About • Hi! On here I’m Lore or L.R. ✧ 27, she/her, ace, adhd plagued, patron saint of cringe, fandom nut, tumblr veteran, melomaniac, unofficial human IMDb. 18+ blog for the most part.
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recent fics: One More Tomorrow (Ray Garraty x fem!OC)
When the Dust Settles (Daniel Blake x fem!OC)
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Writeblr • writer type: pantser ✧ genre: romance, erotica ✧ sub genres: post apocalyptic, dystopian, suspense, crime, new adult, paranormal ✧ rating: mature/explicit ✧ tropes & themes: plus size characters, enemies to lovers, characters finding themselves, age gap, found family, living is more than surviving ✧
History • I’ve been writing since I can remember but seriously started getting into the craft about nine years ago. In that time I have finished five significant works, between procrastination and burnout: Sid (43,397 words) ✧ The Secrets of Cranerise Valley (32,173 words) ✧ Coming of Age (100,863 words) ✧ Sweet Dreams (94,095 words) ✧ The Night We Met (181,988 words)
Goals • I don’t plan to publish. Writing is my joy and if I can continue to create worlds, characters and stories consistently, that would be my ultimate dream. I’d love to make friends in the community who share that love of creation and writing (who may also enjoy the romance genre).
I also write fanfiction for multiple fandoms when I’m not working on my original stories and love to talk about anything fandom and fanfic writing related as well.
i’m going to be really honest with you guys i think the tendency to read the absolute worst possible intentions into every action you don’t agree with is getting too automatic and it’s eating you from the inside out
sometimes you see Takes™ that make you go "mmmhmmm okay yeah i see we both interpreted that differently based on what the show gave us, but i see how you arrived at your ideas even if they're different from mine," and then sometimes you see Takes™ that make you go "brother what show did you even fucking watch"
chatgpt is a threat to the symbiotic relationship between fanfic writers and their betas. we are losing our traditions. eradicate the soulless machine and ask your friend who has a full time job and 3 kids to annotate your omegaverse fanfiction like any other responsible adult.
The irony of this new breed of self-righteous AI hunters on AO3 is that they're all just copy and pasting peoples fics into AI detectors, which are all operated by AI and therefore THEY are feeding people's work into the algorithm without their consent and in some cases no doubt circumventing the locks people put on to avoid getting scraped...
Don't copy and paste anyone's AO3 work into third party websites, you're not the good guys in this situation?
Summary: BB throws Daniel a birthday party he doesn’t want and Teresa returns.
Includes: Daniel hashing it out with BB, then hashing it out with Teresa, and getting a birthday present in the form of a ‘happy ending’. (18+ ONLY mdni | SEXUAL CONTENT)
Chapter 26 • 6,498 words • When the Dust Settles masterlist
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Daniel is empty after Mrs. Fisk’s funeral and he knows it’s not just about the way death has hung over him lately. It’s about a certain someone who still hasn’t reached out or come back to him. At this point, he isn’t sure she will. He tries to think about their night together and what was said. Did she tell him goodbye in some way he missed?
He grabs a drink and avoids the mayor as he walks the room. He isn’t sure if it’s because he thinks Fisk needs space or if Daniel just feels guilty for something.
“So when were you gonna tell me?” A voice comes from behind him.
He turns and finds the last person he wants to see right now. BB smiles at him, waiting. He sips his drink. “Tell you what?”
“Happy birthday?”
He sighs. With everything going on he wasn’t really keeping track of the days. “I guess I’m not really feeling the birthday this year, ya know? I need to be here for him.” He attempts to walk away but she follows. The shitty part is he kinda wants her to. At least someone still comes back, even if BB is just a shark in the water waiting for fresh blood.
“Come on,” she says, trying to lighten the mood. “Alright. Where are we going tonight? What are we doing?”
He’s going home to wallow in his misery and get so drunk he passes out on the couch before he has the chance to think a single thought. “Uh, we’re doing nothing. Nowhere.”
“I get it. It’s dudes only, right? Luger’s? FlashDancers?”
“Nothing, BB. Alright?”
She furrows her brow. “That’s . . . sad. Let me do something for you! I’ll throw a bash at your place, pay for the drinks, invite the peeps. You just have to look cute in your birthday hat.”
