The light side of the night - part 6
Pairing: Walter Marshall x Female Reader
Summary: Walter and you try to deal with what happened on your business trip. Resolutions are made. And resolutions are broken.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5
Word count: ca. 8k
Warnings: 18+, NSFW, angst, fluff, smut, heartache, discussion of contraception, mention of alcohol, mention of homicide (vague details), mutual pining, BDSM, Dom!Walter, Sub!Reader, mention of sex toys, restraints, nipple play, oral (f receiving), edging, vaginal tongue fuck, p in v sex, creampie, cum play, tasting of body fluids.
A/N: The previous chapter was long for my standards. This one is longer :) But somehow, it felt like it needed to be posted in one go. There are some dividers in this chapter that might be helpful if you prefer to read several shorter parts.
Feedback means the world to me, and I’d love to hear what you think! Thank you so much for reading! 💕
Not beta’d, and English is not my native language, so you’d better be prepared for mistakes.
This was edited while I'm waiting for my daughter's stomach bug to get me, too. 🙈 Maybe there will be more mistakes than usual but I wanted to get this out before I'll be out of order.
Dividers: by @firefly-graphics
When the storm is over, you lean your head on the mattress, exhausted. He remains buried inside you, your wrists still captured in his hands. Then he carefully loosens his iron grip, caressing your soft skin with his thumbs. Slowly, like in slow-motion, he lets his head sink down on your shoulder, burying his face in your neck, taking deep and shaky breaths. Your heart flutters when he presses gentle kisses onto your sweaty skin, and you wish, you wish so desperately that this would never end.
But we don't always get what we wish for, don't we?
Walter presses his lips right on that sensitive spot under your ear. A wild tingle spreads through your body as he sucks a hickey into your neck, his teeth scraping your skin. You tilt your head as you close your eyes with a sigh, savoring that sensation. Then, he withdraws himself from your heat as his mouth glides off your neck with a small ‘pop’. Another gentle kiss on the same spot. A nudge with his nose. A brush of his lips. The prickle of his beard on your neck. The touch of his breath on your skin.
Then, he lies down next to you, staring at the ceiling, and you can’t help but feel somehow empty at the sudden lack of his touch. You notice only marginally that your hand grabs the bedsheet as you fight the urge to reach out for him. How is it possible to miss someone who is still there, lying right next to you?
For a moment, you lie next to each other, listening to each other’s breathing. And with every breath, more tension fills the room. Uncertainty and unspoken feelings hang heavy in the air, tightening your throat.
You hear him inhale briefly as if he wants to say something, but no sound can be heard. When you glance over at him, you see his lips silently moving as he searches for words, avoiding your gaze. When you restlessly shift on your side to face him, you feel his cum seeping out of you. You sit up, a little sheepishly, briefly putting your hand on his arm to catch his gaze.
“I’ll be right back, and then we can talk, okay?”
After he wordlessly nodded to you, you climb off the bed, wobbling to the bathroom on unsteady feet. A nervous restlessness creeps up your body while you clean yourself off. What had just happened here? And what is he going to say? Heck, what are you going to say?
When you open the door again, you freeze on the spot. Walter is already fully dressed, pacing back and forth in the room and the sight of his scowl makes your stomach drop. Plus, you have never felt so sober in your life. You cross your arms in front of you, overly aware that you're still naked, and you nervously shift your weight to your other foot.
"Are you on the pill?" he rasps without interrupting his stride, and his words make you want to facepalm yourself. Contraception is a thing grown-ups should talk about before having sex, right?
"I am on the pill," you confirm. "And don't worry about STDs. I took a test after the last umm… and it's been a while… um I mean… you're the first one I had sex with after that." You stumble across your own words as heat creeps up your chest and neck to your face.
You quickly turn away towards your duffle bag to get some clothes.
"Same goes for me," he says quietly behind you.
Then, it’s silent again, and you already know there’s more to come. You focus on keeping your hands from trembling as you put on a baggy t-shirt and shorts for the night, wishing the clothes were iron armor to protect you from what he’s going to say next.
When you’re dressed, you slowly turn around to face him. He has stopped his stride, and you catch him staring at you, his eyes glued to the bruised skin on your neck.
"What else?" you ask flatly, trying to push the thoughts away. Thoughts about the way he touched you, kissed you, fucked you not a long time ago.
He snaps out of his trance, and then, he says aloud what you’ve already seen writ large in his face.
“We shouldn't have done that.”
"You told me that before, remember? Before we got to know each other better. And I thought you… liked me?" you shrug helplessly.
“I like you. I really do…,” he reassures you, yet leaving the latter words hanging in the air.
“But?”
“But I'm not what you're looking for.”
You're everything I'm looking for. The thought, the feeling, suddenly popped up. And once it’s there in all its clarity, you instantly know it won’t go away. You stare at him, dumbfounded before you remember how to blink. And how to breathe. And how to move your muscles. Then, you slowly shake your head as your face contorts to a pained smile.
