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summary: a collection of their first times together. connected to my other shy!reader fic, but can be read as a standalone!
content: explicit 18+ MDNI. smut, oral (f receiving), tad of dry humping, unprotected p in v. brief mention of sexual assault (a patient, not reader), reader is a SANE.
wc: 8.9k
notes: thank u for the love on my first fic!! i thought id write a lil extra fic of this dynamic bc i also adore them.
masterlists
First Date
Jack is a traditional man, youâve come to realise.
After the kiss, the invisible boundary stopping him from taking care of you the way he wanted had been broken, and he promises to care for you to the fullest extent, for as long as youâd let him.
Your schedules never seemed to align to both have a day off, and Jack was getting antsy at the prospect that he had kissed you days ago, but couldnât take his girl out for a date.Â
A particularly stressful case one evening broke his patience.Â
An MVC trauma case had rolled in just before his shift was about to end, the man was in his late-thirties and the crash seemed to have paralysed his lower limbs. He worked to treat the most imminent problems, but Jack could tell the man knew what had happened to his legs, and was grieving silently.Â
Not long after heâs finished treating the man, a tall, blonde woman rushes into the trauma room just as Jack was about to exit, and the look on her face was fear followed by complete devastation. He watches her sob as she rounds the table to sit next to her partner, moving strands of hair away from his face so she can lean in and press her forehead against his.
Jack stands off to the side watching the scene unfolds, and his breath hitches as he hears the couplesâ cries, their pleas of love for one another, the fear that she had almost lost him; lost him before they could finally get married, he overhears.Â
The woman promises that nothing could ever change the love she has for him, begging to scrap the big, fancy wedding theyâd planned, wanting to elope, not bearing to waste another day of not being married to him.
Something twists low in his chest, patience wearing thin and excuses himself from the room, desperately needing to find you.
He couldnât wait.
Jackâs shoulders are tight when he exits the trauma room, shaking his head and searching for you, hoping you hadnât left for the day.
âââ
Youâre zipping your bag up where it rests on your chair, when a low, familiar voice startles you from behind.Â
âWhat are you doing right now?âÂ
âUh, going home and sleeping. You should try it sometime, yâknowââ You begin to tease back, turning to look at him, but his face is serious, tight, making you falter. Youâre about to ask what had happened, never having seen him so disturbed.
He speaks before you can ask, shaking his head and commanding,
âNo. Câmon, weâre grabbing food.â His voice is gravelly as he grabs your bag, slinging it over his shoulder, before picking up your coat holding it out for you to slip into it. Your heart warms at the sweet, domestic gesture. Nervously, and heavily blushing, you turn, and let him drape you in the coat. You move to take the bag from Jack, but he shakes his head, holding it tighter.Â
âLetâs go.â His voice is low, and you feel his hand rest on the small of your back, guiding you to the exit. You almost just let yourself fall into the comfort of allowing Jack to take over, enjoying not having to think for once.
âJackâ hold on.â You say a little flabbergasted. Shen and Lena give you both an amused look as you pass, clearly they seem to know whatâs going on whilst youâre left in the dark.
âWeâre exhausted, I look a mess right nowâ we just finished a 12 hour shift!â You try and reason with him as he hurriedly leads you to his truck.Â
âSo?â He gives you a look that implies what you said has no grounds for protest, whatsoever.
You scoff, completely taken aback, and swivel to face him once you reach his truck, searching his face for an inkling of an idea as to whatâs up with him.
âJackââ You try, but he just leans past you, and opens the truck door for you, nodding his head signalling for you to hop in.Â
âFirst of all. You ainât a mess, sweetheart.â He says, almost offended by the notion.Â
Once youâve climbed into the seat, you watch as he reaches for the seatbelt and buckles you in, and before pulling away, he rests his forehead on yours and whispers, âYou looking fuckinâ amazing all the time.âÂ
You can't help but let out a flustered whine at his praise, blush covering your face as you meet his intense stare. His expression begins to soften once he looks you over, realising youâre finally here with him. He softly brushes a strand of hair away from your face.
âDiner food okay, doll?â
âââ
You feel the car come to a stop across the street from a 24/7 diner downtown, itâs cutesy, it has a retro feel to it. You go to open the door, but his hand gently catches your wrist mid-movement.Â
âAh ah. Stay.â He commands with a soft-but-stern tone, willing you to obey.Â
You smile to yourself as you watch him round the hood of the truck, youâve never received this kind of princess treatment, and your heart clenches. You thrum with anxiety as you wait for him to open your door, begging yourself to not make a fool of yourself and somehow faceplanting out of the truck.
Checking that no cars are passing, he opens the door and holds his hand out for you to take. You canât stop your smile from growing or the heat covering your face, utterly touched by his gentlemanly gestures.Â
âYou donât have to do all this, you know?â Your voice is quiet, but slightly teasing as you hop out of the truck, holding his hand. âI already like you.âÂ
Jack sighs when looks down at you, wrapping an arm around you to rest on your hip before moving you to the inner side of the sidewalk, away from the road.Â
âI ainât doing this to impress ya.â He grumbles out, bringing his lips to your temple. âItâs how you deserve to be treated, honey.â
Youâre speechless.Â
He needs to stop making you blush, youâre already flustered and overwhelmed by all of his actions within the short span of time youâve left the ER, and the date has barely begun.Â
Youâre barely able to focus or think straight, which is why when you reach the doors to the diner, you mistakenly make a move to open the door, and Jack almost hangs his head in soft frustration
âSweetheart, câmon.â He says in disbelief. You look up at him with a confused expression, watching as he enters your space, and opens the door for you. God, heâs so traditional. Your grin is wide as you stare at him, unable to keep it off your face as you enter the Diner.
You let him order first, as you stare up at the menu above the counter. Youâd heard him order a savory dish, something with eggs. Itâs healthy, and though youâd wanted something sweet like pancakes you start overthinking, not wanting to look unhealthy or childish in front of Jack, completely baseless worries.Â
He turns to look at you, seeing your brows are furrowed and a worried look paints your face as youâre trying to decide. He reaches back, squeezing your hand tilting his head. âHoney, get whatever ya want, yeah?âÂ
Your smile is tight and shy again when you order the pancakes, nerves wracking your body for no good reason, just another moment anxiety seems to spike randomly.
âWill that be separate or together?â The cashier asks about payment whilst finishing up the order, and both you and Jack speak at the same time.
âSeparateââ
âTogether.â
His tone is final as he looks at you with an incredulous expression that you even tried to offer to pay on your first date. You begin to shake your head, feeling guilty about making him pay for you, but he taps his card and gives you a stern look.
While youâre waiting for the food he wraps you in his arms and whispers into your hair.
âLet me take care of you. Please.â His voice is gentle but pleading.
Your heart clenches as you look up at him from where youâre wrapped around him, face touching his chest. Vulnerability flickers in your eyes, unsure if you should admit to Jack just yet, how hard it is for you to let go and be cared for.Â
But he just smiles, patting your hair, and silently, you think he already knows.
Grabbing your food, you look for a place to sit, but you notice Jack is⊠walking out? You frown again, catching up to him with confusion painting your face. Did he not want to eat together? Had you completely misinterpreted this as a date? Maybe he just wanted to grab food before going home.
He snorts at the confusion, back tracking a little and cupping your face with one hand, a thumb stroking back and forth across your cheek.Â
âYou think I was gonna take ya to a diner for our first date?â He croons, a smirk tugging at his lips.
âJesus, kid, who have you been hanging around with before me?â
âââ
What you hadnât expected was for him to bring you to a remote spot that overlooked the city. It was still early in the morning, a fresh spring fog coating the city from above as you sat on a bench and had breakfast.
Youâre too in your own head, you know this. But you canât stop. Youâre painfully aware that this is a date, you want to act the right way, say the right things, be charming, be funny. But it inevitably leads to complete silence from you and jumpy eyes darting around focusing on anywhere but him.
Sighing, he sets his takeout container on the bench beside him, before scooting closer to you.Â
âHey, whatâcha worrying about over there?â He nudges his knee with yours. He meets your eyes and finds insecurity and so much shyness. He tilts your head up using his fingers on your chin, making sure you really hear him when he speaks.
âYou still get me so nervous.â You breathe out shakily, laughing a little at the prospect knowing heâd already kissed you stupid days ago.
âYou got no one to impress, yeah? Sâjust me.â He teases a little, recalling your words from earlier.Â
âPlus, I already got a taste of those lips, doll.â This raises a shy laugh from you and you groan while you nudge his knee back playfully, clearly calming down. He has a way of easing you, making you comfortable around him like no one ever has. You lean your head down against his shoulder, bringing your hand to trace patterns on his scrubs.Â
In the comfortable lull between you both, you break the silence.
âWhat happened today? Why were you so⊠worked up?â You ask cautiously, not wanting to break the serenity of the moment by bringing up negative emotions.
Jack pauses, you feel him tense beside you. But he places a hand on your thigh and rubs his thumb back and forth comfortingly, searching for the right words.
âI just⊠didnât wanna waste any time.â He admits softly, breathing out a sigh of relief.
âI know what I want, and weâll go as slow as you wantâ but Iâm not waiting around to miss key moments with you.â He leans down to where you rest on his shoulder and places a gentle kiss on your forehead, lingering there for a moment after his admission.Â
Your breath hitches at his intensity, realising how serious he is, that he really wants this, wants you.
âNow,â he pauses, using his hand to lift your head off his shoulder. âIâve been dreaminâ about kissing you again for days.â His rough voice whispers, searching your eyes for permission, any indication you want this as much as he does.
You donât give him time to find it.
Immediately, you lean in and crash your lips to his, faster and passionate than your first.Â
Jack is genuinely taken aback by your little show of confidence, and he makes a surprised whine at feeling your lips again.Â
You pull back, wide eyed and shocked at what you had done. âFuckââ
He growls at you having broken the kiss. You donât get time to sit with embarrassment at how desperately youâd kissed him, you notice how blown out his pupils are and he immediately cups your face bringing you back in.Â
He had so effortlessly taken over, comforting you and pleasing you with one kiss that your worries dissipate, your body relaxes into him, and you let yourself feel it.
For the second time, Jack had kissed you stupid.
First Personality Shifts
Slowly, but surely, Jack was getting you to come out of your shell. He was discovering parts of you he hadnât known existed, and loved it.
He was encouraging you to grow, to flourish, which is how he discovered how sassy you could get.Â
The night shift were working overtime, wrapping up cases here and there, during a particularly brutal shift. Youâd been working around 15 hours now, exhausted but powering through.
You and Emma, a day shift nurse, were assisting a trauma case led by Jack and Dr. Robby, much to the dismay of Shen and Ellis. It was a particularly tricky case, youâd all been in that room for ages, holding your breath during a risky procedure as the room stays silent.Â
After a while, you watch Jack and Robby step back from the patient, letting out a breath of relief before Robby raises his thumbs, signalling everything went perfectly. You see them smile, their eyes crinkling from under the mask.
Small cheers and laughs filter through the room, the tension easing out.
âYouâve still got it, man.â Jack praises Robby.Â
Robby almost looks reluctant to accept the approval.Â
âNah man, thatâs all you.â Robby retorts, his hand patting Jackâs back whilst Robby went to leave the room.
âTake the compliment, Robby.â Jack raises his voice to reach where Robby was leaving the room, knowing how his friend gets. Robby pauses in the doorway turning to face Jack.
âNo, seriously, brother. Everyone could learn a thing or two from you.â Robby says loudly enough so his residents can hear, making it a point.
You hear them go back and forth for a while, your brain is finally slowing down from exhaustion, they do this all the goddamn time, which is why you donât even process it when you blurt out your next sentence.
âCareful, Jackâs ego is inflated enough as is.â Your voice is somewhat quiet, you really meant it for just Robby and Jack.Â
The room erupts in small giggles, Robbyâs eyebrows lifting in surprise and smirking at Jack. He canât help but let out a laugh.
âOof, damn girl.â You hear Ellis joke from behind you.
Your wide eyes shoot up to meet Jackâs, your tired brain catching up and afraid youâd offended him. But heâs stood there, completely still, and grinning so hard. He almost looks proud.Â
Jack didnât think he could fall for you any harder.Â
He was wrong.
âââ
You had finally gotten comfortable enough to ask for his comfort.
Before you met Jack, you couldnât imagine asking for help for the littlest of things, afraid of inconveniencing people. Jack had reassured you, time and again, that he wants to be the person you go to when you need help.Â
So you do.
At first, it was adorable for Jack trying to get you to ask for help. Being a slight tease about it, encouraging you to use your words.
Youâd had a rough shift, you werenât meant to be going to Jackâs place after work, but god did you need him today more than ever.
Youâd been in the room for a few trauma cases, neither of which had ended with the patients pulling through, one being a pediatric case. Youâd also opted to do an evidence collection for a sexual assault patient, knowing how busy Lena had been tonight, the floor needing her more than ever, so youâd taken over for her.
Safe to say, by the end of the night, you were a wreck. You felt on the verge of tears for hours, like the littlest thing could set you off. You were emotionally depleted, you wanted to just switch off, and you knew Jack could help.
So you approached him quietly, anxiously, your hands fidgeting. He was grabbing his bag out of his locker, so you slid in next to him, your back against the lockers next to him searching his face, checking if heâs too tired, because you wouldnât want to be a burden.
âHey, baby.â He smiles at your appearance next to him, glancing over at you.Â
âEverything okay?â He says gently after noticing your stature. He can tell youâre anxious. He pauses from where heâs gathering his stuff in his lockers, turning to face you fully now. Youâre staring into his eyes, youâre hesitant.
âTalk to me.â He commands gently, his hand coming to yours to break apart your nervous fidgeting.
You swallow the lump in your throat, asking for help always ended with tears for you and you didnât want to cry. Not here, not now.
âJack.â You just whine, silently begging that heâd understand what you need without you having to vocalise it. Your eyes water slightly, needing his comfort desperately.
âCâmon, baby, use your words.â He coaxes, his hand cupping your cheek. âYou can do it.â His thumb brushes back and forth across the apple of your cheek, catching any tears if they fell.
âI need you.â Your voice is shaky, broken. Itâs all you can manage without completely breaking down at work.
âYeah?â His voice is so gentle, like heâs trying not to spook you, but a smirk tugs at his lips. âAtta girl.â His praise causes an involuntary, but quiet whine to leave you.Â
Heâll stop the teasing for tonight, he sees how much you need him and the fact you had even verbalised your need for him was progress. Heâs so proud of you.
âYou need me, baby? Câmere.â He opens his arms for you, beckoning you into his hold. Youâre a little embarrassed as you hug him, worried someone will find you like this, all vulnerable and mushy.Â
âYou did so good, baby, asking me for help.â He strokes your hair, comforting you. âCâmon. Iâll bring you home.âÂ
A protesting whine escapes you before you realise, the idea of him dropping you home alone upsetting you. You had just said you needed him, hadnât you?
âHey, hey.â He says quickly, needing to settle you down before you get more upset. âI meant home. Our home. Youâre mine, baby. Imma take care of you now.â
âââ
However, one particular night, he uncovered an unexpected, but one of his favourite sides of you.
Itâd been a rare evening where most of the night shift were off for the day, well at least those fun enough to drink with.
You and Jack hadnât even bothered to try and hide your relationship around your coworkers, they knew too much. It wasnât much of a problem anyways, not that either of you were overly affectionate at work.Â
Lena supported you, but continued to encourage you to err on the side of caution, worried youâll get hurt. Shen, however, lived for teasing you both.Â
With a few drinks in your bloodstream, you had shuffled closer to Jack within the booth, searching for his touch. Shen, sitting opposite you both kept giving you knowing looks. Itâd started with your thigh against his under the table, a gentle, grounding presence. But drink after drink, it hadnât been enough. You wrap your arms around his forearm, your head on his shoulder now.
Youâre definitely feeling the drinks, tipsy if not drunk, and youâre practically all over Jack. It's like you wanted to crawl into his skin. Heâs definitely enjoying how clingy youâre being tonight. He leaves soft kisses in your hair from time-to-time, not trying to go full on PDA in front of his friends. But you were making it very hard for him to keep his cool.Â
The drinks get to your head, making you both loose-lipped and a little sleepy.Â
Your eyes fall to his hands. His fingers idly trace around the condensation on his glass as he politely listens to a story Ellis is telling. Truthfully, you hadnât been clocked into the conversation for a while now, Jack occupying so much space in your mind. Jack. Jack. Jack.
His hands just looked so good. They were so big and veiny, and his fingers were so thick. You donât know what had gotten into you, but you were so incredibly entranced by his hands.Â
Without thinking, you slide your hand that rested on his bicep, down his arm until it landed on his hand, gently pulling it away from his glass. He lets you, doesnât even look down to see what youâre doing, assuming you wanna hold his hand. But you just turn his hand over, palm facing up, and reject his attempt at intertwining your hands together.
You let out a small, short whine in protest. Keeping his hand laying flat on the table while you take your nails and gently trace your fingers in his palm, up his fingers and back down. They were so worn, tough. Nothing like your soft hands.
This touch from you makes him shiver, goosebumps erupting all over his skin. He glances down at your face, your eyes are glazed over and you seem completely infatuated by his hand. He watches you turn over his hand again, and you begin to trace his veins, like youâre completely hypnotised.
His breath comes out shakily, now completely zoned out of Ellisâ conversation.Â
âWhatâya doing, honey?â He whispers quietly into your hair, ensuring no one else can hear him.
You peek up at him from where you rest on his shoulder. God, youâre drunk. Heâs so beautiful.
âYour hands are realllyyyy hot.â You blurt out, drunkenly as you continue to toy with his hands. By the power of the universe, the table had erupted into laughter at Ellisâ story at the same time youâd blurted that out, such that no one heard.
He stills at your comment and almost barks out a laugh. He holds it in, not wanting you to get all shy on him. Not when his shy girl has gotten so confident.Â
âIs that so, baby?â He practically growls into your ear, lifting a drink to hide his smirk.
âMhmmm.â You hum in affirmation. Your focus shifts from his arm to wrapping both hands around his bicep, it flexes slightly as he brings his drink to his lips. âYâr arms too. Soooo big. Wanna bite âem.â
He genuinely chokes on his drink at that, something possessive stirring in his chest. His shy, sweet girl, completely fawning over Jack.Â
He blinks around, making sure no one heard what you said, he couldnât stand the thought of someone else hearing your desired rambles for him. Looking up, he notices Shenâs cocky smirk as he glances between the two of you. Jackâs about to tell him to mind his own business, but you beat him to it, by doubling down.
âLike it's unfairrrrr.â You mumble into his bicep.
âUnfair?â Jack asks, confused.
âHow are you soooâ ugh!âÂ
He tilts your chin to look at him, wanting to know where all this flattery is coming from, and you have a lovestruck tired expression.
You pout as you take him in, his curls, his scruff, his face.Â
Oh.
Something more present and aware flashes in your eyes the longer you stare at him, like youâre realising you spoke the words out loud. Your eyes widen slowly, mortified, and heat rushes to your face as you stare at him silently, replaying everything you just said. In public.
You dart your face around the table and make eye contact with Shen who's laughing under his breath. Oh fuck. You probably just embarrassed Jack and yourself.
You detach from him so quickly it gives him whiplash.
âOh my god, Iâm soââ Your voice is incredibly apologetic, horrified, and you won't even look at him in the face.
âNo, hey. none of that.â Jackâs voice is firm. He brings his hands to cup your face, making you look into his eyes. âI like you like this, cheeky, confident.âÂ
You want to be happy at his words, but you canât help but feel guilt and nausea stir in your stomach. Your drunk brain is making it very hard to think straight. You bite your lip anxiously.
âDo youâŠâ You hesitate, looking into his eyes. âDo you wish I was more like that?â You have to ask. Maybe sober you wouldnât feel so insecure, but youâre tired and your mouth is still feeling braver than your brain.Â
âGod, no, honeyââ He pauses trying to find the right words, his thumb absentmindedly stroking your cheek. âI meanâ Donât apologise for this. I want you, every version of you.â His tone is pleading. You calm down a little at his words, feeling silly at how quick your mind jumped to the worst case.
âWant you even when youâre drunk outta your mind and thirsting over me like thisââ He teases which gets cut off by a groan from you. You canât help but smile as you hide your face into his neck again.
First Time
Youâd been dating Jack for a little while now, but you still hadnât had your first time together. Jack waited for your signal, he wouldnât push, heâd wait until you were comfortable enough to be with him.
Which you were. You wanted to be intimate with Jack for so long, but thereâs a nagging feeling at the back of your brain, stopping you from initiating.
Your past relationships, as Jack had slowly realised, werenât exactly the best. You werenât ever cared for like you are with Jack, which extended to sex. Sex had never really been about you and your partner, itâd always been about his pleasure, his needs.Â
And now youâre with the most perfect guy, you donât know how to navigate being intimate in a way that isnât focused only on him.Â
This thought was really getting to you one evening. You and Jack were at his place, just having finished dinner, and now you sit on the couch with your legs in his lap as you absentmindedly watch TV. His hand is giving you gentle strokes up and down your leg, and you canât stop thinking about needing to warn him about your relationship with sex.
âJack?â You ask gently. He doesnât look over, he continues stroking your leg whilst humming in response.
You bite your lip anxiously.
âUmâ I need to tell you something.â Jackâs hand falters his motions on your leg and he turns his head quickly, concern flashing on his features. Your tone, so nervous and anxious, had worried him, his chest twisting.
âBaby, whatâs going on?â He coos, but heâs definitely on edge.
âItâs nothing, really. Umââ You pause, realising you hadnât thought about a way to approach this with him. âI just really wanna have sex with youââ You blurt out.Â
Oh for fuckâs sake. You wince and close your eyes in embarrassment. Thatâs definitely not the right way to do this
Jackâs face is even more confused, amusement flashing his features.
âRight. Baby, Iâve been waiting for youâŠâ He reminds you gently.Â
âNo, no, I know.â You huff frustrated. âIâ itâs about that. I justâ fuck.â Your frustration builds at yourself for not being able to articulate your words well.
Jack sits up now, sensing your discomfort. He brings you closer to him, leaning on his shoulder now.
âHoney, focus, youâre okay. You can tell me anything.â His voice is immediately grounding. You breathe out shakily.
Silence hangs between you both, before you finally admit it.
âI canât finish during sex.â
Silence continues to permeate the room. Youâre so mortified. You donât turn to look at his face. You canât.
âYou meanâ you havenât or you canât?â His voice is gentle, a hand coming to stroke your hair. Heâs definitely suspicious of your confession.
âI dunno⊠both, I guess. Iâm not saying this to make it a challengeâ people have done that before and it just makes it worse. Iâm just warning you beforehand my body is wired differently and I donât want you to feel bad if you canât make it happenââ
âOh, honey, is this why youâve been hesitant to have sex?â He asks softly, interrupting your rambling.
You just hum in affirmation, embarrassed.Â
Jack mulls over your words, he wonât argue and tell you he will make you finish but he seriously thinks this is a product of your previous boyfriends being inattentive and careless with you. Anger twists in his chest thinking about you thinking youâre somehow inadequate when it was your boyfriends who just took and took.Â
âListen to me, baby.â He tilts your face to look at him now. âI donât care about that yâhear me?â He watches your expression falter, eyes full of vulnerability.
âIf you canât? Fine. I donât want you any less, I just wanna make you feel loved, baby.â He can tell youâre still hesitant, but you nod.Â
You smile shyly and cuddle into his side, resting your head on his lap as he plays with your hair.Â
The days following your conversation you think over his words more, and a few days later, you tell him you wanna do itâ be with him.Â
He checks in multiple times throughout the day, making sure youâre okay, that youâre absolutely sure. But you also notice how much more often his touches linger. You canât tell if itâs intentional or not, but you canât stop thinking about him. Everything about him that day is so much more gentle and careful with you.Â
That evening, when he leads you onto the couch your body is thrumming with anxiety. You know what's about to happen, he knows. Why are you so scared? Youâve never been more tense, more afraid of something going wrong. This is the man you love.Â
When you both sit on the couch, cuddling like you always do, he doesnât make a move. Maybe heâs waiting for you. Your leg shakes as you try to figure out whatâs meant to happen, what youâre supposed to do.Â
Before you can overthink it, you drape yourself over his lap and crash your lips to kiss, a hungry desperate kiss.Â
He returns it, a grunt of surprise before melting into it. Hands coming to gently rest on your face. The kiss is almost rough, your tongue intertwining with his. You can do this, you can make him feel good. Your brain already slips into making sure heâs pleased, unable to shake the habit from the past.
You move against his lap, and he groans in pleasure. The noise he makes thrills you, wanting to hear it again, youâve never heard him like this. You try to grind again but he pulls away breathless, shaking his head.
âBaby, slow down.â He practically laughs caressing your cheek. He canât lose his cool already, not when he plans to make you feel good.
Fuck.
Shame floods your chest and your cheeks heat, climbing off of him and curl up next to him. You somehow messed this up, you want the couch to open and swallow you up.
âOh, my sweet girl. Câmere.â He coos, turning to face you. He realises how his words may have come across like a rejection, and thatâs the last thing he wants you to think.
âI donât wanna rush thisâ He places a hand on your thigh, dipping his head trying to find your eyes. He can tell how nervous you are, how much youâre overthinking this. âLemme take over, yeah?â He asks softly.Â
You meekly lift your head to meet his eyes before nodding. His eyes are blown out, he looks hungry. But there's an edge of restraint, he's holding back.
You donât even have time to feel guilty before he cups your face and brings your lips to his again, slow, passionate.Â
He leans forward, crowding you back against the couch until heâs lying over you. Your heart jumps at the closeness, the position youâre in.
You become breathless, almost gasping for air between each kiss.Â
Jack moves from your lips, placing sweet kisses down your jaw. Your body erupts in goosebumps, youâre practically shivering at the contact. You donât even register your hand lifting to comb through his hair, pulling him down onto your jaw for more.
You feel his lips twitch into a smirk.
âThat feel good, baby?â He rasps. The low grumble of his voice has you bucking your hips into him, desperate for him. You get completely lost in his kissesâ
âWords, baby.â He commands pulling away to look into your eyes. He smirks smugly as he sees how wrecked heâs made you with just his kisses.
You blink processing his request, breathless and annoyed heâs stopped kissing you.
âYeahâ please, Jack. Donât stâ ah!â Youâre cut off by his lips attaching to a sensitive spot on your neck, just below your ear. You whine as he sucks on your skin, for sure leaving a mark. Your body shivers again with the thought of him marking you that you involuntarily tug at his hair, which provokes a growl from Jack.
He detaches from your neck breathlessly dipping his head like youâve just wrecked him with a simple tug.
âDo that again.â He commands low, before hungrily returning to your neck sucking more spots over and over.
A surge of confidence fills you knowing you have the capacity to make him feel just as wrecked as he does you. You continue to rake your hands through his curls, tugging occasionally loving his whines, as he sucks spots lower and lower down your collarbone and chest.Â
His hand trails under your shirt, his cold hand making contact with your tummy and you tense involuntarily. He pauses looking up from where his head rests on your chest.
âYou need to slow down?â His tone is so soft, gentle, it almost makes you cry.
âNonononâ please keep going,â you almost beg âYour hand was just cold.â You laugh embarrassed while stroking his hair.
He smirks at your neediness trying not to tease you more.Â
He holds eye contact while his hands trail up your torso, goosebumps erupting throughout your body once again. You get flustered as he stares so intensely and you try to look away.
âEyes on me.â He coos, bringing his fingers to tilt your head back to face him. Heat rushes in your face, your body practically shakes with anticipation.Â
He lifts your top off so slowly, that you almost just beg for him to hurry up, for him to touch you. His hand slowly slides up from your hips up to your breasts, a hand coming to cup you over your bra as he returns to sucking spots at your collarbone. You get lost in the sensation once more, not noticing his other hand working at removing your bra. Once you peel it off he just stares. You almost go to hide, feeling self-conscious under his stare.
âSo fuckinâ pretty.â He groans before directly leaning down and taking a nipple into his mouth.
Your hands grip the couch roughly and your back arches into him involuntarily.
âFuckâ ohmygodââ you whine at the sensation of his tongue swirling your nipples. You feel jack smirk against your breast, cocky fucker, before returning to suck on them hard.Â
You donât think youâve ever felt this good, you had no idea kisses and touches like this could wreck you. Â
His teeth unexpectedly grazes your nipple and you moan. Your body shakes with overwhelm, you bring your hands to cup jacks face needing him to pause.Â
His lips detach from your nipple and his pupils are black. He looks like a man starved. He tries to go back to sucking but you hold his face steady.
âNeedâ fuckâ need a break, feels too good.â You pant.Â
Jack blinks and his cocky smirk returns.
âOh yeah?â He rasps, with a mock condescending tone.Â
You want to even the playing field a bit so you paw at his shirt, needing him to take it off, which he complies by ripping it clean off so quickly you barely register it. He leans down to capture your lips again, but you push your body upwards into his to manoeuvre you both into sitting position. Youâre on top of him now, your turn to wreck him.Â
His eyes narrow and smiles at your little show of dominance, and heâll let you think you have the upper hand, for now.Â
You lean down to return the kisses he gave you. You test out his sensitive spots, kissing and sucking spots along his neck whilst raking your nails along his biceps, his back, his chest.Â
His breathing is shallow and you hear him whine.Â
Bingo.
