༉‧₊˚.˚Summary: your boyfriend, Spencer reid, has you sexually frustrated from all of his nerdy antics.
✧.*WC: 2k
⊹܀˙CW: Smut, Fluff, reader is so down bad for Spencer (aren’t we all), Spencer wants her just as bad. Breeding!kink (whoops how'd that get there), oral (f-receiving), P in V, drool, afab reader desc, pet names like good girl, sweetheart i think, sweet girl, pretty.
♪‧₊˚A/N: hi all im still gonna write the pain!kink Injured!spencer fic i wrote about in the poll dont think i forgot LMFAOAO heres something to hold you guys off for rn
Your sex drive was average to none before you met Spencer. Your friends would often poke fun at your prudish attitude towards the opposite sex and you’re aversion to putting yourself out there. But the day that you met Spencer Reid when bumbling through a small bookshop on mainstreet and crashing into him (Spilling you’re iced matcha all over him and his newly purchased book) you’ve been obsessed. Not because he’s just such a pretty man, but because of his mind.
You love to hear him talk. Like this one time, he was ranting about how Scott Fitzgerald plagiarized his wife’s writing and how she gets absolutely none of the praise and then you proceed to spend the next ten minutes kneeled in between his legs, giving him the sloppiest, drooliest, head ever.
Or another time when he started talking to you about how Paradise Lost should’ve been written in Latin because its noun cases would better support the structural order that Milton attempted to impose when you guys went for a walk in the park and then you guys steamed up the windows of your vintage ford mustang as he gave you the dicking of a lifetime.
Its so strange to you because in your previous relationships you were never the one to initiate sex. But with Spencer, it’s like an instinct. Yesterday he was rambling to you and usually you’re very attentive to what he has to say but all you’d heard was “blah blah blah lexicon blah blah.” and then out of nowhere he's moaning your name and you’re riding him??? So weird? Like you did you just materialize onto his lap????
This evening is no different. You guys are watching Doctor Who in bed, your head lying on his chest as it rises and falls. The light from the television screen reflects on the slope of his nose and his cheeks. His soft brown eyes are so focused on the TV screen and you need him so so so badly. You need to get your mind off of cracking him… just for a second. You could barely walk today from last night, you need to pump the brakes.
“What’d you do today?”
“We didn’t have a case so the team spent today at the office catching up on paper work,” He smiles down at you. His hand finds the flushed skin below your shirt at your waist. “I went out to get lunch for the team at that bakery you like down the street—I uh actually…—got you a danish from there today for later. It's in the kitchen.” You plant a quick kiss on his lips. Your poor, sweet boyfriend. Sometimes you’re worried that you’re going to break him in half someday because you two go at it so much. You know that he loves to be intimate, especially with you and that your need for him can’t be one sided because he initiates sex a lot too but dammit you can’t help but feel like such a pervert around him all the time.
“Thank you,” You say, exhaling. “What else did you do today?”
“On my way back I played chess in the park with three different people at the same time. It was pretty was fun”
You crawl on top of him, perching yourself in his lap before kissing him slowly as you roll your hips down onto him.
“Yeah?” You exhale, your hands softly running up and down his chest. “Did you win?”
His hands find your waist, and then grope the plush of your ass through your short shorts as he cymbals from the friction against his dick. “I always win.”
You leave a dozen of sloppy kisses trailing down his neck, leaving him whiny and helplessly running his hands over the flesh of your hips.
“Y/n” he says, breathily.
Your head perks up from his neck and you redirect your focus back to his face. “Mhm?” You begin peppering his face with kissing, starting at his cheek.
“Do you get um… aroused whenever I talk about the stuff that I like?”
“I get aroused whenever you talk, period.”
“But specifically, you initiate sex with me the most whenever I'm rambling about the latest book that I’ve re-read or whatever degree that I’m considering on getting next or— my point is.” He sighs, “Do you only initiate sex with me to get me to stop talking? I know that I can ramble on and on but-”
“Spence no, I’d never.” You reassure him, hand cradling his face as he looks up at you, expressioned vulnerable and pleading for you to convince him that you’re being honest. How dare he even think about that. “I love hearing you talk and I think that everything that you have to say is interesting. It’s just— I don't know how to explain it…it kind of just heightens my attraction to you. Its like a catalyst almost.”
