WORD COUNT: a whopping 6,278
WARNINGS: descriptive violence, blood, roughness, choking, rough spanking, daddy kink, oral (m & f) and generally just hot mitch rapp overall. nsfw smut.
iâm still rusty on writing smut and writing in general, since iâve been on a writing hiatus for quite a while. but after watching both trailers for american assassin and reading some awesomeness from @writing-obrienâ and @sincerelystilesâ it has brought me out of my hiatus-hole !! i hope you all enjoy this as much as i did writing it. ;-) big thanks for @thelittlestkitsuneâ for being the usual angel she is and helping me power through writing this. i also felt like i rushed the ending but :)))))). if you want a part two or anything, please please let me know !!
also, obv (y/n) = your name and (y/l/n) = your last name.
 Itâs not like you had given up, everything you had worked for has been temporarily stolen from you. All because you had done the one thing that is most discouraged in your line of work. You had made things personal for you.
 All of the hard work, the sweat, the energy. Constant time in the training room, constant gun training, constant sleepless nights. You are always so doused in anger, so energized with the desire of vengeance, it has made you into this cold, killer machine no one had the power to turn on and off. Your instructor, especially, has been at her wits end trying to make sure you keep your ass out of trouble, being busy with her own conflicts. Recently you had broken one of her recruitâs wrists during a wrestling match in the training room, and your instructor had snapped. And that is what led you to your environment right now, being driven towards some random home in the middle of absolute nowhere.
 The deep green and brown colors surrounding you did little to ease you, and with your instructor being the one driving, it annoyingly erased the chance of turning around. Youâre a soldier, an agent, an assassin; top of your classes, ruthless with a gun and merciless with its trigger. Not a child having to be driven to her babysitter because your agency canât handle the insatiable fire roaring inside you.
 âYou did this to yourself, (y/n).â Your instructorâs voice is stern, just how it always is, and you turn your head to look towards her, her own attention focused on the dirt-clad road ahead. âThe only reason youâre not kicked out is because of me convincing them to do this.â You squint your eyes with a small scowl across your face, crossing one leg over the other as your eyes bore into your own window to your right. You feel like youâre being treated like a child. But, you still said nothing. All that was brewing in your mind was how long you had to stay wherever your instructor is taking you.
 The rest of the drive, fortunately, is short and quiet.
 Once she turns the last corner, the home is revealed. It appears to be like any other house, despite being surrounding by thick trees and dirt. You feel like youâve been here before, but, you canât seem to place when. Maybe it was just your head playing deja-vu on you.
 Your instructor exits the car first, with you following suit patiently, lugging your bag from where your feet had been onto your back. You shut the door with your calf before meeting your instructor at the steps of the home, the heavy smell of earth entering your nose quickly. âWho lives here?â You mumble, and your instructor turns towards you as soon as the sound of a doorknob wiggling to unlock itself. Immediately, your attention is pointed towards the door, watching the face that reveals itself when the door finally opens. Itâs an older man, possibly in his mid-to-late 40s, but has a strong build and a seriously firm resting bitch face, looking towards your instructor. He looks like someone of big authority, however, so you made sure being polite was at high remembrance each time you saw this man.
 âThis is the one, Irene?â He asks, and you tilt your head at his rude tone of surprise. Your instructor, Irene, visibly nods and he looks at you up and down, as if analyzing you in disbelief. âIâm Hurley. From what I heard, and what Iâve read from your records, you need an attitude check.â Attitude check. Seriously. You bottle up any irritation from the belittling phrase and simply lift your chin.
 âYes, sir.â You speak monotonically, and Hurley scoffs. You grip onto your bagâs shoulder straps tighter and he moves to the side for you to step in, which you do. Once again, this looks just like any other, normal home. Framed pictures of family, the home is neat and organized, and there is even a clean smell of a candle somewhere in it.
 Irene and Hurley meet you on each of your sides before they step in front of you, wrapped up in their own small, private conversation clearly involving you at the hushed tone of voice they were using. âI know exactly what I need to do with you, (y/n).â Hurley speaks, and you gulp, but quickly brush off the sheepish gesture by rolling your shoulders and peering up at your, apparently, new instructor. âThereâs rooms upstairs. Pick one, get dressed and get ready in ten. Youâll have time to unpack later.â You lick over your lips and brush past Hurley, walking towards the set of stairs. And, this time, you can hear their conversation from a few feet.