You continue sucking in that spot on his neck, one hand tugging in his hair and another raking nails on his bicep. You love the sound of him falling apart.Â
You feel his hips involuntarily buck into your and you know you have him under your finger. Itâs your turn to smirk against his neck, peppering small kisses up his jaw before locking eyes with him and grinding down straight into his lap.Â
His hands jolt to your waist, not roughly, but a firm presence. He holds you down as he groans loudly, coming to rest his head on your chest. You try to move again but his hands on your waists prevent it, and he sounds destroyed.Â
Your smug, cocky victory is short lived.Â
His hands are on your thighs in an instant and youâre suddenly jolted upwards, your legs wrap around his torso as you let out a startled yelp. Heâs carrying you.Â
âYouâre a fuckinâ tease, baby.â He murmurs into your neck as he carries you towards his bedroom.
Youâre plopped down onto his bed and you bounce a little. You donât even get time to speak before heâs on you again, his kisses desperate.
His hands paw at your bottoms, sliding them off in one quick go before he cups your panties.
âYou enjoy almost getting me to blow my load in my pants, hmmm?â He teases feeling how wet you are already. âMaking me feel like a fucking teenager againââ He growls before latching onto your breast again.
His hand slides your panties off as he sucks you, and it all feels too good you whine as you paw at his belt, wanting him to take his pants off too, to be on equal playing ground.
Groaning, he reluctantly detaches again before quickly working at his belt. The sound of the clink and him sliding it through the loops has your stomach flipping as you breathlessly stare at him from the bed.Â
As soon as theyâre off heâs on you again, his fingers coming to your clit, spreading the wetness from your folds up and making small circles. You jolt a little at the feeling, not expecting his touch there.
âJackâ fuckâ whatâr you doing? You donât have toââ You begin to tell him to not waste his time on you, you already know you won't be able to cum.
âMâworking you up, baby.â He coos, not slowing his motions. âNo pressure to finish, yeah? Just wanna make sure it doesnât hurt.âÂ
You hesitate, staring into his eyes and you realise heâs being sincere. You swallow a lump in your throat, feeling extra vulnerable at the lengths of care you feel heâs taking for you. You nod before falling back against the bed, just letting yourself enjoy the feeling of his touches.
You feel the way his fingers move slow circles against your clit, how they adjust every time your breath hitches, as heâs searching for the right tempo and pressure to make you feel good.Â
You can hear how wet you are, you almost feel embarrassed how his fingers glide through your folds so easily. He continues to pepper gentle kisses down your neck as his fingers stroke you, they move lower and lower until they reach your entrance.
You gasp as he pushes his fingers inside you, feeling full.
You let out small whines of pleasure as he thrusts his fingers inside you. He shushes you by placing his soft lips to yours, continuing to mumble sweet words.
âJust let go for me, baby.â
âThaaaats it.â
âRub your clit for me.â
You reach down to add pressure to your clit and immediately jolt at the feeling. It feels different. The pressure from his fingers inside you, curling upwards and continuously thrusting at a consistent pace is getting to you.Â
Your lower stomach twists, he sucks on your neck as he rubs against the spongy spot inside you, you realise the pressure feels good. That the way youâre rubbing yourself as he thrusts into you while whispering is working. You try so hard to keep it there. Keep rubbing. Keep focused on the feeling. Focusing on his wordsâ
It disappears.Â
âFuck!â You huff frustrated, tears welling in your eyes. He pulls his fingers out immediately, worried heâs hurt you and you curl up into yourself. âI canât do it.â Your voice is wobbly as you berate yourself, wiping a tear off your face.
âHey, easy, baby.â He soothes by rubbing a hand on your back. His heart clenches at the sight of your teary eyes.
âMâsorry, Jack,â you sniffle. âYou spent so much time on me and I couldnâtââ
âNo. Hey.â He stops you, firmly. âNo apologies. Mânot mad, not upset.â He coos, moving your hair away from your face.
âI did all of that because I wanted to. You didnât ruin anything, yâhear me?â He cups your face making you look into his eyes.
You nod shyly, but youâre still feeling low about it, he can tell.
âJackâ Itâs okay if you wanna just fuck me now. Mâready. I want it too.â You whisper looking up into his eyes, still on the verge of tears.
Heâs shaking his head before you even finish your sentence.
âNo.â His tone is final.
He has an inkling that youâre in your own head too much, putting too much pressure on yourself to perform even when he told you thereâs no expectations. He can feel your frustration, just wanting to fix this for you. An idea lands in his head.
âIâm not done with you.â He says gently whilst moving down your body again. âIf youâll let me, I wanna try something else, yeah?âÂ
âButââ You begin to protest, feeling guilty he has to try so hard on you.
âItâs for me. Not for you. Humour me, okay?â He asks so politely, you donât wanna deprive him of something he enjoys. So you nod.Â
âLay back for me completely, baby.â You oblige, breathing heavily.Â
 You feel his fingers in your folds again, they linger on your clit before he gently thrusts them back inside you. You lie back, continuing to feel the pressure but you canât shake the guilt.
You feel his hot breath ghost over your mound. You jerk your head up, heâs staring directly at you before he places his lips directly on your clit and sucks.Â
Your body jolts, arching your back off the bed, your hand landing in his hair once more. You were not expecting this.
âJackâ ohgod.â You breathe as he simultaneously works his fingers inside you and tongues your clit. He smirks at your reaction.
âThat feel good?â Heâs cocky, but heâs also checking in on you. You nod fervently and guide his head back down. He obliges wordlessly and gets back to working your clit. Youâve never been made to finish with someone else's fingers, but no one has ever tried this.Â
He hears your small whines and it takes all the restraint in his body to keep focused on you, as much as he wants to just take his cock and slide it inside you, to watch your eyes widen as he fills you up, he wants you to feel good.Â
You feel the familiar pressure build in your lower stomach.Â
You start squirming, your lower half somehow both chasing his mouth but trying to get away from it. Youâre getting overwhelmed, your body experiencing too much at once, and this is where you usually tap out, where it dissipates.
Jack senses it. He feels you clenching around his fingers. Feels your whines becoming more high pitched and breathless. He doesnât want you to think too much about finishing, canât have you waiting for the build because itâs gonna drive it away.
He doesnât change his pace, his fingers continue thrusting, and his tongue doesnât speed up on your clit, he keeps everything consistent.
âJackââ You whine, feeling overwhelmed but knowing itâs not going to work, edging towards overstimulation.
He glances up to meet your eyes but doesnât stop his motions, searching your face. He can see youâre wrecked. Heâs desperate for you to fall off the edge, youâre right there.Â
So he distracts you.
In one smooth motion, he removes his mouth. You almost whine in sadness before he replaces them with his fingers, eliciting a stronger reaction from you, and he says, in the most casual tone:
âYou finish your charting?âÂ
What?
âMyâ Jackâ what?â You huff out breathlessly but he doesnât slow his fingers from toying with your clit and thrusting inside you
You try to answer his question, racking your brain.
But you canât think.
It feels too good.
Your mind goes completely blank.
And you let go.
You fall apart completely. You clench around his fingers and your legs shake involuntarily.
âFuckâ!â You moan loudly. Jack continues to work you through your orgasm, not stopping for a minute.
He pulls the pleasure from your body, the only thing you register is the waves of pleasure crashing down on your body. Your back is arched off the bed and your eyes are squeezed shut as Jack manages the impossible.
You didnât know it could feel this good.
You finally start squirming trying to get away, and he eases his fingers out of you. Youâre practically shaking, breaths coming out heavily as you lay on the bed completely destroyed.
You feel him slide up the bed, tucking himself under you so your head rests in his lap and he just strokes your head, moving strands of hair out of your face from where theyâve stuck to you as youâve gotten sweaty.Â
You slowly calm down, coming back to yourself and shyly open your eyes. Heâs already staring down at you, smiling so wide.Â
Despite yourself, you blush. Like he hadnât just made you completely fall apart.
âMy sweet girl.â He coos, stroking your cheek.
You try to hide your face in your arms, feeling impossibly shy at his words.
âOh, câmere, baby.â He coaxes you out of hiding. âYâgetting all shy? After I just made you cum so hard?â He teases gently and you groan, turning around to sit in his lap, resting your head in his neck.
âJaaaaack.â You whine.
âOkay, I hear ya, baby. No more teasinâ,â he rubs a hand down your back, then his tone gets impossible quiet, like youâve never heard before. âThat was okay, right, sweetheart?â His puppy dog eyes meet yours.
You canât help but laugh.Â
âOkay?â You scoff.
âJack, that wasâ everything.â You tell him, kissing his cheek.Â
He settles down a little after that, the brief shyness leaving him.Â
âMy turn, please.â You beg whilst reaching down to his crotch where you can feel the erection poking through from where youâre sat above him.
He grabs your wrists as you touch the waist band of his shorts, stopping you, you frown.
âDarlinâ, believe me. Any other night, absolutely,â He pauses stroking your cheek. âBut I need you so bad right now, need to be inside you.â
âOh.â You whisper, a shy smile coating your face as you realise how wrecked he is. Rising from his lap and allowing him to remove his boxers, you settle back down onto the bed. Heâs on top of you in an instant. âJackâ I can get on top, wanna ride you.â You say shyly.
âFucccck,â he groans. âBaby, I want that, but Iâm not gonna last. Next time. Let me feel you this way. Please.â He begs while positioning himself between your legs.
You wrap your legs around him as the tip of his cock slides through your folds. Your breath hitches when it nudges against your clit, the feel of your wet folds sliding against his cock makes it twitch against you, and he lets out a low groan at the feeling. Jack repeats the motion a few times before bringing the tip to your entrance.
You instinctively brace, knowing how painful it always is. Jack sees this, leaning down to kiss your neck and calming you down, relaxing you.
âSâokay, relax.â He coos before dipping his head into your neck, and pushing in.
He pushes in slowly, so slowly heâs losing his restraint.Â
But it doesnât hurt.Â
Heâd worked you open so well, kept you so relaxed, you just feel full.
You moan as he bottoms out, a hand tugging at his curls and the other gripping his bicep. You nod fervently,
âYou can move, please, moveââ You donât even finish your begs, your permission is all he needs to start letting go and thrusting into you.
You swear youâve never felt so good in your life, the level of intimacy is unmatched.
âFuck, baby, you feel so good.â He whinesÂ
His eyes meet yours as he thrusts, and as always his stare is intense. His pupils are blown and he looks destroyed.Â
He fits so perfectly inside you, youâre so full, you canât help but moan.Â
Youâre clenching around him so perfectly, your breasts bouncing with every thrust and he canât take his eyes off you.
âYouâre doing so good fâme.â He praises even though he looks like heâs on the edge.Â
Holding himself up on one arm to continue his movements, he brings a second to your clit.
You donât expect his touch once more, so lost in how full you feel, how heavenly it all is, that you hadnât realised how close you were again, and his simple touch pulls a second orgasm from you.
You fall apart even more, gripping his hair, nails leaving marks on his bicep as you shake around him, clenching.Â
Thatâs all he needs to finish.
Your beautiful moans, the way you donât break eye contact, the feel of you coming undone on his cock, heâs gone.
His thrusts stagger, becoming more desperate and frantic, his hold on your waist tightens as he grips onto you bringing you down onto his cock. His head lulls next to your head, hot breath in your ear as he groans, his seed spilling inside you.Â
Heâs completely wrecked, his last few after-orgasm thrusts jolt you, overstimulating. He lets his body go and completely crashes down onto you like a weighted blanket, leaving sloppy kisses down your neck.
Youâre both breathing so heavily, heâs still inside you as your aftershocks move through you, clenching involuntarily, but he seems to enjoy the feeling even as sensitive as he is.
âYâwere perfect for me, baby.â He whispers into your ear.Â
Your heart clenches at his words, how soft heâd been with you the whole time. He was so caring, so focused on you, praising you throughout the whole thing, he never took, he just kept giving and giving. He made sure it didnât hurt. You realise that youâve been accepting subpar treatment your whole life and just brushing it off.
In your post-orgasmic blank brain, you canât process the emotions and a few silent tears spill from your eyes at the complete overwhelm of emotions.
Your sniffles are what alert Jack, finally lifting his head to meet your eyes. His heart drops into his stomach, panic flooding him.
âHey, hey, talk to me.â His tone is so soft you feel guilty for worrying him. He moves to pull out, but youâre not thinking straight and you lock your legs around him, not wanting him to leave.
You just reach around and koala-bear hug him. He settles a little knowing he hasnât hurt you, that you still wanted him touching you.
âGotta talk to me, baby.â He pleads, cupping your face.
Youâre not silent for much longer, calming down enough to stop his worry.
âYouâ felt so good.â Your voice is high pitched, almost shy. âYou cared for me.â You sniffle.
Jackâs heart practically breaks.
âOh, baby.â He coos, bringing you into his chest. Peppering many kisses into your hair. âMâalways gonna take care of you.â He says so gently you canât help but let out another tear, but youâre smiling now.
âI love you.â You whisper, eyes full of tears, him still inside you.Â
He breathes out a sigh of relief.
âBaby you got no idea how long Iâve been waiting to hear that.â He kisses you, soft, passionately.
pairing: dr. jack abbot x younger resident!reader
summary: Youâre used to handling things alone, even if handling them means skipping meals, ignoring problems, and laughing before anyone can see where it stings. Then Jack Abbot starts noticing too much. He pays attention in that quiet, maddening way of his, all dry comments and practical solutions, until calling him your sugar daddy stops feeling like a joke and starts feeling like the only safe label for something youâre too terrified to name.
Because the problem with Jack Abbot isnât that he wants to take care of you. Itâs that you want to let him.
wc: 12.9k
a/n: and here it is, the accidental sugar daddy abbot fic i started over a month ago!! was initially toying with the idea to turn this into a multi-chaptered story but eventually settled on a one-shot instead because i have way too many ongoing fics i need to finish at some point lmao. i really wanted to take the sugar daddy trope and make it feel more grounded and in-character for jack, less flashy billionaire fantasy, more quiet practical care that gets way too intimate before either of you knows what to do with it. not beta read.
warnings: age gap, workplace power imbalance, attending/resident turned sd/sb dynamic, class/money insecurity, possessive/soft dom!jack, semi-public sex, piv, car sex, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, praise kink, mild degradation, biting/marking, daddy kink adjacent, public humiliation, no use of y/n
MASTERLIST
By the third time your card declined in front of Jack Abbot, you were ready to walk into traffic and let Pittsburgh finish what your bank account started.
Not dramatically. Not even with much feeling.
Just a clean, practical exit from the kind of humiliation that made your skin feel too tight over your bones.
The cafeteria at PTMC was too bright for this hour, all hard fluorescent light and polished floors and the faint, permanent smell of fryer oil losing a war against antiseptic. Behind you, the emergency department pulsed on with its usual awful rhythmâmonitors chiming, stretchers squealing past, somebody coughing low and ragged, the sound dragging itself through the corridor, Dana Evans barking for someone to move their ass before she moved it for them. It was a living thing down here. Hungry. Overlit. Never satisfied.
You had a wrapped turkey sandwich in one hand, a bruised banana in the other, and that particular, skin-tight shame of being broke in public.
The cashier, who looked as tired as everyone else in the building, tried not to make a face at the register.
âSometimes itâs the chip,â she said.
âItâs not the chip,â you said, because apparently your mouth had decided the truth was less embarrassing than optimism.
You could feel the line behind you growing restless. A respiratory therapist with a Diet Coke. A med student in wrinkled scrubs whispering urgently into their phone. Dr. Whitaker, gentle-eyed and awkward, staring at the ceiling like he was trying to give you privacy by force of will. Somewhere near the coffee station, Santos was talking too loudly about a procedure she âabsolutely couldâve done faster if anyone had let her finish,â and Dr. Mohan was answering in that careful, measured way that made even a correction sound like sheâd considered the whole person first.
You shifted the sandwich lower against your palm.
âItâs fine,â you said, already turning. âI donât need it.â
A hand reached past your shoulder and tapped a card against the reader.
The machine beeped.
Approved.
You froze.
Jack Abbot stood close enough behind you that you caught the familiar edge of him before you looked upâthe clean, medicinal bite of hospital soap, the stale warmth of coffee, the faintest trace of sweat under scrubs after too many hours on his feet. He didnât look at you right away. He watched the cashier print the receipt with the same expression he wore when waiting for labs, jaw set, eyes tired, patience worn thin but not gone.
âBag?â the cashier asked.
âNo,â Jack said.
You stood there with the sandwich in one hand and the banana in the other, suddenly too aware of the bruised peel, the cold give of the sandwich through the cloudy plastic, the line behind you, and Jack Abbotâs shoulder beside yours.
You stared at him. âSeriously?â
He finally looked at you.
Jack Abbot always looked like heâd been awake since the Clinton administration. It shouldâve made him less attractive. It didn't. The exhaustion sat under his eyes and in the lines bracketing his mouth, but there was something about him that made tired look like discipline instead of defeat. His hair was a little mussed, his scrubs were creased at the hips, and his stance had that slight adjustment youâd learned to notice after months of seeing him around PTMCâthe subtle distribution of weight that came with his prosthetic leg and the old damage he carried without announcing it.
âWhat?â he said.
You lowered your voice. âYou didnât have to do that.â
âI know.â
âThatâs my lunch.â
âLooked like it.â
âYou paid for it.â
âSharp today.â
You huffed, heat crawling up your neck. âJack.â
That got you the smallest change in his face. Not a smile. He didnât hand those out recklessly. More like one corner of his mouth remembered humor existed and gave a half-hearted twitch before giving up.
âEat the sandwich,â he said.
âI was going to.â
âNo, you were going to put it back and pretend you werenât hungry.â
You opened your mouth.
Jackâs eyebrows lifted.
You closed it again.
Behind him, Whitaker looked down at his shoes like they might offer instructions, visibly desperate not to be part of this. Santos, unfortunately, had no such instinct.
âDamn,â she said, appearing at Jackâs shoulder with a coffee she had definitely not paid for recently enough to still be that hot. âAbbotâs buying lunch now? Is this a resident perk, or do I need to almost faint near the muffins?â
Mohan didnât look up from stirring sugar into her tea. âYou would never almost faint quietly enough to qualify.â
âI donât faint,â Santos said.
âYou got lightheaded during central line training.â
âThat was low blood sugar and a hostile learning environment.â Santos pointed two fingers toward Jack. âBut Iâm serious. I want in on the cafeteria patron program.â
Jack looked at her.
Santos looked back.
The silence lasted exactly long enough for her confidence to thin at the edges.
âOr not,â she said, taking a sip of coffee. âNoted. Very selective program.â
Dana passed behind the group with a stack of charts under one arm and a look sharp enough to split sutures. âIf any of you are done loitering in my cafeteria like itâs a damn wine bar, Iâve got three beds backing up, a grown adult arguing with registration, a kid melting down in triage, and a Lego stuck in one of their ear canals.â
Whitaker blinked. âWho? Adult guy or kid guy?â
Dana didnât slow down. âThatâs the part thatâs gonna disappoint you.â
Santos grinned. Mohan gave a small, resigned sigh. Jack, without looking away from you, said, âEat.â
Your face was still hot.
The sandwich felt heavier now that it had been purchased by him. Not because it was expensive. It was hospital cafeteria turkey on wheat, overpriced and bland, the cloudy plastic crinkling under your fingers every time your grip tightened. But Jack had noticed. That was the part you didnât know how to hold. Heâd seen the little calculation youâd tried to hide, the quiet defeat of deciding hunger could wait until later, and heâd stepped in with no fanfare. No pity. No soft voice.
Just a card tapped against a reader and a dry order to eat.
âI can pay you back,â you said.
Jackâs eyes dipped briefly to the sandwich and then back to your face.
âDonât.â
âI donât like owing people.â
âYou donât owe me.â
âThatâs not how money works.â
âIt is when I decide I donât care.â
You gave a small, disbelieving laugh. âThatâs very generous of you, Dr. Abbot.â
âDonât make it weird.â
You shouldâve let it go.
You really shouldâve.
But the humiliation had already burned off into something else, something warmer and more dangerous, because Jack was standing there with his tired eyes and that blunt, immovable steadiness, and you had never been good at leaving tension alone when you could poke it until it bit.
âCareful,â you said, tucking the sandwich against your chest. âPeople are gonna think youâre my sugar daddy.â
Whitaker made a strangled sound and turned toward the condiments with the strained focus of a man suddenly invested in ketchup packets, while Santos choked on her coffee hard enough that Mohan closed her eyes like she was choosing patience on purpose. Jack only stared at you, and for one awful second, you thought youâd gone too far.
Then Jack took the receipt from the cashier, crumpled it in one hand, and said, flat as a dead monitor, âPeople think a lot of stupid shit.â
He walked away before you could answer.
You watched him disappear through the cafeteria doors and into the arterial chaos of the ER, shoulders squared, limp controlled, already swallowed by the work waiting for him.
Santos leaned closer, grin wide enough to be medically concerning.
âOh, that was not nothing.â
âIt was lunch,â you said.
Mohan looked at you over the rim of her cup, thoughtful in a way that made you feel unfortunately examined. âHe noticed before anyone else did.â
You pressed the cold sandwich wrapper against your burning face.
Dana shouted from somewhere down the hall, âSantos, if youâre socializing instead of working, Iâm assigning you Lego ear.â
Santos snapped upright. âIâm not socializing.â
âGood,â Dana called. âThen you can do it faster.â
You stood there with Jackâs lunch in your hands and tried very hard not to smile.
It wouldâve been easier if that had been the end of it.
But Jack Abbot, you learned, was not a man who did anything halfway once he decided it made sense.
He didnât become flashy. He didnât start acting like some rich asshole in a bad romance novel, throwing cash around and waiting to be thanked for it. That wouldâve been easier to resist, probably. Less intimate, anyway. You couldâve rolled your eyes at that. You couldâve made fun of him. You couldâve called it ridiculous and kept your pride intact.
Jack was worse.
Jack was practical.
He bought your coffee the next morning because, as he put it, âI was already standing there.â He brought you half a container of pasta from the staff fridge because âRobby ordered too much and nobody here understands portions.â He left a protein bar beside your laptop during a night when the waiting room looked like every bad decision in Pittsburgh had agreed to arrive at once. He noticed when your left shoe started peeling at the sole and said nothing, which somehow made you more self-conscious than if heâd pointed at it.
Robby noticed before you did.
Or maybe Robby noticed everything and simply chose when to weaponize it.
It was just after noon on a bad shift, the kind where every hallway seemed to have sprouted a stretcher and every call light sounded like one more thing nobody had enough hands to answer. You were near the nursesâ station, trying to make sense of a scheduling conflict that had three departments blaming each other in increasingly creative language, when Robby came up beside you with a tablet in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.
His hair was doing that thing where it looked like heâd run both hands through it enough times to qualify as a cry for help.
âIs Abbot feeding you?â he asked.
You nearly dropped your pen. âWhat?â
Robby glanced toward trauma two, where Jack was leaning over a chart with Dr. McKay, both of them listening while Javadi spoke quickly and carefully, too eager to be casual. Jackâs attention was fixed, but his expression had that faintly skeptical set that made med students stand up straighter by instinct.
âFood,â Robby said. âCoffee. Whatever else heâs pretending is a coincidence.â
âHe bought me lunch once.â
âUh-huh.â
âAnd coffee.â
âSure.â
âAnd maybe pasta.â
Robbyâs eyebrows rose.
You narrowed your eyes. âDo you have a point?â
âNot one worth putting in writing.â He took a sip of coffee, then winced like it tasted exactly as bad as he expected and somehow worse. âJust be careful.â
That killed the humor faster than you wanted it to.
Your eyes shifted back toward Jack before you could stop them.
Robby caught it. Of course he caught it. He was annoying that way, all ragged compassion and clinical perception, the kind of man who could call out a hemorrhage, a lie, and a panic attack in the same breath.
âHeâs a good guy,â Robby said, quieter.
âI know.â
âThat doesnât mean heâs uncomplicated.â
You swallowed. âI know that too.â
Robbyâs face softened by a fraction. It made him look older, which was unfair, because he already looked like the hospital had been chewing on him for years and kept forgetting to swallow.
âOkay,â he said. Then, because sincerity seemed to physically pain him if left unbalanced, he added, âAlso, if this turns into some HR nightmare, Iâm denying I noticed.â
âThereâs nothing to notice.â
âGreat. Love that. Very convincing.â
You looked back down at your schedule so he wouldnât see your face.
Across the department, Jack glanced up.
For a second, through the moving bodies and swinging privacy curtains and fluorescent glare, his eyes found yours.
He didnât smile.
He just looked.
That was becoming the problem.
Jack didnât flirt the way other men flirted. He didnât crowd you with charm or drown you in compliments or make a show of wanting to be watched. He looked at you like noticing was a form of pressure. Like every detail went somewhere and stayed there. The coffee order. The bad shoe. The way you tucked your hands into your sleeves when you were cold. The way your voice got flatter when you were trying not to admit something hurt.
You wished heâd be less good at it.
You wished you liked it less.
The car thing happened on a Thursday.
You were leaving PTMC after a shift that had somehow lasted ten hours despite only being scheduled for eight, which felt like a violation of both labor law and physics. Your head ached from fluorescent lights. Your feet throbbed. The parking garage smelled like wet concrete, exhaust, and old rain, with the city beyond it slick and dark under a spring storm that had rolled in hard after sunset.
Your car made the noise again when you turned the key.
Not the cute noise. Not the âhaha, sheâs old but reliableâ noise.
The expensive one.
A grinding, metallic cough dragged itself out from under the hood, followed by a rattle that sounded like several important pieces had started a fight and nobody was winning.
You shut the engine off immediately.
âPlease,â you whispered, resting your forehead against the steering wheel. âNot tonight.â
The car answered by doing absolutely nothing, which was at least better than exploding.
You tried again.
The sound came back worse.
A knock hit your window.
You screamed.
Jack stood outside in the harsh garage lighting, rain clinging to his shoulders, one hand braced on the roof of your car. He looked unimpressed by your survival instincts.
You rolled the window down halfway. âJesus Christ.â
âNo,â he said. âJust me.â
âDo you always lurk in parking garages?â
âOnly when cars sound like theyâre about to die.â
âItâs fine.â
Jack looked at the hood. Then at you.
âThatâs not a fine sound.â
âIt does that sometimes.â
âIt shouldnât do that ever.â
You tightened your grip on the steering wheel. âIâm taking it in next week.â
âYouâre not driving it until then.â
A laugh slipped out of you, brittle and defensive. âOkay, Dad.â
His expression didn't change, but something in his eyes sharpened.
Your stomach dipped.
Not fear. Not exactly.
Something else.
Jack leaned slightly closer to the open window. âPop the hood.â
âI donât need you toââ
âPop the hood.â
There was a particular tone he used in the ER when people were bleeding, lying, or being stupid about symptoms that could kill them. Apparently, your car had been triaged into that category.
You popped the hood.
The storm pushed rain sideways into the garage, misting the concrete in silver sheets beyond the open level. Jack moved around to the front of your car and lifted the hood, shoulders hunching slightly as he looked inside. He wasnât wearing a jacket, just dark scrubs under a gray zip-up that had seen better decades, sleeves pushed to his forearms. The overhead light caught the tendons in his hands, the salt at his temples, the hard concentration in his face.
It was obscene, honestly, watching a man become attractive over engine trouble.
He checked something, frowned, checked something else, then lowered the hood with more control than the situation deserved.
âDo not drive this,â he said.
You were already shaking your head. âI have to get home.â
âIâll drive you.â
âNo.â
âYes.â
âNo, Jack.â
He stared at you over the hood. âYou got a better plan?â
You did not.
You had forty-three dollars in your checking account, a rent payment looming like an execution date, and a car making noises you couldnât afford to identify. But admitting that felt worse than standing barefoot on broken glass.
âI can call someone,â you said.
âWho?â
The question was simple. Too simple.
That was the problem with Jack. He had no patience for the decorative lies people used to get through conversations. He stripped things down until you either told the truth or stood there bleeding around it.
You looked away first.
Rain ticked against the garage opening. Somewhere below, an ambulance siren rose and fell, dopplering into the wet city.
Jackâs voice dropped. âGet your bag.â
âI donât want to be a problem.â
âYouâre not.â
âI donât want you fixing everything.â
âIâm not fixing everything.â He came around to your side of the car, opened the door, and stood back enough to give you room. âIâm stopping you from driving a death trap.â
You didnât move.
Jack exhaled through his nose, not quite a sigh.
âYou can be mad in my car,â he said. âIt has heat.â
That was how he won.
Not with softness. Not with a speech.
Heat.
You grabbed your bag and got out.
Jackâs car was clean in the way a personâs car got when they didnât spend enough time in it to make a mess. There was an old coffee cup in the holder, a folded jacket in the back, a snow scraper on the floor, and a faint smell of leather, rain, and whatever soap he used that always made you think of hospital sinks and his hands.
He turned the heat on without asking. Then, after a second, he aimed one of the vents toward you.
You noticed.
You hated that you noticed.
Neither of you said anything as he pulled out of the garage. The rain blurred the windshield, smearing Pittsburgh into traffic lights and dark brick, ambulance bays and slick streets, the city looking bruised and alive under the storm. Jack drove with one hand low on the wheel, the other resting near the gear shift, fingers flexing once when his leg seemed to bother him.
âYou okay?â you asked before you could stop yourself.
His eyes stayed on the road. âYeah.â
âYour leg?â
âI said yeah.â
âRight. Sorry.â
His jaw worked.
Then, quieter, âLong day.â
That was as much as he usually gave. A door opened an inch, then locked again.