“Really?” He asks, unsure.
“Yes, really.” you say, genuinely. He leans forward to meet capture your lips in a kiss. His hands move to your tits, his thumbs immediately finding your nipples and rubbing them through the thin cloth of your camisole. You whine as your back arches from the sudden stimulation goes straight to your core.
“God, Y/N you’re going to be the death of me.” he says before he flips you over onto your back.
“Can I take these off, angel?” He whispers, pressing a kiss to your jaw as his fingers find the waistband of your shorts.
“Yes.” you breath out.
He pulls your shorts down and discards them to the side of the bed. You weren’t wearing panties. He sighed at the sight of you glistening with anticipation.
“So wet” he says to himself as he hooks your legs over his shoulders.
He presses a sloppy opened mouth kiss onto your clit before slight opening his mouth and letting a string of drool drip down your cunt, leaving you whining. He flattens his tongue against your opening and licks a fat stripe up your pussy.
“Spencer, please.” You beg, your brain already short circuiting from the stimulation.
He begins lapping at you, each purposeful stroke of his tongue slick with desperation. He groans as your hands find his hair and you buck your hips towards his face when he comes up for air. He re-buries his face in between your legs, hands now gripping and massaging your ass as you clench around nothing. Just as your orgasm is approaching, he plunges his index and middle finger into your soaked core. He sucks harshly on your clit, as his long slender finger his that perfect spot inside of you and you cry out as you come around him. He emerges from in between your legs and plants a kiss onto your lips, the heady taste of yourself still lingering on his tongue.
“Need you. Take this off.” You slur, pawing at his shirt. He obliges, removing his star trek shirt and freeing himself from his boxers. Shaft is flushed and translucent, pearly beads of precum leaked from the head. He spit on his hand and pumped his cock a few times as you took off your cami.
Spencer leans over your, slapping your clit with his tip whilst looking into your eyes. “Is this what you wanted, pretty? For me to stretch your out and fuck you into the materess?”
You whimpered and nodded, desperate for him to enter you.
“Say it.”
“I need you to fuck me.” you say, shakily.
“No, angel, say exactly what I said.”
You flush, this is so embarrassing. “I want you to stretch me out and for your to fuck me into the matress.” You say, lowly.
He pushes into you slowly as he splits you in half on his cock,
“Good.” He groans. He pulls all the way out of you and then pushes in so far the his tip kisses your cervix, your cry out in pleasure. He starts to fuck you slowly, both hands pressed into the mattress but holding yours at each sides of your head.
“Is that better, sweet girl?” he coos as you clench around him.
“Yes” You sputter, your mind only focused on how dizzyingly good his cock feels driving into you. His lips slam into yours, the lewd sound of your pussy squelching around his cock only making you wetter. You can’t even kiss him properly because you’re so busy whimpering.
“Y/n—” he moans “Legs. Give me.” He says, as you spread them further apart and position them within his grasp. He swiftly pushes your thighs to your chest, folding you in half and positioning you into the perfect mating press. You moan as his cock drives even deeper inside of you as you tighten around him. It’s like your walls are moulding to the shape of him.
“So deep,” You whine. The head of his cock pounds into that spongey part inside you that makes your eyes roll into the back of your head and your legs shake uncontrollably. You gasp his name before you clench around him.
“I know baby,” he kisses you on the lips with slow procession “Feels really good, yeah?”
“Mhm,” you hiccup as you wrap your legs around his waist. His eyes narrow at you
“Tell me what you want honey.”
“Want you to fill me up. Please Spence? Just once—it’ll feel ‘s good.” You babble. He groans.
“You want me to breed you, baby?” he can barely get the words out, moaning at the thought. “Oh fuck d’you wan’ me to make you a mommy? I’d take such good care of us. Suuuuch good care of you.” He groans, voice crackling.
His dick plunges in and out of you at a relentless place.
Your jaw drops and your brows furrow, feeling a know in your stomach that you’ve only felt once or twice before. Its hot and tense in the pit of your stomach.
“You okay, baby?” Spencer asks, grabbing your face by the cheeks with one hand to force you to look at him.
