Characters (No pairing): Ezra (Prospect), Cee (Prospect)
Warnings: Mentions of the body/body parts but nothing descriptive. Mentions of prescription medication (and possible misuse if you squint). Hints of PTSD. Depression. Anxiety. Overall stress. But, happy ending! If there are any that I missed, please inbox me to let me know and I will add them in (:
Word Count: 1.4k
Summary!: Ezra struggles with constant anxiety and a growing sense of isolation, his thoughts consumed by worries for Cee. The weight of their past trauma makes it hard to focus, sleep, or find comfort in their new reality. Depression and stress drain his energy, making even simple tasks feel overwhelming. But his young companion might provide some relief to ease his mind.
A/N: I live in the U.S. (enough said), and I needed something that is going to make me cry in a good way!
******
Stress is an invisible weight that presses down on the chest, a restless tension coiling in the gut and creeping into the muscles. It whispers doubts and what-ifs, turning thoughts into a tangled web and making every breath feel too shallow, every second too short. Sometimes, it hits like a sudden storm on the unfamiliar terrain of an ancient planet, scattering focus and tightening its grip; other times, itâs a slow, rising tide that drowns without warning. It tastes like the metal of a thrower - sharp, metallic, pungent, and sounds like the ticking clock of an alarm that jolts you into frantic hyperawareness. It lives in the space between what is and what could beâfueling action or burning everything to ash.Â
Ezra is stressed.
Quite frankly, heâs been stressed for days, weeks. Months possibly. Itâs hard to tell now. Living on Puggart Bench makes the days blur, heâs trapped in this small residential pod thatâs made steel chains of claustrophobia curl around his heart. Heâd been in this sort of state before, suffocating on the acrid spores of the Green, treading under the roaring waters of Laou. Which was usually a trap for tourist folk, but heâd been under contract to harvest gems at the depths of the seaâs marina trenches.
His neck throbs again with tension; pain, and stress radiates to the lower part of his skull and the tops of his shoulders. Instinctively, his right arm reaches up to soothe the ache, but when he doesnât feel the relief of his fingertips, he looks down with disdain at the stump that protrudes from his right shoulder. The disappointment tastes like iron in his mouth.
Before he can delve deeper into the abyss of anger, self-loathing, and pity that heâs become frustratingly used to these past few months, the lock of the front door jingles. He straightens up, his left hand going for the nonexistent thrower at his hip - a reflex - but he relaxes when the door opens and Cee walks through the door.Â
The girl has grown at least two inches since theyâve been here. Her blunt, blonde bob has lengthened just as much. She turns and smiles at him, schoolbooks cradled in her arms like precious gems.
âLittle bird, youâre home early,â He greets, forcing his lips into a smile of his own. âI havenât had a chance to make us some grub yet.â
âItâs ok,â She responds, setting her books and schoolbag on the nearest couch. âMy last class got let out early; Amy invited me out to lunch with her and her friends.â His smile is genuine now. Heâs also been stressed about the girlâs adjustment to a life without prospecting or her father, but sheâs seemingly handling it better than he couldâve hoped for. Better than he was at least. At least she didnât spend her nights waking up from a fitful sleep, or linger at the boards of the Pug to scan the many contract posters in search of a new expedition she knew sheâd never be able to trek on.Â
âWhoâs this Amy then?â He asks, and they both notice the slight protectiveness in his tone. He canât help it, ever wary of strangers. But, he doesnât comment on it, and neither does she.Â
âSheâs a girl in my English class; I told you about her last week.â His mind scans his memories.
âThe one thatâs obsessed with the BrontĂ« sisters?â He asks. She nods.