 âYou know Iâm not going to have proper time for this, Irene. Theyâre already sending that other one you were talking to me about, with a case just like this one, and I have the rest of the Orion group Iâm training. Iâm not a babysitter.â Hurleyâs voice sounds evidently impatient, and as much as you want to listen more, you keep walking up the steps at a normal pace. Unfortunately, you are unable to listen to what your previous instructor has to say, something you wish had heard before your future.
 âBut youâre what she needs, Stan. Trust me, when those two meet, theyâll be something youâve never seen before. Put them with guns and theyâll definitely be something this agency hasnât ever experienced before. Trust me when I say this, Stan, Rapp and (y/l/n) will be unstoppable.â
 With white, hot anger coursing through your body, you, once again, take another leap at your competitor, your mind flashing with images of much more violent, but similar, events that have happened to you.
 â(y/l/n), what did I just say?â The frustrated voice speaks through your ear-piece as you slip into the room with ease. The sleek, form-fitting gown that is draped over your body brings moderate attention towards you, with your target being only three feet away. Scum is what your target is, being no different than all the rest of the bastards youâre trained on killing. âGet your ass back out to your team outside. Youâll cause too much commotion. Listen to me, dammit. (y/ln)-â You brush some fallen strands of hair behind your ear, slyly turning off your cleverly hidden ear-piece in the process as you make your way to your target with a sickly sweet smile.
 Grabbing onto your competitorâs arm, your legs have his way of escape blocked as you yank it behind his back, slithering one of your legs from your lock-hold to his back, where you knock his knees in, with you pushing down on his back till the side of his face hits the sweaty mat.
 Once the door is locked, your target immediately goes for the thin shoulder straps of your dress. All that is buzzing through your mind is that one day, that one day, where your normal life was snatched away from you. Hand snaking to your back to reach for the tucked-in holster behind your bra strap, you manage to get good grip on the handle of the knife before swinging it out and immediately going for the throat. And with the close proximity, you were able to brush the blade clean across the midsection of his throat, unable to drive it right through like you had wanted. The target curses, holding the sliced skin with one hand while the other reaches behind him, ready to pull out his gun. You kick him square in the chest with your heel instead, slamming him up the wall and handling your knife once more, lifting it ever-so accordingly to your differentiating heights as your targetâs blood splatters down your cheeks, neck and chest.
 âRelease!â The sudden order goes over your head as you hold your competitor down with your foot, watching as his tightly shut eyes and tense body try to move against your hold. âRelease (y/l/n)!â Once more, you numbly tilt your head to the side, bringing two hands to your competitorâs arm, the one pinned behind his back, getting a good opposing hold and gently lifting it from his back, grip tightening.
 The knife wedged in his throat, you reach for the gun he had recently tried to grab for, pulling it easily and cocking the pistol to ready the bullets in the small barrel. You point the barrel right between his eyes and pull the trigger, standing firm against the blast as his blood spews behind his head onto the silky white wallpaper. You pull the knife out of his throat with your free hand and dig the tip of it into the bullet-hole of his head, pulling the bullet out and smiling to see it drenched in hot, deep scarlet. Setting the gun in the same hand you have your knife in, you grab the bullet with numb fingers and stick it right between your targetâs lips and into his mouth, before letting him fall to the floor. Loading the gun once more with the knifeâs handle in-between your free fingers, you scowl down at the target and finally find it in yourself to turn your ear-piece back on with your free hand.
 âThe jobâs already done. Backup in ten, I can already hear more of them coming up the stairs.â
 You feel hands grab at you away from your competitor, hearing him gasp out in breath of relief as you blink rapidly. Hurley is the one holding you, but you quickly escape from his grasp and breathe heavily, looking at him with squinted eyes. âI told you to release. Youâve been here for a month and still canât follow a simple order.â You huff, turning around to face him and being slightly surprised to see a new scruffy face standing next to him, the honey-golden eyes staring intently into your own. âFucking unbelievable, (y/l/n). You need a leash? Or do I need to watch you train like the child you are?â Your mouth opens in frustration, ready to lash out at your instructor but finding last-minute control as you fall from your high.