“Mhm,” you inhale sharply, “‘m so close–Oh’pence–” you’re legs tremor before your back is arched off the bed and you’re writhing in ecstasy as Spencer fucks you through your orgasm. You can’t stop it when it comes, gushes of your essence from your cunt paints both of your thighs and completely soaks his maroon sheets. A pale, creamy ring collecting at the base of his cock.
You feel weightless and blurry afterwards. “God I’m close” he whimpers. “Gonna—mm—fill you up so good just like I promised…I’m so lucky I got such a pretty slut— that begs me to…to…this is so risky.”
“Iloveyou s’much” You slurred, delirious from overstimulation. “I’d let you do anything you wanted to me.” Spencer kisses you sloppily before grabbing your face in one hand and turning it away from him to grant him access to your neck. He flattens his tongue against your hot, flushed skin, and licks a stripe from the middle of your neck to your temple.
It's so wet and warm. The feeling of his tongue against your neck. Your face. He hums contently, I guess you must’ve tasted good. He then cradles the back of your head in his hand, tilting you up so your can watch him fuck you and look at the sticky mess you’ve made all over his thighs. All over his bed. He’s only looking at you, gaze half lidded and chest heaving. When he removes his hand from the back of your head, your arms find his back.
That look in his eye paired with the sound of his heavy balls against your ass, his ragged breath, and the sweet aroma of his woodsy cologne is just way too much at the same time. Your whines turn into wanton, whorish, moans that definitely penetrate the thin walls of your apartment.
“Goood Girl get loud for me—sound so pretty.” He groaned, his voice getting higher on the last word. “Oh fuck—Let me feel you honey. I’m close.”
Your nails scratch down his back as you practically scream, coming around him again. Spencer whines as he buries his head into the crook of your neck, “Take it” he mumbles into your skin before hot ropes of his come flood your pussy.
Spencers collapses gently onto you, his weight a comforting press. He kisses your forehead, then your lips softly, murmuring, “You okay?”
You nod, slightly clenching around him at the sound of his voice which earns a hiss from him. You suppress a laugh. Literally all he did was speak and you're like putty in his hands again. Maybe you are a pervert.
“What's funny? Hm?” He says breathlessly, without seeing him, you can hear the smile in his voice.
You shake your head “Nothing.”
His hand finds your jaw and presses a kiss into your cheek. “We gotta clean you up.” He brushes a piece of hair glued to your forehead with sweat away from your face.
“Me?” You say “Look at you. I’m practically dripping down your legs.” You laugh.
He kisses you. “I guess there is one solution. We could” kiss “ take a shower–” He said.
“Together?” You rasp, unable to hide the eagerness in your voice.
Rewatching CME ahead of the new season and my GOD leaning into the bromance between these two might be one of the best things Evolution has done. MORE in s19 please.
Warnings: afab reader, age gap, intern!reader, Rafael Barba x Sonny Carisi x reader, threesome, power imbalance, mentor kink, authority kink, dirty talk, spit, facefucking, rough sex, vaginal sex, oral (m receiving), spanking, hair pulling, degradation, praise, dom/sub dynamics, no aftercare, boss/employee relationship, reader used as a teaching tool
a/n: Day 15 of Kinktober 👩⚖️✨ okay listen… Barba locking the chamber doors and deciding to give both you and Sonny a “lesson” was just too good to pass up. I had way too much fun writing smug, sassy Barba taking full control and dragging Sonny (new ADA baby, awkward but so eager) along for the ride. Reader’s just stuck in the middle of this authority-power trip, and honestly? She’s not complaining. This one’s definitely heavier on the mentor/authority kink side and it got long because Barba doesn’t do anything halfway.
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The hum of fluorescent lights has long since become a background ache in your skull, the kind of sound that only late nights in the DA’s office seem to produce. Case files are spread across the oak desk in uneven stacks, sticky notes and red pen scrawls like battle wounds across their pages. You rub your eyes, blinking at the tiny print, when ADA Rafael Barba’s voice cuts clean through the silence of the bullpen.
“Still with us, Cariño?” His tone is lazy, but there’s a blade behind it. He leans back in his leather chair, waistcoat open, tie loosened. Even at this la late hour looks composed, like exhaustion is something that happens to other men.
“Yes, Mr. Barba,” you answer quickly, straightening in your chair. An intern’s reflex; never let them see you slouch.