"How do you know what I'm looking for?"
"You don't seem to be looking for a one-night stand or something with no strings attached. I’m right, am I?" he asks when you remain silent.
You open your mouth, about to reassure him that you wouldn't mind. And that’s exactly what a part of you wants to believe. That it would be enough to have a tiny piece of him, to be with him somehow, even if he can't… love you. But then you shut your mouth again. It would be a lie. And you both know it.
"You're right," you finally answer quietly.
He nods. "I wish I could give you more than that. But I can't,” he says emphatically, and maybe, there’s a hint of desperation in his voice.
But why not? Why? The question is on top of your tongue, and it takes all you have to force it back. It already hurts enough. And what does it even matter?
“And you shouldn’t settle for less than you want,” he continues, and you almost choke on the desperate snort bubbling up inside you. That’s one of the things your mother had told you since you were little. And it’s also one of the things you’ve never done in your life. You have always settled for less. Simply because there was no other way. Or so it seemed. So, how are you supposed to do that? Not getting involved in something you want so badly because you already know it won’t be enough? And settle for nothing instead?
“But, if you knew all of this, why did you…,” you ask, confused, gesturing at the rumpled bed.
“I… I don't know. I wasn’t thinking,” he stammers, his voice strained, his eyes lowered to the floor.
He wasn’t thinking. You press your lips together, pondering what this could mean. Was it just a quick fuck? In the heat of the moment? That may be true. But can that really be the only reason? That actually doesn’t look like him. There has to be something else.
You recall everything that had happened and what you said before he kissed you, and a wave of shame washes over you. You must have looked pitiful from crying. Tipsy on top of that. And you might as well have begged him to kiss you. Pathetic! A pity fuck, you think to yourself, and the thought makes you cringe.
“It would be better if you go now,” you say softly, your gaze directed to the ugly pattern of the carpet.
From the corner of your eye, you see him walking to the door. Then, he pauses, clutching the doorknob so tightly his knuckles turn white.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs.
"Me too," you whisper, choking on the words.
And then, he's gone. The sound of the closing door makes you jump, although it's not loud at all.
You remain standing at the same spot for a while, stunned. Finally, reluctantly, you lay down on the bed. Your whole body seems to fight it, but you can’t spend the night sitting on the wooden chair next to the small desk. You pull the duvet up to your chin, imagining that you can still feel a remnant of his body heat. You lean your head against the pillow that smells like sex and like him, closing your eyes, allowing his scent to invade your senses.
At some point in this night, you let the tears come. And at some point, your tears have dried up. But even when the first rays of sunshine creep in through the window, you still haven't fallen asleep.
After getting up, you only take a cursory look at your mirror image in the bathroom. Pale skin, red-rimmed, swollen eyes - an indication of the lack of sleep and the turmoil inside you, writ large in your face. Awesome.
Other than the previous days, it’s pretty chilly outside, with dark clouds hanging in front of the sun. The cloudy weather suits your mood well. And Walter's mood, too, as it seems. When you step out of the hotel, you see him standing next to the car. And even from this distance, you instantly see that he looks just as drained and shitty as you.
“Good morning,” you say hesitantly, stepping closer. He looks up from the bag he was putting in the backseat.
“Good morning,” he rasps with a half smile, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Are you ready to go home?”
“I am,” you nod with the same half-hearted smile.
And then, silence. You’re silent as you get in the car. You’re silent as you drive off. And you remain silent during the drive. Hard to imagine that you had been talking and laughing on the way yesterday. Now, both of you stare out of the window, lost in your thoughts. Finally, you close your eyes to escape the silence and the sight of him looking past you. Goosebumps rise on your arms, and you shiver, snuggling in your cardigan, wrapping your arms around your body as you feel yourself drifting to sleep.
You must have slept like a log.
When you slowly wake up, looking out of the window, you already recognize the suburbs of your hometown. Next, you perceive warmth and the weight of something lying on your legs. When you look down, you see Walter's hoodie spread across your lap. He must have placed it there while you've been sleeping. Then your gaze falls on the display of the air conditioner that is set warmer on the passenger's side.
Goddammit, why can't he just be an asshole? Things would be very much less complicated if he wasn't so sweet.
You brush your fingers over the cozy fabric of his hoodie, wishing you could feel it on his body as he hugged you tightly, wrapping both of you in his jacket.
"Sorry, you had to drive all the way back," you murmur after clearing your throat.
"It's okay," he reassures you. "You needed sleep." And you can't deny that he's right.
After he parked in front of the appartment building you live in, both of you remain sitting in the car, staring out of the window.
"Listen," he begins, his eyes directed straight ahead on the street. "I'm sorry."
"I’m sorry, too," you mumble, and he instantly turns his head to look at you.