You nodded. âYeah.â
The wipers dragged water from the glass in steady, tired arcs.
At a red light, Jack said, âWhere do you take the car?â
You laughed weakly. âTo a mechanic who knows me by name and already looks tired when I walk in.â
âIâll call someone.â
âNo.â
âYou donât know who yet.â
âI know itâs going to involve you paying for something.â
The light turned green.
Jack drove.
You looked at him, incredulous. âYouâre not even denying it.â
âSeemed like a waste of both our time.â
âJack.â
âI know a guy.â
âOf course you know a guy.â
âIâm old.â
âYouâre not that old.â
That got you a glance. Brief, sharp, almost amused.
âNo?â
âNo,â you said, and then because you had apparently decided self-preservation was for other people, you added, âJust old enough to have a guy.â
The corner of his mouth moved.
You felt victorious and doomed at the same time.
âI can handle it,â you said, softer. âThe car. Iâll figure it out.â
âI know you can.â
âThen why are you doing this?â
Jack was quiet long enough that you thought he might not answer.
Then he said, âBecause figuring it out shouldnât mean hoping your brakes make it another week.â
Your throat tightened unexpectedly.
You looked out the window so he wouldnât see it.
The thing about being brokeâreally, really, brokeâwasnât just the lack of money. It was the math. The constant, grinding math of survival. A sandwich became a calculation. A repair became a catastrophe. A strange noise under the hood became a negotiation with God or luck or whatever indifferent force kept old cars alive for one more day. You got used to making everything stretch until stretching felt like living, and then someone like Jack came along and called it unsafe in that blunt, infuriating voice, and suddenly the whole thing looked different.
Not brave.
Not independent.
Just exhausting.
He pulled up outside your building and put the car in park. Rain ran down the windshield in crooked streams.
You didnât reach for the door handle.
âThank you,â you said.
Jack nodded once.
âI mean it.â
âI know.â
âIâll pay you back if your guy does anything.â
âNo.â
You shut your eyes. âPlease donât make me fight you in your car. Iâm tired.â
âI noticed.â
âStop noticing.â
âNo.â
Your eyes opened.
Jack was looking at you now, body angled slightly in the driverâs seat, face cut by passing headlights and dashboard glow. Up close, in the dim, the lines around his eyes looked deeper. So did the restraint. He wore it like part of the uniform, like scrubs and a stethoscope and whatever pain he kept filed away under function.
Your voice came out smaller than you wanted. âWhy?â
He didnât pretend not to understand.
âI donât know,â he said.
It was the first answer heâd given you that didnât sound like a diagnosis.
That made it worse.
You tried to smile, tried to make the air lighter before it crushed you. âThis is getting very sugar daddy of you.â
The joke landed differently in the dark.
You felt it. So did he.
Jackâs eyes dropped to your mouth for half a second. Maybe less. Long enough for your pulse to trip, not long enough to accuse him of anything. Either way, when he looked back up, his face had gone still in a way that made the warm air from the vents feel suddenly too hot.
âYou should go inside,â he said.
You nodded.
Neither of you moved.
Then his phone buzzed in the cup holder, snapping the moment clean down the middle. Jack glanced at the screen, saw Robbyâs name, and declined the call before typing something one-handed with the resignation of a man who knew better than to leave him unanswered too long.
You opened the door before you could do something stupid, like ask him to come upstairs.
âNight, Jack.â
His hand tightened once around the phone.
âLock your door.â
You smiled despite yourself. âYes, Doctor.â
His eyes lifted.
There it was again, that almost-smile. Faint. Dangerous.
âDonât start,â he said.
You got out before your face could betray you.
The car repair cost eight hundred and sixty dollars.
Jack didn't tell you this.
The mechanic did, because you called behind Jackâs back after getting one text that said, Carâs handled. Pick it up Friday.
Handled.
Like it was a chart. Like it was a consult. Like it was one of the million things at PTMC that needed to be assessed, fixed, signed off, and moved along.
You stood in a supply hallway with your phone pressed to your ear, your grip tightening around the case while the mechanic cheerfully explained that Dr. Abbot had already squared it away.
Squared it away.
You were going to kill him.
Unfortunately, when you found him, he was in the middle of resetting a dislocated shoulder with Robby at the bedside and King handing over medication with careful, focused precision. There was a teenage patient crying, his mother pacing, Dana telling everyone who wasnât useful to back up, and Jack looking exactly like a man who could not be murdered until after he finished being competent.
You had to wait.
That made you angrier.
By the time he stepped out, stripping off gloves and tossing them into the trash, you had worked yourself into something sharp enough to throw.
âEight hundred and sixty dollars?â you said.
Jack stopped.
Robby, behind him, stopped too.
Dana looked up from the desk.
Santos, who had the survival instincts of someone convinced she could talk her way out of anything, immediately leaned over the counter.
Jackâs eyes flicked over your face. âNot here.â
âOh, no, definitely here.â
Robby pressed his lips together and took one very deliberate step backward.
âCoward,â Dana muttered.
âExperienced,â Robby corrected.
Jack lowered his voice. âYou called the mechanic.â
âYou paid the mechanic.â
âYeah.â
âEight hundred and sixty dollars, Jack.â
âWouldâve been more if you kept driving it.â
You stared at him. âThat is not the point.â
âThat is exactly the point.â
âI told you I didnât want you fixing everything.â
âAnd I told you I wasnât letting you drive a death trap.â
âYou donât get to decide that for me.â
For the first time, something like frustration cracked through his calm.
âNo,â he said. âI donât get to decide everything for you. But I do get to decide what I do with my money.â
Dana made a low sound. âJesus.â
Santos whispered, âThis is better than whatever I was supposed to be doing.â
Mohan, passing with a chart, said, âYou're supposed to be working.â
You barely heard them.
Your whole focus had narrowed to Jackâs face, the stubborn set of his mouth, the tension in his shoulders. He looked tired. He always looked tired. But underneath it was something else now, something protective enough to be annoying and personal enough to hurt.
âI canât pay that back right now,â you said.
âI didnât ask you to.â
âThat doesnât make it better.â
âIt makes it done.â
You laughed once, without humor. âYouâre impossible.â
âUsually.â
âYou canât justââ You stopped, aware suddenly of how many people were pretending not to listen. Your voice dropped. âYou canât just keep doing this.â
Jackâs gaze held yours.
âDoing what?â
The question shouldâve been innocent, but it wasnât. Not after the lunches, the coffee, the rides, the mechanic, or the way Jack looked at you like you were a problem he wanted to solve with his bare hands. You stepped closer before you thought better of it.
âYou know what,â you said.
For a second, the department moved around you, loud and bright and indifferent, but you and Jack were still.
Then Dana slapped a chart down on the counter hard enough to startle everyone within ten feet.
âOkay,â she said. âAs much as Iâd love to watch whatever this is turn into a workplace training module, Abbot, bed nine needs you. Youââ She pointed at you. âTake a breath before you rupture something expensive.â
Jackâs mouth tightened, but he listened.
Of course he listened to Dana. Everyone did, eventually.
He stepped past you, close enough that his sleeve brushed your arm.
âFriday,â he said under his breath.
You turned your head. âWhat?â
âPick up your car Friday.â
Then he was gone.
Santos waited exactly three seconds.
âSo,â she said, bright-eyed. âHow does one apply for the Abbot scholarship fund?â
Dana pointed at her without looking. âBedpan in curtain three.â
Santos deflated. âDamn it.â
You hated how badly you wanted to laugh.
By Friday, when you picked up your car, there was a new pair of black nonslip clogs sitting in the passenger seat.
Not fancy. Not wrapped. Just sensible, comfortable work shoes in your size, made for twelve-hour shifts and the brutal, steady wear of the ER. A sticky note was pressed to the box in Jackâs blunt handwriting.
Your old ones were unsafe.
That was it. No apology, no explanation. Just another problem heâd noticed and solved before you could decide whether to be grateful or furious.
You sat in the driverâs seat for a long time, staring at the note, then laughed until your eyes burned.
The fundraiser was Robbyâs fault.
At least, that was what you told yourself, because blaming Robby was easier than admitting you had agreed to attend a hospital donor event while quietly hoping Jack would look at you in something other than scrubs.
PTMC held one every year, apparently. A grim little ritual where administrators, donors, board members, and exhausted medical staff gathered in a hotel ballroom to pretend the emergency department wasnât being kept alive by overworked staff, aging equipment, and the quiet fact that everyone had learned to make do with less. There would be speeches. There would be bad chicken. There would be wealthy people using phrases like âfrontline heroesâ while nurses calculated how many working monitors the cost of the floral arrangements couldâve bought.
You hadnât planned to go.
Then Gloria Underwoodâs office had needed extra administrative support for check-in, and Robby had said, âItâs easy money. Wear something nice. Try not to let the donors explain healthcare to you.â
Youâd said yes before checking your closet.
That was how you ended up in your apartment three nights before the event, sitting on the floor in a towel, surrounded by every dress you owned and the creeping realization that none of them worked. Too casual. Too tight in the wrong way. Too old. Too funeral. Too âcollege career fair,â stiff in all the wrong places and not nice enough to pass under ballroom lighting. One had a broken zipper. One still had a stain from a margarita incident you refused to revisit.
Your phone buzzed.
Jack:
Car still running?
You stared at the message, then at the graveyard of dresses around you.
You:
yes, dad
Jack:
Donât.
You smiled despite yourself.
You:
thank you, by the way
for the shoes too
even though youâre insane
Jack:
You going tomorrow?
You stared at the message for a second too long, then looked down at the heap of rejected clothes around your legs.
You:
maybe
Jack:
That means yes.
You shouldâve stopped there.
Instead, with the fatal confidence of a woman sitting half-naked on her bedroom floor and losing an argument with formalwear, you typed:
You:
it means maybe now i just need a dress that doesnât make me look like i wandered into the fundraiser by accident
The reply took longer than usual.
Jack:
Show me.
You stared at the message, suddenly aware of every inch of bare skin the pile of rejected clothes wasnât covering.
You:
the dress?
Jack:
What else would I mean?
Your face went hot.
You:
donât ask me that when iâm half naked on my bedroom floor
The typing bubble appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Jack:
You have tomorrow off?
You stared.
Then stared harder.
You:
why
Jack:
Answer the question.
There were several smart things you couldâve said.
You said none of them.
You:
yes
Jack:
Iâll pick you up at 10.
Your stomach flipped.
You:
jack
Jack:
10:30 if youâre going to argue.
You:
you donât even know what i was going to say
Jack:
Iâm learning patterns.
You pressed your phone facedown against your thigh and sat there half-dressed and mortified, thighs pressed together, waiting for your body to stop reacting like heâd put his hands on you.
The next morning, Jack arrived at 10:28.
Of course he did.
He drove you to a small boutique outside downtown, the kind of place you wouldâve walked past without entering because the window displays didnât include prices, which meant the prices were rude. Jack parked, got out, and came around to your side before you had fully finished spiraling.
âI donât like this,â you said as he opened the door.
âYou havenât gone in yet.â
âThatâs why I still have hope.â
He gave you a look.
You stepped out, hugging your coat tighter around yourself. âJack, Iâm serious. Iâm not letting you buy me some expensive dress.â
âOkay.â
You blinked. âOkay?â
âYeah.â
âThat was too easy.â
âYou said some expensive dress.â He closed the car door. âFind a cheap one.â
You stared at him.
He headed for the shop.
âThat is not a loophole,â you called after him.
âItâs exactly a loophole.â
Inside, the boutique was too quiet, too soft, too expensive in ways it didnât need to announce. Pale wood floors, warm lighting, racks arranged with almost insulting confidence, the dresses hanging with more breathing room than your apartment closet could spare. The air smelled faintly of steamed fabric and perfume, and the woman behind the counter looked up with the calm precision of someone trained to know who was buying before anyone spoke.
You hated that. You hated more that Jack didnât seem to notice.
Or he did notice and simply didnât care.
He told her what you needed in a few clipped sentences: hospital fundraiser, semi-formal, comfortable enough to work check-in, not black unless you wanted black, shoes optional because you had shoes. He didn't mention size like a man trying to guess or gesture vaguely at your body like an idiot. He looked at you when that part came up and let you answer for yourself.
That tiny bit of respect did something inconvenient to your chest.
The saleswoman brought options.
You rejected the first three.
Jack rejected the fourth before you could come out of the dressing room.
âNo,â he said through the door.
You looked at yourself in the mirror, startled. âYou havenât even seen it.â
âI saw the sleeve.â
âYou can diagnose a bad dress by sleeve?â
âIâve diagnosed worse with less.â
You pulled the curtain back just enough to glare at him.
Jack sat in a low chair outside the dressing rooms, one ankle braced carefully, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. He looked absurd there, too solid and worn-in for the soft gold mirrors and velvet hangers, like someone had dropped a combat medic into a room built for silk and champagne.
His eyes flicked to the sliver of dress visible through the curtain.
âNo,â he repeated.
The saleswoman, traitor that she was, nodded. âHeâs right.â
You shut the curtain. âI hate both of you.â
The fifth dress was the problem.
You knew it before you opened the curtain.
The fabric skimmed instead of clung, soft where it needed to be, structured where it counted. It made you look like youâd meant to be invited. Like you hadnât spent the week calculating grocery money in your head and pretending exhaustion didnât count if you kept moving. The neckline was tasteful, but not innocent. The color warmed your skin without washing you out. You turned once in the mirror and felt something low in your stomach shift.
Confidence, maybe.
Or danger.
âLet me see,â Jack said from outside.
âYouâre bossy.â
âYes.â
âYou admit that way too easily.â
âIâm old.â
You smiled, then caught your own face in the mirror and watched the smile fade.
This was a bad idea. Not the dressâthe dress was perfect.
That was the bad idea.
You opened the curtain, and Jack looked up.
For a moment, he said nothing.
The shop noise seemed to thin around youâthe music, the soft movement of hangers, the saleswoman tactfully vanishing somewhere behind a rack. Jackâs gaze moved over you once, controlled enough to be deniable and slow enough to ruin you anyway. He didnât leer. He didnât smirk. He just looked, jaw set, eyes catching for half a second too long at your waist, your hips, the neckline of the dress, like the only thing keeping his hands to himself was the fact that you were standing under boutique lights instead of somewhere with a locked door.
His jaw shifted.
Your fingers tightened around the curtain.
âWell?â you asked, because silence was going to kill you.
Jack leaned back slightly, but it didnât make him look relaxed. It made him look like restraint had become physical.
âNo,â he said.
Your face fell before you could stop it.
Then he added, lower, âThatâs the problem.â
The words landed low enough to make your stomach tighten. You looked down at yourself, then back at him. âToo much?â
âNo.â
âThen what?â
His eyes returned to your face like it cost him effort.
âIt fits.â
It was such a stupid answer. Controlled, careful, almost uselessâand somehow hotter than a compliment, because you could hear everything he wasnât saying in the rough edge of his voice.
You stepped fully out, smoothing your palms down the front of the dress because you needed something to do.
âItâs probably expensive.â
âProbably.â
âJack.â
âYou like it?â
âThatâs not the point.â
âItâs my point.â
You exhaled, trying to laugh, but it came out thin. âYou canât keep buying me things.â
He stood. Not quickly, not dramatically. Just unfolded himself from the chair and came closer, stopping at a respectful distance that still felt indecent because his eyes hadnât left the dress, or you inside it.
âI can do what I want.â
âYou sound like a nightmare.â
âIâve been called worse.â
âIâm serious.â
âSo am I.â
You glanced toward the mirror, unable to hold his eyes. In the reflection, he stood behind you, hands at his sides, older and tired and steady, and you looked like something neither of you could keep pretending was professional.
The thought went through you too sharply.
You swallowed. âPeople are going to think Iâm exactly what I joked about.â
You met his eyes in the mirror. âYour sugar baby.â
There. Said out loud in the warm boutique light, with the dress between you as evidence.
Jackâs gaze held yours. Then he stepped closer, just enough that his voice didnât have to carry. âThat what you want this to be?â
Your mouth went dry. The smart answer was no. The honest answer was more complicated, and the answer your body wanted to give had no business being spoken in public before noon.
So you made it worse on purpose.
âI donât know,â you said, tilting your head. âDepends on the benefits package.â
Jack looked at you for a long second. Then the almost-smile appeared, brief and devastating.
âChange,â he said. âBefore I regret asking.â
You spent the rest of the day pretending your hands werenât shaking.
Saturday night came wrapped in rain and reflected light.
The hotel ballroom looked too clean, too bright, and too expensive for a fundraiser built around people who spent most days trying to keep the whole place upright. White tablecloths. Gold fixtures. Centerpieces too tall for conversation. A stage at the far end with the PTMC logo projected behind the podium, clean and official and nothing like the controlled disaster of the emergency department. Nurses and doctors looked strangely exposed out of scrubs, like actors at the wrong rehearsal. Dana wore navy and carried herself with the same brisk authority she had at the nursesâ station, like the ballroom was just another crowded hallway she intended to get under control. Robby had put on a suit, but he wore it with visible reluctance, one hand already tugging at his tie before the first speech had started.
Dr. McKay arrived with her hair pinned back, already checking her phone for updates about her son. King stood beside her, fidgeting lightly with her bracelet while listening to Whitaker ramble about how strange it was to see everyone with ânormal arms,â which he then tried to explain and somehow made worse. Javadi looked polished and nervous, her mother somewhere in the room like a pressure system. Mohan was composed, elegant, and already listening to the opening remarks with the patient focus of someone rationing her tolerance carefully.
Santos wore a sharp dress and confidence like body armor.
âOkay,â she said when she saw you. âIâm going to say something, and I need you not to make it weird.â
âThatâs never a good opener.â
âYou look hot.â
âSantos.â
âWhat? I said donât make it weird.â
Mohan, passing behind her, said, âYou made it weird by announcing you werenât going to.â
Santos ignored her. âAbbot seen you yet?â
You busied yourself with the check-in list. âWhy?â
âBecause Iâm invested.â
âYou need a hobby.â
âI have one. Itâs being right.â
You were saved from answering by Dana appearing at your side with two badges and a look that missed nothing.
âYou doing okay?â she asked.
âYeah.â
Danaâs eyes swept over your face, then the room, then the entrance where Jack had not yet appeared. âUh-huh.â
âYou too?â
âMe too what?â
âNothing.â
Dana handed you the badges. âHoney, Iâve worked ER longer than some of these donors have been pretending to care about ER. I know when thereâs a thing.â
âThereâs not a thing.â
âThen stop looking at the door like youâre planning an escape route.â
You opened your mouth, found nothing useful, and looked back down at the check-in list.
Dana smirked and walked away.
Jack arrived ten minutes late in a dark suit, and something behind your ribs fluttered hard enough that you had to look away.
It wasnât fancy. That was the worst part. No special tailoring, no flashy tie, no clean magazine version of him. Just a dark suit on a man who looked like heâd rather be elbows-deep in a trauma bay than standing under chandelier light, his hair slightly unruly, his face tired, his posture adjusted in that familiar way. The jacket sat broad across his shoulders. The shirt opened at the collar because of course he looked better slightly undone. There was a roughness to him the room couldnât soften, something lived-in and disciplined and worn close to the bone.
Robby said something to him at the entrance.
Jack answered without smiling.
Then his eyes found you.
Everything else blurred.
Not fully. You were still aware of the check-in table under your hands, the murmur of donors, Santos whispering âoh my godâ somewhere behind you with absolutely no attempt to hide it. But Jack looked at you in that dress, and the rest of the room slipped out of reach for one dangerous second.
He walked over slowly.
âHi,â you said, which was embarrassing because you knew more words than that.
Jackâs gaze moved over your face first, then the dress, then back up slowly enough that your skin warmed beneath the fabric heâd bought.
âHi.â
You tried for a smile. âYou clean up okay.â
âI was going to say that.â
âYou can still say it.â
âNo.â
âToo generous?â
âToo easy.â
His eyes dipped again, just once, and something in your stomach tightened before he seemed to remember the room around you. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.
You stared. âWhat is that?â
âReceipt.â
âFor the dress?â
âFor the car.â
Your stomach dropped. âJack.â
âRelax.â He slid it across the check-in table with two fingers. âIt says paid. Thatâs all.â
You looked down.
Paid.
Your throat tightened.
âYou said you didnât like owing people,â he said.
âI still owe you.â
âNo.â His voice stayed quiet, but something in it made the word feel less like comfort and more like a line drawn in permanent ink. âYou donât.â
You looked up at him, and for a second the ballroom felt too bright, too crowded, too public for the thing trying to break open in your chest.
Before you could answer, Robby appeared beside Jack with the timing of a man either doing you a favor or robbing you of a bad decision.
âAbbot,â he said, âUnderwood wants us near the front for the photo.â
Jackâs voice came out clipped. âNo.â
âYeah, thatâs what I said. She used the phrase âvisible leadership.ââ
âThat makes it worse.â
âI agree.â
Robby looked at you then, eyes flicking once between your dress and Jackâs face. His mouth twitched.
âYou look nice,â he said.
âThank you.â
âAbbot looks like heâs about to be taken out behind the building and shot, but thatâs formal for him.â
Jack gave him a look.
Robby clapped him lightly on the shoulder. âCome on, visible leadership.â
Jack didnât move immediately.
His hand came to rest at the edge of the check-in table, close enough to yours that your fingers couldâve brushed if you shifted an inch.
âDonât disappear,â he said.
Your pulse kicked.
âIâm working.â
âAfter.â
Then Robby dragged him away with a level of cheer that was clearly retaliatory.
You watched Jack go and tried to remember how to do your job.
For a while, the event was exactly as awful as promised.
Speeches about resilience. Applause that sounded expensive. Donors talking about âthe Pittâ like it was a concept instead of a place where every decision had a body attached to it. Gloria Underwood spoke with smooth authority while Robby stared at the middle distance like a man practicing astral projection. Langdon appeared late and left early, moving through the edge of the room with a smile that didnât quite reach his eyes. Collins was mentioned by someone near the bar, her name landing with that particular hospital weight of people who had been part of the machinery and then werenât there in the same way anymore.
You checked people in. You directed donors toward their tables. You smiled until your cheeks ached.
And Jack kept finding you.
Not obviously. Not enough for anyone to call it hovering. But he passed behind your chair and set a glass of water near your hand. He appeared during a lull with a plate from the buffet because âyou werenât going to get one.â He stood beside you while an orthopedic surgeon whose name you immediately forgot talked at you for seven minutes about golf, his presence quiet and solid and just intimidating enough to make the man eventually wander away.
At one point, you leaned toward him and murmured, âThis is very attentive of you.â
He didnât look down. âYou looked like you were going to stab him with a pen.â
âI was.â
âBad idea.â
âBecause violence is wrong?â
âBecause youâd still have to finish check-in.â
You laughed into your glass.
Jack looked at you then, and the humor in his face faded into something warmer before he caught it.
You saw him catch it.
That was the dangerous part.
Near the end of dinner, a donor with silver hair and a smile like a polished blade cornered Jack near the bar. You recognized him vaguely from the check-in list, one of those names with a foundation attached, the kind of man who spoke slowly because he expected people to wait for the privilege of his point. His wife stood beside him in pearls, looking around the ballroom with faint disappointment.
You were close enough to hear because youâd gone to retrieve extra place cards from the side table.
âDr. Abbot,â the man said, clapping Jack on the shoulder like they were old friends and not strangers separated by several tax brackets and a moral canyon. âHell of a turnout. You ER people clean up better than expected.â
Jackâs smile was minimal and false. âWe try.â
The manâs eyes shifted to you.
You felt it like cold water.
âWell,â he said. âSome of you more than others.â
Jackâs face changed by degrees. Anyone else mightâve missed it. You didnât.
âThis isââ Jack began.
The man cut in with a laugh. âNo, no, let me guess. Youâre the resident Iâve been hearing about.â
His wife made a soft sound. Not quite a laugh. Not quite disapproval.
Your fingers tightened around the place cards.
Jack went still.
The man looked pleased with himself, encouraged by his own cruelty. âAbbot and one of his young residents,â he said, eyes moving over you slow enough to make the dress feel suddenly too visible. âPeople do talk.â
Jackâs voice came out clipped. âDonât.â
âRelax, Jack. Iâm joking.â He lifted his glass slightly, like that made it harmless. âI just didnât think you were going to start making public appearances with your little girlfriend now.â
The words entered you cleanly: little girlfriend. Not girlfriendâthat wouldâve been embarrassing enough. Little, like you were an accessory, a midlife crisis in a nice dress, something young and decorative Jack had brought out because he could. Something people could reduce in one glance and one ugly little adjective.
Heat rushed to your face so fast it felt like pain, and still you smiled automatically, hating yourself for it.
âItâs notââ you started, because apparently your first instinct was to make yourself smaller for the comfort of a man who had just insulted you.
Jackâs voice cut through yours. âDonât call her that.â
The donor blinked. So did you. The room didnât stop, not exactlyâthe music kept playing, silverware still clinked, someone laughed too loudly near the stageâbut the air around the four of you tightened.
The donorâs smile twitched. âEasy, Doctor. No harm meant.â
âIâm not interested in what you meant.â
Jack didnât raise his voice or step forward. He simply stood there in his dark suit, tired eyes gone cold, body held in a kind of controlled restraint that made the donorâs hand fall from his shoulder.
âIf youâve got something to say about me,â Jack continued, âsay it to me. Leave her out of it.â
The wife looked away first. The donorâs face colored.
âNo offense intended.â
Jackâs gaze didnât move. âYou donât get to decide that.â
Your breath caught.
People were starting to notice. Not enough to make a scene, not enough for anyone to step in, but enough that the space around you felt suddenly brighter. Dana had turned slightly from the bar, her attention fixed and assessing. Robby watched from near the stage, glass lowered now. Even Santos had gone still, the eager curiosity wiped off her face by the look on yours.
You couldnât stand any of it. Not the attention. Not the humiliation. Not the awful, sharp thrill of Jack defending you like he had any right to. Like he wanted the right.
You set the place cards down.
âI need some air,â you said.
Jackâs head turned toward you immediately. âWait.â
But you were already moving.
You slipped out of the ballroom and into the corridor, then through a side door onto a covered terrace overlooking the wet street below. The rain had softened to a mist, silvering the railings and turning the city lights hazy. Cold air hit your skin, raising goosebumps along your arms where the dress left them bare.
You gripped the railing and forced one breath in, then out. In, then out. In. Out. It didnât help. The door opened behind you, because of course it did.
You laughed under your breath because the tears were already gathering hot behind your eyes, making the terrace lights blur at the edges, and you refused to let them fall hereânot in the dress Jack bought, not with your hands locked around rain-cold steel, not because some rich asshole had found the ugliest name for what you were already afraid this looked like.
âYou shouldnât have done that,â you said.
Jack let the door close behind him. âDone what?â
You turned on him. âMade it worse.â
âThey made it worse.â
âNow everyone thinks Iâm exactly what he said.â
His face changed at that, anger tightening somewhere beneath the surface, but not at you. Never quite at you.
âThey donât know what you are.â
Your chest pulled tight.
âAnd what am I?â
The question came out too vulnerable to take back.
Jack didnât answer right away.
Mist clung to his suit jacket, darkening the shoulders. Behind him, warm light spilled through the glass door, all gold and soft edges, turning the ballroom into something distant and unreal. Out here, the air smelled like rain on stone, cold metal, wet city streets below. Everything was sharper than it had been inside. The railing under your hands. The damp hem of your dress against your legs. The silence between his breath and yours.
He looked so out of place and exactly right, a man built for crisis standing in the aftermath of one he couldnât stitch closed.
You hated that you wanted him to say it.
You hated more that he looked like he wanted to.
Instead, he said, âNot that.â
A hard little laugh left you before you could stop it. âThatâs not an answer.â
âItâs the one Iâve got.â
âGreat.â
Jack came closer, stopping beside you but not touching. The restraint was worse than touch. You could feel him there anyway, the heat of his body cutting through the cold night, the careful space he left like distance could still save either of you.
You stared out at the rain-blurred city. Headlights smeared over the street below. Somewhere, a siren rose and faded, thin and familiar enough to make your stomach twist.
âYou bought the dress,â you said.
âYes.â
âYou fixed my car.â
âYes.â
âYou buy my food. You show up. You pay for things before I can even figure out how to say no.â
Something moved in his jaw, but he didnât interrupt.
âWhat do you think people are going to call that?â
âI donât give a shit what people call it.â
âI do.â
âThen tell me what you call it.â
The words took the air out of the terrace.
You looked at him.
Jackâs eyes held yours, tired and dark and unflinching. He wasnât letting you hide in the joke this time. He wasnât letting himself hide either. That was the terrifying part. The thing between you had been allowed to live as banter because neither of you had forced it to stand under direct light.
Sugar daddy. Old man. Doctor. Daddy.
All those little names you used to turn intimacy into comedy before it could ask something of you.
Now Jack was standing there asking.
Tell me what you call it.
Your mouth felt dry.
âI call it confusing,â you said.
His expression shifted.
You kept going because stopping felt worse. âI call it you being too good at noticing things I wish you wouldnât. I call it you making it really fucking hard to feel normal around you. I call it embarrassing when someone says the quiet part out loud and I realize I donât even know how to defend myself because I donât know what weâre doing.â
Jackâs hands were still at his sides, but nothing about him looked relaxed.