No one’s ever offered to do that and she seems earnest about it but he hates that he’s considering it. “I dunno.”
“What? Should I hire strippers?” she jokes, nudging him.
He laughs. At least she’s good at getting his mind off things. “Fine. But keep the guest list small,” he says, relenting.
And that’s how he ends up with almost a hundred people in his apartment. Famous last words.
He closes his bedroom door for the third time, after running a couple out of it, and tacks a piece of paper up that says Do Not FUCKING Enter. He hasn’t washed his sheets since Teresa left and he doesn’t want to have to. They still smell like her.
BB jogs over after he comes back to the kitchen and grimaces at him. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know how word got out.”
“It’s fine.”
She doesn’t know how word got out. Hmm. That must be her excuse every time she takes information from him and plasters in all over the fuckin’ city. She’s been on her phone the entire night so far and part of him wonders if it’s to send someone more details she’s gathered between Vanessa Fisk’s wake and now.
She puts her phone down on the counter. “I can tell everyone to leave. We’ll order a pizza and watch a movie. No big deal?”
Daniel shakes his head. “Nah. This is the party.”
“Daniel,” she says but it’s more of a scold, as if he’s acting unreasonable. “I’m sorry.”
“I said it’s fine.”
It’s fine that he’ll have to pay for another five hundred dollar apartment cleaning. It’s fine that he’s having a party for a birthday he didn’t want to celebrate with a bunch of people who probably don’t even know the occasion anyway. It’s fine that BB is probably using him somehow, right now, as they speak. It’s fine that Vanessa Fisk was murdered and he’s not allowed to care. It’s fine that he buried a body with Buck and bound himself to Fisk. And it’s really just fuckin’ fine that Teresa left him again.
BB’s phone buzzes and they both look at it. Ellison? She snatches it up like she doesn’t want him to see. “I have to take this.”
Mitchell Ellison is the editor-in-chief at the New York Bulletin. What the hell is she doing talking to him right now? Or at all.
His fingers hurt as he uncurls his fists to grab a beer from the fridge. But they’re gone. He stands there basking in the fluorescent light and chill wafting from the open door.
After Mrs. Fisk’s wake, Buck had pulled him aside to give him an assignment—feed BB fake information and see if it resurfaces. Until this moment he didn’t think he’d be up for it. But she can’t keep doing this. Screwing him over and putting herself in danger. It has to stop.
He searches the room for her but she’s nowhere to be seen. It makes him suspicious. So he leaves the assholes partying in his living room to look for her. He checks the bathroom, his office, and finally his bedroom.
“What are you doing?” he bursts when he finds her snooping in his closet.
She startles and flips toward him. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“What are you doing?” he repeats.
She gives him a look like he’s being ridiculous and nosey. “I was looking for towels. Someone spilt a seltzer.”
“There’s a linen closet in the hall.”
“Oh.” She puts a hand on her hip, still standing there as if she belongs. “My apartment is a lot smaller than this.”
She’s getting nervous but she’s trying to hide it behind her a jab at his privilege. He just nods, hoping it makes her uncomfortable enough to spill the beans. But she does something even more unexpected. She bends down into his closet and pulls out the shooting target from his day at the range with Teresa.
“You practice a lot?” she asks, judgementally curious.
He wants to rip it out of her hands. It’s not something he ever wanted anyone else to know about. It was his private memento of a time he’ll never be able to go back to.
“I didn’t think you were a gun guy.” She holds it up and looks at the holes. “Not bad.”
“It was my first time,” he says and feels the blood rush to his cheeks so fast they burn.
“Get any action after that?”
He swallows. That’s not what she’s asking but his brain goes there. It’s hard to forget the first time a woman touches you the way Teresa did in his bedroom that day.
Buck gave him a few shooting lessons after she left but he gave up after the third round. Both of them knew Daniel wasn't meant to be a marksman.
“No, I was just trying it out.”
“Thought maybe Fisk wanted you ready for something.”
He narrows his eyes. “Seriously. You think I’m training to be a bodyguard?”
“I was thinking more . . . Task Force.”
“No.”
“So Fisk’s not using your—” She holds the target paper up. “Natural talents.”