"What should you be sorry for?" he asks, incredulous, frowning.
"For drinking too much and behaving pathetically?" you say through clenched teeth as if it was obvious, once again cringing at the memory.
“Hey, look at me," he demands. You hesitantly turn your gaze to the heavy scowl on his face. "You didn’t behave pathetically at all," he says firmly, shaking his head. "You were hurting and tipsy, and I shouldn’t have… taken advantage. It’s all my fault. I behaved like an asshole, and I’m sorry.”
"You haven't…," you begin to protest, but he cuts you off.
“I promise it won’t happen again.”
"Okay," you mumble, despondently averting your gaze. Then, that's it.
Silently, you gather your things and open the passenger door.
“Bye, Walter. I'll see you at work," you say when you’ve gotten out of the car.
"Y/N? Maybe we should stay away from each other," he says haltingly, pressing his lips toghether.
"If that's what you want…," Your answer is almost lost in the noise of the street.
"Maybe it'll be easier this way," he shrugs helplessly, digging his teeth into his cheeks.
Looks like you have no choice but to settle for nothing.
"Okay," you whisper. And then you close the door and walk towards the house, without looking back, pretty sure you couldn’t stand the sight of him driving off.
Friday. Saturday. Sunday. Monday. Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday.
The days fly by, and you try your best to distract yourself. Work. Chores. Phone calls with your family. Dinner with Mike and Sarah after you've helped them pack freakin' 200 goodie bags for their wedding next weekend.
But nothing seems to work. You've been replaying every single conversation Walter and you have had, every kiss, every single touch over and over again, until your heart aches and your head is about to explode.
In the office, you catch yourself secretly watching him, although you were determined not to do that. He seems more engrossed in his work than ever before. Always highly concentrated, his eyes strictly fixed on whatever he's doing.
Every day you try to sneak out of the office when you call it a day. And every day, he somehow manages to sit at his desk, and there's no way to avoid meeting his gaze when you get into the elevator. Of course, you could turn around or simply avert your gaze. But then you would miss the only moment of the day when he openly looks at you. Only you. What you see in his eyes remains a mystery to you. Sympathy? Regret? Longing? Whatever it is, it captures your gaze and your thoughts, making you unable to look away, unable to stop thinking about him.
On Friday, during lunch break, when everyone else is out of the office, Jen comes into your cubicle, casually sitting down on the edge of your desk.
“You know, I may not look like I was capable of kicking a big guy's ass, but let me assure you that I’m very capable,” she states flatly, a menacing sparkle in her eyes.
“What?” you laugh, surprised.
“Do you want me to kick Detective Marshall’s ass, sweetheart? Because I’ve seen you staring at each other from a distance the whole damn week without exchanging a single word.”
“You’re way too observant,” you grumble as blood rushes to your cheeks. “And no, I don’t want you to kick his ass.”
“Would you like to tell me what happened on that trip?” she asks, genuinely concerned. You sigh before you decide to give her a brief summary, skipping the saucy details, and her expression changes into a scowl as she listens to you.
“You know, now I really want to kick his ass,” she says thoughtfully, shaking her head. “But something tells me he had hurt you and himself. I don’t know why he behaves like that. Don't you dare tell me it's just pity," she admonishes you, cutting you off when you're about to interrupt her to say just that. "He doesn’t pity you. You’re the only person he has let close to him in all those years that I’ve known him. And I’ve seen him staring at you like a wolf howling at the unreachable moon ever since that barbecue at Mike and Sarah’s. And that hasn't changed this week either.”
“Well, I’m here, right? And very reachable. But I can’t force him to be with me,” you shrug, resigned.
“I know, sweetheart. All I’m trying to say is that maybe, it’s not over yet, okay?” she says, sympathetically patting your arm before changing the subject as some of your colleagues return from their break. You, too, get back to work, but a part of your brain keeps thinking about Jen’s words which somehow confirmed your gut feeling. Although he has hurt you, there is still something that prevents you from giving up. A glimpse of hope. Maybe small. Maybe stupid. Yet, hope.
The next day is Mike’s and Sarah’s wedding day. In the afternoon, you make your way to the hotel in the countryside with Jen and her husband. As soon as you get out of the car, you see that the venue looks like a picture book. The charmingly rustic hotel complex is located next to a lake and has a breathtaking view of the surrounding mountains. The chuppah and chairs for the ceremony are set up in the shade of huge, venerable oaks, making it seem like you’re in a clearing in the middle of a forest, and the decoration consisting of countless roses and luscious green exudes a delicate fragrance. Of course, you already knew that Sarah is a sucker for roses, but the sight wows you. It looks stunning, and it matches the venue and Mike and Sarah perfectly. Even the weather is perfect, too: not too warm, not too chilly, and not a single cloud sailing across the bright blue sky.
Most of the chairs are already taken as you walk along the aisle with Jen and her husband.
