the floor, scanning through barcodes. Logging tablets. Sorting through cables.
You got to your knees and from your position on the ground, reached to the clipboard you had a couple shelves up. Clicking your pen, you checked off the area you just completed.
Half-way done.
Then a familiar Scottish accent filled the small space, “Didn’t take you for the type to enjoy bein’ on your knees, lass. Should’ve said somethin’ sooner.”
A chuckle escaped, and you turned to look up at him, your tone rolling with mirth, “Hello there, Highlander.”
Soap leaned on the door frame. Arms crossed. A brow arched, and a devastating smile playing on his lips. A little lopsided and a little cheeky. “Careful, lass.”
You leaned back on your heels, but didn’t turn completely to face him. Only peered over your shoulder. You toyed with the pen in your hand, a devious smile formed on your lips, “Or what?”
His arms unfolded and with a softness that defied his gaze, he shut the door. Two heavy boot steps is all it took for him to be in front of you. Your gaze never left his as he squatted down. Legs open. His forearms resting lazily on his knees.
He was close. Close enough for his finger to lightly brush the hand holding your pen.
“Or I make good on every filthy thing I’ve said to you this past week.”
You pouted, a slight frown, “That’s not much of a threat now, is it?”
He chuckled, a deep one that you could feel. His eyes glinted with something mischievous in the low light.
You adjusted and twisted around to face him fully, still on your knees, all prim and proper as you said, “It’s not a threat if I want all of those things.”
“Well…” He leaned in, his hands grabbing the shelves on either side of you. Caging you in as he continued, “I could do all of those things, right here.”
Your eyes involuntarily flicked to the door. He saw that.
“Door’s not stoppin’ me.” His voice dropped, accent thicker, “But if it’s yer mouth I’ve gotta worry about, then I bet ye can’t keep quiet while I do this…”
His fingers found the waistband of your pants and slipped just beneath it, “Bet you’re soaked already,” he muttered, breath warm against your cheek. “Bet you’ll be beggin’ before I even stretch you.”
Then, his hand moved lower, slipping between your legs, slow and steady. As though he had all the time in the world to ruin you. As if, there wasn’t an entire base of people beyond that door.
A breathy gasp escaped your lips. You instinctively placed your hands on his shoulders, dropping your pen. It clattered to the floor. The noise felt louder in the small space.
You tried to right yourself and regain some control, your voice sweetened , “Still not a threat, I can be quiet...” You leaned forward, a breath away from his lips, and spread your knees a little wider, adding, “Quiet as a church mouse.”
He arched a brow, his gaze flicking down as he undid your pants. Just enough to let himself in. Your lips parted as his hand slipped down, knuckles grazing the lace of your underwear before resting at the heat of your pussy. His smile turned wicked as he growled out, “Soaked.”
Your mouth went dry as you tried to steady your breathing, silently.
His brow raised, “Impressive, but I’m just gettin’ started, lass.”
Then, he adjusted himself onto his knees. Helping to slide you back, just a bit, so your back hit the metal of the shelf. With a better position, his finger easily slid through your folds. Slow and deliberate. His free hand tangled in your hair, grabbing a firm handful and tugging your head back just enough to bare your throat to him. He pressed open-mouthed kisses to the curve of your jaw.
Your hands fisted into his shirt. The smallest gasp escaped your lips as he dragged his slick fingers up to your clit. Slow and purposeful. He caught the soft bud between his middle and ring finger, pinching just enough to make your breath hitch.
He smiled against the pulse at your throat, voice low, “If that made you gasp, you’re in trouble.”
His fingers began to work in firm, rhythmic circles. All the while he nipped at your throat, licking the marks he made as he went. No rush. No hurry.
The closed door taunted you. Provoked you.
You leaned into him, close to his ear as you whispered, “Is this where you make me beg, or are you gonna get to the good part?”
His smirk deepened as his lips brushed yours but never quite closing the distance as he whispered, “Beg?” he murmured. His fingers dragged lazy, infuriating circles against your clit. “You’re not nearly desperate enough for me to let you do that.”
You twitched when his fingers hit just the right spot. His grin told you that he felt that.
Then, his mouth was on yours. He tasted like coffee, with a sharp bite of mint. His hand, still buried in your hair, gripped tighter. His other increased pace. You moaned softly into his kiss and you could feel his smile against your lips.
His fingers were hitting that spot, over and over. Again and again. You could feel your insides coiling tighter. The pressure building. Your hands slid into his hair as you pulled him deeper into the kiss. When your nails scraped his scalp, he groaned into your mouth. Low and filthy, like he couldn’t help it.