âYeah, her friends all have this book club thing going on, and they think I might enjoy it.â Her right shoulder rises and falls in a nonchalant shrug as she turns and moves to grab her wallet and a jacket from the coat rack by the door. But that simple action makes Ezra pause. Something seems off, he can just feel it. Call it paranoia, cabin fever, or perhaps all his years living in hyperobservance. His eyes narrow slightly but rationale quickly kicks in. Cee was so young; she deserved to have a life. To enjoy her studies on the Ephrate, to have friends, and to live without the worries that plagued him. After all, isnât that what theyâd both fought so hard on Bakrohma for? For independence? For the freedom to live as they pleased?
âHey, you ok?â Ceeâs questioning snaps him out of it, her crystalline eyes swimming with uncertainty as she looks at him. âI can stay here and hang out with them another day?â She offers for his sake. He fights off a sigh and shakes his head, trying to make the pause seem momentary.
âNah, you go ahead kiddo, just promise me youâll be careful, yeah?â His dark eyes meet hers, weary yet tender. They hold a quiet plea that words canât fully captureâsoft with love but edged with an unspoken fear. There's a shine to them, not quite tears, but something close, a reflection of all the worries they try to hide. They search the girlâs face, desperate for reassurance, for a promise that can never truly be guaranteed. Beneath the gentle gaze lies a flicker of something deeperâmonths of silent prayers to a being he doesnât truly believe in, sleepless nights, and the unwavering hope that she will always find her way back home.
Even then, young as she is, she understands. She stops fully in her reach for the doorknob and nods, looking at him head-on.Â
âAlways am.â Her words are simple but sincere. With a reluctant nod, he smiles again,
âAlright then,â She smiles once more, opens the door, and sheâs gone.Â
Itâs been three hours. Three goddamned hours and Ezraâs never felt a worry like this. This isnât like her at all. Sheâs usually great at keeping him updated on where she is. Heâd sent her a comm after an hour and a half, just to check in. Her simple reply had done little to ease his stress: âIâm good, be home soonâ Heâs heard jack-all from the young girl since.Â
He has half a mind to call her and find her location, but he knows heâs just running on pure anxiety right now. Kevvasake is this what being a parent is like? Heâs been stewing with questions. Maybe sheâs just having fun with that book club. He knows sheâs capable of being social when she wants to be. Or, maybe the girls had gone to have other plans somewhere else on the Outer Rim. Surely she wouldâve mentioned that to him by now. How could he have been so dumb? He should've asked for the names and information of the other girls - at least their parents. All he knows about is Amy, and that's just a first name and a hyperfixation of some authors. He doesn't know anything about where exactly they were going, or for how long, or even how many girls she's out with. She hadn't told him much at all, he realizes. Maybe she just didnât want to be here, stuck with him as sheâd been all this time.
That thought stings.
He's struck with the memory of their liftoff from the Green. How her lips had pulled up into the smallest, yet brightest smile he'd seen on her face since they'd met. Her blue eyes scanned the atmosphere of Bakhroma as they jostled to freedom.
He glances over at his pain med prescription on the kitchen counter and almost makes a grab for it. One pill or two will ease his racing thoughts, or at least knock him out before they have a chance to form. But that familiar jingle of the lock makes his gaze shoot up towards the door.Â
âCee,â He sighs with relief and almost moves towards her, scanning her frame for anything out of place, but her turning towards him stops him dead in his tracks.Â
The deep brunette strands frame the right side of her face, just a patch of her bangs. Itâs almost onyx color that perfectly mirrors his own. It suits her, oddly enough, complimenting her dark brows and fair skin. She looks up at him, sheepish.
âSorry I took so long.â Is all she says. It takes him a moment to respond.
âNew hair?â He asks, and he sounds almost breathless. She smiles, looking relieved that he isnât upset at her.
âYeah, new hair.â She responds, and heads to her room without another word.Â
Ezra stands there for a few more minutes, just looking at the space she occupied minutes before. He doesnât feel the warm trail of tears running down his face until they pool on his t-shirt, the stress thatâs been curling around his heart now replaced with a warm relief that spreads throughout his entire body.Â
Sheâs home.