“Let’s take these ones here,” Jen suggests, pointing at four empty chairs in the middle of a row. After you’re seated, you chat a bit, looking around to pass the time until the ceremony begins.
“Hey,” Jen whisper-shouts over her shoulder when a visibly nervous Mike and his groomsmen have already taken their places, enthusiastically waving her hand at someone, “over here, Walter!”
As soon as she said his name, you already feel the usual butterflies in your stomach. You slowly count to ten in your mind before you look at him as he hastily slides into the row of seats, sitting down on the empty chair next to you. And the sight of him almost makes your jaw drop. The plain, navy blue suit fits his muscular build perfectly. Crisp white shirt and pocket square, black tie and shoes - very classic, very very sexy. For once, his hair looks neatly tamed, as far as that can be said about his wild curls. He seems a bit rushed and the breathless, relieved smile he sends you is so adorable and so contagious you can't help but beam at him. His ocean eyes roam your face as his smile deepens and for a moment, it’s like there was just the two of you. And like he hadn’t told you to stay away from each other.
Then, music starts to play, drawing your attention to the flower girls and bridesmaids. Shortly after that, everyone stands up as Sarah walks down the aisle on her father's arm as a piano plays Pachelbel’s Canon in D. She looks gorgeous in a dream of tulle and lace, but the most beautiful thing is her radiant smile and her amorous gaze that is fixed only on Mike. You see him swallow hard, tears brimming his eyes, and that’s when you feel your eyes dampening as well. And then, the first tear rolls down your cheek. You sniffle quietly, trying to keep it together as you search for a handkerchief in your clutch bag. Of course, you don’t find one. Damn those ridiculously small handbags!
When you hear a quiet snort next to you, you turn your gaze towards Walter, who has been watching you, amused.
“Those are happy tears, and I don't want to hear a single word,” you mumble sheepishly before he can make a cheeky remark.
“I didn't say a single word,” he whispers, grinning innocently. “Here, take this.” He pulls out his pocket square and offers it to you.
“I will probably ruin it,” you try to decline.
“Do I look like I care?” he smiles, raising his eyebrow.
He doesn't look like he cared. And so you clutch the piece of fabric during the rest of the ceremony, dabbing your eyes from time to time, trying not to smear too much mascara on it. And all the while, you try to ignore the glances he throws you. More or less successfully.
When the ceremony is over, everything devolves into a colorful mess of congratulations and hugs for the happy newlyweds, beaming faces, and happy chitchat. And no matter where you go, Walter always seems to be at the edge of your field of vision. And on your mind, anyway. You look over at him and see him chatting with a few people, a glass of champagne in his hand, relaxed. While he nods and listens, his gaze roams the crowd. When your eyes meet, a small smile curves his lips and you suddenly see everything that could be. You, standing next to him in a beautiful wedding gown. His arm is possessively wrapped around your waist as you accept congratulations from your families and friends with bright smiles, exchanging loving glances and sweet kisses now and then. And the image makes your heart once again tighten with longing.
Be still, stupid heart! You quietly put your empty glass down on a bar table. Then, you turn away and walk towards the hotel. A little break when checking in will certainly do you good.
After you’ve checked in you make your way back to the party. But before you’ve reached the garden where the reception is in full swing, you follow the path that seems to go around the lake instead. Behind the next bend, a small dirt track leads away from the neat gravel path. You hesitate for a brief moment before you follow the trail that is probably only intended for employees. The forest along the small side arm of the lake looks far less idyllic than the spruced-up garden but still beautiful. The chirping of birds and rustling of leaves in the wind sounds very peaceful, and you feel yourself relax a bit. Then you discover a small dock shed by the lake, and you walk towards it, following the stairs down to the dock. As you turn the corner, you see a man in a navy blue suit standing at the end of the jetty. Walter.
You stop dead in your tracks, but he has already heard your steps. He turns around, and for a moment, you just look at each other.
“Sorry,” you finally manage to say, “I didn’t know you were here. I’ll leave you alone.”
“No, it’s okay. Stay. Please.”
"What about our resolution to stay away from each other?" you ask suspiciously.
"I guess we can make an exception today," he states. "Looks like we were both looking for a hideaway, and I'm willing to share this one with you. Although technically neither of us is allowed to be here."
"Well, let's hope that your badge will save us from getting arrested in case we get caught, Detective,” you smirk as you walk towards him. Then, you stand next to each other, looking at the calm water surface.
"Oh, I almost forgot about this." You pull his pocket square from your clutch bag. Just as you hold it out for him to take it, you see that it's still damp from your tears and garnished with traces of your mascara. "Sorry. I can wash it for you," you offer, a bit embarrassed.
He just smiles, shaking his head. "Don't be silly. I told you I didn't care." And he takes it without hesitation. He slowly folds it into a neat square, running his fingers over the white fabric. His shoulders seem tense, and when you see his jaw clench, you can tell that something is bothering him.