This seemed to give him an extra boost, as his fingers worked relentlessly in short, swift bursts on your clit. Your body shuddered. One hand stayed in his hair as the other dragged across his shoulders.
Your moan caught in your throat just as Soap tore his lips from yours. Your head fell back against the cold steel shelf, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you fought to stay quiet. He didn’t let up. His fingers kept their relentless pace, pushing you straight through your climax as your body trembled under his touch.
The heat spread out from your core, up your chest and through your limbs as a calming release settled over you.
His fingers slowed as your mouth opened. Panting, as you tried to catch your breath.
“That pretty little moan almost gave us away.” He said as he dipped his fingers back into your folds. The tip of one brushing the soaking entrance of your dripping cunt. Pushing slowly into it. His voice grew deeper as he added, “Do ye want me buried in that sweet cunt?”
Your heavy lidded gaze met his and with a devilish grin, you said, “Less talk, more cock, Johnny.”
His eyes darkened and his smirk faded as something more feral passed over his expression.
Next thing you knew, you were spun around on the floor. You ass in the air and your pants yanked down to your thighs.
The metallic clink of a belt buckle echoed off the walls and the shifting of fabric made you clench involuntarily.
Then, he was there, with his legs caging yours in. His cock slid through the swollen and soaked folds of your pussy. Hot and smooth.
He growled out, “Yer the one who asked for this.”
Then he snapped his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt with a filthy, wet sound. Your breath punched out of you as your body arched, your legs nearly giving out from the sudden, delicious stretch. And then he started to move. Slow at first, cruel and deep, like he wanted you to feel it. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you back, making you take it.
His voice was low and dangerous as he kept up his steady thrusts, “Still want less talk? Or do ye need me to fuck you speechless first?”
Your hands gripped the shelf in front of you. Mouth opening on a soundless gasp. Chest pressing into the cold floor as your back arched.
Soap leaned over you, his chest hot and solid against your back, breath thick on your ear. The arm around your waist tightened, locking you in place.
Then he whispered, low and filthy, “Try to stay quiet. Go on. Let’s see if you can.”
His hips slammed into you, hard. Your breath punched out of your lungs as he filled you all over again. Your hands scrambled for purchase, hips jolting forward with every snap of his. The lewd sound of skin on skin filled the tiny room. Filthy and shameless as his cock plunged into you with punishing rhythm, dragging across every aching nerve you had.
You couldn’t hold it back much longer, as a soft whimper slipped past your lips.
Soap chuckled behind you, his hand sliding from your waist up to your mouth. His other, planted firmly on your hip.
“Can’t stay quiet?” he purred, “Let’s fix that.”
Then he clapped his palm over your mouth, silencing your cries as he picked up the pace. Rough, relentless, and merciless. The shelf shook with the force of it, your whole body rocked back and forth as he used you. Every thrust, deeper than the last.
Your eyes fluttered shut, knuckles white where you gripped the shelf, and under his hand, your muffled moans grew frantic.
His hand stayed clamped over your mouth, holding you still, keeping you quiet. Your body started to quake around him. He felt it, the way your cunt clenched on him, fluttering, needy, so close to breaking apart.
He chuckled low in your ear, breath hot and taunting, “Tremblin’ like a leaf… all fucked out already?”
His hips rolled with wicked intention. Dragging his thick cock in deep.
“Gonna fall apart all over my cock, are ye?” he asked, his accent a sinful purr. “Ye want to come, lass?”
You nodded desperately, hips pushing back to meet every thrust, shame be damned.
“Be a good girl and make a fuckin’ mess on me.”
And that was it.
Your body shattered, clenching hard around him as your climax tore through you, white-hot and wild.
“There it is,” he groaned, hips stuttering, “that’s it, that’s my girl…fuckin’ soak me, just like that.”
He held you tight as you rode it out, guiding your body through every pulse, every shiver, never once letting up.
Your body was still twitching with aftershocks, legs trembling, breath ragged. But Soap didn’t stop.
He couldn’t.
His pace grew harsher again, sloppier. Less control, more need. His cock was still buried deep, dragging through the mess he’d coaxed out of you, each thrust punching a soft, wet sound into the air. His hands held you tight, like he couldn’t bear even an inch of distance now.
He let out a groan that was pure filth. Raw. Primal.
His hips jerked once, twice, before he buried himself to the hilt. A shudder ran through his whole body as he came deep inside you, cock pulsing. The warmth of him spilling into you.
His breath was ragged, forehead resting against the crook of your neck.
“Fuck,” he murmured, almost a laugh.
His breath slowed against your shoulder, hot and uneven. One hand stayed firm on your waist, like he still needed that last bit of control.