He grabs the target and tosses it back into his closet with a heavy sign before he closes the bifold doors. This is it. Now or never. “It doesn’t matter anyway.”
“What do you mean?” she asks and actually seems excited that he might tell her something of value to her tonight. Her snooping must’ve been uneventful.
“I tell you this, you gotta promise that it didn’t come from me. And it cannot be leaked.”
“Yes, totally,” she says way too fast. “What is it?”
He steps closer to make a show of how serious he is and he’s already angry so it’s not hard. “No, like, seriously. Like, friends. In it together. Like, you and me.” He looks down, feeling sick.
So it’s that easy to say those words and lie, huh? That easy to convince someone of what you’re saying? You and me.
“Okay. I got you. One hundred percent,” she says impatiently. “You can trust me.”
Trust. He has no idea who he can trust anymore but that’s the point of this little experiment, right? He already knows the answer but he also knows it’s still gonna fuckin’ suck to find out. “He’s not running for re-election.”
“Wait, what?”
“That’s it. One and done. He’s out at the end of his term.”
“Wait, how do you know that? Did he tell you?”
Why? Ready to cite your sources? “After the funeral. Guess his heart’s not in it. After Vanessa, ya know.” He adds the last part for himself, a reminder how insensitive she’s been this entire day.
“Holy shit.”
“Yeah.” He sighs heavily. “Holy fuckin’ shit.”
She stands there staring at him for a moment, probably waiting for her chance to pull out her cell and text Ellison. She breathes unevenly and wets her lips. “Uh, can I use your bathroom?”
He nods and steps out of the way for her.
Her dark curls disappear out of the room but he can’t move. Not yet. Rage and hurt wash over him like it used to as a teenager when kids would tease him or leave him out of the group. The same way he felt when the same kids would talk down to him in college because they thought he was just some poor loser from Staten. None of them thought he’d get to where he is now. Deputy Mayor of Communications. And that’s the cruel cosmic joke, isn’t it? Because he wouldn’t wish this position on anybody else.
He rejoins the party and nurses a Diet Coke instead of the beer or whiskey he’d like to be having.
The later it gets the more people start to get bored and leave. A red headed guy called Nick that he’d hung out with in college wishes him a happy birthday but the rest don’t. Honestly, he’s a little grateful for that. He doesn’t need to remember what day it is or that it’s him they’re celebrating.
When the place finally clears out, BB helps him pick up a few things. He takes one end of the apartment, she takes the other, and they meet back up at the kitchen with their trash bags.
“Well?” she asks with a smile.
“Thanks for throwing me a party, BB. I appreciate it.”
“No problem. Couldn’t let my friend sit alone on the one night a year that’s about him.” The tone of her voice is different and it sorta stuns him. “Happy birthday, Daniel Blake.”
That’s when he realizes how close they’re standing. She looks at his lips and starts to lean in and he panics. He’s wanted to do this since they met but now it feels wrong. She’s trying to kiss him. She’s gonna kiss him and it feels like he’s gonna die.
“Fuck,” he says, dropping his garbage bag and turning away from her.
“What?”
“Stop! Just . . . Just stop.”
“What!”
“You know what. You’ve been texting Mitchell Ellison all night telling him God knows what. You were snooping in my bedroom. And everything I fuckin’ say to you goes right into your next City Without Fear broadcast or to the press or whatever else.”
“Daniel, I told you—”
“I know it’s you, BB, so just lay off. You don’t have to lie anymore.”
“Daniel, listen,” she starts.
“No, no, you listen. Your City Without Fear bullshit. It fucked us. Whatever. You used me, I used you. But working with the Bulletin? Karen Page, too, probably. How could you?”
“How could I?” She drops the trash bag and backs up. “I started The BB Report in my dorm room. I put every dime and every hour of my life into it. People trusted it. It was real. And you turned it into some plastic commercial for Fisk’s fascist New York.”
Yeah, blame him. Because everything is always his fault, isn’t it? No matter who’s doing the blaming he’s always on the other side of it. “I didn’t see you complaining.”
“Okay. Well, clearly you didn’t see City Without Fear. That’s complaining,” she spits. “And all for what? So that you can get out of Staten and get a douchebag condo?”