You swallowed. âAnd I call it unfair that you get to act like this is all practical when you look at me like that.â
His voice dropped. âLike what?â
You shook your head. âDonât.â
âLike what?â
âLike you already know what I look like under the dress.â
The words left you too soft, too honest, and Jack inhaled slowly. Neither of you moved while rain whispered beyond the overhang and the ballroom noise pressed faintly through the door, muffled and useless, like it belonged to a different night.
Then he said, rougher than before, âI donât.â
The words went through you slowly, leaving heat in places they had no right to reach.
His eyes lowered, not all the way down your body this time. Just to your mouth.
âBut Iâve thought about it.â
The terrace went silent.
Or maybe your body stopped receiving sound from anything that wasnât him.
You stared at him, suddenly aware of everything at once: the dress clinging where the mist had touched it, the cold air slipping beneath the hem, the damp railing at your back, the small, charged space between your body and his. Jack hadnât touched you, but the way he looked at you made it feel like heâd already imagined where his hands would go first. The want in his face wasnât polished or easy. It looked dragged out of him, unwilling and hungry, like every careful thing in him had finally started losing.
âJack,â you whispered.
âI know.â
âYou donât know what I was going to say.â
âYes, I do.â
You stepped closer, just enough to watch his control take the hit.
âWhat was I going to say?â
His eyes lifted.
âThat we shouldnât.â
The truth of it sat there between you, almost laughable.
You shouldnât. He shouldnât. The age gap was there, humming under the surface. The hospital. The money. The care. The fact that everyone seemed to have noticed before either of you had admitted it out loud. The fact that Jack carried enough damage to make most people step carefully, and you were standing there in a dress he bought, wanting him to ruin every careful thing about you.
âYouâre right,â you said.
Jack nodded once, like the verdict had been delivered.
Then you added, âThat's what I was going to say.â
His eyes sharpened.
You took one more step.
âBut itâs not what I want.â
For the first time all night, Jack looked shaken.
Not much. Heâd never give that much away in public. But you saw it in the slight part of his mouth, the break in his breathing, the flicker of something raw beneath the restraint.
âSay that again,â he said.
The words nearly undid you.
You lifted your chin because if you were going to tell the truth, you were going to do it with your head held high.
âI donât want you to stop.â
Jack looked at you for one long, unbearable second, then lifted his hand slowly enough to give you every chance to step back.
You didnât.
His knuckles brushed your jaw first, careful in a way that made your whole body ache. Not rough. Not yet. Worse than rough, maybe, because he was still holding himself back and you could feel the effort in every inch he didnât take.
âYouâre not my little girlfriend,â he said.
Your chest tightened. âNo?â
âNo.â His thumb shifted under your chin, tipping your face up by degrees, not forcing you, just making it impossible to look anywhere else. âYouâre not little. Youâre not a joke. And youâre sure as hell not something Iâm ashamed of wanting.â
The words sank through you, hot and low, settling in every place he still hadnât touched. Jackâs eyes dropped to your mouth and stayed there long enough to make the choice for both of you.
Then he kissed you.
It wasnât frantic at first.
That wouldâve been easier.
It was deliberate, a firm press of his mouth to yours, steady and devastating, like he had finally decided to stop lying but still hadnât given himself permission to forget where you were. His hand held your jaw; the other stayed at his side, fingers curled tight like touching you anywhere else might finish what the kiss had started.
You made a small sound against his mouth.
That was what broke it.
Jack stepped into you, guiding you back until the rail met your spine, and the kiss turned filthy in one sharp, breath-stealing shift. His mouth opened wider, tongue pushing past your lips to lick deep and slow against yours, wet enough to make your knees weaken, sure enough to make heat pool low in your gut. His breath came rough through his nose, his hand sliding from your jaw to the side of your neck, thumb tucked beneath your chin like he wanted to feel the exact second you stopped fighting him and melted under his palm.
You grabbed his jacket.
He made a low sound, almost a warning.
You pulled him closer anyway.
The rail pressed against your back. Damp air cooled your bare arms. Inside, beyond the glass, the fundraiser glowed on with its speeches and donors and useless flowers, but out here Jackâs body cut off the light, his mouth hot and sure, his hand at your neck keeping you exactly where he wanted you.
When he dragged himself back, he didnât go far.
His forehead hovered near yours. His breathing was harsher now. So was yours.
âThis is a bad idea,â he said.
You laughed, breathless enough that it came out softer than you meant. âYou kissed me.â
âI know.â
âSo your professional opinion is hypocritical.â
His mouth twitched, but his eyes stayed dark, fixed on yours with a heat that made it impossible not to remember his tongue in your mouth. He looked like he was still tasting you, like he was one wrong word away from dragging you back against the railing and making a mess of that pretty, expensive dress.
âYou keep talking,â he said, voice low enough to feel like it belonged between your legs instead of in the open air, âand Iâm going to forget weâre still at a hospital fundraiser.â
Liquid heat shot through you, sharp and shameless. You curled your fingers higher into his lapels. âIs that supposed to scare me?â
âIt should.â
âIt doesnât.â
Jack searched your face for one last sign that you wanted him to be better than this.
You didnât.
His thumb dragged once along the side of your neck, slow enough to make your thighs press together under the dress, then he stepped back and opened the door.
âCome on.â
âWhere?â
His eyes held yours.
âMy car.â
The walk through the ballroom shouldâve been humiliating. Maybe it was. You couldnât tell. Jack stayed close without touching you, which somehow looked worse after what had just happened, like distance had become another form of confession. Your mouth still felt swollen from his, your skin too awake beneath the dress, your whole body lit with the kind of want that made every normal step feel rehearsed.
Robby saw you first, because of course he did. His eyes moved from Jackâs face to yours, then back again, and he lifted his glass slightlyânot smiling, just acknowledging the inevitable.
Dana caught your eye from near the bar with one eyebrow raised. Santos looked ready to say something disastrous until Mohan turned her gently but firmly toward the dessert table. McKay glanced over, clocked enough to know better, and immediately pulled Whitaker into a conversation he looked relieved to have guidance for. Javadi watched for half a second too long, then looked away like sheâd remembered curiosity had consequences.
Jack ignored all of them.
You loved and hated him for it.
The elevator ride down was worse.
Mirrored walls. Soft music. Your reflection beside his. His shoulder inches from yours. The phantom feel of his hand still on your neck. Neither of you speaking because speech had become a loaded weapon and you were both already wounded.
In the parking garage, the air smelled like rain and concrete again.
Jack unlocked the car.
You stopped by the passenger door, suddenly aware of the line you were crossing. Not the moral one. That had been smudged for weeks. This was more physical. More real. A door. A backseat. His face in the dim garage light, turned toward you with all that want and all that control and all the consequences waiting behind both.
He saw the hesitation immediately.
Of course he did.
âYou can change your mind,â he said.
The words loosened something in you.
Not because you wanted to.
Because he meant it.
You stepped closer. âIâm not changing my mind.â
Jackâs eyes searched yours.
âTell me if I do something you donât want.â
âI will.â
âI mean it.â
âI know.â
He nodded once.
Then you said, quieter, âDo you?â
His face shifted.
âDo I what?â
âKnow what I want.â
The garage seemed to hold its breath.
Jack opened the back door.
âGet in,â he said.
Not loud. Not cruel.
Just low enough to go through you like a match.
You got in.
The door shut behind you, and for one suspended second you were alone in the dark leather backseat with your heartbeat, the rain ticking somewhere beyond the garage, and the reflection of Jack moving around the car in the tinted window.
Then the opposite door opened.
He slid in beside you, too big for the space, too warm, too close. The dome light cut over his face for a second before it faded, leaving him in shadow and stray fluorescent spill. His knee brushed yours. His hand came up, not touching yet, braced against the seat near your hip.
âYou still think this is about money?â he asked.
Your breath caught.
You shook your head.
âWords.â
âNo.â
âNo, what?â
âNo, I donât think itâs about money.â
His gaze dropped to your mouth.
âWhatâs it about?â
You couldâve said care.
You couldâve said want.
You couldâve said every soft, terrifying thing his hands had been saying for weeks with coffee cups and repair bills and the new shoes you wore until they stopped hurting.
Instead, because you were trembling and stubborn and still you, you whispered, âYour sugar daddy complex.â
Jackâs eyes flashed.
Then he kissed you hard enough to knock your head back against the seat and it was nothing like the terraceâcareful and slow and weighted with confession. This was hungry. His teeth caught your bottom lip, tugged, and the sound you made was swallowed by his mouth as his tongue slid against yours, wet and deep and tasting like the whiskey he'd barely touched all night. His other hand found your waist, gripping the silk of the dress, bunching it, pulling you across the seat until your hip hit his and you gasped into his mouth.
"Jackâ"
"Don't talk." His lips dragged to your jaw, your throat, the spot behind your ear that made you arch. "Justâlet me â"
His hand slid up your thigh, pushing the dress higher, and the leather was cool against the backs of your legs but his palm was hot, rough, callused from years of work and combat and things he never talked about. You spread for him without thinking. He made a sound against your neckâapproval, hunger, reliefâand his fingers pressed higher, found the wet heat through your underwear, and stopped.
"Fuck," he breathed. "You're alreadyâ"
You bit his earlobe. "Your mouth on the terrace did that."
He laughedâa low, broken thingâand his fingers hooked the edge of your panties, dragged them down your thighs. You lifted your hips to help, and he dropped them somewhere on the floor mat, already forgotten, already gone. His hand came back wet.
"Look at me."
You did. His eyes were dark, half-lidded, his breathing ragged. The garage light caught the silver in his beard, the flush rising up his neck, the way his thumb was already circling your clit like he'd done it a thousand times before. He hadn't. But he knew exactly what he was doing.
âI tried to be careful with you,â he said, voice rough, his fingers sliding through your slick folds, gathering, teasing, âI tried so fucking hard. Then I walked in and saw you at that table in the dress I bought you, and I knew I was done.â
Your breath hitched as his middle finger pressed inside you, just the tip, just enough to make your hips buck.
"âand you knew, didn't you?" He pushed deeper, slow, watching your face. "Knew what it was doing to me."
You couldn't answer. His finger was inside you, thick and deliberate, curling, finding the spot that made your vision blur. Then a second finger joined it, stretching, and you heard yourself whimperâhigh and desperate and not caring who heard.
"That's it," he murmured. "Let me hear you."
He worked you open like he had all night, like the parking garage was empty, like the world had shrunk to the space between his fingers and your cunt. His thumb pressed your clit in slow circles while his fingers pumpedânot hard, not fast, just deep and aching, stretching you until you were dripping down his hand, until your nails dug into his shoulder through his jacket.
"JackâI needâ"
"I know what you need."
He pulled his fingers out slowly, deliberately, and you watched him bring them to his mouth. Watched his tongue slide across his knuckles, tasting you, his eyes never leaving yours. The sight of itâthis tired, controlled man in his undone suit, licking your wetness off his fingers like it was the best thing he'd tasted all nightâmade your hole clench around nothing.
"Get on top of me."
It wasn't a question. He was already reaching for his belt, the buckle rasping open, the sound sharp and final in the close air of the car. You climbed over him, the dress bunching around your waist, your knees finding the leather on either side of his hips. His cock was hard beneath his briefs, straining against the fabric, and you reached down and wrapped your hand around it.
He hissed through his teeth. "Fuck â"
He was thick. Hot. The head slick with something that might have been precum, might have been your imagination, but when you stroked him once, slow, his hips bucked into your palm.
"If you keep doing that," he said, his voice strained, "this is going to be very embarrassing for me."
You laughedâbreathless, wildâand leaned down to kiss him. "Then stop me."
He didn't.
His hand found your hip, guided you forward, and the head of his cock nudged against your entrance. Wet. Ready. The two of you hovered there, breathing each other's air, and his forehead pressed against yours.
"Tell me you want this."
"I want this." Your voice was barely a whisper. "I want you. Please, Jackâ"
He pushed inside you.
The stretch was a shockâfull and deep and so much more than his fingers had promised. You gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders, your head falling back as he filled you inch by inch, until you were seated in his lap, his hips flush against yours, his cock buried to the hilt inside your tight, wet heat.
"Fuck," he breathed. "Fuck, you feelâ"
He couldn't finish. His hands found your hips, held you there, and for a moment neither of you moved. Just the feeling of him inside you, the throb of his pulse through his cock, the way your body adjusted, accepted, wanted.
Then you moved.
Slow at firstâa roll of your hips that made his eyes roll back, a tilt of your pelvis that drove him deeper. His grip tightened on your waist, guiding, and you found the rhythm together: him thrusting up as you sank down, the slap of skin loud in the enclosed space, the wet sound of your bodies meeting.
"Look at you," he said, his voice rough, his eyes fixed on where you were joined. "Taking all of me. Fucking yourself on my cock in a parking garage."
You moaned, riding him harder, the dress bunched around your waist, the silk skin-warm and bunched up. His thumb found your clit again, pressing, circling, and the pleasure coiled tight in your belly, hot and sharp and building.
"The dress," you gasped. "You bought me this dressâ"
"I bought it so I could take it off you." He tugged at the strap with his teeth, the fabric slipping down your shoulder, exposing your breast to the dim light. His mouth was on it instantlyâhot, wet, his tongue circling your nipple before he sucked, hard, and you cried out, your rhythm faltering.
"Say it again." His mouth against your skin. "Say sugar daddy again and see what happens."
You laughed, breathless, your hips grinding against him. "Sugar daddy."
He bit your shoulderânot hard, but enough to make you gaspâand then his hand was in your hair, pulling your head back, forcing you to meet his eyes.
"Then take what I give you." His voice was low and rough and it made your pussy squeeze around him. "Take this cock like you've been wanting to since I fixed your goddamn car."
You did. You rode him harder, faster, the leather squeaking beneath your knees, the car rocking with the motion, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps. His hand stayed in your hair, his other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise, and he thrust up into you with a rhythm that was pure instinctâhungry, claiming, the restraint he'd held for weeks finally snapping.
"That's it," he growled. "That's my girl. Taking what she needs."
"JackâI'm closeâ"
"I know. I can feel you. You're squeezing me so fucking tightâ"
His thumb pressed harder on your clit, circling faster, and the orgasm hit you like a waveâsudden and overwhelming, your vision white, your back arching as your cunt clamped down on his cock, pulsing, milking, the pleasure so sharp it was almost pain. You heard yourself cry outâhis name, a curse, something that might have been a sobâand he kept thrusting through it, drawing it out, letting you ride him through the aftershocks.
"Fuckâ" His voice broke. "I'm going toâ"
"Inside me." You grabbed his face, forced him to look at you. "I want it. Please."
He came with a groan that was almost a prayer, his hips driving up one last time, his hand gripping your hip so hard it would leave marks. You felt itâhot and thick, pumping into you, filling you, his cock twitching with each pulse, his breath ragged against your lips. The sensation pushed you into a second, smaller climax, your body clenching around him, drawing out every drop.
For a long moment, neither of you moved. His forehead rested against yours. His breathing was harsh, uneven, mingling with yours in the close air. The car smelled like sex and sweat and the faint, stubborn trace of hospital soap beneath his cologne, and your thighs were slick and trembling, and his cock was still half-hard inside you, and it was the most real you'd felt all night.
Then he laughed.
A low, disbelieving sound, his shoulders shaking against yours. You started laughing too, breathless and giddy, and you kissed himâmessy, open-mouthed, tasting salt and spit and the whiskey he'd barely touched.
"Well," he said, pulling back just enough to look at you. "That wasâ"
"Stupid," you supplied.
"Reckless."
"A really bad idea."
His hand came up to cup your face again, his thumb tracing your cheekbone. "Worth it."
You kissed him again, slower this time, and you felt him smile against your mouth. When you pulled back, you were still straddling him, his cock still softening inside you, and the reality of it settled into your bones like warmth.
"We should probablyâ" you started.
"Yeah." He didn't move. "In a minute."
His hand found yours on his chest, lacing your fingers together, and the garage light caught the gray in his hair and the tired lines around his eyes and the way he was looking at you like you were the first real thing he'd seen in years.
"I'm not going to pretend this was casual," he said.
"Good," you said. "Because it wasn't."
He helped you clean up with the wet wipes he found in the glove compartmentâabsurd, practical, so perfectly himâand then he helped you rearrange the dress, his hands careful now, almost reverent, smoothing the silk over your hips like he was putting something precious back together. The fabric was wrinkled now, carrying the memory of his hands, and when you looked at yourself in the window reflection, you saw the flush on your chest, the bite mark on your shoulder, the way your hair had come loose from the careful updo.
You looked like someone who had been thoroughly, completely, indisputably wanted.
He watched you adjust the strap, his eyes following the small, careful movement like it mattered. You sat half-turned against him in the backseat, put back together enough to face the world again, though both of you knew exactly what had happened here. Jackâs hand rested at the back of your neck, thumb moving slowly against your skin, and in the dim garage light he looked less like the man everyone trusted in a crisis and more like someone whoâd finally let himself want something he couldnât triage.
âWhat?â you asked.
He shook his head.
âDonât do that.â
âDo what?â
âLook like youâre about to disappear into your own head.â
That almost-smile moved over his mouth, faint and tired. âYou diagnosing me now?â
âI learned from a very bossy doctor.â
âHe sounds unbearable.â
âHe is.â
The quiet settled, full of everything waiting outside the car: the fundraiser, the rumor, the receipt, the repaired car, the shoes, the dress, every careful thing Jack had done before either of you had dared to call it care. You looked down. âI donât know how to let someone take care of me without feeling like a burden.â
Jack didnât answer quickly. That made it worse. Better. Finally, he said, âNeeding help isnât the same thing as being helpless.â
Your throat tightened. You hated him a little for knowing exactly where to put the words. You loved him a little for it too.
âJack,â you said softly.
He waited.
You smiled, small and shaky. âDo I get an allowance now?â
For half a second, he stared at you. Then his eyes closed, and the laugh that left him was quiet, rough, almost unwilling. It felt like winning something no one else got to see. When he opened his eyes, they were warm.
âYou get breakfast.â
âThatâs it?â
âAnd your car.â
âAlready got that.â
âAnd the shoes.â
âAlso already got those.â
âAnd whatever else you need,â he said, thumb brushing once at your neck, âif you stop acting like needing it makes you less.â
Your smile faded into something softer. âThat sounds an awful lot like a boyfriend.â
Jack looked at you for a long moment, tired and undone and still there. âYeah,â he said. âIâm working up to that.â
The fundraiser was still waiting upstairs, all polished glassware and polite cruelty, the kind of room where people could turn want into rumor before the night was over. You would have to go back to PTMC after this. You would pass Jack in hallways. You would hear his voice over trauma bays, see his name on charts, feel the weight of every title that should have made this impossible.
But in the backseat, with his thumb moving slowly against your skin, Jack wasnât looking at you like a mistake, or a risk, or something heâd have to explain away in daylight.
He was looking at you like something worth keeping.
And for what it was worth, you finally believed you were.
Apparently my stepdad and I are fucking psychically linked because ?? every single time he makes chili for dinner I get a migraine. Without fail. And it became like a ha ha running joke because it happened so many times but now Iâm living 3 hours away from my parents and I just texted my mom and
It's a shame Pride and Prejudice and Zombies is one of those parodies whose author clearly feels the source material is beneath them and thus doesn't put much thought into how they're sending it up because a Regency zombie apocalypse that properly Examines the Implications sounds like a really fun time.
Like, my guy, so much of contemporary zombie media is subtextually really about class that if you're sticking zombies in your Regency romance and completely failing to draw a line between the class-driven subtext the former and the class-driven text of the latter, you are a hack.
Jack was used to you asking him for help, had been for the two years since you moved into the apartment directly across from his.
He didnât mind offering you a lending hand when he saw you struggling to carry your boxes from your small run down car, it wasnât an inconvenience to collect your mail if you ever had to leave town for a few days, and he really couldnât complain about having to remind you to get your laundry from the unit down below because it held him accountable too.
It was such a common occurrence, you asking him for a favor, that he wasnât too surprised to find you at his door. He only gave a soft sigh as you pushed past him to enter his apartment, offering you a lot more patience than he did the newbies at the hospital.
You were always sweet, maybe a little bossy at times, but it gave him some amusement in his otherwise strict routine.
Plus it was admittedly nice to feel needed.
You came to him when your apartment had a leak or your air conditioning went out, knocked on his door whenever it was raining and youâd forgotten an umbrella after locking yourself out, and you even sometimes popped over just to get his opinion on what you should wear out on a random night.
Everybody was always telling Jack he needed a hobby that didnât involve putting his life on the line, so he rarely told you no and tried his best to brush off Robby whenever he asked what was keeping him so busy lately.
It would be hard enough to explain the dynamic he had with his much younger neighbor but even more so considering you were now standing in the middle of his apartment with a frustrated look on your face, hands on your hips as you tapped your bunny slipper covered foot.
âWhat is it now?â His voice was gruff and disinterested but you knew well enough that he would do whatever you asked and he was well aware of that too. Still, it helped him just a little to pretend to contemplate it for a second or two first.
âI need you to have sex with me.â
You said it like it was as simple as asking him to come over and check your water pressure, falling out of your mouth casually and landing heavily in the quiet room.
There was no need to pretend this time as he fell into a bewildered silence, raising an eyebrow in your direction and letting his eyes track you as you dramatically sighed and went to flop down on his couch. Youâd demanded about a year ago that he got some pillows for it, along with a few other interior design suggestions.
Heâd picked up four after his shift that night.
âPlease say something.â You were turned around on the couch so you could face him over the back of it, arms crossed as you rested your chin ontop of them.
âI have nothing to say to that.â He shook his head immediately, that stern expression he used on an unruly patient or Robby when he got a little too pushy.
This just made you sigh again, loud and exaggerated as you turned back around to fully lay flat on his couch.
âWhy are you even asking me that?â He didnât want to pry because he knew you well enough by now to know youâd just be encouraged by that but his curiosity got the best of him, circling around to sit across from you on one of the living room chairs.
You didnât sit up but you turned your head to the side to look at him, a slight frown on your face that he didnât think was particularly genuine. Your personality was always something Jack admired, not getting a lot of time in his own life to be so bold with his emotions and carefree in the way he spoke and behaved.
He was serious and guarded where you were a walking billboard for spontaneity, coming to him crying about random problems after only half a week of living in the building.
It was mostly endearing but there was the more critical part of him that wondered how lonely you must be to be making friends and finding comfort with some random guy across the hallway, a much older one at that.
Jack knew he had a bit of a hero complex but it typically manifested in a more extreme way, quite literally jumping into battle to save lives or operating on them in their lowest moments. This dynamic with you was a new form of care taking and thereâd been a handful of times heâd doubted his own motives.
âBecause I have a date next week and I am a complete lost cause when it comes to all things intimacy.â You still had a theatrical flare to your voice, not facing him anymore and instead rambling straight up to his ceiling with your hands gesturing wildly.
He tensed up for two reasons now, one being the mention of a date and the other was your implication you didnât have any experience.
âBut youâve had sex before.â It came out slowly and half like a question, half like an assumption.
There wasnât any real reason for him to think that other than his own social expectations. You were gorgeous, one of the prettiest women heâd seen in a very long time, and had a naturally magnetic energy to you that even he couldnât resist most of the time, platonically but also selfishly deep down, a little more than that.
Heâd seen you go on a handful of dates in the last year or two, all guys your age that didnât seem to know how to pick up a check let alone please you properly.
Thatâs where Jackâs problem stemmed from.
There had been almost no ulterior motive the first year he had known you, genuinely trying to be helpful and to be a good neighbor. He would get upset when his coworkers would call him anti social or make digs at how unfriendly he was because he hadnât always been like that and he figured helping out the girl next door was a good first step to getting that part of himself back.
Youâd told him after a few months that you had no family on this side of the country, completely starting fresh at a new company youâd applied to on a whim.
It was completely innocent.
Yes, you were undoubtedly beautiful in a way that made his head spin for a second when he first saw you. You had been standing near your car and fighting with a box, both by tugging at it and saying less than kind words in its direction like it could understand you.
Jack had hesitated for a handful of seconds before making his way over and offering to help, feeling this weird pull in his chest when you blinked up at him in surprise and eagerly thanked him.
Once you were in his life, you never left. And he made space for you effortlessly because, quite frankly, he had plenty of it to offer up.
About seven months ago was the first time he had ever seen you with a guy.
Heâd been coming home from a long and rare day shift (covering for Robby so he could attend Jakeâs graduation), dragging his leg behind him and praying nobody stopped him on the way to his apartment so he could crawl into bed for a few short hours before he had to do it all over again for his own shift.
The only distraction he would have allowed was you but you were clearly busy, standing in the hallway as he got off the elevator and touching the rather small bicep of a guy your age.
Jack hesitated, considered getting right back on the elevator before it could close on him, and then slowly walked to his door.
He had hoped you wouldnât acknowledge him because his throat was already weirdly tight as he eyed you and the way you stared up at the man (boy, if Jack had to really label it) with that soft and curious expression you always had.
âJack.â Your voice was full of excitement and he faltered, his key left in his doors lock as he turned to give you an attempt at a polite smile. âCovering somebody again?â
If this had been any other day then Jack would have invited you into his apartment to talk instead of lingering in the hallway. He would have ignored his exhaustion to pair his black coffee with the hot chocolate flavor you liked that he kept in his bottom drawer, complained to you about being tired and listened to you scold him for working too much when he didnât need to.
But you were in a pretty dress that was clearly on its way to dinner and your date was giving Jack that possessive stare that guys fresh out of college thought was intimidating.
So instead he simply nodded his head and continued to unlock his door.
âThis is Asher.â You continued abruptly as he turned his door handled, leaving it cracked as he stopped to look at you again.
He gave you a once over to make sure everything was okay, wondering why you were still insisting on talking to him when you were so clearly meant to be going somewhere else. You didnât look too uncomfortable but you were watching him back just as intensely so he mentally stored the name and face of the guy anyways, just in case something happened.
âAshton.â Your date finally spoke and his voice was annoyed and laced with immature bitterness, although slightly valid considering you had forgotten his name.
Your eyes widened, still boring into Jacks, and he smiled a little before giving you a small wave and heading inside.
Jack realized quickly after that encounter that his intentions were a lot less innocent than he had initially thought they were. Heâd closed his door before immediately pressing his back against it, listening to the sound of your small heels leaving the hallway as you apologized to your date with a clenched jaw and a pain in his stomach.
The next few dates after that just confirmed what he had already realized from the first one.
He was attracted to you.
Maybe even liked you.
You talked to Jack about almost everything going on in your life, even things he definitely would not have cared about if it came from anybody else, but you never once brought up the dates. At first he had worried you had somehow noticed his weird demeanor that day in the hallway but Jack wasnât very expressive in general so he figured you must keep that part of your life private for other reasons.
The attraction part was easy to accept mostly, he was only a man and you were clearly gorgeous. Although the age gap was something Jack couldnât get himself to look past.
You were barely in your early twenties, over half his age younger and overly obviously so. You radiated youth, from your appearance and the way you spoke down to your hobbies and interests.
You were clearly a very young girl and he had felt like a pervert from the moment he saw you outside of that car for the way his body warmed. Jack hadnât felt much attraction to anybody at all since his wife died, at first out of a lingering loyalty to her that barely faded and then just due to his busyness and his own mental blocks.
That was not a problem when it came to you and he had to give a genuine effort when he was around you to act normal.
Youâd come over in tiny sleep shorts or a tight tank top that showed your hardened nipples through the thin fabric, join him for morning yoga in downright sinful leggings and he even was attracted to the stupid bunny slippers you wore.
But you were a young girl and he was a disciplined old man so he barely looked twice in your direction when you were bending over to get mail and he never once touched you, setting boundaries for himself and keeping them.
Which was why it was so hard for him when you slowly shook your head to his question about having sex before.
âWhat about those guys?â His eyebrows furrowed as he looked at you and you sighed like you were embarrassed, a rare emotion to see from you.
âWe barely kissed.â You shrugged and finally sat up from your dramatic position on the couch. âPlease Jack, I donât have anyone else to ask.â
âIâm not sleeping with you.â He said immediately, slightly offended you were seemingly only asking him because you had no other options.
You looked completely dejected now but Jack knew there was no way he could possibly accept this request, for too many reasons but especially because of his own moral code. He also didnât want to ruin what youâd had going on, enjoying your company on his hard nights and finding himself finally letting somebody in after so many years alone.
âOkay so no sex.â You say softly and you stand up when he does, following him as he walks into the kitchen and leaning against the counter to watch him set the coffee machine settings. âBut canât you show me little things.â
He sends you a sharp look that you return with a gentle pleading smile, bouncing in place a little like you think your cuteness is the answer to everything.
And it just might be because Jack sighs softly and turns his full attention back to you.
âLike what?â He knows him asking for specifics will give you hope and he can see it immediately on your face, brightening and taking a step closer to him that makes him tense.
âMaybe just telling me what guys like?â You suggest softly and the words coming from your mouth make him almost groan, keeping his face flat and emotionless as you speak. âAnd some kissing lessons.â
âYou know how to kiss.â He shook his head at you and went to turn back to his coffee but your hand wrapped around his wrist to stop him, successfully keeping his attention on you. He realized that it might be the first time youâd ever actually touched him, skin against skin. âIâve seen it.â
His posture tightens as he reminds himself of that fact, easily recalling the vivid memory of leaving his apartment to head to work and finding you coming home from a date and making out with a guy against your door.
You hadnât noticed him at first but he had slammed his door harder than normal, shamefully intentional.