You felt the pulse of him still twitching deep inside you.
“Christ…” he breathed, voice wrecked.
He pressed a kiss to the curve of your shoulder. Then, slowly, he pulled himself up and his hips back. You gasped at the drag of him, sensitive, slick, overstimulated. And when he slipped free of you, he groaned at the sight.
“Look at that…Fuckin’ drippin’.”
You felt the warm spill of him leak from your pussy, sticky and hot down your thighs. Soap’s hand dropped between your legs, two fingers sliding through the mess he left behind.
“Wish you could see how ruined you look right now.”
You chuckled, "What’s wrong, Highlander? Never seen a woman ruined for you before?"
Soap let out a low chuckle, one hand trailing down your spine, “Aye, I’ve seen it, but never looked half as good as you do right now.”
He gave your ass a slow, heavy smack. Closer to a caress. Then, pulled away just enough to tug your clothes back into place. Legs trembling with the aftermath as you sat up on your knees.
“Up you go, lass,” he said with a wicked grin. “Don’t need the whole base findin’ out why I’ve gone soft for a girl in a closet.”
“Please,” you said, smirking. “Soft is certainly not what I would call what we just did.”
Soap chuckled behind you, “Aye, fair enough.”
You let out a breathy laugh, still trying to get your heartbeat under control. His presence lingered for a second longer before he finally stood up.
The room filled with the whispers of both your zippers and rustling of fabric. The metallic click of a belt.
Then, Soap extended his hand down to you.
When you placed your hand in his, he hauled you in one quick motion while capturing your waist. Pulling you in close. You buried your face in his shoulder, trying to muffle your laugh.
As though it was his favorite thing about you, he said, “Yer trouble, y’know that?”
“And yet here you are…” You ran a hand down his chest, lingering. “Still holding on to me.”
He whispered in your ear, soft and low, “Aye.”
You both stayed like that for a few lingering minutes. Hearts beating fast. Breaths syncing. Neither of you ready to open that door.
Looks like Soap won the poll. For the first 24 hours, at least. My next fic will be for him and I'm about 2/3 of the way through it.
The poll will remain open, and we'll see who takes the next spot. Soap and Ghost are currently tied. The next fic will feature the winner chosen in the next 24 hours.
If anyone has anything they wanna see, leave a comment and give me some inspriration.
Your chest heaved as you came down from the high Price put you through, skin flushed and damp with sweat, limbs loose and useless. But even as your body sagged back onto the sheets, he stayed right there. Kneeling between your legs, one broad hand splayed possessively on your thigh, the other slowly withdrawing from you, fingers slick and glistening.
He watched your face the whole time.
“Fuckin’ beautiful,” he murmured, almost to himself. Then his tone shifted, the wolfish glint returning to his voice. “You’ll behave now, yeah?”
You blinked up at him, dazed. “Mmmaybe.”
John chuckled. Low. Dangerous.
He leaned in, bracing himself with one hand beside your head, the other catching your jaw to tilt your face up to his again. His thumb brushed your lower lip, slow and steady.
“Still mouthing off?” he asked softly.
You gave him a lazy, smug grin. “Takes more than that to shut me up, Captain.”
A dangerous pause.
“Cheeky little thing,” he said, his voice darker. His hand trailed down again, brushing through the folds of your swollen pussy, gathering your slick onto his fingers. He dragged them up, slow and deliberate, until he pressed them against your lips.
“Open.”
You did.
“Good girl.”
He let you taste yourself off his fingers, watching intently, and you swore you could feel his cock twitch against the fabric of those damned sweatpants still hanging low on his hips.
“Y’think you’ve earned this?” he asked, grabbing your hand and dragging it to his lap. Letting you feel the thick length straining under grey cotton.
You swallowed. Nodded.
He leaned down to your ear, voice like smoke and gravel.
“Then get on your knees and prove it.”
As Price moved off from the edge of the bed, you slid off, legs shaky but obedient, and sank to the floor in front of him. His eyes followed your every move, arms crossed over his chest like he was appraising you. Judging your willingness. Measuring your sincerity.
You palmed him through the fabric first, with slow strokes along the thick length beneath his sweats. He was hard. Of course he was. You bit your bottom lip as your desire threatened to consume you. The little groan he let slip when your fingers curled into the waistband was divine.
You tugged the sweatpants down just enough, freeing him from the fabric. His cock was thick, flushed, and heavy in your hand. You didn’t waste time. Your lips brushed the head with soft reverence. A delicate kiss. Then, you took him into your mouth, slow and as deep as your throat would allow.
Above you, Price hissed through his teeth. One large hand found the back of your head, firm but not forceful.