 âNo, sir.â Hurley rolls his eyes and gestures his head towards what you guessed to be the newest recruit. You can see the defined muscles easily of the new recruit in his jacket and shirt, his dark brown, almost black, messy hair complimenting his sharp features. You lick over your lips and wait for the introduction of this new person, suddenly really finding interest in hearing his name. Or- last name- considering first nameâs are discouraged.
 Hurley folds his arms neatly across his chest. âGood. Because this is your new partner. Introduce yourselves, get acquainted, get friendly, because Iâm tired of you almost breaking bones in my training room.â And he turns away, ready to leave us alone. Partner? Oh hell fucking no.
 âSir, I donât need a partner. I donât need to be training with some newbie who probably references off of action movies for his own training.â Hurley snaps his head back with cold eyes, appearing stressed as all hell. âThis is not necessary.â
 âWell, good thing I didnât ask you.â And that is all it takes for you to shut your mouth after that, not looking forward to another month being added to your sentence for your back-talk. You sigh frustratedly and snap your head to your new âpartnerâ, his looks now completely thrown out your head. He looks annoyed with you already, probably from the small diss youâve already laid on him without even saying hello to him, but he drags his tongue along the skin inside his mouth below his bottom lips, the protruding bulge of it causing your eyes to follow its short path from right to left.
 Stretching your back some to pop some of the creaks you had, you peer up at him with a single eyebrow rose high-enough to show your sour attitude towards him. âRapp.â Is all he says for his own introduction. He doesnât hold out a hand or anything, which you didnât expect him to, and you place your hands on your hips, lifting your chin almost arrogantly.
 â(y/l/n).â You retort back. âI suggest you get your gear⊠or else youâd like to train with your head pinned against the floor as well.â And with that settled, you turn around and sway your hips in a confident, but heated, stride. What you didnât see is that his eyes raked your figure as you did so, but, that would be the least of the subtle things that would happen between you two. âRidiculous.â You whisper inaudibly underneath your breath.
 Partner, you spat in your head, partner my ass.
 There is nothing but heavy, gruff breaths between the two of you, the drive back to the place you have become more accustomed to less than pleasant. âYou just never listen to anyone but yourself, donât you?â His harsh words are meant to be harsh, but you find no offense in them because they are right. Still, youâre pissed off, and Mitch knows better than to edge you in when youâre pissed off. âYou had to jump on him. You had to ruin the game-plan because you canât control yourself.â
 You turn your body towards him in your seat, crossing your arms. âThatâs because Iâm not a pussy, Rapp. Something you and I donât have in common. You know Iâm famous for going my own way. They fucking deserve to rot and I donât wait for the right time to kill them when any given amount of free time is the right time.â Mitch tsks, one of the hands he had gripped on the steering wheel smacking against it.
 âBeing ignorant is not ânot being a pussyâ, (y/n). Youâre so desperate to get killed, why donât you just go running straight into their fire like your some Goddamn Wonder Woman? Out of everything you have taught me, Iâm just glad being a foolhardy idiot wasnât on the list because that is just something youâve learnt all on your own.â This time, something pangs into my chest at his rant, and I grip onto my seat, glaring directly onto the profile of his face, a sharp look of anger hitting my features. âWe donât have a lot of things in common, (y/n), but not being a pussy is not one of them. Just fucking- fucking- fuck!â The car suddenly goes to a stop, both of our bodies being yanked forwards. Mitch hits the wheel once more angrily, the veins popping out from the tops of his large hands and along his forearm easily.
 âWhat the fuck Mitch?â You sneer, and he turns his head towards you quickly, unbuckling himself.
 âItâs the damn car, bitch. Not my fault.â You chuckle with no humor in your voice, readjusting yourself in your seat. He yanks his door open and stands for a second, looking at the steam flowing out from the hood of the truck you two had borrowed from your agency for your guyâs mission - the same one you had apparently âalmost ruinedâ.