A smirk ghosts over his mouth as he sets his pen down. “Good. I hate wasting my time on interns who wilt after sundown.”
The sting of his words makes you swallow. Before you can respond, there’s a knock at Barba’s half-open office door. ADA Dominick Carisi Jr. pokes his head in, hair mussed, sleeves rolled up, his tie hanging limp like it gave up hours ago.
“Barba,” Sonny says, voice carrying that easy Staten Island roughness. “You still here? Thought maybe you’d headed home already.”
Barba tilts his head, eyes narrowing with something that isn’t quite annoyance. “Unlike you, Fordham Law, I don’t believe in leaving things half-finished. Come in. Close the door. You too, Cariño.”
Both you and Sonny hesitate, but the tone of Rafael’s voice left no room for anything other than obedience. Rafael notices your small shift in posture, the way your pen stutters in your grip. His gaze sharpens, the way it always does in court when he smells blood. “Relax,” he drawls, though the command lands like anything but comfort. “You’ll learn faster if you do.”
You rise from your desk and make the few short steps across the bullpen into Rafael’s office. The heavy click of the lock behind you is louder than it should be. You feel it like a gavel dropping, final, echoing.
“Take a seat, Cariño.” Rafael motions towards the empty chair in front of his desk. You sit without hesitation.
Sonny lingers by the wall, awkward in his own skin, clearly wondering why he’s been dragged into this after-hours scene. Rafael pushes back his chair and stands, circling slowly around the desk until he’s behind you. You can feel the weight of him there; the warmth of his body, the scrape of leather soles against hardwood.
“Two fledglings,” he muses under his breath, almost to himself, almost like he’s savouring the thought. “One barely out of the nest.” His eyes flick toward Sonny, who bristles. “The other still soft enough to mould.” His hand settles on the back of your chair, right at your shoulder, his thumb brushing fabric like an afterthought.
“Rafa…” Sonny starts, but Barba’s head snaps toward him, one brow lifted.
“Barba,” Barba corrects, voice smooth, dangerous. “You’ll address me properly, night school. Especially if you expect to learn anything in these chambers.”
There’s something about the way he says chambers that makes your pulse stutter, a double meaning wrapped tight in velvet. Sonny’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, trying to mask nerves with a crooked smile.
“Right. Barba,” he says. His hands flex uselessly at his sides.
Barba smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He leans forward, his lips so close to your ear that you swear his words sink straight into your skin.
“Pay attention, both of you. Consider this… a different sort of mentorship.”
The last syllable is still warm against your ear when Rafael straightens, his palm sliding from the back of your chair to your shoulder. The pressure is light but commanding, coaxing you up out of your seat before you realise you’ve obeyed.
Your knees brush the edge of his desk. His hand stays planted, steadying you there, while his other hand flips a folder shut with an almost bored flick. The sound of paper snapping closed rings sharper than it should in the charged quiet.
Sonny clears his throat from across the room. “I’m not sure I follow what kind of… uh… mentorship we’re talkin’ about here.”
Barba smirks, that small, lethal thing. “That’s exactly the problem, Carisi. You never follow fast enough. Which is why you’ll be observing closely tonight.” He glances back to you, gaze lingering, unapologetic. “And participating when I say so.”
Your pulse races. Rafael’s fingers trail down from your shoulder, brushing over the thin fabric of your blouse until they hover just above the curve of your elbow. It’s maddeningly controlled, a slow test. He tilts his head toward Sonny.
“Come here.”
Sonny hesitates only a second before he pushes off from the wall, moving forward like a man walking into deep water. His broad frame looks awkward beside Rafael’s sharp elegance, but his eyes, those bright, restless blues, can’t seem to leave you.
Rafael notices. He always notices.
“Closer,” Barba instructs, voice silk over steel. He nudges you a step sideways with his hand until your hip brushes Sonny’s thigh. “There. That’s better. Now you can both pay attention.”
The air between the three of you feels heavy, humming, like static before a storm. Rafael adjusts his cufflinks with deliberate care, the movement calculated, theatrical.
“Lesson one,” he says, his gaze darting between you and Sonny, “is presence. Command. You don’t stumble through it. You take it.”