Thereâd been a pang of guilt when you jumped in surprise and separated from the guy who looked the douchiest out of all of them but it was hard to feel it when you have him a slightly grateful look on his way to the elevator.
You were blinking at him now, almost like you were realizing something, and he looked away in favor of glancing at the clock on the wall.
âNot a kiss that feels good.â Your voice was more serious now, sounding genuinely disheartened by the conversation and the slow unveiling of your inexperience.
He sighed again, just trying to get rid of the tightness in his chest, before shaking his head firmly and fully turning away from you to fill up his coffee mug.
âIâm not doing it.â
â
Jack thought about your offer for the next two weeks. Obsessively.
He waited to hear you bringing somebody else over, someone who had jumped on the golden opportunity to touch you for the first time when he hesitated. You didnât seem to go on any dates but he supposed you wouldnât have told him anyways.
The thought of you experiencing sex with some asshole you met off a dating app, nervous and unsure on what to do without guidance, was eating away at him.
Jack was a fixer, he liked to help you, and he had already accepted the fact that he was extremely attracted to you. It wasnât like he didnât recognize the jealously in his stomach everytime he saw you with somebody else, a type of anger he hadnât felt since he was preparing to go into a real life war.
Subdued by age and a calmer reality now but it was still fresh hot anger that he couldnât shake no matter how much he tried.
You came to him with this problem, not just for pointers and tips but you had actually asked him to be the one to take your virginity.
Virginity.
Jack couldnât get the concept out of his head and while he hadnât necessarily considered himself somebody who would care about that type of thing, especially not as he entered his fifties, it did bring a wave of heat over him whenever he thought about it.
Youâd never been touched before outside of a few unsatisfactory make out sessions. You, the pretty girl with downright sinful choices of pajamas that consumed his day to day life so easily after he spent such a long time alone.
He thought about it endlessly until it led to him knocking on your door, a rare switch of the usual dynamic that left him feeling a little awkward before you answered.
The sensation went away when you looked up at him, eyes a little wide with confusion as you silently stepped back to let him inside. It was rare for you to be so quiet but maybe you could tell what he was thinking by the look on his face, maybe you were thinking about the same exact thing.
âIâll help you.â His voice was gruff and flat, waiting until your door closed behind him before he spoke. Your face immediately lit up but he silenced anything you were going to say with a raised hand, your parted lips closing as you waited for him to finish. âBut Iâm not sleeping with you.â
You pouted a little at the condition but stepped forward after a few seconds, far too close to him for his sanity but he figured youâd be getting a lot closer soon so he forced his breathing to stay level.
Jack used to consider himself quite smooth, still a natural flirt when he joked around with older patients or teased Robby.
But he was completely thrown off of any existing game when it came to you. He didnât even know he could still feel this way about somebody, the yearning and lustful feeling having been dormant for a long time before you moved in.
âIâll take whatever you give me.â Your voice was soft now and heâd never heard you like that, maybe a bit of a whine when you impatiently asked him to help you with something, but never so pleading.
Youâd shifted even closer as you spoke and he couldnât help himself now that he practically had permission, his large and rough hand sliding over your waist to rest on the small of your back.
You sucked in a sharp breath at the feeling and he was suddenly aware of how much fun this was going to be if you were that sensitive.
âNot tonight okay?â He replied and his low tone made your eyes soften, nodding eagerly and hesitantly letting your hands land on his chest in balled up fist. âWe can talk about it more later and work out some conditions.â
âYouâre giving me rules?â Youâd collected yourself enough to finally give him some of that familiar attitude, smiling slightly as you stared up at him. He rolled his eyes but let his hand tighten against your back, moving you forward and just trying to test your reaction to the touch.
You lost your smile immediately, shuffling closer until you were pressed against him as your eyes darted all around his face with surprise. It was clear you didnât expect him to accept at all let alone this easily, despite his two weeks of contemplation, he wasnât at all hesitate now.
âYou need them.â He retorted and his free hand brushed some of your hair behind your ear, the first time you were ever really touching each other being this intimate was sending another wave of affection through him.
A few years ago, Jack couldnât even get himself to look at another woman, let alone hold one so gently. Even with the slightly out of the ordinary circumstances, he cared for you and you trusted him and that was all that really mattered in his eyes.
âYouâre mean.â Youâre whispering it and his head tilts at the sound it, overly fond and curious how you can affect him so much just by changing the tone of your voice. âKiss me atleast.â
It comes out a demand and his eyebrows naturally furrow at the sound of it, knowing immediately that will have to be one of the rules he gives you when you talk them over.
Manners.
He doesnât respond for a second but you seem to understand before he even needs to scold you, lips parting in realization before they form a small pout and you unclench your fist so your palm is flat on his chest now instead.
âPlease give me a kiss Jack.â You sound sweeter now and he would think it was an act, making fun of him for his sudden silent sternness, if it wasnât for the genuinely pleading look on your face.
The knowledge that you listen so easily, even when he doesnât actually say it, overrides his senses so much that he actually does bend down to kiss you.
Itâs soft at first which you donât seem to understand, immediately trying to eagerly make out with him like thatâs all you really know. He moves one of his hands from your side to hold under your jaw, applying a little bit of pressure near your throat to indicate he wants you to slow down.
You melt against him at the touch but do as he silently communicates and relax a little bit, still moving your mouth a bit sloppily against his but learning to adapt to his slow and easy pace.
Eventually you get the rhythm down perfectly, lips moving together without anything extra added. You asked Jack to teach you so he was going to do exactly that, starting from the basics.
Your face was completely dazed when he pulled back, instinctively shifting forward to try and kiss him again and making a small disappointment noise when his hold near your throat tightened in warning.
âYou asked for a kiss.â He said in a low voice, still close to your face so he could perfectly see the way your widened eyes shifted around his features.
He was a bit mesmerized by the way you looked now, so unlike yourself on any other day. It both made his guilt over being perverse grow and also solidified that he didnât care how wrong it was as long as you kept looking at him like that.
âGet some sleep.â He waited a few seconds before taking the necessary steps away from you, taking a sharp breath as he turned and left your apartment.
His own door had barely closed behind him before there was insistent knocks on it, his head immediately hanging since he knew exactly who it was.
Your eyebrows were furrowed when he pulled the handle to reveal you in the hallway, standing stiffly and glaring up at him but not making any move to come inside. You shifted in place and let out a huff of annoyance as you seemed to search for the right words to convey what you wanted.
âCan you kiss me one more time?â You eventually settled on the blunt question, shifting closer so you were both halfway in his doorway.
While he had a foot inside his apartment still, you had one in the hallway. It left you standing too close for his sanity, feeling it slip almost entirely again when your small hand landed on his forearm and rubbed softly.
âWhatâs wrong?â He asked softly, sensing your frustration but not knowing where it was stemming from.
He cupped your face with one of his hands, letting the other rest back on your side. You stared up at him as he took a few slow steps forward, backing you up with each one until your back hit the doorframe and took a soft near gasp from your lips.
âNothing I justâŠâ You trail off as you pout, scanning over his face and then down his chest until you canât bend your head anymore to look. âI want one more. Please.â
You added it as an afterthought but it was enough for him, pressing his mouth back against yours.
This time, apparently a very quick learner, you were able to meet his pace right away and your mouths moved softly together. Your arms went around his neck so you could fully cling to him as you kissed deeply, heads tilting and quiet pleased noises rumbling in your throat.
You only got louder when his tongue pressed lightly into your mouth, mostly just to test your reaction but unable to stop himself when you were eagerly matching the actions.
It was sloppy and a little too wet, sounds of your tongues tangling together filling the silent hallway and sending a sharp heat down to his gut. He liked how clumsy you were, growing addicted to the way you seemed to have no idea what you were doing but too desperate to stop yourself and ask him for his help.
Jack knew he liked feeling needed but this was a whole different beast, one that came paired with some light shame.
You werenât innocent and you knew exactly what you needed to about sex but your body was inexperienced and it was getting clearer by the second, your little gasp when he kissed you deeper and the way you tightened your hold on him everytime he went to pull back and attempt to slow down.
Youâre red in the face by the time he manages to get you to stop eagerly kissing him, still instinctively shifting closer when he moves back. He gives you a lighthearted sigh, occupied by the softest smile he can manage so he doesnât actually hurt your feelings when he presses you back against the doorway with the hand thatâs still on your hip.
âTime for bed.â He tries to keep his tone light but it comes out more authoritative than he had meant for it to, most likely driven by the way you automatically started to frown as soon as he held you away from him. âWe can talk tomorrow.â
You clearly werenât happy about that but you surprisingly gave him a soft nod, shifting your body until you were out of his entrance and closer to your own.
He watched you and your dazed face, slightly wobbly on your feet, as you disappeared behind your apartment door with a small wave.
-
Jack had started off his day rough the following morning, barely able to sleep after what had happened.
It was a completely split mixture of wanting you so bad it was driving him to literal insanity and feeling disgustingly guilty for even looking in your direction.
He almost considered calling Robby about it but he really didnât need to hear the lecture that would undoubtedly come his way about the situation. Plus he figured that whatever Robby knew, Dana knew, and if Dana knew then it was only a matter of time before the entire emergency department was gossiping about Jack Abbot and his young neighbor.
The dilemma was so strong that he had almost completely forgotten about the fact he had told you that youâd talk today, although almost intentional.
He was halfway avoiding having to actually sit down and make this arrangement a reality, still having a hard time believing what had happened last night was even real.
He had just started to get changed for work when the knocking on his door started and he knew it was you immediately, standing still and hanging his head for a few seconds like he figured he could just wait you out.
It didnât take long for his senses to kick back in and he was pulling on a plain black shirt before making his way over to the door, raising his eyebrows at you when he saw how irritated you looked.
You brushed past him immediately and he lingered with his hand on the door knob for a moment before closing it and preparing himself to face whatever wrath you were about to send his direction.
âYou didnât come over.â You immediately accused, finger pointing in his direction as you stood in the middle of his living room with an angry expression. âYou didnât even text me.â
He was already walking closer to you as you spoke and your defenses naturally crumbled at the proximity, especially when his hands were sliding over your ribs to both hold you steady and let him feel your breathing as subtly as possible.
âYou canât just kiss me like that and then ignore me.â You continue on but your tone is a lot softer now that heâs touching you, already getting that dazed edge to it he had heard last night.
âI didnât mean to ignore you.â He shakes his head and frees a hand to tuck some hair behind your ear, your features have completely softened now at the movement.
Jack wonders for the first time if you might have feelings for him beyond trust and attraction.
For some reason, he hadnât really considered the possibility before. You were practically his polar opposite and he had nothing in common with any of the boys you went on dates with.
But now, with you blinking up at him like you were hanging on to his every word, he let himself think it might just be likely.
âI figured you changed your mind.â Your words are a little slurred from the insistent pout you have on your face and he sighs again, gently leading you over to sit on his couch.
Your knees brush together as you scoot closer to him the second heâs settled on top of the cushion, your hand wrapping around three of his fingers and squeezing lightly as you wait for him to respond to your fear of being rejected.
âI didnât but I want to make sure you understand what youâre asking.â His voice is low and nearing stern, the same tone he uses on the new med students who seem a little more cocky than they are willing to learn. He knows thatâs not the case with you, knows youâre desperate for any expertise he can offer you, but he still wants you to pay attention and properly understand him. âThereâs other ways for you to do this.â
âWhat, like other guys?â Your eyebrows furrow like the thought confuses you.
His stomach tightens immediately, sick at the thought of it, but he stiffly nods his head.
Youâre shifting even closer immediately and he lets out a breath when youâre leaning over his knee nearly, closer to his face than before and scanning over it again.
âI donât want another guy Jack. I just want it to be you.â Youâre whispering now and he canât stop himself from pressing a light kiss to your mouth, brief but necessary when his brain processes the lack of distance between you. That makes you smile finally and he suddenly feels very stupid for ever questioning you when youâre making a request like this.
âTell me why.â He mumbles, easily sliding his hands around your middle so he can tug you over more and into his lap. You kiss him again once youâre settled in his lap, still quick like youâre both using it as punctuation during your conversation. âWhy me?â
He wants to hear you give a legitimate reason, to undo the hesitance you gave him when you said it was only because you didnât have anybody else to ask. Thatâd been weighing on him more than anything else, the thought that you had just settled for your older lonely neighbor who was clearly willing to help you with anything in spite of himself.
Your next kiss was much longer, deeper as you fully sink down in his lap and move your mouth against his desperately. Heâd accept that alone as an answer, big palms rubbing over your back and sides so he can keep pulling you impossibly closer.
Your nose is rubbing against his when you pull back, the sounds of your breathing being heavier now making his head spin with the necessary impulsivity to keep making terrible decisions with you.
âYouâd make me feel good.â The answer youâd landed on was much more devastating than he was prepared for, his eyes darkening at how confident you sounded in that fact. âI know you would.â
His hands tightened around your soft skin for a second, needing to take a deep breath to ground himself.
It takes a second for him to reply, tucking his face into your neck and inhaling sharply. You smell as sweet as you always do but itâs intoxicating to have it this close after so long, skin soft under his lips as he kisses you softly.
Your breathing gets shaky, arms looping around his neck so youâre practically hugging him. Youâre warm on top of him and making the sweetest noises when he moves along your jaw, shifting in his lap to try and get his attention back on your conversation.
âYouâll do it right?â You ask softly, running your hand through his hair and tugging just enough to make him finally look back at your face. His eyes are dark and unfocused as he stares at your pretty features. âJack?â
âYeah honey.â He says back after another long silence, voice deeper than heâd ever heard it as he leans in to kiss you again.
You kiss for a long time, wiggling around in his lap when your tongues tangle together and you get to taste him properly again. Itâs addicting for both of you, both of your hands running all over the otherâs body like youâre trying to learn every part of it you can reach.
Eventually youâre fully rocking against him from your neediness and it takes a second for him to process it, snapped back to focus when he hears the way your whines are getting higher pitched. A near growl leaves his throat as he grabs your hips firmly, thumbs pressing into the bone so he can stop you from moving on top of him like that.
âJackie.â You whine desperately, kissing him again and successfully distracting him long enough that you can start humping again.
âStop baby I have work soon.â He scolds in between the sloppy kisses, lips and chin slightly wet from how uncoordinated you still are.
You make another soft noise and heâs confused for half a second before he realizes itâs because of the pet name, smiling softly from his fondness for you as you hide down in his neck for a second.
âYouâre hard now, I can feel it.â Youâre whispering right against his skin and a shiver runs over him at the lewd words falling from such a pretty mouth, high pitched and almost innocent voice making the sentence sound so much dirtier than it needed to be.
At first Jack doesnât think youâre right, knowing himself and his body enough to expect heâs not stirring down there even if he wants you so bad it makes him feel insane.
Heâs had issues with it for years now, a deadly combination of his age, his traumas, and the carousel of medications he has to be on for a variety of things he wouldnât disclose to you out of his own pride. That was the reason Jack had stopped trying to hook up with people years ago, giving up on porn entirely when heâd have to spend an hour trying to get hard before he could even attempt to actually get himself off.
It was in the back of his mind when youâd asked him to help you with this but he figured this was about your pleasure, he wouldnât need to be hard to get you off especially if he stuck to his guns about not actually having sex with you.
He was sucking in a deep breath to explain this to you in less detail, make sure you understood that he wasnât hard but it had nothing to do with you or his attraction to you, when you gave a particularly deep and slow roll of your hips.
And the effect was completely undeniable.
A shudder ran over him, eyes dropping to his lap that you were still rocking on top of. Your tiny little shorts were so clearly pressing against the tent in his scrub pants, catching on it whenever you lost the energy to move properly as you let out another needy whine and hid back in his neck.
You were completely unaware of his current mental situation, baffled at how easily youâd gotten him to this state from just some sloppy kissing.
You mustâve thought he was ignoring you because you picked up your head to glare at him, a pout on your swollen lips.
âSorry sweetheart.â He sighed and kissed you gently, rubbing your sides up to your ribs and coming back down right when he felt the swell of your breast against his fingertips. âI really have to go.â
âLet me suck you off.â You requested easily and his breath caught, nearly choking at how simple you made it sound. âI wanna learn and youâre so hard right now Jackie. Please let me do it.â
âThatâs not the point of this.â He shook his head immediately and moved you by your hips so you were sat next to him and no longer settled in his lap, clearly upsetting you as you scrambled up on your knees and gripped his bicep so he couldnât get off the couch yet.
âThe point is to teach me things about sex and Iâll need to know this.â You counter, eyebrows furrowing in confusion at why heâs rejecting you.
He finds it a little amusing that youâre so used to him accepting your requests for things that youâre genuinely lost when he doesnât immediately fold for you. Itâs a bratty habit he should have corrected months ago but he canât find himself caring too much, liking how dependent youâd become on him.
Jack has to contemplate this because he knows youâre right, stomach turning a little at the reminder that youâre going to use whatever he shows you on somebody else down the line.
That selfishly makes him want to cancel this whole thing and leave you completely clueless, hopefully to the point you decide to swear off sex with other men entirely. But he knows how stubborn you are and how stuck you get on something once it catches your attention, figuring youâd get on a dating app and find some idiot in finance to take your virginity as soon as he put an end to this arrangement.
So he lets you slip to your knees off the couch, taking his hesitance to decline again as a positive sign.
âWait.â He interjects and you freeze, sighing in annoyance as you prepare for him to give another reason you canât do it. Instead he pulls one of the pillows off the couch and slides in near his feet, your eyes softening as you shift so youâre kneeling on the plush cushion instead of the floor.
âHow do I start?â You ask softly, eyeing the bunched up fabric in front of you with interest. He has to stare at the ceiling for a second, slightly losing it at the sight of you kneeling on his floor between his legs. âDo I have to get you ready?â
âNo.â He says it gruffly and you tense again, his tone way sharper than heâd meant for it to be. âItâs⊠Iâm ready baby trust me. Just give me a second.â
That calms you down immediately, enough that you rest your head on his knee as you try your best to be patient. His eyes go back to you at the touch and he watches the way you squirm against the pillow, clearly still riled up from the kissing and maybe even the thought of taking him in your mouth.
âHas it been awhile Jack?â Your voice is ridiculous now, clearly teasing him and developing this soft purr that almost irritates him.
His hand goes into your hair at the sound of it, tightening enough that you lift your cheek off his knee and stare up at him with wide eyes.
âWatch it.â He says lowly, using his free hand to untie his scrub pants as you eye the movement with fascination. Your lips part as you stare at his hand and the way his fingers twist the strings, he has half the thought to make you choke on the digits before you try and take anything bigger but your attitude has left him feeling just as impatient. âWeâve got to work on your manners if you want me to teach you.â
That makes you snap back into focus, frowning at his words and shaking your head as you straighten up on your knees.
âI have manners Jack.â Youâre clearly trying to convince him, small hands smoothing over his thighs.
He starts to deny it but heâs cut off when you lean forward to nuzzle against him, face pressing right where heâs currently aching under two layers of fabric. His breath catches in his throat and he instinctively tightens the hand thatâs in your hair, mumbling out an apology when you make a pained noise but barely loosening it after.
He feels like he needs to keep it there to have any sort of control in this situation, especially given the way youâre almost desperately rubbing your face on his lap.
âShouldâve told me you were this needy.â He half scolds as he shifts his waistband down lower, waiting for you to notice and pick yourself up just long enough to get his pants down.
You donât give him long at all before youâre back to obsessing over the sight in front of you, eyes fully dazed now that itâs just his boxers separating you from putting your mouth on his hard length.
Youâre clearly trying to be patient in an attempt to prove you have any sort of manners, a little pride rippling through him similar to the feeling he got when you had corrected yourself the other night to politely ask him for a kiss.
âYou wouldnât have done anything about it.â You say softly, not accusatory but confident in it like you know itâs true. You lean forward and kiss against the covered bulge, a groan leaving him. âYouâre too good of a guy.â
âClearly not.â He rasped just as you start to lose that faux patience youâre trying so hard to pretend you have, tugging at the waistband of his underwear and smiling softly when he lifts his hips off the couch without arguing. âAnd you know I never tell you no sweetheart.â
âYeah?â Youâre still trying to talk to him but now youâre completely lost in the sight of him half naked and sitting there with his legs spread in front of you, too desperate to even be intimidated by the size of him. âYou wouldâve let me do this months ago Jackie?â
He sighs and tightens his hold in your hair again, bringing you forward until he can feel your breath where heâs most sensitive.
Your eyes flicker up to him and the sight is devastating for how deprived heâs been, a pretty young girl like you sitting so nicely on your knees for the first time ever. He can barely even feel that guilt and slightly sick sensation, knowing how perverted it is that he could probably get off just looking at your face and thinking about the way heâs about to corrupt you.
âStop talking.â He instructs gruffly and you nod eagerly, eyes back on his length and only now looking a little nervous as you swallow before your lips part in anticipation. âYou sure you want to do this?â
âWant it so bad.â You donât hesitate to answer and your voice is a little whinier, swaying forward like you donât even realize youâre doing it.
Jack lets you move until youâre right there, eyes locked on your face as you give him a nervous look and try to take him in your mouth.
Itâs awkward and youâre tense, expression full of hesitation like youâre waiting for him to tell you how to do it properly but he lets himself bask in this for a few seconds.
He knows itâs sick but he finds you the most beautiful like this, confused and desperate to please him without knowing how to. You go between sucking and licking at the tip of his length and while it feels good, no doubt about that especially after how long itâs been, itâs nothing compared to how clearly inexperienced you are.
Finally, he snaps out of his sick fantasies of watching you embarrass yourself trying to please him, and he decides to actually do what youâd asked and teach you something.
âRelax your jaw baby. Just take what you can okay?â His voice is low and gentle, hand loose in your hair but clenching into a tight fist whenever you brush against his sensitive skin with your teeth on accident or try to overachieve and take him deeper.
You do seem to calm down a little now that heâs finally speaking, shoulders slumping and your eyes fluttering shut as you get used to the feeling of him on your tongue.
Youâve barely taken him at all but heâs transfixed by the sight, perfectly content to sit here and cock warm your mouth until you were ready to move him down your throat.
He watches you closely as you pull back to take a few deep breaths, pouting a little at his length and hesitating before youâre touching him with your hand. Itâs all experimental, tugging and feeling the skin against your palm while he grunts above you and tries to control himself.
Itâs barely sexual on your end considering how fascinated you are by the new experience but heâs halfway losing his mind knowing this is the first time youâre touching somebody like this.
âI gotta go soon sweetheart.â He says and your eyes finally snap back up to him, turning a little red considering youâd been caught just staring at his length as you touched him. âYou can play with me all you want after my shift.â
Now youâre full on blushing but you nod your head obediently and lean back in to take him in your mouth again, a little more confident now as you lick around the head and repeat movements whenever it draws a sound out from him.
Jack can barely stand it and he has to put both hands in your hair to keep himself from fucking up into your warm mouth, groaning from the effort itâs taking and considering telling you to get back on the couch before he goes too far with you too early.
Youâre clearly just as impatient because you try to take more of him finally and immediately gag at the sensation, pulling back and frowning up at him.
âHelp Jackie.â Your voice is whiny and has a little rasp to it now and he kisses his teeth at the sound, petting your hair back out of your face.
âI canât help with that baby, youâve just got to practice.â He tries his best to soothe you but youâre clearly frustrated.
âCanât you just force my head down?â Youâre rubbing his thighs as you speak in that ridiculously bratty voice, wiggling around on the pillow like the thought alone is exciting you.
He wants to say no, wants to tell you why itâs such a terrible idea for him to forcefully fuck your throat right before he has to go to work. Thereâs a million reasons he should be rejecting you right now but that sick voice in the back of his head is struggling to get the words out, especially when you go back to softly kitten licking at his length to keep him hard.
âFuck youâre nasty.â He gruffs out and your eyes light up at the words, nodding your head and taking him back in your mouth as you keep trying your best to fit him deeper. âYou want me in your throat that bad?â
You canât talk now but your desires are obvious.
He eyes the way youâre shifting on the cushion below you, adjusting his foot the best he can so itâs between your thighs as you kneel. That seems to make you even more desperate, rubbing against him almost feverishly now as you try to focus on having him in your mouth.
Thereâs no option to do so when he brings his hands back to your hair, silently showing you he accepts your request when he moves his hips off the couch and keeps your face firmly in place so he can push deeper down your throat.
He feels you gag slightly around him but your eyes roll to the back of your head at the same time and you hump against his foot even faster so he canât find it in himself to stop, thrusting slowly to make sure you donât end up getting sick or feeling too sore by the time heâs finished.
Jack knows this is far beyond teaching, heâs not even speaking anymore and instead just using your throat to get himself off but youâre even more eager for it than him and heâd never deny you anything you asked for.
âThis tiny little throat.â His voice is nearing a growl as he helps move your head up and down his length, reveling in the way you gag and drool around him. âYouâre doing so good baby.â
The praise seems to do it for you more than anything else, rubbing your core against his foot so eagerly that you can barely focus on sucking him off. Youâre getting too messy to control yourself, mouth slipping off every few thrust before you whine at the loss and immediately take him back in your throat.
Jack takes pity on both of you, both for his own sanity and because he canât stop thinking about the fact heâll need to leave as soon as this is done.
Youâre clearly upset when he pulls you off, making a loud noise of disagreement that barely sounds like an actual word and frowning at him when he sends you a stern look and wraps his hand around himself instead.
You seem to forget your anger pretty quickly as you watch him touch himself, hips slowed down to a slow rock against his foot as you stare at his length and the way heâs making himself feel good above you.
Jack has to look away when he comes because he feels pretty close to forcing your head back down and making you swallow it, although half positive youâd actually enjoy that more than him judging by how eager you are to try things.
Youâre laying your head back on his thigh while he grunts and curses, tightening his fist and going back to staring at your face just for a brief moment so he has a clearer picture to think about.
Itâs quiet in the living room afterwards and he feels an odd sense of embarrassment, a rare vulnerability considering youâre still fully clothed and kneeling on the floor. He fixes one of those problems by effortlessly pulling you up by your arms, settling you back against the cushions.
He stands and pulls his pants up while he does so, knowing heâll have to shower off before he can go to work and get a new pair of scrubs anyways.
Thereâs a second of hesitation before he goes to get you some water, leaning over your dazed frame and kissing you softly.
âWas it good?â You ask quietly against his mouth, hand tangling in his hair like you donât want him to go anywhere without answering you first. âYou stopped me.â
âYou were perfect.â He answers simply and he means it, would probably feel the same if you had accidentally bit him though.
âI wanted to taste you.â Youâre pouting again and every time he thinks he gets used to you, you prove him beyond wrong. He sighs and leans further against you on the couch so youâre fully sinking into the cushion below you.
âNext time.â
It comes out before he can stop it and he fully plans to backtrack but your eyes light up at the idea of him letting you do that again so he doesnât, letting it linger for a few seconds.
âNot when I have to leave you right after. You wonât like it and I donât want to hurt you.â Heâs talking in the stern and no nonsense way he does at work, trying to make sure you understand even though youâre slowly starting to smile as he speaks and he realizes youâre probably not paying any attention.
âYou wonât hurt me Jack.â You whisper and itâs so sweet he almost considers calling in so he can stay with you a little longer. âNot in a way I wonât like.â
That makes him scoff out a laugh, a rare sound from him and you look even more pleased at the noise.
âYou donât even know what you like sweetheart.â He says softly and brushes your hair out of your face, letting both his fingertips and eyes trail down your neck until he reaches your collarbones. âBut Iâll show you.â
âYouâll show me?â Youâre teasing him now, biting your bottom lip to try and hide your smile to no avail.
âYeah I will.â He smiles too and kisses you again, a little too soft considering what you actually are to each other.
He eventually manages to get off of you long enough to get you some water, watching carefully as you take a few sips and rubbing your knee when you wince at first. He wants to feel guilty for making your throat sore but he canât, sick enough to admit he just feels the urge to make you take him deeper next time to see if youâll really let him.
Youâre still laying on his couch when he gets out of his brief shower, having changed his pants and taken a few deep breaths while staring in the mirror to try and get ahold of himself. He needs to switch back to reality for atleast a few hours, become the weathered doctor who doesnât lose his mind over a pretty girl asking for favors.
You set your phone down on your chest, giving him your full attention as he moves towards the door to tug his shoes on.
Thereâs no indication you plan to leave before he does but he canât find it in himself to mind the intrusion, going back over to the couch to give you a kiss on the forehead.
âStaying here?â He says in a low voice and you nod eagerly, eyes locked on his.
He lets himself think about his entire way to work, the image of you being there when he gets home from a hard shift. It had been a long time since he had someone to come home to and having you across the hall was already a gift within itself.
Now youâd crossed a line and if he let himself forget the terms and conditions, the fact you were loosely using him just to end up with somebody else as the actual end goal, then he could pretend for a moment that you were the person he got to crawl into bed with when work was tough.
Despite how much he thought about you during his shift, every moment he wasnât being bombarded with questions or saving somebodyâs life on autopilot, you werenât actually there when he came back.
He knew it before he even opened the door, confirmed by how neatly the pillows on the couch were placed again and the fact your glass of water was rinsed and put away in the dishwasher.
Youâd made it look like you were never even there and he knew you still enjoyed his company, maybe enjoyed the newly added sexual dynamic even more, but that didnât mean you wanted to comfort him after he lost a patient or help soothe him when his leg was bothering him from standing all day.
Jack had to remind himself of the part he was playing in your life currently and try his best to not be disappointed.
Itâs two days until he sees you again and he thinks itâs one of the longest spans youâve gone without talking in almost a year.