 Running a hand through your hair, your glare still remains firm on Mitch. âIt is your fault when your dumbass was so focused on arguing with me rather than your own driving-â Slam. He shuts his door on you before you can even finish, leaving you to slump back in your own seat and growl beneath your breath. âSuch a cunt.â It seems like he can hear you through the thin glass as well because next thing you know heâs throwing a middle finger towards your way, and you roll your eyes. Fortunately, with the sky quickly darkening and the urgent task at hand he was busying himself with, Mitch couldnât see the fact that youâre flipping him off back with both hands. And for a while, when your middle fingers curl back into your fists, youâre left to sit there while your grumpy partner tries to fix your only way of transportation back to the house.
 However, the short time period of silence left you to sit in your head for a while, which is something you usually either avoid doing or never had the time to. Your thoughts often open too many wounds for you to handle, but, your phone is dead and the one person you actually enjoyed talking to, believe it or not, is being an asshole by himself outside and doesnât want to hear another word you say. Normally what clogs up your head is what if the attack hadnât happened. Youâd still be together with your boyfriend, youâd be more focused on your writing instead of guns, youâd be⊠whole. Not what you are now. Incomplete, still picking up the pieces of yourself, forever cracked. Youâre sure your mentality will never be the same. Beforehand, you found yourself to be discomforted by the idea of guns. Now, you feel most safe and content with one loaded in your hand. If the incident hadnât happened, you wouldâve been a good person. Sweet, kind, like you used to be. You used to be sympathetic, a gentle breeze that people always welcomed.
 But thatâs not what you are anymore.
 You gulp and wipe at your face, before shaking your head and gripping the door handle to open it, the sounds and smells of the night filling your senses. You slam your door shut and maneuver to where Mitch is, ignoring the short cold glare he spikes towards you. âHaving fun?â He doesnât answer. âWhat, cat got your tongue? Normally Mitchie is one for comebacks. Something only I have been able to bring fully out of you.â Though that last part is slightly bleak in truth, it seemed completely true and honest to you. Originally, you had thought Mitch to be a kiss-ass. An arrogant kiss-ass that the agency still favors over you because he knows how to listen and you donât. Most people call that jealousy, you call it bullshit. âYouâre so handy with guns, but you canât handle a few nuts and bolts.â At this point, heâs still not amusing you with a retort back, so you turn your back to leave him, finding more enjoyment playing with the dirt if playing with his anger wasnât getting you anywhere.
 âOh my God, can you just shut the fuck up.â Instantly, your head snaps his direction, stopping mid-step to face the red-faced man yourself. Your eyebrows crinkle together, with your lips slightly tilted downwards and eyes squinted to exhibit your anger at his spat towards you. He stands in front of you, staring directly at you with his darkened eyes, fists tightly balled on each of his sides, skin glistening with sweat from all the steam from the hood hitting him and the humidity of the night from the woods surrounding you two. You act fast in your irritation, placing both hands flat on his hard chest and pushing threateningly.
 âMake me.â Your words are sharp and clear, but you are still unable to catch the smirk on his face. You move to push him again at his delayed response, but, he catches both of the small of your wrists, yanking you towards him till your chest hits his own. His nose bumps yours in the sudden movement, and he speaks before you can retaliate.
 His breath his hot against your face, the air between you and him thickening rather quicker than you wouldâve ever expected. âOh, trust me, babygirl.â He leans towards your ear, a shiver being coaxed out of your body from his breaths tickling the quickly sensitizing skin. âI will.â This is not a side you have seen Mitch show at all, and it leaves you, for once in your life, in shock. This new attitude heâs showing you and is about to show you knocks you clean off the pedestal you had spent months building. And judging from the smirk still on his lips, he likes it.