“Good girl,” he muttered, hips twitching forward. “Just like that.”
You worked him steadily with your wet and eager mouth, your spit dripping down his length as your mouth slid back and forth. You tried to impress him. Tried to be what he wanted. You even looked up through your lashes while sucking him down, playing the part of the obedient little thing.
And for a second…it worked.
Except, you couldn’t help yourself. The urge to toy with him was devouring you, like a wildfire consuming a forest. You pulled off him with a pop, giving him a smug look. Slick-mouthed, and pleased with yourself.
“Oops” You said with a pout, feigning innocence as your fingers wrapped around him again. “Slipped.”
His jaw ticked. That hand in your hair tightened. And before you could blink, he had you up on your feet. His other hand gripped your jaw firm enough that your mouth fell open under the delicious pressure.
“Slipped?” he repeated, voice dangerously quiet. “You call that slippin’, sweetheart?”
You tried to hold your smirk. Almost made it. But then he leaned down, nose brushing yours, gaze locked in on your lips.
“You keep slippin’ like that,” he murmured, “and I’ll forget all about fuckin’ you. I’ll just bend you over and leave you stuffed full of my fingers again. Let you sob for my cock while I make you say please with that filthy little mouth.”
You whimpered, involuntaryly. And he heard it.
“There she is,” he purred.
He let go of your face slowly, dragging his thumb over your lower lip one last time.
“Now,” he said, stepping back just enough to give you a choice. “Do you want to try again? Or do you want to spend the rest of the night beggin’ and never gettin’?”
Your eyes flicked to his cock. It was hard, heavy, and right there. Your body ached. Your thighs trembled.
You swallowed softly as you dropped your gaze, “Please,” you said, quiet.
He tilted his head.
“Try again.”
You looked up at him, lips parted, chest heaving.
“Please, John. I want you to fuck me.”
He stepped forward, cupped the back of your neck, and kissed you with a deep possession, teeth dragging across your lip like he could barely restrain himself.
“Good girl,” he growled against your mouth. “Now get on the bed. Hands and knees. Let’s see how loud you can get.”
You scrambled back onto the bed, face down, arching your back instinctively. With your ass raised, you spread yourself wide. Your hands fisting into the sheets. The air felt electric against your bare skin, anticipation buzzing under every inch of you.
The rustle of fabric. His sweatpants finally hit the floor and the sound made your stomach flutter.
Then his hands were on you.
One gripped your hip, the other pressed flat between your shoulder blades, holding you down, guiding you exactly how he wanted you. Helpless and open for him.
“Look at you,” he muttered, voice low with desire, rough with his own need. “Back arched, legs spread... guess you can behave after all.”
You opened your mouth to answer, but gasped instead when you felt the blunt head of his cock drag through your soaked and puffy cunt. He teased you with it, slow, unhurried, rubbing himself against your entrance but not pushing in.
“Please,” you breathed, already trembling.
“Please what, sweetheart?” he asked, still not giving you what you needed.
“Please fuck me.”
He leaned over you, chest against your back, mouth grazing your ear.
“Louder.”
“Please, John,” you cried. “I need your cock! Please, just fuck me!”
His grip tightened.
And then he slammed into you in one deep, devastating thrust.
You choked on a scream. Your vision going blurry as his thick cock, stretched you wide, filling you so deep you felt him in your gut. He didn’t give you a second to adjust before pulling back and driving into you again. Again. Again.
“That's it,” he growled, hips slapping against your ass. “Not so mouthy now, are ya?”
You tried to speak. All that came out was a breathless whimper.
He grabbed both your wrists and pinned them behind your back with one hand, the other gripping your hip like a vice. His rhythm was relentless. He pounded into you, driving the air from your lungs with every stroke.
“Christ,” he bit out. “It’s like this cunt was fuckin’ made for me.”
You cried out, back arching further, the angle hitting something devastating inside you.
He fucked you through it. Unrelenting. Every thrust felt like a punishment and a reward wrapped in one.
“Good girls get to come,” he grunted, voice rough and close to breaking. “Think you earned it yet, sweetheart?”
You nodded furiously, tears in your eyes, sobbing his name like it was a prayer.
He smacked your ass once, sharp, then dragged his fingers between your legs to circle your clit, fast and brutal.
“Then come for me.”
With his command you came apart on a loud and earth shattering moan, your whole body clenching around him as he continued to fucked you through it. You barely registered the broken groan he let out when he followed, burying himself deep and spilling into you, his grip never faltering.