******
This was written in the span of one Prospect rewatch. I've had it in mind for a while now but the writing bug barely got to me while I am at my mental lowest. đ€đŒ
Rating: Explicit, teeny tiny lactation kink, Joel being real cute with a baby is it's own warning
A/N: †thank you one million times over to @the-scandalorian who always give the best feedback and advice, to @the-ginger-hedge-witch who is always the most supportive and a special shout out to @mrsquill whose advice and perspective was much needed, being the big beautiful brain she is.
--
Joel picks his way through the woods, brushing aside the sprawling branches that reach out to catch his shirt. A small bundle tucked against his chest in a makeshift carrier, heâs got one hand splayed across it, protectively shielding it. His boots crunch over fallen twigs, and from within the folds of fabric, Juneâs dark eyes look up.
Flitting between staring at him and the contrast of the treetops as she takes in the surroundings, dapples of sunlight shift and play across her small face, light catching the swirls of her dark brown curls. When she starts squirming, Joel looks down and smiles at her.Â
âYou ready to get up, baby girl?â
Shifting her in the wrapped sling to face his chest instead of lying down, he makes sure sheâs secure before he continues, giving her his thumb to hold onto. Her tiny, chubby hand wraps halfway around it and letting her squeeze it, he strokes the soft skin on the back of her hand.Â
Carefully placed steps to avoid tripping on anything, his boots follow his normal hunting path, only this time heâs not hunting: heâs taking her for their daily walk.Â
Starting as something heâd hoped would calm her down during her early days, heâs taken to walking all over the place with her while you nap in the afternoons. Never far enough that he couldnât get back quickly if he needed to, theyâve explored every inch of the woods surrounding the cabin. Sometimes sheâs fussy, sometimes sheâs still, and sometimes - like today - sheâs alert and awake, lifting her head off his chest to peek at the world around her.Â
âYou hear that, baby girl? You hear that bird singinâ to you?â
He talks to her without even realizing it, a constant, soothing murmur.Â
His lips brush the downy crown of her hair, dragging back and forth just to feel the tickle of softness and he presses a kiss there, turning back towards home.Â
Home.Â
Heâd begun calling it that while talking out loud to her and then kept saying it, because it was true. This was his home, and hers, and yours. One that, even though summer had begun and she was now here, had become impossible to leave.Â
He had agreed to stay until she was born, but with every day that passed, he couldnât bring himself to move forward with the plan. Days had slid together, weeks blurring as he helped care for her while you healed and he knew you wouldnât be able to make the trek then, so he said nothing. Another month passed after that, and he thought about it - he really did - but couldnât quite reconcile the concept of a potential threat with the present sense of safety. The danger that had seemed so immediate and imminent and threatening had faded into the background, giving way to the quiet routine of life, and the three of you continued on.Â
The map was still in the cabin, as a reminder of what was waiting out there, but so were other things:
Her, in her cradle in the corner of the room along with the pillowcase that sheâs taken to sleeping with, in lieu of a baby blanket.Â
You, on the living room floor, your smile blinding as you stretched out next to her wriggling body in the afternoons.Â
Her basket on the edge of your garden: you working, her small fists stretching and flexing towards the sky, visible just over the wicker rim.Â
For someone who had little to no experience with it, youâd taken to motherhood like youâd done it all before. The birth, nursing, adjusting to a new sleep schedule, learning what every one of her cries meant and just how to soothe it. A seemingly deep reserve of patience held within you, your constant resourcefulness when it came to everything you had both on hand and inside yourself, he finds he loves you even more than he did before.Â