“Stop,” he bursts.
Buck wanted him to get proof that she’s behind City Without Fear but having her standing in his apartment admitting everything means he has it. Irrefutably. Proof he didn’t want. Proof he didn’t need. And now what? Is he supposed to just deliver her head on a platter?
“Daniel, he killed my uncle.”
“If you really believe that then you must not give a shit about me at all.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“You can’t seriously be that naive. You put me in danger and you put yourself in danger. And if you’ve leaked something again, like anything I’ve told you today, you should be fuckin’ terrified because I can’t stop what happens to you now.”
She swallows harshly and just looks at him. “I think I should go.”
“Yeah, I think you should.”
Without another word, she turns and grabs her coat off the back of a chair and walks swiftly out of his apartment. He knows he should stop her, bring her to Buck, but he knows what it means if he does. And he’s not ready.
Daniel stands there, staring at the open space she left behind and his hand curls into a fist.
His bedroom is filled with moonlight when he emerges from the bathroom, freshly showered and drying his hair with a hand towel. Strips of midnight silver stretch across the bed from the half open curtain at the window. He looks at the sheets all bunched and wrinkled and can almost smell her. All he wants to do is fall into the covers and inhale Teresa forever. But he might just sleep on the couch instead. It hurts to cling to remnants, not knowing if he’ll see her again.
Feeling his way in the dark, he opens his dresser drawer for some sweats and a t-shirt. He can’t tell what graphic is on the front but he thinks it might be his Steely Dan concert tee. He sighs. Everything reminds him of her.
Through his daze, he hears the front door out in the hall click shut and he stills. What the fuck? He listens, not wanting to turn around in case this is it. If someone’s here to kill him, let them shoot him in the back.
Floorboards creak ever so softly and then he feels the presence of someone in the doorway.
“Daniel,” she whispers.
If he turns around, she’ll slip away again. His Eurydice. She might stay for a night but after that there is no guarantee. But he’s angry, so fucking angry. “Why are you here, Teresa?” he asks, almost turning.
She comes closer slowly until the heat of her body is inches from his back. “I wouldn’t miss your birthday.”
He flips around before she can touch him. “You left. Without giving me your number or leaving a note.”
Even in the dark he can see just how tired she looks. Her hair is a mess, dark circles under her eyes. What the hell has she been doing the last few days? The state she’s in scares him and yet he can’t get past his own hurt.
“I thought,” she starts, quiet and ashamed. “I really thought I was coming right back.”
“Where’d you go?”
Her head turns just slightly and the tears rimming her eyes catch the moonlight. “To see Buck.”
“Why?”
“Because I stupidly thought he’d help me see Wilson.”
He shakes his head and pushes past her so he can breathe. “Are you insane? Really? He could’ve killed you.”
“He didn’t.”
“What happened to you and me, huh, at the end of all of this? Is killing Fisk more important? You would do that to me?” His shoulders shake, they're so tense. “You would kill yourself? Because that’s how it’ll be. I can’t save you. I don’t even know if I could protect you if someone found out you were here right now.”
She takes a deep, trembling breath but doesn’t speak. And he believes her now when she said she doesn’t always know what to do. He can see it, how totally helpless she is. As helpless as he is.
“And if Buck finds out, he’s gonna want me to deliver you to him just like he’ll be waiting for me to deliver BB.” His voice sounds harsh to his own ears, spiteful. “You were right. In the beginning, it didn’t take much with BB. I let her manipulate me because I liked her. I tell myself she’s not doing it. I know she’s doing it. But I could never tell when you were because it seemed like you weren’t. So I pretend with everyone because you made me believe I could trust you.”
Teresa’s chest sinks like he’s stabbed her but it hurts him more to hurt her. “I was scared that you weren’t ready for the other option. If I don’t kill him.” She takes a step and he wants to back up but doesn’t. “You can trust me.”
He closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to look at her. His entire body ignites. That is the wrong fuckin’ thing to say. “Get out.”
“Daniel.”
He sneers at her. At this moment, the only thing he wants is to hurt her as bad as she hurt him. He wants to be mean. If he doesn’t, he’s gonna break. “Just leave. You clearly know how.”