In the pause that followed, the air thick with unspoken words, the only sounds were the rhythmic, heavy breaths of the two of you. You collapsed onto the sheets, gasping, boneless, and ruined. Every muscle in your body trembled as he slowly pulled out of you. Your pussy fluttered around nothing, clenching on air as if it could drag him back in by force.
But he hadn’t gone far.
You felt his hand on the back of your thigh, then his fingers, dragging through the mess between your legs, slow and deliberate.
You flinched. He chuckled.
“A bit much for you, love?” he asked, voice still thick and dark with satisfaction.
You whimpered, trying to wiggle away. He caught your hips easily, pulling you back, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.
“I asked you a question.”
You shook your head weakly into the sheets as you stuttered out, “To-too much…”
He hummed. Mocking sympathy.
“Oh, is my cock too much for you now?” He leaned in again, lips brushing your ear. “Didn’t sound like it when you were beggin’ for it.”
You groaned as his fingers slid between your folds again, gathering slick and using it to rub slow, deliberate circles on your overstimulated clit.
You jerked, gasping. “John…please…”
“Thought you wanted to be good,” he murmured, ignoring your pleas as he kept going. “Good girls take what they’re given.”
You choked out a moan, thighs trembling again. You were going to come again, already, how was that possible?
He kissed your temple, still relentless with his fingers.
“C’mon now. One more for me.”
You tried to twist away, but his hand stayed firm, holding you in place while he worked your clit with devastating precision. His body pressed to yours from behind. He was steady, unmovable, and grounding.
“Shhh,” he whispered when you sobbed. “I know. I know it’s too much. You’re gonna give it to me anyway.”
You shook, overwhelmed, panting into the mattress as the heat built again, bright and unbearable. Every nerve in your body lit up as he drove you toward the edge with slow, confident touches.
“That’s it,” he coaxed. “Let it happen. You’re doin’ so well.”
You could barely form words, but your body obeyed. Your pussy tightened, ached, pulsed, and then you broke. Again.
You came with a strangled sound, half-cry, half-plea, your body convulsing under him as wave after wave crashed through you. It was too much, too raw, too good. He never stopped touching you, even as you whimpered, whispering his name like you could anchor yourself with it.
Only when your body gave out completely, hips twitching and breath hitching, did he finally ease his hand away.
You collapsed fully, shaking, eyes blurry and heart pounding. You were wrecked. Undone. Completely spent.
And then… he softened.
He pulled you into his arms, settled the both of you onto your sides, cradling you against his chest with strong, steady hands. One stroked your hair, the other rubbed circles along your back. Gentle now. Grounding.
“Good girl,” he murmured against your temple. “Took it so well. Proud of you.”
You didn’t have the strength to reply, but the way you melted into him said enough.
He kissed your forehead, his voice low and soothing.
“Let’s get you cleaned up in a bit. You rest. I’ve got you.”
You nodded faintly, letting your eyes drift closed.
Night had already set in by the time you glided your car into your driveway. As you shifted into park and watched your garage door close in your rearview mirror, you sighed heavily. The day had been long. Full of meetings that could have been emails and spreadsheets that should have been meetings. Typical.
You grabbed your bag, stepped out of the car, and slammed the door shut with a bit too much force. It felt good. You threw your heels off. Letting them land wherever they felt like. You were too tired to care.
Opening the door to your home, you groaned when you saw the stairs. Somehow, on the days you were the most annoyed, you always seemed to forget there were stairs. It was only one flight though. Then, you could fall onto the couch.
As you slowly ascended the stairs, each step heavier than the last, you heard something. It sounded like a bag rustling. Then, glass clinking.
You froze.
Then, you slowly removed the pepper spray from your bag. Adjusting it just right in your hand as you continued to move up the steps. There was a light coming from your kitchen. Was a burglar eating your food?
Your shoulders relaxed when you heard a familiar, British accented voice say your name, followed by, “You got any dijon?”
Dropping the pepper spray back into your bag, you groaned as you cleared the last few steps and into the living room of your home. You could see Captain John Price rummaging through your fridge, squatted down low, looking through condiments.
“Yeah, at the bottom. To the left.” You said as you tossed your bag on the floor next to the couch.
He hummed in acknowledgement when he found the mustard, and stood up. He gently closed the fridge and made his way to the counter while you walked over to the bar that separated the living room from the kitchen, taking a seat. Watching him with an unamused look.
“What the hell are you doing here, John?” You asked as you slumped down on the cool granite.
He scoffed as he took a piece of bread off the top of an already made sandwich, “I told you, I’m crashin’ here this weekend. I sent you a text.”