“Are you okay?” you ask softly.
“Yes,” he answers automatically, shaking his head. “No. I don’t know.”
“You can tell me, you know?”
“It’s just… Everything here is so… perfect, you know. But I have to go to work in half an hour because Harper ordered extra shifts for all detectives. And the things I’ll see there… I just can’t get it together in my head… Those contrasts, like day and night. Sometimes I almost feel guilty for seeing the daylight… I don’t know,” he murmurs, running his hand through his hair.
“I know what you mean. And I know it looks picture-perfect, but it’s probably not as perfect as it seems. I bet Sarah’s feet hurt like crazy in those shoes, and Mike is shitting his pants because he has to dance later. And he couldn’t even dance if his life depended on it. Plus, there’s a whole crowd of people backstage here who work hard to make it look that perfect. All of that makes it a little less picture-perfect. And a little less blinding.”
“Sometimes it feels like looking straight into the sun, doesn’t it?”
“It does. But I think it’s still perfect for Mike and Sarah. It’s their perfect day, and they deserve it. We all do. I guess we need those almost perfect moments to store some warmth and light before we go back to everyday life. And you deserve those moments, too. Especially because you see all those horrible things at work. You can let them warm you. Just don't let them blind you. By the way, someone recently told me that it doesn’t help if you forbid yourself to be happy. I guess the same goes for feeling guilty."
He smiles wryly. “Whoever said that must be pretty smart.”
"I guess you could say that.”
“I just wish it was that easy,” he remarks thoughtfully.
“Yeah, me too,” you confess, and you exchange a knowing smile.
For a while, you stand next to each other, and look at the lake. And this time, your silence is not oppressive but comfortable and somehow peaceful.
During the following week, you experience the contrast between day and night firsthand. After a lavish party and a pretty tired and hungover Sunday, all hell seems to break loose at work on Monday.
The detectives on the Hill Park case have found a hot lead pointing to Moore, and they’re hardly to be seen in the office. And everyone who is in the office seems to be beyond stressed. Mike went on his well-deserved honeymoon with Sarah right after the wedding, leaving you even more understaffed than usual for the next two weeks. No matter how hard you and André try, the pile of work never seems to get any smaller, and every day it gets later and later until you finally get home.
One night, you have just stepped out of the shower when the doorbell rings. You quickly put on a bathrobe and grab a towel in an attempt to dry your hair as you hurry to the door. You look through the door viewer and see Walter standing in the hallway. First, you’re hesitant as you open the door. But then you see the expression on his face. It sends your heart racing, and you instantly open the door wide. By now, you've gotten used to the ubiquitous dark circles under his eyes. And you’ve already seen him tired and drained and mad and sad. But never had he looked so lost.
“Come in, Walter,” is the first thing you say.
Without saying a word, he steps in. He closes the door behind him and leans his back against it, exhausted.
“What happened?” you ask worriedly.
“We have him,” he says, his face and voice devoid of emotions.
“Moore?”
He nods.
“That’s good, isn’t it?”
Another nod.
“What’s wrong?” you ask him softly.
For a moment, he stares into blank space. “We found his account on that website, and…,” he swallows hard, “there were pictures. And videos. Of him. And the girls.”
“Oh my god,” you whisper.
“I had to look at all that stuff and…,” he gestures vaguely, unable to continue. The thought of the two young women and their fates makes your throat tight, as well as the sight of the shaken man standing in front of you.
“Would you like to stay here for a while?” you offer.
“I shouldn't,” he says softly, shaking his head. "Do you even want me to stay?"
“I shouldn't,” you reply with a sad smile and the same gesture. “Why are you here, Walter?”
“I don't know," he whispers.
“Is there anything I can do?”
First, he remains silent. You stand in front of him, a bit at a loss, wondering if you should ask him to leave.
“Kiss me,” he says huskily. “Kiss me as if you hope that I’ll stay.”
You briefly close your eyes as you try to use your common sense. But it’s already too late. Your common sense is hiding in some corner, and all that’s left is that urge. Longing. Desire. And something that’s bigger than all of this.
You slowly step towards him until your bodies almost touch, locking eyes with him. Then, you carefully extend your hand, brushing your fingers over his beard and his lips. His panting breath caresses your fingertips, and you get on your tippy toes to press a gentle kiss on the corner of his mouth as your hand cups his cheek. He inhales shakily, closing his eyes. You plant a kiss on his lips and then another one. Your tongue glides across his bottom lip, and his taste and the sensation of his soft skin make you sigh.
And then, finally. Finally, he returns the kiss. He still leans against the door, his arms hanging at his sides, his hands clenched into fists. His kiss is gentle and hesitant, whereas his sturdy body trembles, torn back and forth between holding back and letting go. Let go, you silently plead with your hands and lips. Let go.