 His movements are fast, still gripping onto your wrists and using his torso to help push you backwards. For a split second, he releases one of them and diverts his line of sight off of you, but only to slam your waist against the side of the hood of the car. You had expected a sneer, a glare, a cold insult. Not this. Not any of this. You still arenât sure how to react, you had never felt intimidated before. And as soon as that thought hits you, you feel another scowl hitting your lips. Youâre a counter-terrorist operative, you arenât some damn damsel who obeys when someone like Mitch, someone who you have never been scared of, suddenly decides to go into this random ass alpha-mode. You suddenly jolt forward, attempting to push out of his grip, but you are yet again surprised with the amount of strength his pushes back with, keeping you firm in place. Slowly, his head turns back towards you. âIâm so fucking sick and tired of your Goddamn attitude.â
 Before you know it, youâre spun around, front facing the side of the hood of the truck. But Mitch doesnât stop there, he uses his free hand to harshly push your front flat onto the metal, the side of your face hitting the hood. A tiny moan slips from your lips, the roughness making things in you squirm that you never knew had been there. He notices the sound as soon as it leaves your lips. âYouâve never listened to anyone in your fucking life, but thatâs not how things are going to work tonight. You listen to me, understand?â You canât find it in yourself to answer right away, too caught up in the heat of the moment. You hear a low growl rumble behind you, and you feel him push against you even harder. âSay you do.â
 âShow some fucking respect.â You had never called anyone mâam or sir unless it was someone you considered of high authority. For Mitch, it had always been dumbass, cunt, Mitchie, because he never questioned what you called him, just for the fact that you pretty much treat everyone you didnât like, which was a lot, like shit. Mitch mustâve just felt lucky you even acknowledged him enough to call him out. But, not tonight; tonight is full of surprises. The heat starting to pool between your legs being one of them.
 âI understand, sir.â He hums what you assume to be a dark laugh, and you seem to find relief in him being pleased with you. But, instead, he drags his free hand up your back and into your hair, wounding it around his fist.
 Pulling your head back, he leans his face forward, this time planting small kisses and bites below your ear. âThatâs not good enough.â He pushes his hips forward into your ass, giving you the opportunity to feel the slowly growing erection pressed against you.
 âI understandâŠâ He pauses his actions, seemingly anticipating for the next word that is about to leave your mouth. âDaddy.â Shivers, once more, attack your spine, now truly comprehending the situation youâre about to go head-on into. Part of you suspected heâd be into that kind of thing, but you, of course, wouldâve never believed you would be able to experience the answer of your inquiries first-hand. He slips his hand out from your hair, and you sigh in slight sadness, enjoying the slight burn in your scalp it brought. Despite of how much dominance heâs already exhibited to you, thereâs still that fire inside you. The one telling you to take charge back. Hell, if you two are going to get into this, you feel as if you might as well make it worth it. You didnât want Mitch to think youâre easily submissive. You move against him once more, and this time you succeed to slither out of his hold. You grab his face to yank his lips down to yours, crashing into it with teeth and tongue. He growls into your mouth, firmly grasping the back of your thighs and lifting you off your feet, wrapping your thighs around his hips.
 You huff a breath of frustration through your nose, before all the air is knocked out from your lungs as he roughly brings your back down onto the side of the hood of the truck. âDisobey me like that again and expect much more. Now, scoot up some and open your legs more for me. Donât grab onto anything; the only thing youâll be grabbing onto is my hair when I get hands on you properly.â A shaky moan leaves your lips. Despite all the things in your head to do otherwise, you finally oblige to his orders entirely, which makes him hum another chuckle. âThatâs what I thought.â You sit up on the car-hood, the slightly curved surface causing you to fear that you might slip. But Mitchâs firm hands tell you otherwise as he skillfully unbuttons your jeans and yanks them off in record time. With his eyes on your black thong you had chosen to wear, dropping your jeans on the dirt road next to his feet.
 And, just as he had told you, your hands found a home buried in his hair as soon as he crouched down, his hot breath fanning across your covered core. Leaning in even more, he licks a long stripe from your entrance to your clit, tongue massaging into the wet spot that had formed on your thong at the top. Your back lifts instinctively up on the hood, the spike of pleasure it brings you from just that singular movement blowing your mind in all directions. He hums in appreciation, sending vibrations to your core. âLay back, babygirl.â He tells you, and you stay still, feeling frozen. He then moves you for you, placing the palm of his hand flat on your stomach and pressing down. Your thighs tense against the sides of his head, his wild and long hairs tickling the insides of your thighs. The new position causes your hands to pull from his hair, leaving them to brace themselves atop the hood of the car. He looks up to you, making sure youâre watching him, before leaning up slightly so his teeth can snag the top of the material of your thong. A single eyebrow is risen on his face as he pulls the thong downward, one hand still on your stomach while the other is gripping one of your hips.