Then, without warning, Rafael’s hand cups your jaw, tilting your face toward his. The kiss is firm, claiming, with a slow slide of his tongue that leaves no room for misinterpretation. You can taste scotch and mint on him, and the faint scrape of stubble as he tilts deeper.
When he pulls back, your breath is caught somewhere in your throat. Rafael doesn’t give you time to find it again. He turns your head toward Sonny, keeping his hand at your chin like you’re a piece of evidence being presented to the jury.
“Now you,” he orders softly.
Sonny’s eyes widen. “Me? Rafael, I…”
“Do you need a court order?” Barba cuts him off. “Show me you can follow directions.”
You can feel Sonny’s uncertainty like heat against your skin, but then he leans in, awkward at first, lips brushing yours with a hesitation that makes Rafael click his tongue in irritation. Rafael’s hand doesn’t let you pull back; he holds you there, pressed between his command and Sonny’s attempt.
When Sonny finally deepens it, nervous but eager, Rafael’s hand shifts, palm flattening at the back of your neck, keeping both of you exactly where he wants you. His laugh, low and mocking, curls hot at your ear.
“Better. But God, Carisi, do try to keep up.”
Rafael’s words linger, sharp as glass, while Sonny pulls back just enough to look at him. His face is flushed, pupils blown, his jaw working like he’s biting down on a hundred comebacks he doesn’t dare say aloud.
Barba releases your chin only to slide his hand lower, fingers tracing the hollow of your throat. He presses lightly, just enough to make you swallow. The weight of his palm is a claim, casual and devastating.
“This,” Rafael says, voice low and deliberate, “is how you hold someone’s attention.”
His thumb strokes back up the side of your neck as his other hand skims down your waist. He takes his time with it, mapping every inch through your blouse until his fingers find the waistband of your skirt. He tugs, not enough to undo it, just enough to make the fabric bite against your hips.
You exhale, shaky, and he hums in satisfaction. “See, Carisi? No hesitation. She’s already listening to me without a word.”
Sonny shifts, hands flexing like he doesn’t know what to do with them. “Yeah, well, maybe that’s ‘cause you’re you, Barba,” he mutters, though his eyes never leave the path of Rafael’s hand.
Rafael smirks, cruel and amused. “Excuses already? You disappoint me, night school.” He huffs impatiently “Your turn. Put your hand here.”
He takes Sonny’s wrist without ceremony, dragging it forward until the man’s broad palm rests against your waist. Sonny’s touch is hesitant, careful, but Rafael covers it with his own hand, pressing it firmer against you.
“Dios Mio Carisi… not like you’re handling evidence,” Rafael scolds. “She’s not going to break.” He guides Sonny’s fingers lower, sliding them across your hip, grazing the top of your thigh where your skirt rides up.
You inhale sharply, and Rafael purrs approval. “There. Did you feel that? That’s control.”
Sonny licks his lips, nodding. His voice is rougher when he says, “Yeah. Yeah, I felt it.”
Rafael leans closer, his mouth brushing the shell of your ear, but his words are for Sonny. “Then don’t waste it. Do it again.”
Sonny swallows hard, but this time his hand moves on its own, cupping your thigh, thumb brushing the hem of your skirt. His touch is still tentative, but the heat of his palm sinks through fabric, spreading fire across your skin.
Rafael watches like a hawk, sharp eyes narrowing, then steps in behind you, his chest pressed flush to your back. His hands land on your hips, anchoring you. “Better. However, she looks like she’s waiting for something more, doesn’t she Counsellor?”
Before Sonny can answer, Rafael’s hand slides boldly up the inside of your thigh, dragging your skirt with it until cool air hits skin. His fingers stroke just beneath the edge of your panties, teasing, deliberate.
Your breath stutters, and Rafael’s laugh rumbles low against your spine. “Pay attention, Carisi. This is where you stop playing nice.”
The words curl around you like smoke, Rafael’s breath hot against the nape of your neck. His fingers press firmer against the dampening fabric of your panties, dragging a sharp gasp from your throat. He tilts his head, satisfied, while Sonny shifts uneasily beside you, caught between wanting to look away and being unable to.
“Rafael…” Sonny starts, voice rough, uncertain.
“Not Rafael.” The correction slices sharp. “Barba. You’re in my chambers, Carisi. Don’t forget it.”