Heâs just about to start really acting out of character by banging at your front door and asking if youâre avoiding him when he runs into you downstairs, freezing as soon as he enters the lowly lit laundry room to find you leaning against one of the washers and looking extremely bored.
Youâre as beautiful as always, casually dressed in nothing but an old band shirt that hangs off your shoulder and a pair of shorts so small heâs pretty sure itâs just boxy underwear.
You donât look up when he comes in until his leg slightly catches on the step, accustomed enough to the sound of the light dragging he sometimes canât stop from happening when heâs extra tired.
Itâs a relief to find that you donât have any awkwardness on your face, no sign of being uncomfortable or upset with him.
Then he figures that might just be worse.
He would just about die if he had done anything that made you want to avoid him but the alternative seems to be that you just didnât want to speak to him and that makes his chest sting.
Thereâs nothing but silence and the rattling of the old washer as it rocks back and forth on the cement floor, both of you seemingly having decided to not speak to each other first.
(sorry for the brief awkward spacing tumblr says this is too long)
Itâs another five minutes of the now awkward stretch of quiet before you clear your throat, turning to face him where heâs fidgeting with his laundry baskets broken handle just to have something to focus on.
âSo I went on a date last night.â You say softly, eyebrows raised like youâre genuinely interested in his reaction.
His stomach turns but itâs a relief to have you looking at him again so he takes it, swallowing hard and racking his brain for a response thatâs appropriate.
âHowâd it go?â Heâs asking out of politeness but heâs silently praying you suddenly decide you donât want to tell him about it. It wouldnât even make him feel better to hear it had ended terribly, not wanting you to feel any type of negative emotions even if it technically was in his benefit.
He definitely canât take any sort of mention of you being with another guy physically. He knows itâs coming eventually, itâs the sole purpose behind why he even gets to touch you, but heâs not ready just yet.
Youâre quiet again and he really looks at you now, takes in the silent contemplation on your face and the way you tap your fingers on the metal of the washer for a second before pushing off of it entirely.
Then youâre in his space again and itâs like an instinctive move to cup your face, hand on your waist so he can lightly push you back against the machine heâd been in front of. You touch his chest, lightly rubbing in soft circles, and he wants to sigh in relief if that wouldnât be so painfully obvious.
âWasnât a great time.â You whisper and your eyes are on his lips as you speak.
His eyebrows raise and his hand on your body tightens slightly at the same time he uses his thumb to press under your chin and make you tilt your jaw back.
âWhy not?â He hates the thought of getting details but he needs to know some idiot from a dating app hadnât done anything to hurt you.
You donât answer right away, just standing there and letting your eyes scan over his features on rotation. You finally let out a small breath like youâre about to speak but it never comes, small hands moving to grip his biceps.
âDid he touch you?â He canât stop himself from asking even though the question makes his voice come out low enough that your eyes flash with surprise for a second, snapping away from his mouth to meet his stare again like youâre looking for something in it.
You shake your head immediately, squeezing his arms and shifting against the vibrating machine.
Heâs kissing you then and he tells himself itâs out of relief, the knowledge that youâre still untouched by anybody except for him instantly making this conversation easier.
Youâre returning it right away and heâs pleasantly surprised by how quickly you caught on to the type of kissing he likes, his personal preference. He figures he should eventually tell you that not ever guy was going to like your constant licking into his mouth but for now he lets it be, wants you to be trying to please him specifically and not whoever youâd use these lessons with.
Itâs ridiculously cute how desperate you get, only needing a few seconds of your tongue inside his mouth before youâre arching off the machine and making soft noises against his lips.
His hands are all over you as soon as he notices the state of you, sliding down to cup your ass with both palms and tug you tighter to his frame.
That makes you out rightly whimper, clumsily trying to hitch a leg around his waist and sighing in relief when he holds your thigh to keep it there. The wet sounds of your mouths fill the small room, body slightly shaking both from need and from the way the washer is vibrating against your back.
âMissed you.â You whimper it out when he pulls back to let you breathe, kissing down your jaw and tightening his grip on the soft curve hidden under your underwear. âDidnât call me.â
âWere you waiting for me to call baby?â He asks softly, despite how much it had been bothering him, he would never want to make you feel guilty for not reaching out to him after what youâd done.
You donât answer so he pulls his head out of your neck to look at your face, seeing the soft frown and the hesitation in your eyes.
âHey.â He breaths out and pushes your hair back to get your attention fully on him, your body softening and completely leaning against his to the point youâd definitely fall if he took a step backwards. âI wanted to give you space. Let you decide when you wanted to continue this, if you did.â
âI donât want space.â You counter and itâs a little past bratty but heâs so beyond fond of you that he canât help but let the corners of his mouth turn up at the sound of it. âYouâre supposed to take care of me.â
Heâs not sure when your dynamic became this way but he feels it as much as you apparently do, knows itâs his duty to make sure youâre always fine and not needing anything he canât fix. Now thereâs the added element of making you feel good, touching you in ways youâre not used to and showing you what pleasure can be like, and heâs not taking it lightly.
âThen Iâll call.â He say softly and your eyes lock on his as you nod in agreement, his hand cupping your cheek so he can keep you still enough to kiss you briefly. âYou want me to chase you and Iâll chase you.â
âRight now I just want you to kiss me.â You whisper and he doesnât need to hear anything else.
Youâre back to kissing and itâs feverish now, more tongue than anything and your hands groping each other anywhere you can touch.
Heâs lifting you up off the ground just so he can press himself between your legs and swallow the soft needy noises you let out at the feeling, wrapping your legs tightly around his waist so he canât pull away at all. Youâre pressed back against the metal with his hands under your shirt and wrapped around your frame to make sure you donât fall, thick fingers splayed out against your ribs.
Itâs getting hotter in the room and itâs mostly due to the way youâre whining and trying to roll your hips into him, unsuccessful considering how hard heâs got you pinned back to the washer.
âJack please.â You pant and pull away from his mouth, tucking into his neck and rubbing your soft cheek against his stubble like a needy cat. âPlease touch me. Do anything.â
Heâs grunting at the request and gently setting you back down on your feet so he can free up a hand, using it to push your shirt up to your neck. Heâs not too surprised to find that youâre not wearing anything underneath and your surprised gasp swallows the sound of his low groan.
Youâre whining lewdly when he leans down to press kisses against your skin, middle of your breast first to avoid putting his mouth where you really want it. Youâre panting, chest rising and falling under his mouth, and tangling a hand in his ash colored curls to try and steer him where you need him.
He wants to smack your hand away and warn you to be patient but he wants you too bad to try and discipline you right now, letting his mouth latch onto to one of your hard nipples so he can hear whatever noise that brings out of you.
Itâs loud and intoxicating, his head spinning a little as he keeps sucking and licking your skin, letting your shirt rest on the top of his head so he can use his other hand to roughly grope your other breast and make sure youâre getting equal attention.
âOh fuck Jack.â Youâre whimpering and trying to hump against nothing, back arching as you whine and hold him to your body like he has any plans of getting away from you. âT-that feels so good.â
âCome upstairs.â His voice is so rough it surprises himself, picking his head off your chest and letting your shirt drop so he can kiss you swiftly.
You frown at the loss of contact, rubbing your nose against his and still lightly petting his hair.
âWhy not here?â You ask softly and he gives you a disapproving look that makes you sigh and rest your forehead down against his shoulder for a few seconds while you catch your breath. âItâs too far.â
He thinks for a moment before heâs adjusting his stance to pick you up off the ground, abandoning your laundry and his that both likely need to be switched out soon. Heâd gladly let it sit and wash it again later if it means getting you up to his apartment as fast as possible.
You make a small surprised noise and cling to him, arms behind his neck and legs wrapped around his middle and he makes his way up the few stairs towards the elevators.
âJack your leg.â The sight of the steps seems to remind you of his disability and heâd be more irritated by your worry if it didnât sound so genuine.
You clearly donât ever think too much about his leg restricting him, never shying away from asking him to lift heavy things or walk with you down to the store. You donât treat him like heâs fragile or any less of a man for having limitations and heâs always liked that about you, same way he somehow likes your gentle concern even though it would have bothered him if it was anybody else.
âThink I canât throw you around because of my leg?â He mumbles and you tense in his hold as he walks like you think he might be serious before youâre breathing out a laugh and hiding in his neck.
Jack finally gets back to his apartment, going crazy from the way youâd started to kiss his jaw and whine impatiently in the elevator. Your hands run up and down his arms like youâre marveling at the strength it takes to carry you for as long as he was, making soft needy noises and squirming around.
He canât even care about the possibility somebody could see him with you, one of the neighbor heâd lived next to for years watching as Jack Abbot carries the much younger girl next door through his entry way as she whines for him to touch her more.
âCalm down baby.â His voice is soft once he gets to his room, setting you down on his bed and taking a few seconds to stare at you as you lay there and pout up at him.
Youâre the most beautiful thing heâs ever seen and his gut twists a little at the observation, a mixture of desperate unfamiliar need and the same guilt from before accompanied by a new layer of it.
He thinks of his wife for the first time in a while. He used to spend every waking second with her on his mind but she had naturally started to fade from his mind once he met you, something he hadnât even noticed until youâd already been living across the hall for a few months.
Youâd came over for the first time and asked him to borrow some ingredients, strolling around his living room and eyeballing the photos on his walls while he poured some sugar into a small tupperware bowl for you to take back to your place. You had turned to him with a curious face and asked him where his wife was, obviously confused considering youâd never heard of her before despite how frequently you and him small talked.
That was the first time Jack noticed how little heâd been thinking of her lately, not just in the painful mourning way heâd been suffering through since she passed but in general too.
Now he was waking up in the morning and anticipating the next time youâd knock on his door, focusing on his health again so he could occupy you on your walks and not picking up too many extra shifts at work just incase you needed something and he wasnât there.
Jack was thinking about her again now as you laid on his bed but only because he couldnât remember the last time he had wanted something this bad, trying to compare the feeling of you to how he felt in his marriage and still thinking it fell short.
He had loved his wife, undoubtedly, but he craved you in a way that almost felt inhumane.
âYouâre being mean to me.â You say softly to break him out of his trance, having zoned out just staring down at you and the way your chest was rising and falling with every deep breath.
âIâm never mean to you honey.â He whispers back and finally moves to lay down with you, hovering over your frame and running a hand from your waist to your ribs as he kisses you softly. âI take good care of you, donât I?â
Itâs a bit mean to throw your words from earlier back in your face, especially as he lets his mouth trail down your neck. You make a whiny noise and grip his shoulders, nodding your head and shifting under him so your legs are spread further.
âYes Jack yes, you take care of me.â Youâre practically whimpering and he feels almost drunk from how easily you get this needy, pausing his soft kisses to shift up on his knees and tug your shirt over your head.
Youâre the prettiest sight heâs ever seen and he canât help himself from bringing his mouth right back to your chest, drinking in the way you gasp and moan while heâs licking and sucking on your nipples. His other hand is softly groping whichever breast he doesnât have his mouth on at the moment and your backs arching off his bed, scratching his shoulders through his shirt.
âPlease touch me.â Youâre begging after only a few minutes of the slow torture and he lets out a sharp breath, shifting so heâs more to the side of you than on top.
Youâre quiet when he rubs his hand down your chest and over your stomach, rubbing at the waistband of your underwear for a few seconds just to hear the way you pant before heâs smoothing over your thighs.
Your back is basically against his chest as he hooks your leg over his to make sure yours are nice and spread for him, kissing your neck softly when he rubs your hips above your underwear.
You bare your neck for him easily and heâs selfish in the way he marks you, sucking any part of your warm skin he can reach so youâre left purple and red all over. He wants anybody you see for the next week or two to know youâve been with somebody else, to see the claim he laid to your body even if he doesnât let things go as far as you want him to take it.
Jack doesnât need to be asked twice to touch you, big hand leaving your hip so he can fully palm your core.
Your reaction is just the way he had hoped it would be, sharp gasp leaving your lips as you instantly buck up against his touch. You whine desperately when he goes back to rubbing your thigh instead, giving you a second to work yourself up to the point he wants you to be at.
âJack.â You donât even sound like yourself now and itâs intoxicating, so pleading and broken. âPlease.â
âPlease what?â Heâs practically whispering, perfectly calm and the direct opposite of how broken you sound just from him lightly touching you.
He moves you so youâre fully between his legs, back against his chest as he cages himself around you to keep you from moving.
Youâre practically shaking, whimpering and moving your hips against nothing with the hopes heâll cave and end up touching you again. Youâre distracting to look at, body bare except for the pathetic excuse of underwear shorts youâd been wearing under your shirt, like youâd just been hoping he would be the one to find you in the laundry mat.
He has half the thought to make fun of you for that, make you tell him exactly what you were thinking when you left your apartment wearing so little, but he doesnât think you could handle him saying much at all right now especially not something so demeaning.
âIâm going to touch you.â He says gently instead and kisses the side of your head, letting his hand go back to groping your chest just to make sure you stay worked up.
Even though he doubts at this point he even needs to touch you for that to happen.
âYeah yeah.â Youâre nodding in agreement, seemingly pleased at his decision as you relax back against him and let him touch you freely.
His other hands back between your legs now, letting you get used to the feeling of somebody touching you where youâre most sensitive. Heâs just rubbing back and forth, listening to the way you pant and pulling back whenever you start to try and shift against his hand on your own.
âYouâre wet just from that?â His voice is a little mean now but you donât seem to mind, trying to clamp your thighs around his hand but being stopped by the sharp swat he sends to your skin. You wince but move your foot back to the other side of his leg so yours stay open, pouting softly at the silent punishment. âAnswer me when I ask you something.â
âIâm always wet around you.â You admit with an embarrassed tone lacing your words, squirming like you wish you could hide yourself from the way heâs staring down at your body. âWant you so bad.â
âI want you too.â He kisses the side of your head, still rubbing you with just enough pressure to make you feel the friction but not to actually get off. âGonna make you feel so good, youâve just got to be patient.â
âStop being scared to hurt me.â Your voice is shaky but as firm as possible, trying to show him youâre a big girl and can handle a little bit of the roughness heâs so clearly holding back.
Itâs obvious in the way he was grabbing your throat your first kiss, moving your body around easily whenever he needed to, and scolding you just enough for you to be able to catch the mean tone seeping in accidentally.
Jack clearly has a darker side to him that heâs not letting you see and itâs obviously frustrating you, wanting to be taken seriously.
âIâll hurt you if thatâs what you want sweetheart but not for your first time.â His words donât leave any room for argument so you donât even try, sinking back against his firm chest and letting out a deep breath when he shifts behind you and presses himself forward.
Itâs not long before youâre not able to wait anymore and he lets you scramble to tug down your underwear, keeping his fingers lightly rubbing between your folds and watching as you struggle to get the fabric past his insistent hand.
Eventually he lets you pull them off and then heâs right back to touching you, bare this time. You both suck in a breath at the contact and youâre practically laying down from how far youâd slid down his chest, spreading your legs as wide as they can go and whimpering while he touches you.
âDo you touch yourself like this baby?â He canât help the curiosity, the image of you in your bed trying to get yourself off stuck in his mind now.
You shake your head and frown, trying to twist your neck to look at him but being stopped when he uses his free hand to roughly grip your chin and make you keep your eyes on the way heâs touching you, thumb on your sensitive clit now while you roll your hips the best you can.
âNo IâŠâ You can barely think let alone speak, clearly struggling as you make a pained and desperate noise. âI get nervous.â
Jack sighs and collects some of your wetness on his middle finger before finally pressing it against the tightness of your hole, not pushing in just yet but teasing it with light pressure and letting you get used to the feeling.
âWhen youâre with somebody, they should always be this gentle with you at first.â Heâs saying softly, remembering that heâs supposed to be actually teaching you something and not just getting you off because he desperately wants to.
You frown deeply as he starts to talk and he doesnât really understand why, thinks maybe youâre still being pouty that he wonât get rougher with you.
He tries to distract you by finally pressing a finger inside of you and it seems to work for a second, another gasp leaving you as you instinctively clench around the intrusion. He groans, his length throbbing against your back at the thought of being fully inside you instead of just a finger.
âFuck youâre tight.â He rasps and buries his face in your hair for a few seconds to try and collect himself enough to keep teaching you something, anything at all so he doesnât keep letting himself think this is something it isnât. âTheyâll have to really get you stretched before anything okay? You need to remember that baby.â
It bothers him so much he can barely focus, the thought of somebody not taking their time with you. He doesnât want to picture you with another man in general but especially not in a way that hurts you, leaves you too sore the next morning with nobody to take care of you.
Heâs so distracted by his own thoughts that he doesnât notice your face stiffening at first, body a little tenser against him even though youâre still softly squirming to try and get him to put his finger deeper inside you.
âJack stop.â
He does so immediately and goes to pull out of you before youâre making a panicked noise and closing your thighs around his hand. He lets you this time, pauses all movements just to wait for whatever it is that you need.
âN-no donât stop that, god please donât stop that.â Your voice is breathier now like the thought of him taking his hand away from you makes your chest tighten. âJust⊠stop talking about anyone else.â
It takes him a few seconds to register that and then his hands moving again, enough for you to relax and spread your legs back open.
Youâre both quiet now as he adds another finger, lingering in the weight of your request and what it could mean if anything. Heâs half sure you only asked because it was pulling you out of the moment, maybe making you nervous to think about doing this again with actual stakes, but the way you desperately tried to stop him from pulling away lets him pretend it was for another reason.
Heâs selfish in the way he touches you now, thick fingers moving in and out of you while you cry and whine, gripping at his forearm whenever it feels like too much. He likes the way your nails dig into his arm when you think you might be close, thighs clenching and shifting when his thumb gently circles your swollen clit and how your lips part in breathy cries of his name.
He especially likes that.
You come with moans of his name filling the room and nobody elseâs after youâd specifically asked him to stop mentioning other guys. Jack knows itâs selfish, even a little sick and perverted, but he could probably finish just from hearing that.
Heâs throbbing against your back and heâs sure youâd be able to feel it if you were able to focus on anything after coming, body shaking a little as you pant endlessly and fall limb in his hold.
Thereâs a lot of softness that comes after, kissing the side of your head and being gentle in the way he cleans you up. Itâs torture to be between your legs and getting to fully appreciate the sight of you for the first time without be able to touch you more but he doesnât want to overstimulate you so early on.
He does let himself think about that vividly though, kissing against your thighs and picturing when heâs going to be able to put his mouth on you.
Youâre quiet above him, eyes a little tired but still overly soft as you run your fingers through his hair and watch him wipe you down.
Then heâs back ontop of you and kissing you softly, shifting your back so youâre laying back against the pillows and not sitting up. Itâs soft and bordering on romantic which makes his chest tighten, hoping you have no plans to leave his bed anytime soon.
âYou okay?â He asks quietly against your mouth and he can feel you smiling, still touching his hair with one hand and letting the other drift down to the back of his neck.
âFelt so good.â You whisper back and your voice is a little hoarse from all the whining youâd been doing, nose bumping against his and then rubbing on his stubble for a few seconds. âCan I take a nap here?â
âYou can do anything you want.â He says immediately, no hesitation as he gets up to get you one of his shirts and help you get comfortable, jumping at the opportunity to keep you with him just like he wanted.
Jack typically has a hard time sleeping through the night in general so he definitely never naps, needing to be truly past the brink of exhaustion to ever rest.
Yet he finds it to be the most simple thing in the world to crawl into his bed with you after taking off his leg, kissing you for a few more minutes before heâs wrapping you in his arms and tugging you back against his chest. Heâs rubbing your stomach softly, hand under the shirt heâs given you, listening intently until he hears your breathing even out and then drifting to sleep right after you.
â
Itâs one of the highlights of his decade to get to wake up with you still there, warm and making soft tired noises when you feel him start to stir.
His room is dark now other than the slight illumination coming from the moon outside of his window, casting just enough light for him to be able to watch your eyes flutter open.
You give him a soft sleepy smile and instinctively lean in to give him a kiss.
Itâs easy to pretend that you are more than whatever this is when you act like this, mouths moving together sensually as if you have nowhere else youâd want to be.
Jack groans softly when your tongue pushes into his mouth, meeting it eagerly with his own and moving so hes hovering over you. Your hands are on his back, spreading your legs below him to let him slot between them.
He feels like a teenager again from how quickly he gets hard, your soft body under his putting him under some sort of spell. His hips shift and you let out a needy whine, scratching his shoulders lightly like youâre trying to encourage him.
Youâre still making out slowly when he starts to thrust down against you, slow rolls of his hips to give you just enough friction to start to get desperate.
Youâre tugging at his shirt fabric and he takes only a second to sit up and pull it over his head, back on you immediately and kissing you even more frantically. Heâs moving your own shirt up towards your ribs but neither one of you wants to stop long enough to take it off, only able to when you need a quick second to take a breath.
Itâs the first time youâve both been nearly undressed together and he feels the effects of it instantly, your chest pressing against his when he lays back over you. Your skin is soft and hot to the touch, those now familiar soft whines leaving you when he lets his hand knead at your chest again.
âJack please.â Youâre whimpering and he finally stops kissing you in favor of sucking at your neck, bringing those marks from earlier back to the surface. âCanât you just fuck me?â
He groans at the words and has to tuck his face in your shoulder, still rocking his hips against you even though they stuttered when you said that in that whiny voice of yours.
âTrust me, I want to fuck you so bad I canât even think.â It leaves his mouth before he can stop it, not wanting to reject you again without making sure you know how badly he wants you.
âThen do it.â Youâre begging now and he picks his head up to look at you, eyes wide and a little frustrated like you know heâs going to say no. You gasp when he thrusts down even harder, biting your lip as you stare at each other desperately. âPlease Jack? Want you inside me.â
âI canât baby.â He growls and kisses you to give himself a second to think without you arguing.
Youâre quick to forget you were trying to convince him of something because youâre kissing him back deeply, angling your head so his tongue can get further and further inside your mouth.
He has that sick and perverted thought again that heâs coincidentally training you to be the perfect girl for him, kissing in a way he likes and not knowing how else to do it. Jack is selfish and wants everything you do to be for him, wants your body to instinctively move and react how he taught you regardless of who gets you next.
The thought of somebody else makes him want to forget his morals and fuck you like youâre begging him, be the one to take your virginity and fill you up for the first time.
He starts to reason with himself that it would actually be a good thing because Jack would never let himself hurt you in a way you didnât like, heâd make sure you felt good around him and came so hard you werenât able to see straight.
Thereâs nobody else who could fuck you like he could so heâs almost convinced himself that itâs a good idea when your phone rings on the nightstand.
You both stop, youâre completely tense under him and he sighs as he kisses you one more time and rolls off of you.
He lays there on his back as you sit up to grab your phone, screen a little too bright in the dark room and causing you to wince. He stares at your pretty face under the light as you open it up and answer it, not thinking much about the interruption despite the small disappointment he feels.
His hand is on your bare knee and rubbing your skin is soft circles, soothing both you and himself by keeping the contact.
âHello?â Your voice is as soft and sweet as always, a little confused sounding which makes his eyebrows raise. âOh Carter.â
Jack tenses up at the sound of a males name leaving your lips, his hand freezing and falling still on your knee. Youâre avoiding looking at him as you listen to whoever it is speak on the other line, a deep voice bleeding through the speakers just enough for him to hear but not enough to make out the words.
âTonight?â Your eyes go to the small digital clock on Jacks side of the bed, having to glance over his body in the process. You meet his eyes just for a second before theyâre darting away again and it makes the pit in his stomach grow in understanding. âOf course I didnât forget. Iâll be ready by nine.â
Youâre hanging up after a quiet goodbye and now itâs suffocatingly silent in the room.
Youâre still sitting up with your legs crossed under you, avoiding looking at him like youâre not still wearing his shirt and covered in marks heâd given to you. He waits for a minute before heâs sitting up and running a hand over his face, on the opposite side of the bed from you and facing the wall so you canât see his expression when he finally gets himself to speak.
âYouâve got a date tonight?â He rasps out, trying his best to sound unaffected even though it comes out low and tight.
âI forgot.â You whisper back and you sound further away now, a glance over his shoulder confirms that youâd stood up off the bed and are searching for the shirt youâd shown up in so you can swap out of his. âHeâs taking me to some art show downtown.â
Jack stares at you as you move around the room, eyes scanning over your body when you pull his shirt over your head and neatly fold it before putting it on his dresser. It feels really final to watch you change back into your own clothes, turning to meet his eyes and letting out a soft sigh when you see heâs already watching you closely.
He hopes it doesnât show on his face, doesnât want to be too obvious that heâs probably about two seconds away from throwing up.
âCarter.â He says simply and now you really stiffen.
You stand there for a few seconds like youâre waiting for something, eyes a little expectant and then full on disappointed when he scoffs and moves to put his leg back on so he can stand up and get out of the room thatâs suddenly suffocating.
You leave his apartment and all the warmth goes with you.
He stands in his dark kitchen with regret sitting heavy on his chest, wishing he had stopped you and asked you to stay with him instead.
He isnât sure if itâs the fear of rejection or his own guilt that stopped him but he knew he couldnât ask you to do that. You deserved better than him and his baggage, his late hours at work and his dangerous hobbies that he needed to keep himself busy with to not think about the things that sent him spiraling.
He couldnât imagine forcing you into a life where you had to explain him to your friends and family, ignore the curious and judging looks from his own when they realized just how young you were.
Jack knew you were lonely, it was obvious considering how much time you willingly spent with him and it was bad enough heâd taken advantage of your desperation for connection and nearly slept with you.
He wouldnât be able to forgive himself if he stopped you from enjoying your youth, having a fun late night in the city surrounded by artsy people your age and not stuck on his couch watching old reruns because heâs too tired after work to properly take you out.
Jack hates himself for thinking all this and then still obsessively wanting you.
So much so that he purposely lingers near his truck right around the time youâd told your date youâd be ready. In his defense, he did actually need a few things from the corner store, so he sat in the parking lot and waited until he saw you come down.
Your date met you at the entrance of the lobby but didnât take your purse from you or the jacket you were holding, smiled at you politely but couldnât be bothered to open the door of his car or even wait for you to get in before he did.
It made Jack sick to his stomach all over again, jaw clenched as he sat in the dark interior of his truck and watched you drive off with some asshole only an hour after heâd had you sleeping next to him, panting under him and begging him to fuck you.
Jack decides right then that it all needs to stop, not just the sex lessons but helping you in general. He canât be that person for you without wanting more, heâs selfish and possessive over somebody that was never supposed to be his and he knows itâs not fair to you.
So he doesnât answer any of your texts that night, stays quiet in his living room whenever you knock on his door and waits until he hears you leave for work before he goes to check the mail.
He feels terrible for avoiding you but keeps trying to convince himself itâs in your best interest.
Jack is half asleep when the silent treatment finally breaks.
Heâd fallen asleep on his couch accidentally, a beer can too many on the table in front of him and the same movie heâd been watching beforehand starting to roll credits. He should have been in bed sleeping after pulling a double at work but he couldnât stand being in there lately, tossing and turning and trying to catch the faint scent of you lingering on his pillows.
There was a second of confusion, not sure why he had waken up in the first place, until the sharp knocks on his door made him flinch.
He was standing up on autopilot to open it, wincing at how stiff and sore his leg felt from falling asleep with it still on.
Any thought of his pain was gone the second he opened his door and saw your face, tears on your cheeks and your eyebrows furrowed in frustration.
âI need to talk to you.â You said immediately and he ushered you into his apartment, not necessarily wanting to be in an enclosed space with you but recognizing your tearful voice was far too loud to have a conversation in the hallway.
âWhatâs wrong?â He said softly and takes a few steps towards you on instinct, cradling your cheek and staring down at you when you nuzzle against his touch. âWhy are you crying?â
âBecause youâre an asshole.â You seem to remember that youâre mad at him because you step away from his touch, pushing his arm back down to his side and storming further into his apartment.
He stands there completely frozen as you toss your purse onto the chair near the couch, your eyes scanning over the beer cans and the obvious indent of where heâd been sleeping.
Then youâre back to looking at him and he knows what he probably looks like to you. The exhaustion is obvious on his face, clothes a little baggier than normal from a lack of taking care of himself and a constant awkward shifting on his leg to keep pressure off of it.
âWhy arenât you talking to me?â Your voice cracks a little and he deflates, taking a few steps closer again even though he doesnât think you want him to touch you. âDid I do something wrong?â
âWhat?â His face faces in disbelief at the idea you could ever do anything wrong in general, especially to him. âOf course you didnât sweetheart.â
âThen why?â Your words are louder now and they linger in the tense air, face pained as you wait for him to answer.
He sighs and runs a hand over his stubble that desperately needs some maintenance, wishes he had the time to plan out everything he wanted to say to you so he doesnât accidentally fuck it up more than he already had.
âI just⊠I canât do it anymore.â He lets his hands fall to his sides with a loud defeated clap and shrugs his shoulders. âI canât watch you go out with these idiots knowing they canât take care of you.â
He hopes what heâs trying to say is an obvious to you as it is to him, not able to bring himself to actually voice the fact that he has feelings for you beyond helping out a neighbor.
âYou didnât stop me.â You sound devastated, head shaking like you donât believe anything heâs saying to you.
Youâre not crying anymore thankfully but you look so hurt and disappointed that it makes him physically ache, moving to grab your arm softly and guide you to sit down on the couch with him.