Both of you pant as you separate your lips from his. You take a step back, your hands shaking ever so slightly as you slowly open your bathrobe. You slide the thin fabric off your shoulders, letting the piece of clothes carelessly fall to the floor.
"Touch me, Walter," you whisper longingly.
You feel drops of water rolling from your wet hair over your skin and down your body. And you can almost feel his gaze tracing those drops. He inhales deeply, hastily, as if he had been holding his breath. And then, he slowly lifts his hand. His lips part as he puts his warm hand on your chest, right above your racing heart.
In the blink of an eye, he swirls you around, so your back is pressed against the door, making you gasp as he wraps his other hand around your throat.
He lowers his head, brushing his mouth against yours.
"Little sparrow," he whispers urgently against your lips, slightly squeezing your throat. And then, he let’s go.
When your mouths and bodies collide, it's like a force of nature, captivating you in its firm grip, sweeping you away, and all you can do is surrender. You surrender to his mouth and his hands as you melt against him, letting him take possession of your body. Of you.
Solid denim against your legs, leather and metal against your belly, soft cotton fabric against your chest - the materials of his clothes caress your skin, each adding a new and enticing sensation as he pulls you close and his rough hands eagerly explore your naked form. Then, he grabs your thighs, lifting you up like weighed nothing. You wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his shoulders, trying to get as close as possible as he presses you against the wall. He digs his fingers into your flesh, firmly kneading and squeezing your thighs and ass. When you moan into his kiss, he briefly separates his lips from yours.
“Bedroom?” he asks, panting.
“This way,” you point to the room at the end of the hallway, and your voice sounds just as breathless as his.
He walks towards the bedroom with you in his arms, and you cling to his broad frame like a Koala. Lust has taken over your system long ago, and you can’t keep yourself from burying your face in his neck, rubbing your cheek against his beard, nibbling on his earlobe. He squirms under your touch, almost imperceptibly, tightening his grip until it’s almost painful. Then, he lands a firm smack on your ass, making you yelp in both surprise and pain.
“Remember what I told you about who’s in charge here, little sparrow?” he growls.
“You're in charge,” you breathe, shuddering as heat rushes to your core.
“Smart girl,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against yours before he bites down on your bottom lip. Your soft whimpering hasn't quite faded away when he carefully puts you down on the floor.
“Lay down on the bed,” he commands, his voice deep and firm, and you do as he says without giving it a second thought.
Your eyes remain glued to him as he takes off his clothes. My god, has there ever been a hotter sight than this bear of a man, hastily unbuckling his belt as his eyes wander greedily over your body? He looks like a predator on the lookout, imagining how good its innocent prey will taste, and his gaze makes your skin heat up. You feel wetness seeping from your pussy, and you swallow hard as you wait for him to come to you. Then, the mattress dips as he sits down next to you.
“I can't promise I'll be gentle, but I promise I won't do anything you don't want me to do, okay?” he says huskily.
“Okay,” you smile. His barely hidden solicitude pulls your heartstrings, and you see his expression softening as well.
“What’s the first word coming to your mind?” he asks, gently running his thumb along your jaw.
“Parachute. My safeword is parachute,” you answer, holding his gaze.
“You already have a safeword, little sparrow?” he murmurs, firmly capturing your chin between his fingers.
“Yes. And I don’t want you to be gentle,” you confess softly, longingly staring into his eyes, once again fascinated by the ocean blue color of his iris with the little brown spot. You haven’t even noticed that you’ve been biting your lip in anticipation until his gaze wanders to your mouth.
“Fuck,” he murmurs after inhaling sharply. Now his animalistic expression is back. And you feel pure lust flooding your veins. Should you or shouldn’t you? You hesitate a split second before you voice what is tantalizingly whirling around in your mind.
“Open the middle drawer of the bedside table. You can pick one thing if you see something you like."
He gives you a sultry look before he leans forward to slowly pull out the drawer.
“Fuck,” he murmurs again when he sees the content - a collection of your favorite toys you’ve been craving for a while. And which you will continue to crave, as it seems. Walter keeps staring into the drawer, without saying a word. Fuck. You probably shouldn’t have…
“If not, that’s okay, too,” you say hastily as you feel your cheeks heating up, and he quickly lifts his gaze.
“I don’t see anything I don’t like, little sparrow. If you only knew what's going on in my mind right now,” he murmurs huskily with undisguised lust. “It’s just not an easy decision to make.”
He runs his hand across the toys. A blindfold. Nipple clamps. A small ball gag. A few plugs. With every toy his hand glides over, your head fills with images of him using the toy on you, and more blood, more wetness shoot to your core. He takes his sweet time, flicking his gaze between the toys and your almost trembling self, drinking in your reactions. Not that he remained unfazed. His slightly dilated pupils, his panting breath, and his rock-hard cock speak for themselves. His hardness is steeply erected, the tip an angry red, and you wonder if you could feel the prominent veins throbbing if you ran your tongue over his length.