 Once he successfully brings your thong down to your ankles, he lets that, too, fall to the ground, baring you entirely. He is too engulfed with his own desires that he leaves your top and bra on, and dives right in, pressing multiple open kisses against your clit. âYou donât know how much Iâve wanted to do this these past few weeks.â He mumbles, and you barely comprehend what heâs saying. âTo bury my head in-between your legs, to be the one that makes you squirm and shake. Because I am the only one that can ever make you feel this way.â He kisses against you the way he would kiss your mouth, occasionally dipping his tongue and his lips brushing against your bundle of nerves. You inhale a sharp breath through your nose as he brings one of his hands down to you, the tips of his fingers gently tracing the edges of your entrance.
 âOh, DaddyâŠâ You breathe, fingers curling into the metal of the car.
 âThatâs it, babygirl.â Mitch sighs against your clit, slipping a finger inside you and starting to pump. His pumps are in-sync with your sighs and moans, never once stopping, and he works his mouth against you, transferring from one technique to the next. From sucking against you to drawing shapes and impossible to decipher phrases onto your clit, letter by letter. His pumps start to become more rapid, which makes you feel utterly boneless, the hand that is not working inside you still holding you down. He adds another finger into the mix, twisting and turning his wrist to try out new angles, all while keeping his erratic pace. Your moans become more volumized and heavier as you reach your edge, leaning closer and closer over it as his movements only quicken. He curls his fingers as he buries them to the hilt inside you, his mouth moving back to pressing small kisses against your heat. âCome.â He demands, pushing a third finger in you, stretching you deliciously, and bringing them out only to slam them back in.
 Itâs like your body is under his command because as soon as he curls his fingers once more, your orgasm rolls over you in waves. He doesnât stop his fingers, but instead moves his face up to yours, slamming his lips atop of yours as his tongue explores every corner of your mouth, his teeth nibbling down on your bottom lip every now and then. You moan breathlessly into his mouth, which makes him only chuckle hoarsely in response, scissoring his fingers to reach newer places inside you. Your body is still shaking from the orgasm as he only built you up for a second one, milking every bit of you out onto his fingers. âI-I canât, Daddy.â You whimper, breaking your kiss with him.
 âYes you can.â He speaks firmly, his fingers reaching an unbelievable pace as he continuously slams his fingers inside you, all the while until his thumb reaches up to your clit, rubbing in a circular motion vigorously. âCome on babygirl, let go.â It takes a few seconds longer, but, you find yourself reaching another high and crashing down from it, coming all over his fingers once more. Slowly, he slips his fingers from you and wraps his lips around two of them, sucking graciously. He lifts the third finger up to your lips, the smirk returning to his features. âTaste yourself for me.â Mitch says, and you obey, allowing him to push his finger past your lips. He only growls in response to the feeling, pulling his finger from your mouth and pulling you to your feet.
 His hands are feisty and needy, clawing at any clothing you still had on. He lifts your shirt over your head and unclips your bra, while also stripping himself of his shirt, jeans and shoes. Fortunately, the ground is dry, so both Mitchâs and your clothes wonât be ruined.
 âGet on your knees.â He orders, already pushing down on your shoulders as he stares darkly down onto you, a slight tilt in his head - a motion only you had become famous for. You can only oblige, blinking numerously as your shaking hands move to the elastic of his boxers. Now, this is your chance. Your own smirk finds your face as you look up to meet his eyes as one of your hands move over to palm over his completely hardened erection, wrapping your fingers around the covered cock you had, secretly, wondered about. But, from the bulge straining against his boxers, you can tell he was bigger than you had thought. He sneers at you and tangles his hands in your hair, creating two fists. âYou better get that mouth to work babygirl, before I do it for you. You arenât allowed to tease me.â You donât listen to his warning and continue your actions, planting gentle kisses against his hard-on.