âI waited for you to stop me and you didnât.â You continue once youâre sitting beside him, legs pressed together in a small amount of addicting content. âIsnât it obvious by now that I only want to be with you?â
The words hit him so hard that he doesnât even have time to process them, eyebrows furrowing as the need for more information pushes him to speak.
âWhy would that be obvious? The entire point of this was for you to be ready for other people.â
You look a little embarrassed at his sound logic, staring down at your lap where your hands are fiddling with your fingers. He sighs and takes one of them in his, squeezing it softly until you let your gaze drift back up to his.
âI donât want other people.â You whisper, staring at him with a small amount of hope in your eyes like youâre just waiting for him to understand. âAnd I donât want you to be with anyone else either. I just figured⊠you wouldnât cross that line without a good reason.â
Jack thinks itâs a little juvenile of a plan but he also knows youâre not wrong. He would have never touched you without the feeling of helping you out with something, no matter how much he had wanted you since the second you moved in.
That little lie was all he needed to get himself through the shame and guilt, the ability to pretend it was for a greater cause and not because he was sick and desperate for a girl half his age.
âJack.â You sigh when he doesnât respond for a few seconds, turning so you can face him better and press a soft kiss to the side of his jaw. âStop thinking.â
âThatâs a big ask.â He mumbles back but he gladly turns to give you a real kiss, holding your face in his hand and keeping your mouth against his.
You kiss until you run out of breath, pulling back from him but rubbing your nose against his and letting your small hands grip his forearm desperately.
âThen just be with me for tonight.â You try to reason with him in any way you can, rubbing his arm softly and blinking at him with those big pretty eyes that drive him so crazy.
He stares at you for a moment before heâs standing up off the couch and tugging you along with him, ignoring the little surprised noise you make in favor of lifting you up with his hands on the back of your thighs. You gasp and then giggle softly once heâs got you in the air, arms behind his neck and legs around his middle as he starts to walk you to his room.
âYouâre crazy if you think youâre going anywhere after tonight.â He tells you once he gets you settled on his bed, kissing the smile off your face as he climbs over you.
Itâs a direct mirror of the other night as you get each other undressed fully this time, kissing the entire time and tasting his tongue deep in your mouth when it starts to get more heated.
âYouâre going to be mine.â He says firmly once heâs got you in nothing but your panties, making sure your eyes are locked on his when you hear it. His free hand is all over your body, rubbing from your smooth thigh up to your chest and cupping around your neck for a brief moment while he waits for you to respond. âIf I fuck you then youâre mine.â
âIâve been yours.â You whisper easily, like you didnât have to put any thought into it.
He falters, hand tightening around your throat on instinct and then releasing the pressure when he sees the way your eyes light up with interest.
âDonât be nasty baby.â Heâs teasing, kissing the corner of your mouth and bringing your leg up so itâs around his waist and he can press himself against you. âGonna be gentle with you for your first time. You deserve it.â
âI want you to fuck me.â Youâre pouting and gripping at him impatiently, running your hand between your bodies to touch his stomach and fidget with the waistband of his boxers. âThatâs what I want Jackie.â
âDidnât ask what you wanted.â He grumbles back, not caring that it comes off a little mean because you whine at the sound of how rough his voice had gotten and he knows you like it.
Heâs back to kissing you and itâs filthier than normal, more tongue and spit than anything else.
Youâre as vocal as always, whining and begging impatiently when he gets your underwear off and starts to touch you again.
Jack can barely think straight when heâs back inside of you, fingers pushing in easier this time now that youâve felt the intrusion before and know what to expect. Youâre gasping and crying out immediately, unintelligible words that he blocks out in favor of focusing on how you feel when heâs stretches you out.
âWant it so bad.â Your near sob gets through to him and he hisses through clenched teeth at how wrecked you sound already, shushing you softly and kissing your cheeks to try and calm you down.
âI know baby I know.â Heâs whispering but you donât seem to be hearing him, spreading your legs further to try and make space for him to slot back between them instead of using his fingers.
Jack is just as impatient as you but heâs terrified of hurting you too early, although throbbing so hard in his boxers that itâs painful to shift around.
Itâs not long before itâs too much prep for both of you and youâre watching him with your chest heaving as he gets himself undressed the rest of the way, leg going on the floor right alongside your underwear that he had slowly pulled down your body before climbing back over you.
Your eyes go down between your bodies where his leg is and he tenses for a second despite knowing you mean well with the concern you have on your face.
âLet me ride you.â You say softly and his chest tightens with that old familiar shame he was still actively working on ridding himself of.
âI can fuck you.â He says gruffly and your eyes flash with regret, pouting a little like youâre worried youâve hurt his feelings with your thoughtful suggestion. He kisses the expression off your face, a long deep one followed by a few quick pecks to try and ease your mind. âNext time baby.â
He says it both because he knows realistically he has limitations, there will be plenty of nights heâs not able to rail you into his mattress like he wants to, but also because he knows he would die a happy man the second he got to see you bouncing on top of him and desperately trying to get yourself off.
You look like you want to argue but youâre stopped when heâs pushing your legs apart and moving between them, sharp gasp leaving you when you feel his hard length pressing against you finally.
âFuck Jack.â Your voice is sharp and already a little pained just from the dull sensation of him lining up with your hole, a growl leaving him at the sound of your distress.
âJust relax baby.â He says as softly as he can even though his throat feels tight and raw, kissing you gently to try and get you to calm down enough for him to push in. âYouâre too tight sweetheart.â
âI⊠I canât.â You let out another sharp cry when he shifts forward, nails digging into his shoulders so deep it makes him wince and lower his head down on your shoulder.
Jack has to use every ounce of self control he can muster to not just fully push himself into you and feel that tight heat heâs getting a taste of, that same sick and selfish part of him that wants you in the first place begging him to just take you already.
Instead he takes a few deep breaths before heâs kissing you with more focus, going back and forth between softly rubbing your side and massaging your inner thigh to try and urge your body to relax and accommodate him.
Itâs a torturous ten minutes, especially due to your soft whimpers and the way you cry his name whenever he accidentally moves himself deeper.
Then youâre finally calm enough, bare chest rising and falling with the deep breaths heâd instructed you to take.
âWant you inside Jack.â Youâre whining in his ear, clinging to him tightly and almost suffocating him when he immediately takes your queue and pushes in. You tense up again at the brief surge of pain and then let out a satisfied cry when you feel how full you are, clenching around him so ridiculously that he almost needs to pull out to give himself a break despite barely starting.
Youâre both too overwhelmed to speak much more once he starts to actually fuck you, deep thrust accompanied by filthy kisses to keep you from waking up the neighbors with how desperately youâre whining for him to keep giving you more.
Itâs pure need on both ends, your hips eagerly rocking upwards to try and meet his thrust sloppily while he uses his free hand to roughly push down on your stomach and keep you in place.
âJackie.â Itâs nearly a sob from you now and he can tell youâre close from how much tighter youâd gotten, almost an impossible squeeze for him to keep fucking you through.
Heâs grateful youâre so inexperienced because he doesnât think heâd last long either, not with the way you look as you stare up at him with teary and trusting eyes.
âI know baby youâre doing so good for me.â Itâs more of a growl than anything else but he can barely think let alone speak enough to keep encouraging you. âTaking me so well sweetheart.â
âIâm so full Jack.â You whimper and cling to him tighter, nearly pulling him fully down on top of you and knocking him off his balance. âFeels so good.â
Youâre stuttering through your sentences and slurring each word, eyes a little dazed in a way that makes him need to squeeze his shut to avoid coming inside you just from that fucked out look you have.
Itâs more sweet than heated when you actually do finally reach your peak, holding onto him still and kissing the side of his jaw softly with your face buried in his neck as you squirm and shake your way through your orgasm.
He stays inside of you for as long as he can so youâre not shocked from the sudden feeling of emptiness but youâre squeezing him too tight and he has to pull out as soon as youâre starting to relax. You whimper immediately at the lose and pick your head up to pout at him, eyes panicked like youâre genuinely distressed he didnât finish inside you.
He shushes you gently and kisses your face over and over, rubbing your side as he lets you fully come back to reality before attempting to clean either of you up or get you dressed.
âJack.â Youâve got the needy and frustrated tone he loves so much and he knows youâre not dropping it, meeting your eyes with a fond sigh as you glance down at where heâd came instead of inside you.
âNext time.â He promises again and he means it, fully intending to have that conversation with you ahead of time now that heâs got you like this.
Jack isnât too opposed to the idea of getting you pregnant, not even sure heâs able to with the amount of pills he takes, but he has to push down that thought along with the rest of the sick ones he gets when he looks at your needy eyes.
You smile a little at the loose promise and tuck yourself back into his shoulder, soothing any concern he has about what just happened or how youâre supposed to operate going forward.
Heâs undoubtedly the luckiest guy in the world to have you wanting him like this, feeling safe in his arms and desperate for him in the way heâd been for you since the second he laid eyes on you.
Jack was never the type of person to take the duty of taking care of somebody lightly and he doesnât plan to let you down for even a second, kissing the top of your head softly and letting himself forget about any shame or insecurity just to hold you for awhile longer.
Interlude XII: Tell Me About It (The Jack Sessions - Part VI)
Dr. Jack Abbot x (female) reader | Dr. Jack Abbot x you
Summary: Jack's therapy session turns into an unexpectedly emotional deep dive into love, aging, insecurity, fatherhood and the ridiculous fact that he is still very, very in love.
A/N: I think I'm going to retire the taglist because it's been glitching a lot lately. If you don't want to miss updates, feel free to turn on notifications for my posts! <3
Link to "You stole my cart" master list (1)
Link to "You stole my cart" master list (2)
Previous chapter: Interlude XI: I ruined the best day of your life
--- --- ---
Therapist: Good morning, Jack.
Jack: Hey. Good to see you.
Therapist: You too. How was Vancouver?
(Jack exhales quietly.)
Jack: Good.
(Therapist looks at him, waits.)
Jack: Really good.
Therapist: How did the presentation go?
Jack: Good.
Therapist: That seems to be your new favorite word.
(Jack rolls his eyes.)
Therapist: Did the grounding help?
Jack: Yes. The breathing thing beforehand we talked about? Great. Really helped. Still thought I was gonna throw up.
Therapist: But you didnât.
Jack: No. And⊠people laughed at my jokes.
Therapist: Which matters to you.
Jack: Way too much.
(He laughs about himself. She smiles.)
Therapist: Did you enjoy yourself?
Jack: (after thinking about it for a second) Yeah. It felt good to remember I still know what Iâm doing, you know?
Therapist: Being recognized for your work is always a nice thing, yes.
(Jack nods.)
Therapist: Did you bring your girlfriend with you? You were thinking about it a while ago.
Jack: Yes. (smiles) It was nice having her there.
Therapist: Nice?
Jack: Okay, yeah - really, really nice. She loved the city. Said she wants to move there.
(Therapistâs mouth twitches very slightly. Jack settles back a little.)
Jack: It was just⊠good. I liked having her there. Having breakfast together. Walking around after conference stuff. Coming back to the hotel and sheâs there.
Therapist: Did you miss your daughter?
Jack: Yes, of course. Terribly. (hesitates briefly) But it was also nice to just be⊠us again, you know?
Therapist: Thatâs something a lot of parents say. Itâs easy to lose the feeling of being a couple when you have a child. Especially when the kid is so young.
Jack: Yes. So it was nice remembering what that feels like. Just having time. No schedule built around naps or bottles or anything.
Therapist: Remembering for a moment how it was when things were simpler?
Jack: Yeah, maybe. Also remembering we still exist outside of being parents.
Therapist: You are still a couple, Jack. A couple who also has a child. Those things can exist next to each other.
(Jack hesitates again.)
Jack: Yeah, youâre right.
Therapist: So things are good lately between the two of you?
(Jack chuckles softly.)
Jack: Disgustingly good.
(Therapist just watches him. He shifts.)
Jack: Yeah, okay, feels ridiculous saying that out loud.
Therapist: Why?
Jack: Well, um, Iâm nearly fifty. And um, I still get butterflies. She walks into a room and boom, I get excited.
Therapist: Well that sounds nice.
Jack: It is. (hesitates) Weâve also been having ⊠um a lot more sex lately.
Therapist: (nods, unsurprised) How does that feel?
(Jack stares at her.)
Therapist: Emotionally, Jack. Emotionally.
(Jack laughs.)
Jack: Well, good. I feel like weâre⊠really connected lately. Like⊠(he groans, rubs his hands over his face) I donât really know why I brought it up.
Therapist: I guess because youâre really happy about it.
Jack: Of course Iâm happy about it. I mean⊠yeah, donât know. Iâm happy. Didnât wanna brag about it either. Sorry.
Therapist: No need to apologize, Jack. Iâm glad you two are in a good place right now. Especially after all the performance issues we talked about this last two years.
(Jack groans.)
Jack: Please never mention that again.
(She smiles.)
Therapist: I canât promise that and you know it.
(Jack shakes his head slightly, still smiling slightly.)
Therapist: You seem like thereâs something else you want to talk about.
Jack: (looks up immediately) Is it that obvious?
Therapist: To me? Usually.
(He laughs quietly, then rubs a hand over his face.)
Jack: Um, yeah. The thing is - I wanted to propose.
Therapist: In Vancouver?
Jack: Yeah.
Therapist: Tell me about it.
Jack: Well, I wanted to do it in Stanley Park at the waterfront during a picnic.
Therapist: So what happened?
(Jack leans back and closes his eyes briefly.)
Jack: Robby.
Therapist: Your friend Robby?
Jack: Yeah.
Therapist: He stopped the proposal?
Jack: No, no. Not⊠intentionally.
Therapist: I donât quite follow, Jack.
Jack: He didnât know I wanted to propose. He just⊠tagged along. My girlfriend and him made plans for the day and I didnât know about it. So he joined us for the aquarium⊠and the picnic.
Therapist: And you didnât give him a hint or something?
(Jack stares at her.)
Jack: I didnât know how without making a scene.
Therapist: So instead you suffered in silence?
Jack: Yeah. Kind of my thing honestly.
Therapist: What was going through your mind?
Jack: Honestly? First I thought heâd leave eventually. Then I thought maybe I could still somehow make it work. Then⊠things just kind of spiraled.
Therapist: So how did you feel?
Jack: Disappointed. At first.
Therapist: At first?
Jack: Yeah, because⊠well, you see⊠she had such a good day. She loved the aquarium. She loved the picnic. She kept saying how perfect the day was. So⊠(he shrugs) I couldnât even really be mad.
Therapist: Because she was happy.
Jack: Yeah.
Therapist: But you could have done it later, right? Robby wasnât there the whole time?
Jack: I couldâve, yeah. But by then it just⊠didnât feel like the right moment anymore.
Therapist: Why not?
Jack: I donât know. The day had already changed. It didnât feel like what I had in mind. So I kind of shoved it to the back of my mind. And it still somehow ended up being one of the best days weâve had in a while.
Therapist: Did your girlfriend notice anything?
Jack: I donât think so. Or, well⊠okay, no, she definitely noticed something was off. Just not what exactly.
Therapist: How so?
Jack: Well, after we got back to Pittsburgh Robby acted weird at the airport.
Therapist: Tell me more about that.
Jack: He was hugging us. Being emotional. Saying âI love youâ like he was about to deploy to war. You see, apparently Mara texted him beforehand and asked if I had proposed.
Therapist: Ah.
Jack: Yeah, you know, I told Mara because I wanted her to watch Lizzie. And she is a woman who always needs a reason, so⊠I had no choice.
Therapist: But you didnât tell Robby.
Jack: No.
Therapist: Why not? Heâs your best friend.
Jack: (hesitates) It wasnât⊠intentional. I just wanted it to be a surprise.
Therapist: For him?
Jack: (shrugs) Yeah. I think I just wanted to see the look on his face when I told him she said yes.
(Jack is suddenly shy, fidgets with the hem of his shirt.)
Therapist: What were you hoping to see on his face?
Jack: Well⊠um. Happiness maybe? You know⊠to see him genuinely happy for me?
Therapist: Thatâs kind of sweet, Jack.
Jack: (defensive) Donât mock me.
Therapist: Iâm not. I actually think itâs really nice that part of what made this important to you was wanting to share it with people you love.
(Jack nods slowly, looking a little uncomfortable.)
Therapist: So Robby reacted emotional to that reveal.
Jack: Yeah. We met for brunch the next day and it was⊠something else.
Therapist: How so?
Jack: He looked terrible. Like genuinely terrible. Weirdly quiet. Which honestly is already concerning. Because Michael is usually loud about things being wrong, so when he goes quietâŠ
Therapist: You worry.
Jack: Yeah. So⊠I kept asking if anything was wrong. And then eventually he goes âI know.â
Therapist: About the proposal.
Jack: Yeah. And honestly? First I was horrified. Because I thought he was being mad at me for not telling him about it. But then⊠(he takes a deep breath) He kept saying he ruined it. That heâd just inserted himself into the day. That he felt terrible. At one point he literally asked me if I still liked him.
Therapist: That sounds like he was actually concerned about that.
Jack: Yes. Quietest Iâve ever heard him ask anything.
Therapist: How did that feel?
Jack: (hesitates) Sad. Because⊠he really didnât know. And (hesitates longer) you know, his mom left when he was a kid. He was around eight or so. And sometimes⊠I donât know. Sometimes I think part of him still expects people to leave if he screws up.
Therapist: Including you?
Jack: (quietly) Maybe. (pauses) Which is stupid because heâd have to do something significantly worse than accidentally ruining a proposal for me to stop loving him.
Therapist: Loving him?
Jack: (blinks confused) Yeah? Iâve known him for thirty years and he was always there for me. When my wife died. When I lost my leg. Weâve been through the worst together. And that proposal thing? Thatâs just gonna be a good story to laugh about in the future.
Therapist: It sounds like you understood he wasnât trying to hurt you.
Jack: No, of course not. Michael would absolutely ruin something accidentally. Intentionally? Never.
(He sits quietly for a moment.)
Jack: You know, he offered to buy me plane tickets to somewhere absurdly romantic as compensation. Bahamas. Italy. Paris. Like some weird guilt-riddled travel agent.
Therapist: That sounds oddly sweet.
Jack: Sweet? Or unhinged?
(Therapist smiles.)
Therapist: Both things can be true at the same time, Jack.
(Jack chuckles.)
Therapist: So you declined his offer. But you still want to propose?
Jack: (looks up immediately) Of course.
Therapist: That sounds very certain.
Jack: I am.
Therapist: You did this before.
Jack: Huh?
Therapist: Proposing. To your late wife.
Jack: Oh. Um. Yeah.
Therapist: Does that feel strange?
(Jack thinks about it for a moment.)
Jack: Less than I expected.
Therapist: Why?
Jack: It feels different.
Therapist: Different how?
Jack: When I married my wife⊠we were young. I loved her. I really loved her. But this feels⊠I donât know. More grounded, maybe.
Therapist: Grounded?
Jack: (shrugs) Less fantasy. More choice.
Therapist: Explain this to me.
Jack: I know exactly who she is. Iâve seen her exhausted. Angry. Nauseated. Mean. Sleep deprived. (pauses) Weâve had bad days. Weâve fought. Weâve done the baby thing. And I still⊠I want to come home to her every day. Fuck, sheâs literally the best part of my day.
Therapist: That sounds lovely, Jack. And very mature.
Jack: Thatâs a new one coming from you.
(Therapist tries to hide her smile.)
Therapist: How does it feel to know you want this again?
Jack: Good. Like - really, really good.
(A small silence settles in.)
Therapist: Jack, Iâve known you for a long time now. You already have another plan ready, right?
Jack: Um. Maybe. (pauses) Okay, yes.
Therapist: Tell me.
(Jack shakes his head immediately.)
Jack: Nope.
Therapist: Nope?
Jack: Nope. I have a plan. A very good plan. But Iâm not telling you.
Therapist: Why?
Jack: (shrugs) It feels a little dangerous. Like if I say it out loud the universe hears me and sends me another Michael Robinavitch.
Therapist: (with the smallest twitch at the corner of her mouth) I didnât think you believe in superstition.
Jack: Thatâs merely self-preservation.
Therapist: Well, okay. So this plan matters to you.
Jack: Yeah.
Therapist: More than the one in Vancouver?
Jack: Um. Different, I guess. More us, I think.
Therapist: Okay. I canât wait to hear everything about it once it happened.
(Jack smiles.)
Therapist: When you imagine her saying yes - what do you feel?
(Jack goes quiet and looks down for a second. Then he starts smiling unguarded.)
Jack: Happy. (laughs quietly) Embarrassingly happy. Like⊠kind of giddy. (shakes his head) I know. Itâs pathetic.
Therapist: Not pathetic, Jack. Just very human.
Jack: I just⊠God, I really wanna marry her. I wanna call her my wife. I want the whole thing.
Therapist: The whole thing?
Jack: You know, stupid domestic stuff. (shrugs) She just feels like⊠home.
(Jack blushes a little.)
Jack: And if she really says yes? Iâll be unbearable.
Therapist: Unbearable?
Jack: Insufferable actually. Iâll probably text everybody I know. So if you get a text from meâŠ
(She laughs.)
Therapist: Iâm going to say something I very rarely say to patients - this is probably the only acceptable exception for using my private number for non-emergency personal news.
Jack: (blinks) Really.
Therapist: Yes. If you get engaged, Iâll make an exception. Iâve seen how hard youâve worked to get here, Jack.
(Jack rubs a hand over his face, a little confused, a little proud, still smiling.)
Jack: Yeah, if that happens⊠I think Iâd just be⊠really fucking happy. Like - holy shit, she picked me.
Therapist: You sound strangely puzzled by the thought that she could really want you.
Jack: Iâm not puzzled. (pauses) Okay, maybe a little.
Therapist: Why?
Jack I donât know. Itâs just⊠look at her. Sheâs smart. Funny. Ridiculously pretty. Bit younger than me. And somehow she decided: yeah, this one. (gestures to himself) The middle-aged, insecure emergency physician with one leg, emotional issues and a fucked up circadian rhythm.
Therapist: Well, Jack. You left out âsuccessfulâ, âcapableâ and apparently âvery lovedâ.
(Jack stares at her.)
Therapist: Do you think she sees you the way you just described yourself?
Jack: (hesitates) I donât know but probably⊠not?
Therapist: How do you think she sees you?
(Jack thinks about it.)
Jack: As someone who is safe. Someone who loves her. And someone who takes care of her.
Therapist: What else?
Jack: Um⊠(reluctantly) Attractive, I guess.
Therapist: You guess?
Jack: (shrugs) At least thatâs what she tells me. I still donât fully get it.
Therapist: Meaning?
Jack: (exhales quietly) Sometimes I still expect her to realize she couldâve done better.
Therapist: Better than what?
(Jack looks at her, but doesnât answer.)
Therapist: Better than you?
Jack: Maybe. Which is stupid, because⊠(stops)
Therapist: Yes?
(Jack shakes his head slightly.)
Jack: There was this thing in Vancouver. At one of these conference dinners. There was this guy. Harris. Total asshole. You know - one of those older doctors who still thinks women exist mainly for decoration.
Therapist: (dryly) I know the kind. Charming little creatures.
Jack: Yeah, real catch. Anyway. I was talking to some people and Harris starts talking to her. And I didnât catch all of it at first. But then I look over and sheâs got that look.
Therapist: What look?
Jack: The one where sheâs about to ruin someoneâs day. Apparently heâd been talking down to her. Called her âsimpleâ. Assumed she was merely decorative. Basically implied she was there to smile and look pretty while I did the intellectual work.
Therapist: How did she respond?
Jack: (laughs quietly) Oh, beautifully. She stayed completely calm. Smile on her face. Sweet voice. And then she starts asking him about inclusionary zoning. And housing policy. And urban development. You know, she has a Masterâs in urban planning. And that poor bastard realizes that heâs deeply underestimated her. And she just⊠dismantled him. Completely politely. Which somehow made it worse.
(He looks briefly at the floor, shaking his head.)
Jack: God.
Therapist: What?
Jack: I just remember sitting there thinking⊠holy shit, thatâs my girl. Like⊠she looked beautiful and terrifying and so smart. And Harris looked like he wanted to evaporate.
Therapist: You sound proud.
Jack: Proud? Jesus, I was unbearable afterwards.
Therapist: Meaning?
(Jack rubs a hand over his face.)
Jack: I may have dragged her out into the hallway.
Therapist: To calm down?
(Jack laughs out loud.)
Jack: No. I kissed her.
Therapist: (raises an eyebrow) You kissed her?
Jack: Quite⊠um⊠aggressively actually.
(Therapist just looks at him.)
Jack: I just⊠I was so into her.
Therapist: More than usual?
Jack: Significantly more than usual. I also told her I was going to- (stops and blushes) Nevermind.
Therapist: No, no. Finish the sentence.
Jack: Iâd rather not.
Therapist: Jack.
Jack: (sighs) I told her I was going to shag her brains out.
Therapist: Interesting choice of words.
Jack: Hm?
Therapist: Do you remember what she said to you before you two slept together for the first time?
(Jack stares at her, blushing more.)
Jack: Um.
Therapist: She said âsheâs going to shag your brains outâ.
Jack: Oh.
Therapist: Exact same wording.
Jack: Jesus Christ.
Therapist: You remembered that sentence in this moment when you were emotionally unguarded and overwhelmed.
Jack: I didnât think about it like that.
Therapist: I know. But subconsciously you did. Which is apparently very sweet.
Jack: (groans) I told you I wanted to fuck my girlfriend in a very animalistic way and you call that sweet?
Therapist: Yeah. Kind of.
(Jack laughs despite himself.)
Therapist: No worries. I wonât elaborate further on that.
Jack: Thank god.
Therapist: So how did the rest of the trip go?
Jack: (exhales quietly) Weirdly emotional. Not in a bad way. Just⊠a little complicated.Â
Therapist: Tell me more about this.
Jack: Well, you see, we had this dinner the last night and we started talking about kids. And she basically told me⊠she doesnât think she can do pregnancy again. And that she wanted to want another baby more than she actually wanted another baby.
Therapist: How was it hearing that?
Jack: Honestly? (shrugs) Sad at first. Then mostly relieved.
Therapist: Relieved?
Jack: Yeah. Because I saw what it did to her. Her pregnancy was awful. And after Lizzie was born⊠well, she wasnât okay for a while.
Therapist: I remember what you told me during that time.
Jack: Yeah⊠so I think a part of me already knew I couldnât ask her to go through that again.
Therapist: Even if you wanted another child.
Jack: Yeah. Which I think I thought I did. But I guess I just liked the idea. You know - another kid. But honestly? Iâm really, really happy.
Therapist: With the kid you have.
Jack: Yeah. (smiles) I love our life. Itâs absolute chaos, but God, I wouldnât want it any other way. Feels like I got really lucky.
Therapist: Did you tell her any of that?
Jack: Youâll be proud to hear that I did.
Therapist: Congratulations, Jack. I call that progress.
Jack: (laughs) Yeah, thank you.
(Jack hesitates, then closes his eyes for a second.)
Jack: Can I tell you something without you thinking Iâm weird?
Therapist: (raises an eyebrow) Jack, Iâm not here to judge. You know that.
Jack: Okay, so Iâll tell you something and youâll think Iâm weird but wonât say it to my face?
Therapist: (laughs) What is it, Jack?
Jack: The thought of having another kid also kinda scares me.
Therapist: How so?
Jack: (quietly) What if itâs a boy?
Therapist: Can you elaborate on that?
Jack: (rubs a hand over his jaw) I donât know. You see, Iâm a really good girl dad. I get girls.
Therapist: Meaning?
Jack: I know how to teach a girl to feel safe. To be independent. To not settle for shitty men. To know sheâs loved. But⊠raising a son? That feels harder.
Therapist: Harder in what way?
Jack: Because⊠boys are struggling. And some of them are angry. Lonely. Isolated. Falling into weird online shit.
Therapist: What kind of things concern you?
Jack: (sighs) God, where do I even start? (pauses) These online communities teaching boys that women are the enemy. That kindness makes you weak. That everything is somebody elseâs fault. The whole⊠resentment thing.
Therapist: Youâre talking about misogyny. Alienation.
Jack: Yeah. You know⊠I work in emergency medicine. I see what violence does. I see entitlement. Anger. Men who were clearly never taught how to regulate anything. I see what they do to women. And I think⊠what if I get it wrong?
Therapist: Meaning?
Jack: What if I raise an asshole?
Therapist: That sounds like a heavy responsibility.
Jack: Yeah.
Therapist: What would âgetting it rightâ look like to you?
Jack: Um. Raising a son whoâs kind. Respectful. Someone who doesnât feel threatened by women. Someone emotionally literate.Â
Therapist: You mean able to talk about feelings.
Jack: Yeah, unlike his hypothetical father.
Therapist: (with a smile) I think youâre doing better than you give yourself credit for.
(Jack only shrugs.)
Therapist: What makes you think youâd fail?
Jack: Because⊠boys watch men. And I know how much fathers matter.
Therapist: Youâre afraid of modeling the wrong thing.
Jack: Yeah. And⊠I know how to tell Lizzie what to watch out for. Iâm less sure how to teach a boy what not to become.
Therapist: I wonder if the fact that youâre this worried already tells me something important.
(Jack looks up.)
Jack: Hm?
Therapist: The fathers I worry about usually arenât the ones asking these questions. Youâre not talking about control. Youâre talking about values. And from what youâve described kindness, accountability, emotional safety and respect matter deeply to you. And that sounds like a pretty solid foundation for raising a child.