When his hand reaches the restraints he had used on you in your dreams, probably dozens of times, you can’t stop the gasp falling from your lips. Please. Please, Walter. He closes his hand around the black leather straps, and it takes all you have to suppress a moan.
“Good choice, little sparrow,” he coos, smirking when he hears the tiny sigh leaving your lips after all.
“Lay down on your back,” he commands. “Pull your legs up and grab your ankles. And spread your legs wide. I want to see your wet pussy and those pretty tits.”
His deep voice brooks no contradiction. Not that it occurred to you to disagree. And you obey without a second's hesitation.
He corrects your posture with a steady hand before he arranges the restraints. Two wide leather straps, each with buckles and two smaller loops to lock your hands and ankles to your thighs.
Once you’re tied up, he puts a small pillow under your butt. And there you are. Your most sensitive parts exposed to him. Unable to do much more than squirm. Delivered defenseless.
“Just look at you,” he murmurs as his eyes greedily roam your form. “Such a gorgeous, tied-up package. Fuck! The things you make me want to do…”
Delivered defenseless. The thought, echoing in your mind, suddenly makes adrenaline rush through your veins, speeding up your breath and sending your heart racing. And Walter seems to notice the tiny change in your mood right away.
“Ssshhh, little sparrow,” he murmurs, putting his warm hand on your chest, right above your heart, running a finger along your collarbone. “Are you scared?”
You try to breathe more slowly as you feel inside yourself for a moment. Then, you determinedly shake your head.
“Just a bit nervous. It’s been a while since I’ve… played that game.”
“I'll only go as far as you want me to. Do you trust me?”
And this time, you don’t need a single second to think about your answer.
“I trust you, Walter,” you say softly. And like on command, you feel some of your tension slipping away, allowing yourself to sink deeper into the position.
He just manages to hide the thankful smile that’s about to creep on his face. But you see it in his eyes. And you feel it in the fervent kiss he presses on your lips, leaving you yearning for more.
When you stretch your neck, trying to inch closer, he withdraws his face.
“Nuh-huh,” he hums with a smirk, shaking his head.
He captures your chin in a firm grip, ghosting your mouth with his lips before he kisses his way down to your neck. His mouth dances over your skin, leaving a hickey right where the mark he had left last week had already begun to fade. Then, his index finger draws an invisible line from your chin along your throat down to the valley of your breasts, tantalizingly slow. And a breath catches in your throat as you longingly squirm under his touch.
His hands cup your breasts, his touch far from gentle and driven by sheer need. His hands knead your breasts as his thumbs draw firm circles around your nipples. When he flicks the pebbled buds, first with his fingers, then with his tongue, you can no longer stop the soft sounds from leaving your lips as he seems to set you alight.
Then, he captures your nipples between his thumbs and index fingers, applying increasing and delicious pressure, ending with a firm pinch before he lets go. His eyes are glued to your face as you whine, and your body writhes in his grip, your movements restricted by unyielding leather, reflexively trying to escape while everything in you screams for more.
His mouth soothes your sensitive flesh with gentle licks and sucks until he resumes his sweet torture again and until you’re almost certain you can’t take it any longer.
“Oh my god,” you whimper. “Please, I need….”
“What do you need, huh?”
“I need to feel your mouth on me.”
“Then you should better beg me for it, shouldn't you? And I want to hear you use your dirty words,” he demands, smirking.
Blazing heat rushes to your cheeks as you stare into his lust-blown pupils, struggling for words.
“Say it,” he snarls, almost making you wince.
You inhale deeply, gathering your courage. And then you say it.
“Please, fuck me with your tongue,” you breathe. “Please, Walter!”
“Good girl,” he purrs, settling down between your legs.
“Look at that pretty, dripping pussy,” he murmurs, taking in the sight of your throbbing core without touching you yet.
He gently runs his fingers along your slick nether lips, drawing languid, sensual circles around your slit, closer and closer to your opening, closer and closer to your clit.
Then he replaces his fingers with his tongue, warmer and slightly rougher than his finger.
“Fuck,” he groans, “you taste just as irresistible as you look.”
His beard rubs against your tender flesh, leaving a delicious tingle that fuels your desire even more. A prolonged moan falls from your lips as he licks a long stripe through your slit, closing his lips around your clit, sucking gently at the swollen nub.
“So, you want me to fuck you with my tongue, huh? Like… this?” he teases, slightly lapping at your opening.
“Oh my god, fuck,” you groan at the sensation and his words. And “oh my god,” is all you can say as his tongue glides in and out of your pussy, and he swirls his finger around your clit, until you teeter on the edge of your high.
But then, he withdraws from your heat, making you writhe and brace yourself against the restraints with a frustrated mewl.