You thought back to your day as he grabbed a knife and spread out the condiment on the soft bread. You remembered now. He had messaged you that morning saying he would be in town. This wasn’t an unusual event. You two had known each other for several years. He had a key. Something you gave him when he complained about the cost of hotels. Your guest room was hardly ever used, so why not lend it out to him a few times a year when he needed it.
You sighed and rubbed your hand down face, “Oh sorry, I forgot. Long day.”
He finished assembling his sandwich, put the mustard back, and was rinsing off the knife when he asked, “Ain’t that merger still, is it?”
You nodded as you placed your chin in your hand, “Yep. Should be finalized by next week.”
He grabbed the sandwich, now cut in half, and around a mouth full asked, “Want some?”
You stared at the food and nodded silently. He handed one half over to you and you both ate in a comfortable silence. He finished his in a few large bites while you were still half way through yours. Too tired to devour it.
“You look like you need a coma.” John said with a low chuckle.
Between bites, and without much thought, you said, “I need to get laid.”
John laughed, “Yeah? Is that so?”
You groaned, “Sorry, it’s been a long week. Fuck, it’s been a long month. A long year.” You finished the last bite of your sandwich and added, “It’s not your problem. Forget I said anything.”
“I can make it my problem.” he said in a low voice, with something more dancing underneath it.
You gazed over at him, raising your brow as you took in his mischievous smile. For the first time all day, a smile broke out on your lips. Growing bigger by the second.
“Oh yeah?” You asked, your tone playful. Your eyes finally roamed his body. He had showered already, his hair still damp and combed out of his face. His beard wasn't trimmed, but it was clean. He wore a plain white shirt that hugged his shoulders in the most tantalizing way. The counter blocked most of the view, but a pair of grey sweatpants clung to his hips.
Your eyes met his again and his smile turned devious, “Like what ya see?”
An even larger smile spread across your lips as a laugh came out, loud and full. You tried to gain your composure as John added, his tone playful, “Oh, is my offer of fuckin’ you senseless, funny to you?”
You leaned back on the stool and crossed your arms, “Maybe. I don’t really see you as the ‘fucking women senseless type’, old man.”
He didn’t move right away. Only watched you, arms crossed, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was deciding how much trouble you deserved. Then, he stepped around the counter, slow and deliberate. His bare feet were quiet against the tile, but somehow he made the whole room feel smaller.
“That so?” he asked, voice low and gravelly. “You think I’m all talk?”
You opened your mouth, to keep teasing and to challenge him again. Except then, he was in front of you, close enough to steal the breath from your lungs. One hand found the back of your stool, the other tilted your chin up until you had no choice but to meet that dark, glinting gaze.
“S’funny,” he murmured, mouth brushing yours, “because you’re about to be beggin’ that same old man not to stop.”
You didn’t get the chance to answer. His lips found yours in a kiss that started slow, and deepened fast. His hand slid from your chin to the back of your neck, pulling you in tighter, controlling the angle like he needed you to feel how serious he was.
By the time he pulled back, you were breathless. He looked entirely unbothered, smirking, relaxed, cocky in a way that had your thighs clenching.
“Let’s see if you’re still laughin’,” he said, voice like a promise, “when I’ve got you cryin’ on my cock.”
Your grin widened, but your breath hitched just a little. He saw it, and that smug, knowing look spread across his face like fire catching dry brush. He leaned in and said, low and rough, “You gonna sit there all night actin’ brave, or are you gonna stand up and let me ruin that attitude?”
You cocked your head, lips twitching. “Might need some convincing.”
That was the last straw.
Without a word, he gripped your thighs and pulled fast enough to catch you off guard. His grip was firm enough to draw a sharp yelp from your lips. You barely had time to blink before he had you off the stool and up and over his shoulder. One arm over your hips and holding you like it was nothing.
“Fuck’s sake,” he muttered, starting down the hallway as you pressed your hands into his back and laughed, “I offered to be nice about this.”
“Mmmm, you sound a little desperate, old man.”
He gave your ass a solid smack in response, hard enough to sting and soft enough to be playful.
“Keep runnin’ that mouth, sweetheart. You’re only makin’ it worse for yourself.”
You could feel the heat building in him with every step, the way his grip on you tightened slightly as he carried you toward your bedroom. The air shifted from playful tension to something hotter, heavier.
When he kicked the door shut behind him, it was like a switch flipped. He dropped you onto the bed. Not rough, but with enough force to bounce, enough to show he wasn’t playing anymore.
“Strip,” he said, pulling his shirt off over his head. “And lose the attitude while you’re at it.”
You propped yourself up on your elbows, still lying back on the bed. “You always give orders like that, Captain, or am I just special?”