Her face is shadowed now so he can’t see if it makes her cry but he doesn’t miss the way her shoulders slump even further than before. “Is that what you want?” she asks, her voice so soft he almost caves. It’s the voice he needs more than any other—the one that calms and soothes.
He just stares.
And she does as he asks.
On her way toward the door, she stops, shoulder to shoulder with him. Her cool fingers brush over his wrist, slow and gentle like she’s trying not to agitate him. She lingers, tracing a line down his palm. It’s a goodbye. One last touch because neither of them can say it out loud. “I’m so sorry for hurting you. I only wish you knew how badly it hurt me too. Not just this time but the first time. You can hate me if it makes you feel better, but I’m not gonna stop until I know you’re safe, baby. I just won’t.”
Her hand starts to slide out of his and he feels the loss before it happens. He clamps down hard before she can leave and she gasps as he turns toward her. There is no hating her. But he does hate the way he’s less of a man for falling to his knees in the middle of his bedroom and wrapping his arms around her.
“I’m sorry,” he cries before he can stop himself.
Teresa moves to the floor with him and grabs his face. “Daniel.”
He almost doesn’t even hear her. His head pounds, heart beating so fast he can’t catch his breath. “Please,” he begs and doesn’t even really know why. “Please, please.”
She pulls him against her, embracing him so quickly it knocks the wind out of him. He lets his weight go against her, weak and oversensitive. His sobs come hard then, racking his body as she holds him through it.
It’s about everything. Anger at himself for believing in Fisk, for being so stupid and inexperienced, and getting himself into something that’ll eventually get him or others killed. Sadness for the loss of life including the body of some man he didn’t know but helped bury in the Catskills. It’s about BB. It’s about Teresa. Confusion. Disbelief. Heartbreak. It all comes to the surface at once.
He cries for so long he starts to think irrationally. Is she really here? Or is he so far gone that he’s made this all up in his head? He grabs at her, feeling for her body and warmth, making sure he’s not just imagining the way she’s taking care of him.
At some point his tears start to dry on his face and he sniffles against her wet shirt. They settle into a more comfortable position but still touching. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” she says, petting his head. It's not true but it comforts him anyway.
He wants to say I love you, don’t leave me. But he’d asked her once before and she still did. Even if she had her reasons, however selfish or stupid they were, even if she meant it now and said that she won't. He can’t ask again. And he’s too scared to confess the other part.
He’s only able to admit one thing. “I need you.”
“You think you’re the only one?”
He looks up at her. “I think I need you more.”
“No,” she says softly, and he shivers when she cups his face. “I need you more.”
He shakes his head.
“Daniel.” She says his name so seriously his heart skips a beat. “This is it for me. You understand? I’m yours or I’m no one’s.”
Yours.
Nothing’s ever really been his before. And nobody’s ever told him that they’re his. It’s always been the other way around. He’s been used and owned his entire life. By his parents, by teachers, by girls, by Fisk. But this is different, she isn’t giving him possession of her or her body. Not control, but a gift. His person, willingly, always.
A smile breaks across her face. “If you’ll have me.”
“I . . .” He feels like he’s gonna cry again.
“You don’t have to decide forever right now. But you got me tonight.” She runs her fingers through his hair and he leans into it, wanting more. Wanting it all. “Is there anything I can get you for your birthday?”
He huffs a laugh. “I dunno.”
“Anything you want. I can get it eventually.”
Their faces are close enough that he can feel her breath against his lips and taste the tension in the air. After everything, he doesn’t give a shit if he deserves it or not, he’s not going to fumble the one good thing that’s happened to him tonight. He doesn’t want to think about the bad anymore. There’s only one thing he wants for his birthday and she’s right in front of him. “I want you.”
“Oh?” She cocks her head. “A kiss for the birthday boy, huh?”
He’s glad it’s dark so she can’t see how red he’s getting. The tips of his ears and cheeks are on fire but somehow he has enough confidence to say, “More.”
She looks at him, still playing with his hair, and lets out a long sigh. “Are you sure?” she asks as if she’s unsure herself.
“I want you.” He scoots closer so that they’re touching more, almost so that his head is on her shoulder. “I want to just be us for a while. To be continued, remember?”