Jack: (exhales slowly) Huh. (blinks) Well. Itâs all hypothetical anyway. Thereâs no point overthinking a child that doesnât exist.
Therapist: Is there something else you want to overthink instead?
(Jack huffs a laugh, then looks down at his hands.)
Jack: Well yeah. You know, she said something. She⊠she called herself old. Called herself a geriatric mother. Which is bullshit, by the way.
Therapist. Well, medically speakingâŠ
Jack: (interrupts) Itâs still not called geriatric mother. Itâs called advanced maternal age.
Therapist: So the phrasing bothered you.
Jack: Yeah. (let out a long breath) And well, sheâs not old. But⊠it kinda made me realize that time is doing the thing. (hesitates) Weâve only been together two years. Which sounds ridiculous because it somehow feels like sheâs always been there. But at the same time⊠Iâm pushing fifty. And suddenly I had this really weird moment of⊠(gestures vaguely) Weâre still at the beginning. But weâre also running out of time.
(Jack laughs quietly, uncomfortable now.)
Jack: God, that sounds depressing.
Therapist: What exactly are you afraid of losing?
Jack: (quietly) Time with her.
(He pauses for a while.)
Jack: I wasted enough of my life already. And now I finally found someone who feels like home. And suddenly Iâm aware that life isnât infinite.
Therapist: So youâre afraid of aging?
Jack: Not really about⊠wrinkles-and-bad-knees aging. More like⊠I donât know⊠I want a stupid amount of time with her.
Therapist: Sounds like love mixed with fear.
Jack: Yeah, well. Turns out I really fucking love her.
Therapist: Thatâs why you want to marry her.
Jack: Damn right I want that.
Therapist: What would change once you two are married?
Jack: Um. Nothing really. (thinks about it) Well, no, thatâs not true. More like - nothing and everything. I mean - we already live together. We have a kid. We basically act married already.Â
Therapist: That covers the ânothingâ part. And the everything part?
Jack: Well⊠I donât know. I think Iâd just feel⊠officially hers? (laughs embarrassed) Okay, that sounded stupid. I just like the thought of her being my wife. That feels nice. (pauses) Still need to check with her if she wants my name though.
Therapist: (lifts an eyebrow) You still donât know? We talked about this like a year ago.
Jack: (laughs) Yeah, sorry, topic never quite came up. And Iâd obviously support whatever she wants to do. Itâs entirely her decision. But would I enjoy hearing someone call her Mrs. Abbot?
(He lets out a long breath.)
Jack: Fucking hell - yeah.
(Therapist laughs softly, then glances briefly at the clock.)
Therapist: Okay, weâre almost out of time, so let me summarize. You still want to propose.
Jack: Yes.
Therapist: You already have a new plan.
Jack: Yes.
Therapist: Youâre disappointed Vancouver didnât work out but you donât hold a grudge against Robby.
(Jack nods.)
Jack: Iâm just waiting for the right moment. Which is annoying because apparently Iâm really impatient when it comes to her.
Therapist: (smiles) Alright. One final thought.
(Jack looks immediately suspicious.)
Therapist: Try to spend less time being confused why your partner loves you.
Jack: We really circled back to that, yeah?
Therapist: Apparently.
(She pauses.)
Therapist: Just try to remember - she already made her choice.
Jack: (sighs) Yeah. Okay. Will try.
(Jack stands up.)
Therapist: Iâll see you next week, Jack.
Jack: (nods) Have a good one.
--- --- ---
You wanna keep reading? - Part 91: Just the two of you then?
( gif from this lovely set by the amazing @wesandresons ! )
†â GENTLEMAN'S INSTINCT
summ. Sometimes you're reminded how merciless Abbot can be. You indulge in it.
pairing. jack abbot / f!reader
w.count. 5k !
a/n. NSFW +18 , porn-with-prose , no y/n , petnames galore , oral m-receiving , aftercare , literally just jack abbot in that civvies-camo combo âcause yeah , also jack abbot being a hot badass while in uniform ( you'll see what I mean I hope )
ITâS THE DEMEANOUR, you notice. The glacial calm he carries in the face of any crises or catastrophes. That seeing him experiencing anything other than level-headedness is a rarity.
It comes along with the commanding presence he brings with his titleâ lieutenant; doctor; officer ( Combat Vet; Senior Attending; SWAT Medic )â that instinctively draws people in, or has them making way for him, has them deferring to him out of well-earned respect.
Physicality adds to it too, ofcourse.Â
Biceps taut on his scrubs sleeves whenever he crosses his freckled arms to think, doing that pensive gaze he does where his chin tucks and he looks up past his lashes; shark-like in the tenebrous weight of his narrow stare, lips pursed and dimpling at his stubbled cheeks.Â
Nor do the fatigues offer any help, either; they make him look meaner than he already does, you find. Tough. Militant. Imposing. Just a little more rugged, a little more rough-around-the-edges handsome, a little more grittier to the average eye in that classic, old-fashioned way.Â
(The perfect archetype of a natural protector: both the shepherd who tends faithfully to his sheep and the dog that mercilessly defends them.)Â
And then thereâs that damn roughstone voice of hisâ
âLook at me,â heâd said, after the damage had been done.Â
Ordered, it felt more like, though he was pleading. Youâre surprised at how swift youâd paid automatic heed to the gravel-deep tone of his voice, riding that razor edge of unraveling concern and blistering anger.Â
Well within reason, ofcourse: Abbotâs SWAT unit had been deployed on a gang-violence case. When the storm of a shootout had passed, and theyâd ended up having to wheel in one of their own officers to PTMCâs Emergency Department alongside one of said criminal thugs in tow, youâd been the closest medical staff to get caught in the crossfire.
A tattooed blur reaching up from the gurney. A yelp as your hair is yanked down in a fit of blind rage.Â
And thenâ
And then.
A pistol materialises, barrel pressed right between his eyes.Â
âGo ahead,â Abbot snarls, an inch from pulling the trigger. âGive me a fucking reason.â
(He doesnât open fire, of course. That wouldâve been ridiculous. Not to mention a mountain of paperwork.)
And so the jarring chiaroscuro that was Jack Abbot appeared in South-22: Nonchalant then, in the way heâd cradled your face to assess you, in the way his fingers tucked a strand behind your ear as if they hadnât been the same ones carrying a lethal weapon.
You okay? heâd murmured, voice that gravelly undertone that always makes you shudder.Â
Mâfine, youâd nodded, unable to stop openly admiring him in that dizzying uniform: all camo and tactical and trim, the muted colours working in his favour to bring out the bright of his eyes.
What is it, sweetheart? heâd frowned, shrewd as always.Â
You swallowed. Shook your head. If heâd caught your there-and-away glance to his lips, he didnât seem to comment.Â
Iâm gonna get back to work, youâd dismissed. Itâs nothing, Jack. Â
Butâ
âItâs not nothing,â he brings up, later that night. âThis is very much not nothing, sweetheart.â
Straddled at the living room couch under the warm weight of you, Abbot has to physically slide his hands up from your hips and shackle your wrists away from his face. Done, ofcourse, with an alarmingly easy grip. (You file that thought away for later.)
Abbot looks handsome when frazzled like this, you think privately to yourself. A flush that's blossoming up from his chest, climbing his neck and rosing across the bridge of his nose. Even the tips of his ears have gone a distinct pink from your incessant kisses and constant grinding against his lap.
He hisses; lungs expanding, eyes screwing shut when you deliberately attempt to adjust your hips.
âBaby,â he breathes, pupils blown wide half in yen and in pleasant confusion. âWhat is up with you tonight?â
You ignore him. Waylay him into another bruising kiss instead. Drive your hips down coyly into his camo pants again, enough it makes him groan gutturally into your mouth at the friction of it allâÂ
Although it doesnât appear to work: Abbotâs a disciplined man; he wouldnât have made a good and dutiful soldier if he wasnât.Â
Instead he dodges the next kiss you give him, where it lands on the corner of his lips, much to your chagrin and his childish amusement, and he levels you with that discerning look.
âTell me,â he murmurs. (Orders, it still feels like. Gruff and demanding. It makes you giddy. He can order you around to do whatever he wishes and youâd gladlyâ)
âNothing,â you finally relent. Thumb at his cheek. Trace the slope of his lips down to his stubbled chin. âItâs justâŠâ
Your hands drop to his chest, then further to the hem of his black shirt, where itâs come untucked at the waistline of his cargo pants.
Not once does he break eye-contact with you, and itâs then he reckons something in them.
âIs it myâ Is the uniform doing it for you?â he pieces, laughter threading into his words. âIt is, isnât it? Thatâs why you were looking at me weird earlier. Why you practically jumped my bones when I walked through our front doorââ
Heat floods to your face. You wrinkle your nose at him. âDonât act like you didnât know,â you scowl, letting him off the hook with that last statement: You had, in fact, practically gravitated and clung to him like a magnet when heâd come home wearing those lethal half-camo-half-civvies combination that hug him in all the right places.Â
âI really didnât,â he swears, unable to stop dimpling at you. And then: âWow. Youâre so easy.â
You scoff out an affronted Excuse me? Let out a stunned laugh as you swat him on the bicep at the boyish sense of pride blooming across his face.Â
âI shouldâve realised,â he sing-songs, catching your next smack with ease and pretending to nip at your fingertips in defense. âYou like me in fatigues. I canât believe it. You like a military man, huh?â
âI like you,â you correct, pulling your hands back to lay it on his sternum, feel the humdrum of his heartbeat under the broad of his muscles. ââŠBut me pouncing you isnât just because of that.â
âOh?â he says, and like an intrigued bird, preens once again. You groan. Bow your head at the obvious delight in his face.
All he does is laugh and tuck the tresses of hair thatâs slid along with your downturned gaze. Try to chase your eyes like he always does. You pick at the seam on his collar, a non-existent piece of lintâ Just something to buy yourself time while you string your thoughts into something coherent.Â
Thereâs that palpable sense in the space betweenâ the tension youâd get when you feel somebody about to confess something; show you the chink in their proverbial armour, or offer you a plate of their beating heart.Â
Youâre⊠nervous, he realises. Sheepish aboutâÂ
His brows shoot to his hairline.
âOh,â he says. Recognises it now: A yelp. A pistol. A threat.Â
He lets out a wheeze. Doesnât even try to hold it this time.
âAlright. Iâm ordering dinner,â you deadpan, already climbing off him, where he instantly chimes in with a grasp on your wrist and a half-hearted series of No, no, no! Iâm not laughing at you, honey, I promise. Câmere, baby, pleaseâ?
Abbot pulls you back in for a fervent kiss. Deep and meaningful as he breathes the scent of you in. Sorry, it translates, playful. Iâm sorry.Â
âI justâŠâ His eyes squint after, head doing that endearing, fidgety turn and tilt it always does when he talks. âWhat is it exactly about what I did that turns you on?â
âOh, now youâre just fishing for compliments,â you snort, twirling a rowdy curl at his nape when he lets out another weak laugh.
âThe safety wasnât even flipped, honey,â he explains, forming an imaginary pistol with his fingers to demonstrate the mechanism. âHammer never dropped. The gun wouldnâtâve went off.â
But you shrug anyway, run your nails down his scalp just the way he likes, carving through the salt-and-pepper of his hair as he hums.Â
âItâs the thought that counts?â you offer, inadequate. âI⊠genuinely donât know what exactly it was, if Iâm being honest. Maybe itâs âcause you were a total badass,â you muse, ignoring yet another laugh from him. âMaybe itâs the way you spoke to him.â
He breaks into a knowing smile. Voice tinged with amusement and something wry. âOh, you like me a little mean, hm?âÂ
You laugh, caught. Pinch at his skin in comic retaliation. He doesnât budge at all, like the tough-as-nails man he is; just stares at you with that hazy, affectionate gaze.
A slow beat passes as you reckon with your thoughts.
âI guess itâs just nice to be protected,â you say at last, the gentlest heâs ever heard. âNice to feel invincible, yâknow?â
Abbot falls quiet at that, blindsided.
Safe, he realises. He makes you feel safe.
Something abrupt tides over him. An impossible urge. An overwhelming desire to kiss and embrace and surround you. To tuck and fold you past his ribcage and into his weathered heart, forever sheltered in the home that is his armsâ
âI love you, you know that?â he says, and he finds his voice is mellowed down now. Low, soft. An ocean-in-a-shell whisper when he says your name.
âJack,â you exhale, a butterfly-wing breath. Abbot etches the divine sight of your smile into his mind. Thinks he could drown in the affection of your voice aloneâ Would gladly allow it. âI love you too.â
When you dip down to kiss him it's like lighting a wick aflame. The quickfire spark of a flintwheel. Then heâs nosing down and down, mouthing from the seam of your lips to your jaw, your pulsepoint, your collar, your bare shoulder. Heâll mark you up later, he thinks, right now he just wants to feel every inch of you.
Abbot caresses up your arms, pulls your left hand from his cheek to turn it over. And then heâs pressing his lips upon your palm up to your fingertipsâ a reverent kiss. Like youâre his holy artifact; a Saintâs relic to worship.
âChivalrous,â you muse mindlessly, tracing down the dent of his cheek, the stippled line across his jaw. You can feel your heart swell. Feel his hands snaking up your skin beneath your shirtâ his shirt, actuallyâ that swallows you whole, loose and already slipping one shoulder.
âI threatened to kill a man,â he points out incredulously, voice dropped in that whispery octave again; smoky, dark.
Exactly, you donât reply, feeling that excitable buzz through your spine once more at the vivid memory: bright blood and gleaming gunmetal; the predatorial growl in his voice and the dangerous expression on his face. Go ahead. Give me a fucking reason.
âFor me,â you add, purring against his lips, breath damp and curling with his. You give him a kiss chaste enough that it has him craning closer for more. âYou did it for me.â
Then your hands wander, up neath the cotton of his shirt and down his smoldering skin, slow and steady, until they settle at the flesh of his navel; until your manicured nails catch on the buttons of his camo pants. âSo let me do something for you.â
Baby, he chokes back, half-desperate already. You press a bruising, saccharine kiss to lean him back as you work him free, revelling in the shudder of his battleworn body when the zipper sings through the air, and you take your time to reach into his waistband to wrap your fingers around the thick of him.Â
Itâs hot and heavy when you tug his cock out.
âSâfor you,â you murmur, sinking to your knees now, between the gaps of his legs.Â
He watches you rapt with attention when you lean a cheek into the camo, goosebumps lining his skin at the sight of youâ doe-eyed and looking like youâre right where you want to be as a flash of your wet tongue makes itself known.
The breach of his swollen, leaky head into your mouth is divine.Â
It doesnât take very long before his hand is fisting your hair with barely concealed restraint. Itâs messy, this time. Forgoing his usual reflex to bunch it into a ponytail for your own ease. (Oh, you hear his dry, biting sarcasm ring in your head, you like me a little mean, hm?) The other sits splayed on the gap between your shoulder blades, running the pads of his fingers up your nape.
âJaâ mh,â you choke, feeling the tip of him reach the back of your throat already. His hips are shifting up from the sofa to meet your insistent pace. Be a little harsher, you want to say, but youâre intoxicated with the scent and taste of him. Nose buried at his happy trail every time you bottom out and scrape your nails against his tense thighs.
Youâre practically salivating over his cock and dampening the fly of his pants. He tastes like skin and something masculine. Smells like heady sweat and gunpowder.Â
Youâre dizzy with delight everytime he curses; everytime he croons. Watching each ripple of his forearms, sinews of muscles flexing under freckled skin as he braces himself from going too farâ
âEyes on me, honey,â Abbot rasps. Orders. There are jittering phosphenes in your peripherals when you meet his gaze, his eyes shadowed into something dark from the angle of the dim light above him. It sends a buzz through you. Forces a wanton, strangled sound from your throat that has him twitching excitedly in your mouth. âGod, yeah. Thatâs it, baby.âÂ
Itâs a touch condescending. Dangerous. That same, clinical way he gets as a senior mentoring his juniors, or in his gaze whenever heâs observing something in a patient; diagnosing.Â
âYou wanted mean,â he repeats, carefully. Making sure youâre registering each word. âSweetheart. Want me to use you?â
(Courteous, still. Ensuring. May I? he seems to ask. A gentlemanâs instinct.)
Heâs pulling you apart from his cock the next second. Abrupt enough youâre gasping for air with a sickening pop of your lips, reflexively swallowing around the invisible shape heâs molded into your throat. A string of saliva connects; sloppy. It makes a frisson run through Abbot at the lewd sight. Answer me.Â
âYes,â you whisper to his question. Then, before the synapses in your brain could fire upon realisation: âYes, Sir.â
Abbot slams his eyes shut. âFuck.â Lets out a strained breath of a laugh. âJesus, woman,â he exhales, flickering back to where your lithe fingers are mindlessly rolling and flexing over the hard length of him: slow strokes, a squeeze, a shy kitten-lick.Â
Heâd heard the title before, ofcourse. Sir. In his military days and tactical briefings during his moonlighting with SWAT teams, where rank and hierarchy is commonplace and acknowledged without question. A routine structure that never leaves those wallsâÂ
Until now, at least. And even then formalities have never been a thing between you both, neither in the ED. Itâs a collaborative affair when someoneâs life is on the lineâ So hearing it now in the walls of home, so eager and so absentmindedly said, hits him square in the chest more than heâd like to admit.Â
(On your knees, you look smaller like this: docile. Submissive; easier to handle, to bend into will or obedience.Â
It makes him feelâ powerful.)
âGo ahead, then,â he says, with newfound clarity and lust-filled amusement. He rakes his nails down your scalp, sets a demanding palm. âBe good for me.â
In no time, heâs forcing his cock past the seal of your lips. Itâs wet and messy as you struggle to take the stiff length of him down in one go once more, muffled tiny sounds escaping you in lewd little hums and Mh, mh, mhâ when he bobs you further down; makes you take him just that inch more.
Each rise and fall of your head is controlled by his clutch. He doesnât let you pull back at times nowâ a new gameâ testing how long you can hold it before youâre tapping at his thighs, heart skittering in alarmâ and even then he dares to tarry a second or two longer just for his own pleasure.
âDeeper, baby. You can do it,â heâd soothe, thumbing away the drool leaking from your lips. âYeah? Fuck. You feel so good.â
The praises shoot liquid pleasure down your spine; makes you rub your thighs as you whine. Every grunt he makes is a compliment; every twitch and buck of his hips a trophy; every sharp hiss and muttering curse a jewel to your crown.
âMaybe Iâll fuck you in uniform,â he pants, when he eventually yanks you from his cock for a momentâs reprieve. His hand slides down from your scalp to press at both your cheeks, watching the slick dribble to your chin when he taps his thumb expectantly on your wet lips. âSâthat what you want, honey?â
Unbidden, the image of Abbot half-feral as he fucks you brutally from behind flashes in your head. Heâd command you strip naked for him, you imagine, and perhaps heâd use you for his own personal pleasure, still decked in that olive quarter-zip and taking, claiming, imposing himself onto you by burying his cock in you.
You imagine the sound of his beltâ carrying his sidearmsâ divested and landing on the floor, his camo pants hurriedly unzipped just enough to pull his cock out while he climbs right into you with no prep; the full weight of his chest pressing down onto you from behind so you couldnât squirm; couldnât break free from the bicep heâd curl flush around your neck while he bit marks down the hollow of your throat, groaning into your ear as he câ
You whimper. Itâs a pathetic sound; begging to be used. Humiliation burns your cheeks. âYes.â
Abbotâs brows climb. Grip tightens in rumbling disapproval.
ââSir,â you tag at the last second, gut seizing in half-fear and half-thrill at how quickly heâs already taken to this powerplay. âYes, Sir.â
âThere we go,â he coos, throbbing at how ready you are to heed. He bites his lip, curled at the edges with something akin to a daze and pure enamourment. Heâd never have expected this from youâ let alone himself.Â
The gunpoint confrontation heâd had today with that patient had barely registered as anything remarkable to him. The dizzying cocktail of power and command over anyone, in fact, has never been something heâd given thought to. Sure, itâs satisfying to be feared, and above all out of respectâ but itâd been nothing but a job to him. An instinct to move; to make sure no one in the Pitt is hurt.
But today, with the quiet surge of authority that comes with donning his fatiguesâ an unconscious, private sense of gratification and pride has him intoxicated at how you seem to defer to his competence, to his demands. Especially now, with how quickly youâd dropped to your knees for him in pure admiration, so eager to deign to his unspoken wishes and serve him just because he threatened a man while in uniformâ
âYouâve got a job to do first, sweetheart,â he murmurs, meeting the excited glint in your teary eyes. âFinish what you started.â
He brackets your face with the palms of his hands and puts you back to work. Prespend drips down your chin as he feeds himself back down your throat, feels the slip and curl of your tongue as it slides over the veins of his cock. âHah, fâuck,â he bites out, âYeah. Attagirl. Attagirl.â
His pace is self-indulgent and cruel. Demanding; just how youâd pleaded it. Sinful approval tumbles from his mouth at how You take me so well, baby, you can do it. You can take it, canât you? You wanted this, so Iâll give it. Just be a good girl and fuck, take itâ a jumbled concoction of praises and condescending quips that has your mind spinning with both embarrassment and appetite.
His grasp turns into a vice as the minutes pass. Coiling around the sides of your face as he anchors you. He smothers and sinks you lower at each hard pump of your mouth around him, thumbing at a stray tear with a huff of a laugh. Spoiling himself with this fantasy of yours; with every gagging whine you make.
âCâmon now,â he husks, sounding breathless. âAlmost there, pretty girl. Doing so good.â
Youâre carving crescents into his thighs. Lungs searing at the mild hypoxia. An aching heat pooling south beneath you. His brows are pinched into an irritated divot when he allows you up for an obligated sliver of a breath, before fitting himself back into your mouth to fuck your throat into completion.Â
Greedy, you think, completely delirious and candidly blissed out from the flattery and the sight of Abbot this way: eyes struggling not to roll as his head lulls from the utter euphoria coursing through his veins. You like him greedy and selfish and mean.Â
That innate soldier that he can never shake from the doctor in him, appearing sporadically in flashes over days with combative patients or browbeating visitors. That effortlessly commands a room by sheer militant presence, that doesnât take no for an answer, that can still be as deadly weaponless and with his own bare hands.
âBaby,â he warns coarsely, memorising the delicious glide of your tongue around his cock. He bites his lip and fights the urge to throw his head back onto the couch. âMâclose. So close, sweetheart.â
Itâs flattering to hear; to feel. Seeing Abbot looming above you like an eclipse, in complete control over your breathing, yet visibly struggling with effort as you slide your hands up from his thighs to his navel and to his hips; using it as grip to sink yourself deeper and deeperâ Fuck, baby, he slurs. Youâre so good to me. So fucking goodâ
âIâm gonna come,â he pants, breath hitching. Itâs a primal sound, and for a moment you think heâll finish in your mouth, paint you thick with him. âYeah, fuck. Mâgonna comeââ
But he loosens his grip instead, lets you gasp for air as he pulls out and rests his cock on the tip of your tongue. Itâs swollen; An angry, aching red. Fit to burst.
What was it youâd called this earlier? A gentlemanâs instinct. Your own Prince Charming. That despite the ironclad hold avarice has over his self, he still courteously thinks of and puts you first; Still can rein in his wild desire and dial in the discipline, prioritise graciousness:Â
âWhere dâyou want me, honey?â he whispers.
Abbot, before he is a deadly man, is a good man.
âI wanna, Iââ you fluster, throat raw from overuse as your tunnel vision attempts to re-widen with the burst of oxygen. âInside. Wanna swallow you. Please.â
Jesus fucking Christ, he doesnât say, but itâs written in his face. âYeah?â he assents, twitching in anticipation as he pets at the crown of your head. âYeah. Donât have to beg, baby. Iâll give it.â
âIâll take it,â you nod feverishly, canting your head back into his grip again. His hands ease to your nape, and you let out a moan at the slow tightening curl of his fingers. âIâll take all of it, Sir.â
His gaze is treacherous as he guides your mouth to his cock again. âDamn right you will.â
The approval makes your head swim. A decree. No room for mistakes or failure. Youâll take what he gives and ten more should he demand it.Â
The strangled noises you make in your attempt to appeal to himâ gags, mewls, coughsâ makes him throb. Stifled moans that vibrate down his cock and knots in his groin. Deriving a depraved pleasure from your troubles to take him to the hilt. (Too big, youâd complained to him once, when heâd stuffed your cunt full of him. Youâre so fucking big, Jackâ)
The head of his cock grinds the back of your throat. Heâs pulsing like a heartbeat. Ready to pump you to the brim. Itâs driving Abbot mad how close he is, yet how much longer he wants to prolong this perpetual ecstasy.
âOh, fuck,â he curses, rutting harder into you. Your name sounds like gospel as he chants it. Borderline a snarl. âIâm gonna come, honey,â he warns. âYâgonna take it all, hm? Be a goodâ hah, fuckâ be a good girl.â
Please, you keen. Letting him use your mouth recklessly to chase his high, hand at the back of your skull as he shoves you down to meet his thrusts: In. Out. In. Out. Itâs delicious. Itâs delicious, and youâre just as starved for his cum as he is for the wet, hot seal of your mouth to milk him clean.
âYeah, Iâmââ he stumbles, senseless. Too occupied with keeping you firmly suffocated around him. With the echoing squeak of the couch and the sickly-sweet sounds heâs pulling from your taut lips. âFuck, sweetheartâ Ahââ
Itâs white-hot when he comes. Hips flexing. A flood of pure, unadulterated bliss. Suckling him down to the root, cheeks hollowed and nose nestled to the bed of curls led by his happy trail.Â
Ropes of his thick cum streak your tongue and throat in rapid bursts, sudden enough it makes you lurch from your gag reflex, makes your back jump and arch instinctively under his domineering grip. Stay still, he means to say, coming out as a grunt. Quit fussing.
Abbot can imagine it as well as you can taste the molten spill of him. Feels the muscles in your throat twitching violently as you work him through it. Picturing the pearlescent mixture dripping down, down, down your pharynx like sin; a mark that brands you as his from the inside out.Â
Your chokes are precious. Has him growling out incoherently as he continues to drain all of himself into you in spurts. âOhh, good girl,â he sighs, looking down at the heavenly sight:
Fanned lashes fluttering. Maintaining that erotic eye-contact the way he likes. Dazed with halcyon and eros at the way heâs filled your mouth impossibly to the brim. He ought to burn this image of you into his brain forever.
Mmph, you hum, jaw aching from the sheer size of him; from the absolute work out heâd just dragged you through. When you pull away with a lingering kiss on his cock, he watches you, captivated; Unhinging just enough to show him the pool of white cum in your mouth, and then, as if coveting itâÂ
You swallow. Sticky. Tangy. Clicks as it goes down your throat.
âAttagirl,â Abbot drawls, brushing his knuckles at your cheek with tender affection. Collecting the tears rolling down them as a slow minute passes. âDid as I asked. So good. Youâre so good, you know that?â
The blatant adoration sits fuzzy in your heart. Warmth settling in your ribcage and comfortably making a home there. Youâre suddenly longing to be heldâ to feel what you felt when heâd propped that gun to the manâs forehead. Safe, you recall. Youâve done the job, after all, havenât you?
Abbot reads your mind just as intuitively. Knows you better than anyone.Â
âCâmon, pretty girl. Up,â he orders, without the bite now; without the rough tone and the manhandling. âCâmere, sweetheart.â
Itâs soft. The fantastical image of him being some beastly, unforgiving thingâ slows to a crawl and fades away at his behest. He slides his palms to your shoulders and gently helps you up onto his lap, folds you into his arms where he devours you into a doting, winsome kiss, before he lays your head to rest on his collar.
He presses his lips to the crown of your head. Letâs you square your breathing back into reality as his own tachy heart begins to slow in tandem with yours.
âAlright?â he soothes, when the moment passes. Heâs tucked you into a cradle-like embraceâ shelter, you feel, surrounded by nothing but him and only himâ his one hand still busy with smoothing out the uneven tangles heâs made in your hair.Â
âMhm,â is all you muster for now. Unduly spent and satisfied to speak. Basking in the aftermath of sex; melting in his delicate aftercare.
âToo rough?â Abbot asks, the concern heâd tamped down earlier now beginning to surface. He cranes to meet your sleepy gaze; the only way heâd truly be able to discern whether youâre telling him the truth. âYou listening, honey?â
Thatâs impossible, you could never hurt me, you want to say, but settle on a less-taxing: âNo, I enjoyed it,â and shake your head, giving him a content smile as you nudge your forehead at his chin. âJust give me a minute before the next round.â
He lets out an exasperated laugh. Bumps his nose to yours. âYouâre crazy,â he teases, meeting your lips in another fond kiss: chaste but deep, meaningful. Sits in his marrows like candied honey. âCan we at least have dinner first, sweetheart?â
âOld man needs his sustenance?â you jest, letting out a yelp when he pokes at your waist and burrows his face into your neck to nip playfully. âOkay! Okay. Dinner first, Jack.â
âThen you can have me any way you want,â he agrees, thumbing a stray strand from your face. Painfully domestic, he muses, for whatâs just occurred between you two.
âDonât threaten me with a good time,â you narrow. But he lets out an amused snort in reply.
âYou like when I threaten people, baby. You just proved that about five minutes ago with the most intense blowjob Iâve evââ
âDinner!â you override, face aflame once more as you smack a hand over his mouth. âHungry. Letâs?â
âYes, Maâam,â he smiles.
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