“Aw, you wanted to cum?” he coos, “Too bad because you will only cum when I say so. And that time is not now. Now we’re going to do this again.”
And so it is. This time, tears brim your eyes and your panting breath ricochets off the walls when he stops his ministrations again, right before your orgasm washes over you.
“Almost there, my brave little sparrow,” he murmurs, gently blowing on your burning skin. Then, he gets up on his knees, lining himself up at your wet entrance. But he doesn’t fuck you yet. No. Instead, he drags his tip through your folds, watching you try in vain to buck your hips until you throw your head back with a sob. You didn’t even notice the tears trickling down your face until he gently runs a finger across your cheek.
“Tears, little sparrow?” he coos, licking the salty droplet off his finger. “Is that how bad you want me to fuck you?”
“Yes! Yes, please! Please, Walter!” you beg, sobbing.
“Tell me how bad you want me to fuck you!” he demands, panting, repeatedly slapping his cock against your clit.
“I’ve never wanted to be fucked so badly by anyone before,” you whisper. It's the plain truth. You know it the moment the words leave your lips. And you can tell he knows it, too, when he seems speechless for a moment.
“Fuck,” he groans as he sinks into you in one determined movement. “So wet and so tight! And only for me, huh?”
“Only for you!”
He grabs the leather straps around your thighs, pulling you closer, grinding against you as if he tries to get even deeper into your heat. Then, he pulls back and snaps his hips forward again, as a groan falls from his lips. You can tell how worked up he already is as he quickly builds a merciless rhythm. He moves your tied-up form on his cock in harmony with his thrusts, watching your willing pussy take him again and again and again, watching your breasts bounce with every stroke. He groans softly as his hand finds your nipples, giving each a few firm pinches that make you throw your head against the pillow with an unrestrained moan.
“Walter please,” you whimper, overwhelmed, “please let me cum.”
When he runs his hand to your clit, drawing firm circles, matching the rhythm of his vigorous thrusts and your racing heart, you feel your high approaching at breakneck speed.
“You may cum now, little sparrow,” he pants, “Open your eyes. Look at me!” His words are no longer a command but more of a plea, and you feel like burning to ashes as you come undone under his flaming gaze. Your walls flutter around his cock, making you moan and writhe helplessly, and that’s when he loses his composure. The aftershocks of your high still shake your body as he spills himself inside you, groaning and stammering your name like a mantra.
Goosebumps are still visible on his arms as he withdraws himself from your heat, watching his cock glide out of your pussy. He briefly brushes his thumb over your oversensitive clit, enough to make you writhe with a small mewl. And enough to make a bit of his cum drip from your swollen flesh. He scoops up the liquid on his index finger, shoving it back into your pussy. Then, he brings his finger to your mouth, tracing your lips, moistening them with your juices.
“Open your mouth,” he demands, his voice low and as soft as the expression in his eyes. You obediently close your lips around his digit, tasting his cum and yourself on your tongue as you suckle on his finger. You drink in his enraptured expression, and both of you gasp in unison at the sensation and the delicious filthiness of your doing.
Finally, he withdraws his finger, just to replace it with his mouth and a kiss so sensual and tender it makes the world stand still.
Afterwards, not many words are spoken. Because it's not necessary. And because none of you wants to destroy this fragile moment.
Instead, he holds you close.
He holds you close after he had untied you, pressing gentle kisses to your now unrestrained limbs, carefully inspecting your body for possible injuries and tension in your muscles.
He holds you close as he holds a bottle of water to your lips for you to drink and as he licks a droplet from the corner of your mouth.
He holds you close when you stand under the shower together, hot water pelting down on you. Now, he allows you to touch him, visibly enjoying the sensation of your hands lathering his body, letting you savor the sensation of warm skin, firm muscles, and wet hair underneath your fingers.
He holds you close as he rubs shower gel all over your body, languidly running his hands over the foam on your smooth skin, drawing little circles to loosen your tense muscles.
He holds you close when he wraps you in a big, fluffy towel, drying you up as you lean in his warm embrace.
He holds you close when he scoops you up in his arms to carry you to the bedroom.
And he holds you close when you lay down in bed, pulling the duvet over the two of you. Both of you close your eyes, exhausted. He scoots further down until his head rests against your chest, taking a few deep breaths as he rubs his cheek on your skin. Then, he grabs your ankle to sling your leg around his waist, pulling you even closer. He hums softly as his lips ghost your breasts, and your core presses against his belly. But this time, it's not about sex. It’s a very, very intimate hug, and it makes your heart feel like it’s about to burst.
You shudder slightly as you wrap your arms around him. Then, you bury your hand in his hair, tenderly playing with his damp curls as both of you drift to sleep.
"I will always hope that you’ll stay." Your words float in the air, anywhere between dream and reality, soft and light like a feather. And you're not even sure if you spoke those words or if you just thought them.
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