She laughs but still doesn’t look convinced. “I remember.” Her hand smooths over his hair and down the side of his neck to his shoulder. “You can tell me to stop at any time.”
He covers his face for a second when he chuckles. “You can too.”
“Are you feeling shy now?” she asks, caressing his chest.
He shakes his head but he is. He’s almost too embarrassed to speak even though he’s been inside her before. The thought of it makes it feel like the room temperature just upped a thousand degrees. “Can . . . can I be on top?”
She seems to think about it and lets out a small laugh. “Will you be gentle?”
Confused, he frowns at her. Does she think he’s gonna pound her into the mattress of something? “Yeah, of course.”
Instead of explaining, she lifts onto her knees and pulls her shirt over her head. Her skin is tinted blue from the moonlight and he takes in her form ravenously, greedy to see more. Until he notices the white bandage taped to her side.
He shoots up. “Teresa.”
“Shh. It’s okay,” she whispers. “It’s still healing but it’s old.”
“What . . .?”
“Powell shot me.” She forces him to look her in the eye as he starts to freak out. “I’m okay.”
He slowly places his hands on her hips, heart pounding as he fixates on the horrible evidence that she’d almost been killed. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”
With a gentle but firm grip on the back of his neck, she pulls him closer until their noses bump each other. She grazes her mouth over his slowly. He wants to chase it but he’s paralyzed. Her lips press to his cheek, whisper soft, then travel toward his jaw, graze his earlobe, and he shudders against her with a rough breath.
“You don’t want to hurt me?”
“No,” he chokes out, heart slamming against his ribcage. “Never.”
“Then make me feel good.”
His breath shakes out of him. “I want to but . . .”
“Shh. Stop thinking about it.” She kisses his neck and he feels lightheaded as the blood rushes south. “Let’s just be you and me. Together.”
Before he can protest or not, she stands and guides him off the ground. Her hands leave him for a moment and he watches her undress in some kind of shock. Sweat trickles down the back of his neck and he swipes it away, and his dick swells against the fabric of his sweats as she slides down her underwear. She lets them pool at her feet, standing there completely naked in the moonlight. Fuck. He’s starving for her.
She hides her smile as she comes closer. He’s unmoving, glued to his spot on the floor, as her hands lift to his shoulders and massages. “Breathe,” she instructs.
He lets out all his air and hangs his head back to the ceiling for a moment. Until she starts moving those talented hands down his chest, then he can’t look away. Her fingers dip under the hem of his shirt and he flinches when they brush over his lower stomach.
“Ticklish?” she asks, rubbing above the waist band of his sweats. “Or just overexcited?”
He laughs roughly. “Both.”
Her arms wrap around him and then his shirt is tugged up and over his head. Their skin touches for just a moment and it raises goosebumps over both of them. He’s been more naked than this in front of her but for some reason it feels more intimate, more vulnerable.
A tremor goes through him as her hands come back to explore, stealing his breath away from anticipation at every featherlight touch. They make a slow descent down until she reaches the place he’s most nervous about. She cups him gently through the thick fabric of his sweats and he swallows the rising groan.
“Breathe, baby,” she says when he forgets again. But he almost can't with the way she’s touching him “Breathe with me,” she tells him using her other hand on his chest to feel if he’s listening. “In and out.”
He melts into her hands, groaning quietly, chest rising and falling much heavier than hers. He pushes against the hand lazily petting his dick. More. More, please. He wants to beg but he can’t get a single word out.
As if she knows, she holds him fully, and the pressure makes him jerk. “In and out, Daniel. Keep breathing.” He struggles but does as she says, panting shaminglessly as her hand slides inside his sweatpants. Silky skin glides against his and he almost loses himself.
“I . . .” he starts, a hitched breath taking his words. “Please.”
“In, out,” she demands, pumping him in time to her words and his knees nearly give out, thighs shaking with how good it feels. “Big deep breath for me.”
What he attempts to do is obey but what comes out of his mouth is a pathetic whimper. He rakes his fingers into his hair and does it again because he can’t help himself now. “Fuck,” he gasps, moaning deliriously. “I’m . . .”
Her hand comes away and the feeling mounting subsides. “Tell me what you’re thinking,” she whispers.
He gulps, mouth dry. “I don’t wanna stop.”