There’s a hum of authority in the reminder, and Sonny flinches before nodding. “Barba,” he says, the word heavy in his mouth.
Barba’s hand strokes you lazily through the thin fabric, each brush of his fingers deliberate, coaxing, while his other hand hooks into Sonny’s tie and yanks him closer. Sonny stumbles forward until he’s right against you, so close you feel the heat rolling off his body.
“Watch,” Rafael instructs, his tone patient but merciless. He presses harder, rubbing slow circles that make your knees tremble. “Every reaction is leverage, you take it, you use it.”
Sonny’s jaw tightens. His eyes drop to where Rafael’s hand is working you, and his breath comes faster. He wants to touch; you can see it in the twitch of his fingers, but he doesn’t move.
Rafael notices. Of course he notices.
“Pathetic,” Barba mutters, and in the same motion he drags Sonny’s wrist up again, pressing it against your thigh and shoving it higher, until his fingers slide beneath the hem of your panties. Your breath catches, sharp, when Sonny’s rough fingertips brush over the slick heat there.
“Jesus,” Sonny groans, his touch faltering, uncertain. “She’s…”
“Don’t postulate, Carisi. Perform.” Rafael’s hand covers Sonny’s again, curling his fingers properly over your folds, guiding him like a teacher correcting a student’s grip on a pen. The dual sensation makes your head tip back against Barba’s shoulder, your mouth falling open, a helpless, defeated whine falling from your lips.
“There. You feel that?” Rafael’s voice is a low growl at Sonny’s ear, his lips almost brushing the other man’s skin. “That’s how you make her beg. Now keep going.”
Sonny obeys, clumsy but eager, working his fingers against you with more confidence now. The pressure builds, each stroke dragging you closer. Rafael doesn’t let you drift too far, though; his free hand slips up, undoing the buttons of your blouse one by one with infuriating slowness.
By the time the last button is gone, you’re trembling between them, blouse hanging open to expose the lace of your bra beneath. Rafael tsks, sliding the fabric down your arms like peeling away layers of a shoddy defence. “Pretty. Too pretty to waste behind a desk.”
He dips his head, mouth grazing the line of your shoulder, sucking a mark into your skin while Sonny works his hand frantically between your thighs. The contrast makes your legs quake.
Rafael pulls back, surveying the scene like a painter studying his canvas. “On your knees,” he commands, his hand pressing at your shoulder.
Your knees hit the plush rug before the words fully register. Sonny’s hand slips free as you sink down, the loss making you whimper. Barba’s smirk curves wider.
“Carisi,” he says, gesturing to you like a prize. “Don’t embarrass yourself.”
Sonny looks startled, then his gaze drops to you; kneeling, blouse open, lips parted. His breath stutters, and then he fumbles with his belt, the clink of metal loud in the quiet chamber. He’s already hard, straining against his boxers, flushed to the tips of his ears as he frees himself.
“Go on,” Rafael encourages, voice sharp but laced with amusement. “Give her something to do while I supervise.”
Sonny swallows, then steps closer, guiding his cock to your mouth. His hands hover, unsure where to rest, until Rafael growls, “Her hair, Carisi. Hold her hair. Show her you want it.”
Sonny obeys, threading his fingers through your hair as he presses forward. You open for him, lips stretching around his girth, tongue working eagerly. His groan is immediate, raw, echoing in the office.
Rafael chuckles, standing behind you, one hand stroking down the curve of your spine until it settles on your ass, squeezing hard. “Don’t get sloppy. She deserves precision.”
His hand slides lower, tugging your panties aside, fingers thrusting inside you in time with Sonny’s shallow thrusts against your lips. The double invasion has you moaning around Sonny’s cock, the vibrations making him curse and buck harder.
Rafael’s voice cuts through, commanding, taunting both of you. “Good girl. Take him deep. Don’t let him think he’s the only one who can keep you full.”
Sonny’s hips stutter, his grip in your hair tightening as his head tips back. “Rafael…fuck! She’s –”
“Don’t say my name like a prayer unless you mean it,” Barba snaps, curling his fingers inside you just right. Your cry is muffled around Sonny’s cock, but it’s enough to make him groan loud and broken.