Price dropped the shirt to the floor and stepped closer, towering over the edge of the bed with a look that landed somewhere between amused and done with your shit.
“You’re bloody special, alright,” he said dryly. “Special kind of difficult.”
Your grin widened.
He leaned in, one knee hitting the mattress as his hand firmly closed around your ankle. He dragged you toward the edge of the bed inch by inch, slow enough to make your heart pound. You bit your bottom lip trying to hold back the devious grin on your face, but it was a useless endeavor.
“I like a challenge,” he murmured, voice lower now, intimate. “Especially when they moan real sweet once I’ve shut ’em up.”
You started to open your mouth, some smart remark half-formed on your tongue, but he was already moving. He hooked his fingers into your waistband, yanking your bottoms down and off with practiced ease.
“Still got that attitude?” he asked, his voice soft now, too soft.
You nodded slowly, defiantly.
He just smiled.
“Good,” he said, spreading your legs and settling between them like he had all the time in the world. “Makes it more fun when I fuck it out of you.”
You went to snap something back, but the words fizzled the second his calloused hands slid up your thighs. One palm anchored your hip while the other pushed your shirt up inch by inch, baring your stomach to the cool air.
“Arms up,” he said simply.
His tone was calm, commanding, and it sent a surge of electricity straight through you. You hesitated just long enough for him to raise an eyebrow.
“Don’t make me ask again.”
You obeyed, slowly, lifting your arms as he peeled the shirt over your head and tossed it aside. The bra remained, a delicate, thin veil of black lace. The look in his eyes darkened when it was all that remained.
“Mm,” he hummed, fingers sliding under the straps, dragging them down your arms one at a time. “Almost a shame to take this off.”
He leaned forward, lips brushing the swell of your breast through the lace. Then, he reached behind you with one practiced flick of the wrist.
Click.
The clasp gave instantly, no fumbling, just ease. Control.
“There we go,” he muttered, dragging the straps the rest of the way down. He tossed it aside without looking, too focused on the way your nipples hardened under his gaze, the way you shifted under the weight of it.
“Don’t even think about runnin’ that mouth,” he muttered, hooking his fingers into your underwear.
You opened your mouth, another bratty quip forming, but then the fabric was gone. Dragged down your legs and tossed behind him. And then his hands were on your thighs again, firmer this time, pushing your knees apart like it was routine.
His voice was low and thick with something darker now. “Let’s see how long you can last.”
He dragged two fingers through your folds, slowly, deliberately, and barely dipping in. He didn’t look down or let his gaze leave yours. Didn’t need to.
“Wet already?” he murmured, thumb brushing against your clit just enough to tease. Now, he took a moment to look upon your dripping cunt and added, “And you’re still pretending you don’t need me.”
You squirmed, biting your lip. “You’re the one taking your sweet time, old man.”
His gaze snapped up. Steady. Lethal. Like a wolf who’d just decided how he was going to play with his food. His hand stilled, fingers just barely inside you.
“Right,” he said, as if making a decision.
Then, he pushed in. Two thick fingers, quick and deep, curling just enough to make your back arch. He set a pace immediately: firm, unrelenting, no mercy.
“You’ve got a smart mouth,” he grunted, watching your face, “but look at you now. Drippin’ all over my fuckin’ hand.”
Your breath hitched, a choked moan slipping past your lips. You reached for his wrist without thinking, fingers digging into his forearm like that might slow him down.
He didn’t slow. He leaned in, lips at your ear.
“Beg for it,” he whispered. “Beg me to make you come.”
You clenched around his fingers involuntarily, breath catching. He felt it. Of course he did. He bent down lower, his lips brushed the shell of your ear.
“Go on, sweetheart. You were so loud a minute ago.”
You swallowed hard. Bit your lip and shook your head.
“No?” he asked, voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Shame.”
And then his fingers slowed, still inside you, still curled just right, but his pace dropped to a lazy rhythm. His thumb circling your clit with barely enough pressure to keep you teetering. It was maddening. Close, but not enough.
“You can wait, then,” he said coolly, like it was a casual choice. “I’ve got all night.”
You whimpered, hips twitching. He didn’t move faster. Didn’t budge. His free hand came up and gripped your chin, tilting your face toward him until your eyes met his.
“You wanna come?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.
You nodded quickly.
“Then ask me.”
“Please,” you breathed. “Fuck, please, John…”
“Please what?”
“Please make me come. I need it. Fuck, I need you.”
That was the switch.
His smile returned with a dark satisfaction. The hand between your legs snapped back to work. Fast. Precise. His fingers plunged into you, curling up, while his other hand went to your throbbing clit. His thumb pressed firm, relentless circles against it. You cried out, the heat building in a dizzying rush, all control ripped away like paper in a storm.