“Come here then,” she says and takes his hand, leading him to the bed.
Nerves flutter in his chest as she helps him out of his pants. He’s never wanted something so bad in his life and yet it overwhelms him. What if he isn’t any good at it? What if she doesn’t enjoy him? He stares at her, gorgeous and nude in the moonbeam through his window, and can’t believe it’s happening.
She starts giggling, girlish and bright. He’s never heard that sound from her before and it distracts him from admiring the way the shadows accent every perfect curve of her body. He likes it a lot but it makes him a little self conscious.
“What?” He laughs nervously. “What’re you laughing at?”
She sighs happily and clamps her lips together to stop the giggling. “I just like the way you look at me.”
“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, Teresa. I don’t know what to do with you. I mean, Christ, where do I start?” He lets out another tense chuckle. “I don’t . . . I don’t deserve this.”
“Shh.” She wraps her arms around his neck and their bodies meet. “You haven’t touched me yet.” She smiles, moving in until their lips almost meet. “I know you know how.”
What an idiot. He fumbles forward, gently running a hand down her stomach. “Can I?”
She nods, eyes on his lips. He takes that as his queue to lean in and kiss her. She hums, opening her mouth for him, and it turns hungry. It almost makes him forget where his hand is going. As if expecting it, she takes his wrist and pulls him down until his fingers meet the warmth between her legs.
Her chest heaves and he breaks the kiss only to dip his head down and mouth her breasts. It earns him a dreamy sort of sigh so he doesn’t stop. With her fingers in his hair, she moves him against her chest until he finds a place to suckle. This earns him a moan. He dips his fingers into her wetness, wanting more of those sounds. They make him so turned on that he leaks.
She wiggles against him, almost pulling away yet still drawing him closer with her arms latched around the back of his neck. “Daniel,” she says, breathlessly. “I want . . .” Her hips move, frantic, as he caresses that special spot between her thighs. He’s never seen her so gone to pleasure. “The bed,” she stammers.
He leans down enough to get a good grip under her ass and lifts her up. She gasps and wraps her legs around his hips as he turns to lay her on the bed. There’s a swell of pride and arousal that he’s strong enough to pick her up and move her with no effort. Well, almost.
They flop onto the bed and she lets out a laugh that turns into a joyous squeal. “Ow!” she whines through more laughter.
He checks her side, holding himself away so he’s not crushing her. “Shit. Sorry, sorry.”
She bites her lip. “You pulled my hair.”
Before he can apologize for that, she’s pulling him down and capturing his mouth with her own. His stomach presses against hers—he feels the edge of her bandage and it scares him that he’s hurting her. He feels huge all of a sudden, like a hulking brute hovering over her. His hand engulfs her breast and she feels so frail under him. He doesn’t want to hurt her. But her hands keep pulling, fingers digging into him, legs locking around his hips, until he relents and lets her have his weight.
“Let me feel you,” she whispers against his mouth.
He lifts and slides straight into her, filling her in one swift motion. It feels even better for the sound they both make as he sinks deep. The intensity makes his thighs shake and every muscle tense. It’s completely different than their first time, it feels monumental in a way that’s too much to think about.
If someone had told him, that night in the hotel bar when Fisk won the election, that he’d be lost to pleasure between the legs of the dream woman that just walked into his life, he wouldn’t have believed them. Never her. So wildly out of his league and yet suited perfectly for him. There’s a confession on the tip of his tongue but he’s too afraid to ruin the moment. For either of them.
Teresa’s soothing hands come to his face, holding him and her eyes searching his. “Move, baby,” she whispers.
A flare of desire heats his skin at her words and he obeys with no hesitation. Her head falls back against the mess of her hair across the sheets and she moans shamelessly as he pushes her knees up and grinds down into her.
Each heavy thrust after that feels like it’ll throw him over the edge. He strains and shakes with the expectation that he will not last. Minutes. Seconds. He isn’t sure.
He’s vaguely aware he’s giving her too much, pressing hard and moving fast. But he can’t help himself, he chases the feeling rising and tightening within him until he’s panting above her. “Oh my god,” he whimpers, hips stuttering.