 Mitch doesnât tolerate it for another second, gripping onto your hair even tighter and bringing his hips closer to you, giving you a clear message that he meant business. You obey, tugging down his boxers enough to where his erection springs free. Mitch moans at the feeling of being unconfined, and your eyes widen at the size of him. You remember his words, but you toss them away for a handful of seconds, slowly sliding your tongue along the underside of his cock, right till the tip, where you kiss it once. You feel him shiver as you take just the head of his cock into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tip and sucking in your cheeks, all while holding eye-contact with him. His own are shut for a split second, until he snaps them open, and you can see the darkened color of them.
 âWhat did I tell you?â He seethes, pushing your head further down on his length till his tip is brushing against the back of your throat. He even cants his hips forward, and his mouth hangs open as a empty moan flows right out through it. âYour mouth is only for my cock, got it?â You donât say anything in response, but rather suck him hard as you bring your lips slowly up his cock. He licks his lips, already pushing you back down, right until itâs his hips doing most of the work. You still remember to use your tongue and even lightly brush your teeth against his cock each time he slips it out from your mouth, starting a punishing rhythm with his hips until it becomes increasingly erratic. âOh, babygirl,â He moans, âthat pretty little mouth wrapped around my cock feels so good.â You simply continue on with your own actions, wanting to bring him to his own orgasm just as well as he brought you to yours.
 When he does, he pushes you down on his cock further than before, your nose buried in the hairs of his happy-trail, with his warm seed hitting the back of your throat. âCâmon babygirl, take it all like a good girl.â Mitch speaks, and you do as said, your own wishes of dominance diminishing by the second. For the first time since the incident, someone has put you in your place. You had no desires to disobey.
 You pull from his cock, a string of saliva following afterwards. He heaves for a split second, trying to recollect himself, and does it efficiently, already yanking you back up to your feet and turning you around. âThereâs no time for me to be teasing you, no time at all. All I want to do is just fuck you.â He sighs, pushing your front flat back onto the side of the hood on the truck, kicking your legs apart till he thought it was good enough space for him. âIâm gonna fuck you so hard, so good, you wonât be walking straight for weeks.â He promises, and you believe him. One thing he hasnât made you do yet is beg, but, he knows that even with the state you are at right now, begging is what you will never do. With a gun to your head, or on the highest peak of pleasure, you donât beg. âNow, scream my name.â
 He rams inside you, not allowing you to adjust. He starts a quick, punishing pace, hands gripping on your hips roughly. Youâre assured there will be bruises in replacement of his fingertips, but, youâre loving every second of this. âNext time you decide to not listen to me,â He starts, leaning in to suck hickeys onto your neck, one after the other, âyou remember me fucking you like this.â Mitch sinks his teeth into the hot skin of the crook of your neck, and you let out the loudest moan you have this entire time. His pace never quivers, and it remains hard and fast, his hips snapping against your ass mercilessly. His name leaves your lips like a prayer. A sudden slap causes you to jolt forward, followed by two more, blood rushing to your ass cheeks as his hands continue to take turns slapping your ass till the skin is as red as a cherry, maybe even till purple spots started to show. âCome babygirl. Come for me.â He huffs, a hand reaching around to cup your neck, squeezing firmly but not inflicting too much pain. His hips start to lose formation, now ramming into you sloppily, his tongue still working over your neck. And with a final thrust and slap against your ass, you come undone, and he does too soon after, pulling out and tugging rapidly over his cock till white spurts of his release paints your lower back.
 Youâre both out of breath and out of energy, and he presses a hand on the car next to you, pulling himself together. âHoly fucking shit.â He says, beneath his breath, and you nod slightly, body trembling from the intensities it just endured. Mitch laughs tiredly, picking up his clothes and redressing himself, and soon helping you as well. His hands massage over the covered sore flesh of your ass, humming against your neck as he brings his lips back up to yours once more, this time more gently than before.
 âYou still gonna fix the car?â
 âYou know, after everything we just did, you still always go back to the same you.â Mitch retorts, removing himself from you and moving back to the hood of the truck, popping it open and sighing at the little progress he has made.
 âRidiculous.â You mumble beneath your breath, a smile making its way onto your lips as you re-enter the car, waiting for Mitch to fix the truck and for the new changes about to come your way into your life. Maybe it was time to be a little nicer, a little more obedient. You shake your head as you peer back up at Mitch, still smiling. Never.