The rhythm builds; Rafael’s fingers working you mercilessly while Sonny loses himself in your mouth, every sound from him half-guilt, half-need. You’re nothing but sensation, stretched taut between their control, each man pulling you closer to the edge in his own way.
Rafael, of course, keeps talking, voice steady even as he drives you higher. “Look at you. Two of my pupils… neither of you could last five minutes without me,” Barba says, his voice steady even as his fingers pump mercilessly inside you. “And now? Look at you – already wrecked.”
The words slice through the air like his cross-examinations in court. Your mouth is stretched around Sonny’s cock, your throat working as he groans helplessly above you, hips jerking forward with every desperate thrust. Spit drips down your chin, slicking his shaft as he sinks deeper into your mouth.
Rafael’s fingers curl just right, knuckles grinding against your walls, the heel of his hand pressing perfectly against your clit. You can’t breathe, can’t think – only moan around Sonny, the vibration making him curse and buckle at the knees.
“Jesus, Barba,” Sonny gasps, voice breaking. His hand fists in your hair, rougher than before, like he’s finally surrendered to instinct. “She’s… fuck, she’s unreal…”
“You’re postulating again,” Rafael snaps, his voice a whipcrack. He doesn’t stop moving his fingers, plunging them deeper, harder. “Cut it out or I stop the lesson.”
Barba chuckles darkly, lips brushing your ear as his fingers twist cruelly inside you. “Good boy. Now… watch how a real man takes her.”
He yanks Sonny back by his tie, pulling his cock from your throat with a wet pop. You gasp for air, spit glistening on your lips, chest heaving. Before you can beg, Rafael hauls you up, spinning you and bending you hard over his desk. Case files scatter like confetti, pages fluttering to the floor.
The polished wood is cold under your cheek, but Rafael’s heat is immediate, pressing into you from behind as he shoves your skirt up. He rips your panties down with one sharp tug, the fabric tearing at the seam.
“Hands flat,” he orders. His palm smacks your ass hard, the sting radiating. “Don’t move unless I say.”
You obey instantly, fingers splaying across legal briefs as Rafael unzips. The sound is sharp, final. A second later he’s thrusting into you in one brutal stroke that makes your mouth open in a strangled cry.
“Fuck,” Sonny blurts, his voice strangled as he watches.
Barba’s groan is guttural, Spanish curses slipping through clenched teeth as he buries himself to the hilt. He holds you there, hips pressed flush, before dragging out slow, deliberate, only to slam back in with a force that rattles the desk.
Your legs shake, knuckles white against the wood. Rafael sets a rhythm; hard, punishing, relentless. Every thrust drives you forward, makes the papers beneath your hands crumple.
“Look at her, Carisi,” Barba growls, his voice low and dangerous. “Taking me like she was made for it. And you…” his hips snap forward, forcing a cry from your lips “…you get the privilege of bearing witness.”
Sonny is panting, shifting from foot to foot, cock still slick and hard in his fist as he strokes himself at the sight. “Barba she’s… fuck, she’s so…”
“Put that mouth to use,” Rafael interrupts, grabbing Sonny’s wrist and dragging him closer. “I told you… don’t waste my time. She can take both of us.”
Sonny hesitates only a second before he presses his cock back to your lips. You open wide for him, still gasping from Barba’s brutal rhythm. Sonny groans as you swallow him down again, this time rougher, deeper, his hand braced at the back of your head.
Now you’re pinned completely; Rafael’s cock pounding you from behind, Sonny filling your throat. The double stretch has tears streaming from your eyes, drool dripping down your chin, your body strung taut between them.
Rafael bends over you, chest pressed to your back, his voice in your ear like molten steel. “Good girl. Taking both of us, gagging and dripping, exactly where you belong. Don’t you dare stop until I tell you.”
He fucks into you harder, cock slamming deep, his pelvis grinding against your clit with each thrust. The sensation is unbearable, your orgasm clawing at you, building sharp and fast.
“Control yourself,” Rafael barks, thrusting harder to punctuate. You moan around Sonny’s cock, the sound vibrating through him, and he nearly sobs, hips jerking helplessly.
The tension snaps. Your orgasm crashes through you like lightning, your entire body shaking as you clamp around Barba’s cock, muffled screams swallowed around Sonny.
Barba snarls, slamming into you harder, chasing his own release. “That’s it. Milk me. Show Carisi how it’s done.”