“That’s it, good girl,” he growled. “Just like that. Let me hear you.”
You clutched at the sheets, back arching, the orgasm tearing through you so hard you saw stars. And he didn’t stop, not right away. He worked you through it, dragging every last tremble out of your body, until you were gasping and twitching, his name somewhere between a sob and a moan on your lips.
I woke up at 3 AM, couldn't go back to sleep, so I hopped on and started writing another Price fic. If all goes well, I should have that bad boy out by this evening.
The cool night air felt like a dream on your flush skin as you stepped outside onto the patio. A deep, full breath filled your lungs. Your exhale exploded forth in a cloud. The party inside was still going on, with or without you. And right now, you need to be without. Cold or not.
You stumbled, only for a step. How many drinks had it been? Three? Four? There were shots at one point too. Two? Three?
You grabbed the railing and stared out at the moonlit, snowy mountain ridge. You sighed as you leaned forward, your forearms resting lazily on the smooth wood. Even in your drunken state, this was truly the most beautiful view. A ski lodge retreat generously funded by the higher-ups felt like a well earned gift. It was a shame that such a beautiful view had to be enjoyed alone.
Thoughts of him rolled in. You couldn’t stop yourself. Brooding, guarded, and so many layers to pull back. Ghost was an enigma. One you desperately wanted to learn. His stare was magnetic and intense in a way that sent a chill down your spine. You dared to believe that you loved him.
He was at the party, clad in that black hoodie and those jeans that made his ass look good enough to bite. His mask, off. You nearly fainted at the sight of him. The people here were all familiar and dear to you both. Though, seeing his face was still a rare treat.
König even took off his mask to reveal a rugged handsomeness that had its own charm. Though both shared that tousled dirty blonde hair, in your heart, you couldn't help but see Ghost as the true victor between the two.
A rustle from your left pulled you out of your drooling delusions. You turned your head slightly to see the source. There he was. Sitting in a chair in a dark corner of the patio. The brooding Ghost. He wore that same black hoodie, his blonde hair catching the faint light that poured in from the lodge’s curtained windows.
You turned and smiled, your voice airy with delight and low with desire, “Hello.”
Nothing. A man of few words.
You pushed off the rail and sauntered over, doing your best to stay calm and upright. Your voice still held true with its sultry tone as you said, “You know, I’m glad I found you here.” You stopped a few feet away, averting your gaze as you fiddled with the hem of your jacket, “You’re not an easy man to read, but I started to think… maybe I wasn’t imagining it. The way you look at me. The way you always seem to be there when I need someone to have my back.”
His face was still covered in shadow as you looked up. Still not a word, but you could tell he was looking at you now. You continued on, the whiskey coursing through you was helping to ease your nerves, “So I’m saying it…I care about you. More than I should. More than I expected to. And I don’t know what you’ll do with that, but… there it is.”
Then, without thinking, you closed the distance and slipped onto his lap. Your arms draped around his neck, and when your lips found his, the world narrowed to that single, thrilling moment.
He froze, just for a beat. Then, he kissed you back, deeper this time, with a hunger that stole the air from your lungs. His hands settled on your waist. The warmth of him seeped into your skin, and a spark lit somewhere low in your core, growing with every second his mouth moved against yours.
He kissed like he meant it. Like he’d been waiting. There was a tenderness to it but underneath it, something smoldered. It was undeniable and all-consuming.
When you pulled away, your breath caught in your throat for a different reason. Instead of Ghost’s dark eyes staring back at you, a piercing blue set gazed into yours. König.
His big hand came up to cup your cheek. You couldn’t deny how good it felt to have his cold hand against your warm cheek. Then, his thumb brushed your bottom lip. His eyes flicked to it, and then back to meet your stunned gaze.
Finally, he spoke, his accent thick and his tone heavy with need, “I can’t deny that I have also wanted this, mein süße.”
In your drunken state, you weren’t sure what to do. König did though.
His lips collided with yours again and your mind went blank. He tasted warm and sweet, with the faint spice of cinnamon on his tongue. It made you lean further into the kiss. Opening yourself up. You wanted to taste more of him.
You were lost now. Lost in his touch as his hand slid into your hair. Lost to his warmth as he pulled you closer to him. Possessing you.
There was no stopping it now. The ice had broken and the avalanche fell. Your thoughts of Ghost were long gone, and replaced with the image of König. His imposing figure. Those broad shoulders. The icy stare of a wolf.
He wasn’t who you meant to kiss, but right now, his arms felt like home, and you weren’t ready to leave.
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