Constantly impressed and humbled by this new version of you emerging right in front of him, he tries to let you both know how he feels in his own, wordless ways: referring to and respecting your knowledge and guidance when it comes to planting, delicate brushes of his hand on the small of your back while you talk with him in the kitchen, stopping you while you do chores to guide your mouth to his in a kiss of appreciation. Rocking June to sleep when she wakes, washing her clothes in the river, taking her for walks.Â
So accustomed to thinking of his own body as a weapon, spending years using it as a means of protecting those he loves, heâs found an entirely new use for it right alongside yours: familiar, tender motions he thought were lost coming to the surface.Â
Emerging from the woods, the familiar slope of your land comes into view and he makes his way down to the edge of the water. His boots sink into the soft give of the sand, a trail of impressions left behind him, and he drops down to a crouch before fully sitting down. Unwinding the fabric tied around his shoulder, he gently eases June out of the carrier.Â
Delicate yet steady in his hold on her, he props his forearms on his knees and lifts her so they are face to face.Â
âHow much did you sleep last night?â he asks, a deep frown settling between his brows. Dark bags show under his eyes, and she wriggles in his grip, her legs kicking.Â
âFelt like you didnât sleep at all. Keepinâ us up all night with your fussinâ.âÂ
She pays no mind to the stern look on his face, the gentle tone of his words in contrast with their scolding, and his lips brush against her cheek, her mouth opening to chase his with a babbling, wet sound.Â
âYouâre cute, baby girl, but you ainât that cute. You gotta let us sleep.â
She lets out a soft cry, and he chuckles.Â
âOkay, I take it back. You are that cute.â
They look at each other for a moment, her small, dark eyes studying his larger ones and a familiar glint of hazel captures his breath for a moment, his heart seizing.Â
Identical to Sarahâs color, the likeness flits through them almost faster than he can catch it, though it doesnât stop him from staring intently at June in hopes of it coming back. She blinks and looks away, her body flexing in a stretch.
âI saw you,â he says quietly, to himself.
Juneâs eyes come back to him at the sound of his voice, and the corner of his mouth lifts.Â
âI think your big sister was just sayinâ hi, pretty girl.â
Impossible to ignore since the moment she came into the world and he caught her in his hands, he saw Sarah in June all the time. Every day: sometimes in her eyes, in her expressions, in her movements. He knew June was her own being, a mixture of himself and you that he loved. His eyes, the shape of your face. His dark hair, your smile. But when he caught glimpses of Sarah in her, he immediately chased the fleeting image before he could think about how much it would hurt to see it. Another chance to see her again, at any cost.Â
Introducing the memory of Sarah to June as her âbig sister,â a burden was lifted from his chest the day he started speaking about her. With nothing but the solitude of the woods around them and her tiny ears to hear his words, once he started, he couldnât stop.Â
Years of buried memories, of guilt, of confessions and apologies as his heart ached recounting the things heâd done. All of them laid bare to June, who absorbed them with quiet fascination at the low, rumbling voice of her father. The words meaningless to her and received without the judgment of someone who would actually understand what he was saying, everything came pouring out.Â
Everything heâd done, everything he regretted, everything he missed.Â
Once those were let out into the world, he focused on the good: Sarahâs love for soccer, for animals, her stubborn streak that matched his own. Her sense of humor, her girliness, vacations they took and their time spent together.Â
Emerging from the depths heâd buried it under long ago, Sarahâs memory grew stronger every day and he was surprised to find that it hurt⊠less than it used to. Something he used to avoid due to the sheer pain that would come alongside the memories, he now seeks them out, to relive them in a new light. Basking in this second chance with her, he looks forward to seeing her in any way she appears in this life.Â
âYou think your mommaâs up yet?â he asks. âOr should we give her a little bit more time?â
He waits for an answer he knows isnât coming, but he studies Juneâs face like it is, eventually answering himself with a nod.