Sonny groans, broken and high, spilling hot down your throat. His hips twitch as you swallow him, your moans vibrating around his length until he’s gasping, undone.
Rafael holds out just a moment longer, growling curses in Spanish, before he buries himself deep and cums inside you with a guttural groan, hips grinding as he empties into you. His grip bruises your hips, holding you pinned while you convulse beneath him.
The office has descended into chaos; panting breaths, sweat-slicked skin, the smell of sex thick in the air. Case files litter the floor like fallen verdicts.
Rafael pulls out slow, his release dripping down your thighs. He tucks himself back into his slacks with infuriating precision, already composed. Sonny staggers back, still catching his breath, shirt damp with sweat.
Barba adjusts his vest, smoothing it as if he’s preparing to walk into court. His smirk is razor-sharp as he surveys the two of you; Sonny flushed and trembling, you bent over his desk, undone.
You remain bent over the polished wood, blouse hanging open, thighs sticky, chest heaving. Your knees threaten to buckle the moment you try to stand, and you cling to the desk for balance.
Behind you, Rafael is already composed. Of course he is. His vest is buttoned again, cufflinks refastened, tie smoothed neatly back into place as though he hasn’t just fucked you senseless with his cock buried deep inside you. He looks down at you like a prosecutor reviewing evidence – smug, collected, utterly untouchable. “Look at you,” he says at last, lips curling into that cruel little smile “Look at the mess you made,” as he gently pats your ass mockingly.
Sonny, on the other hand, is a disaster. His tie is askew, shirt clinging to him with sweat, hair sticking up in wild tufts. He’s leaning against the wall, still catching his breath, his cock barely tucked back into his slacks. His cheeks are blotched red, his jaw tight, like he’s trying to figure out how to look professional again when he can’t even stand straight.
“Rafa… uh, Barba,” he stammers, correcting himself at the last second. His voice cracks anyway. “That was… Jesus. That was…” He shakes his head, unable to find the word.
Rafael slides his gaze toward him, eyes glinting. “Unprofessional? Unethical?”
Sonny swallows, tugging at his tie. “I was gonna say… intense.”
Barba hums, unimpressed. He steps closer, adjusting his watch with meticulous care before brushing invisible dust from Sonny’s shoulder. The motion is patronising, intimate.
“You’re sloppy when you’re nervous,” Rafael observes coolly. “We’ll need to fix that.” His eyes flick downward, deliberately, at the bulge still straining against Sonny’s half-zipped pants. “Though not tonight. Clearly, you’ve been overextended.”
Sonny’s ears go crimson. He glances at you; still bent over the desk, blouse askew, lips swollen, perfection. He looks away fast, like the sight might undo him all over again.
Barba’s smirk sharpens. He places a hand on the small of your back, pushing you upright just enough to make you look at him. Your legs tremble under the shift, your vision still hazy.
“And you, Cariño…” he murmurs, eyes sweeping your wrecked form. His thumb brushes the corner of your spit-slick lips, wiping away a trace of Sonny. “You showed promise. Though I expect more discipline next time.”
Your chest rises and falls quickly, your voice catching when you try to respond. “Next… time?”
Rafael chuckles, low and knowing, as he leans in to fasten the last undone button of your blouse himself, fingers deft and infuriatingly slow.
“You think mentoring you and teaching you survival in this industry can be done in one night?” He steps back, smoothing his vest with satisfaction. “Hardly. Consider this your… orientation.”
Sonny groans, scrubbing a hand down his face, but doesn’t argue.
Barba strides to the door, unlocking it with a sharp click. He glances back at both of you, still dishevelled and ruined, and his smirk deepens.
“Seven a.m. sharp,” he says, voice smooth as a closing statement. “If you’re late, don’t bother showing up at all.”
And then he’s gone, leaving the heavy oak door swinging shut behind him.
The silence left in his wake is deafening.
Sonny shifts uncomfortably, looking at you, then at the scattered case files, then at the door again. His mouth opens like he might try to say something; to apologise, to joke, to say anything, but no words come out.
You’re both still there in the ruined aftermath of Rafael’s office, catching your breath, the ghost of Barba’s control lingering like a verdict already passed.
Time waits for no one, but it rewards those who honour it.