Her legs close around his waist suddenly and a weak moan breaks from her open mouth. The depth of her body grips him, clenching, and she trembles beneath him in uncontrollable waves. God, yes. He made her feel that. His body made her feel that.
Oh, fuck.
“Teresa,” he rasps, trying to move away from her but it’s too late, he’s already coming.
Her arms wrap around his back, hands grabbing his ass, and dragging him to her. His head falls against her chest and he relaxes all of his weight into the deep trusts he can no longer control. Her moans amplify the impact of pure, intense pleasure as it bursts into him and out into her. He grunts desperately against her breast, strung out in a moment that feels like it’ll last forever.
He nuzzles into her when she reaches up to pet his head and rub his back with her other hand. It’s a gesture that makes him want to cry and fall asleep all at once. He breathes heavy but slow, quivering with the aftershocks of his orgasm.
“Your heart is beating so fast,” he says, almost drunkenly.
“So is yours. I can feel it.”
They lie there in silence for some time, just holding each other and feeling. Eventually, he slides out of her warmth and moves over just slightly so he’s not suffocating her.
“I missed you, Tare,” he admits, voice breaking, face flaming with embarrassment from the vulnerability. He caresses her side, running a finger over the bandage that’s starting to peel up. “I missed you so bad.”
“Tare? I like the sound of that.” She removes his hand and intertwines her fingers with his. “I missed you too.”
“I didn’t think you were coming back.” A tear falls onto her skin and he hopes she can’t feel it or at least won’t mention it.
“I hate myself for that. Every second that I was awake, I was thinking about you, and when I was asleep, I dreamed of you.”
He huffs. “I called you. Every night in the beginning. I left you messages. Why didn’t you call me back? I wouldn’t have told anyone.”
“I didn’t know. I didn’t have my phone.” She takes a shaky breath. “And when I got a new one I couldn’t remember your number.” A small shuddering sound escapes her and he looks up to find her crying. “I’m so sorry.”
He grabs her face and kisses her hard, letting his own tears fall freely then. “Don’t ever leave me again.” This time it’s a demand, not a plea.
“Never.”
“I’m serious. For nothing. Not to keep me safe or whatever you thought. We do this together from now on.”
She nods. “It means we have to leave.”
“Okay.”
“No, Daniel, I need you to really think about that.” Her eyes are pale in the light that peaks in through the curtain and they twinkle with unshed tears. “You can’t say goodbye to your mom. Or BB. Or anyone. And it means we can never come back here as long as Fisk is alive.”
“I understand.”
“I can’t ask you to give everything up—I won’t ask you. All you will have is me. It’s not a normal life. I can find another way so we can stay and be safe.”
He props himself up on his elbow. “Not if it could get you hurt, Teresa. I don’t want anything else. I want you.”
“Oh, my sweet boy,” she whispers like she doesn’t believe him. She caresses his cheek and smiles, staring at him in the dark, almost as if to memorize his face so she can run again. “We can talk about this tomorrow. You’re exhausted.”
She isn’t wrong but it feels like a way to shut him out. He hates the way she coddles him when it comes to the hard stuff. He can handle it. If they have to leave, he couldn’t give less of a fuck about this place or anyone in it. And having only her isn’t the problem that she thinks it is. She is enough.
When he doesn’t come up with any reply, she runs her fingers into the hair at the back of his head and pulls him back down into her bosom. He doesn’t protest, only closes his eyes and rests. Her soft caresses quiet him quickly. After everything that’s transpired, he’s been on the edge of sleep all day. This is just him giving in.
Time begins to slow and he finds immeasurable comfort in just being held. He can relax now. He can close his eyes and not worry for once. And, Christ, he’s needed this for so long. He’s needed her. His keeper. His Teresa.
He falls into the space between alert and dreaming. Floating. Comfortable. Then his mind pulls the rug out from under him. Anxiety punches into his chest and he jerks awake, starting to sit up, but arms pull him back down.
“I thought . . .” he mumbles, groggy. “I thought you left again.”
“I’m right here, baby.”
It happens a few more times, even wrapped around her body where he can feel her, where he has her trapped under his heavy limbs. But, eventually, he’s almost fully asleep, past the point of no return, past the twinge of panic that keeps reminding him that he’s not awake to stop her from leaving.