âMore time, I think. Youâre right.âÂ
Turning her to face the water, he places her in his lap and with sunlight flooding the bank, they sit and look at the water together.Â
â
You feel as though you could sleep forever.Â
Your heavy eyes blinking open, you stay in place and listen. Silence, which means they must still be out and rolling onto your side, you sink deeper under the thin quilt. Exhaustion blankets you, pulling your eyes shut.Â
Tired. So tired, more tired than youâve ever been in your life. He catches naps whenever he can, seemingly able to fall asleep for a moment whenever and wherever in the way older men do, but not you. Your mind is a constant whirring machine of what needs to be done next and it takes forever to turn off, but last night she was up for ages, and so when he told you to take a nap, you crashed as soon as your head hit the pillow.Â
Your face brushing the cool cotton of his pillowcase, you bury your nose into it, inhaling. A need flickers to life inside you, slowly unfurling under the heaviness of your limbs and you wish he was lying in bed with you right now.Â
In the morning sometimes when sheâs in her cradle, you tuck your face into the crook of his neck and breathe deeply, letting your lips catch the edge of his whiskers. When you seek out his skin, he rolls to face you with still closed eyes but finds you just the same.Â
Still, they are kisses that only awaken, never slake. Early morning sleep soft kisses. Warm skin under wandering hands, until she cries. Never any time to linger in the morning, you can still taste the firm press of his mouth against yours if you try hard enough and the memory of yesterday slips into your sleep-hazed mind, the edges fuzzy and soft.Â
âWhatâs this for?â, you hummed, leaning back into him.Â
His mouth rested on your neck, his lips molding to the slope of it. One kiss, another and his tongue slipped out, tasting your skin.
âJusâ missed you. Thinkinâ about you.â
âOh yea? What were you thinking about?â
He kissed your neck again, letting his mouth rest just under your ear. â âBout the other night.â
The other night: when he held his hand over your mouth and worked you with his fingers over your soaked panties until you came with a broken cry, right before kneeling next to you on the bed to watch you jerk him to completion onto your stomach. Afterwards, he smeared it around and you licked the spend from his fingers.Â
âThat was nice,â you smiled, turning to face him. Threading your fingers through his curls, you offered your mouth to him and he took it, his own need apparent in the way it moved against yoursâtelling and deep.Â
Just the two of you for so long before June came along, it felt good to be reminded that he still wanted you like that: as a woman, instead of just a mother. The new role unfamiliar and flooded with a constant rollercoaster of shifting emotions, it was hard to navigate this version of yourself, and even harder to articulate those emotions into words. Joy like youâve never known blended with bone weary exhaustion and pain. A fierce need to prove to yourself that you could do this, while still wanting him to take the lead. A new found self-pride laced with frustration and sadness and an ache for the way your relationship used to be.Â
All of these emotions, fading away to be replaced by a happiness you never thought possible whenever you looked at June.Â
Heâs helped you navigate it all, just like heâs always helped you navigate: the group when you had one, dangerous routes when you used to take them, this new life when you made the suggestion. Jackson, should he ever bring it up again. The possibility of leaving was something you hoped every day that heâd forgotten about, but you didnât dare bring up the subject in case he hadnât. You werenât ready. Not yet.Â
With the idea of sleeping on the hard ground making the comforting cloud of your bed hard to leave, you eventually rise and peek out the window in search of them. The broad expanse of his back sits down by the water, and you see him lift her to face him, murmuring words you canât hear.Â
A delicacy to his touch and another side to his competence that youâd never have seen without her, Joel Miller the dad was someone you felt lucky to witness, but the thought of Joel Miller the man was the one that had your eyes lingering on his shoulders and the flex of his biceps under the material of his shirt.
Recalling his kiss from earlier that morning, you walk out of the room to go greet them. Â
â
âHow old are you going to be when sheâs ten?â
He groans, closing his eyes. âChrist, donâ ask me that.â
You giggle, and he peeks an eye open at you.Â
âYour daddy is gonna be wearinâ diapers soon,â you coo down at June, and heâs quick with his reply.Â
âWho says I donât already?â
Your playful giggle turns into a full laugh.Â
âSmart-ass,â he grumbles, a good natured grin at the edge of his lips.Â
He leans back into the worn couch, letting his head tilt to the side as he watches the two of you on the floor in front of him. The days getting longer with the time of year, evening sunlight streams in through the windows you washed earlier that day and its rays fill the room with enough light to see. The windows open, a breeze flows through.Â
Rolling from your side onto your stomach, his gaze drifts from the curve of your cheek to the small round of your shoulder, to the wide open expression of pure contentment and love on your face as you coo a soothing murmur of nonsense down at June. She eats it up, her limbs kicking in jerky, excited movements in her splay on her back and she is transfixed by your face, alert and focused.
Filled with gratitude, heâs silent for a moment as he justâŠwatches.Â
Your finger dangles over Juneâs grasping hand until she takes it and wiggling it with a smile and a tease, you take it from her and dance your fingers down her belly, tickling. Her tiny body kicks in response, never ceasing in its movement.Â
An overlay of his shitty QZ apartment blankets the room, and he immediately rejects the image, knowing you donât belong there. The concrete he's slept on and the endless things heâs done to survive flood his mind and a simultaneous reaction wars within him: guilt, at the idea he doesnât deserve this life after everything heâs done, and the answering fierce urge to defend it, making sure no one ever takes it away from him.Â
âYou thinking about it?â
Your question drags him to the present, and he frowns.Â
âLeaving,â you clarify. You look down, your expression turning solemn. âYou were quiet for a while,â you say quietly. âI thought maybe you finally remembered.â
Reading the tone in which you deliver your hesitant statement as dreading something inevitable, heâs honest in his reply in hopes to soothe you. Â
âNo,â he says. âI actually havenât thought about it in awhile. Not seriously, anyway.â
Your eyes lift to meet his and the hope youâre trying to conceal in your expression almost breaks him.Â
âYou were right,â he continues. âWe got the garden up and runninâ, got everything all setup like we like. Got a safe place for her.â His chin tilts towards June, her fists flailing in exploration until you catch one in your hold.Â
âAnd if someone comes?â you broach hesitantly.
His jaw shifts, his eyes drifting down to June. âIf someone comes, Iâll deal with âem.â
He will.
There is a finality in his tone, even if he isnât sure itâs a promise he can make, but it feels right saying out loud. You belong here, she belongs here and he canât let anyone take that away, not even himself.Â
You say nothing, searching for the truth on his face and when you find it, the edge of your mouth lifts in disbelief.Â
âJoel Miller, the optimist,â you tease.Â
Because of you, he immediately thinks. Instead, he teases right back.Â
âWhat, you think I canât?âÂ
You huff a laugh, rolling your eyes. Your playful expression faltering after a moment, your attention shifts to June and a telltale trembling of your lip catches his eye as you avoid his gaze. Knowing youâre purposefully not looking at him because youâre self conscious about how easy it is to make you cry after Juneâs birth, he leans forward and drops down to join you on the floor.Â
âHey,â he says softly, crawling over and reaching out over her body to grasp your chin. âHey now.â
You let him guide your face to his, and he sees he's right. A tear rolls smoothly down your cheek and his frown softens with his voice.Â
âI would never let anything happen to you, honey. Either of you.â
âI know you wouldnât,â you start, your breath shuddering. You swallow and then surprise him with a watery laugh. âIâm not â Iâm not scared of that. Iâm just ââ you sniffle again, blinking free another tear. âIâm just so happy.â
A sob breaks free on the last word and the contrast of your statement with your reaction makes him laugh, which in turn makes you laugh through another sob. Then, a new sound blends into it from beneath the two of you, one that makes you both stop.Â
âDid she just ââ your breathing hitches, and you look from her to him. âDid she just laugh?â
The first time itâs ever happened, she does it again when you laugh in astonished, watery joy and it only makes you sob harder, tucking your face into the crook of your elbow.Â
âSheâs laughinâ at you,â he chuckles, splaying his hand wide over her belly, grinning down at her with deep dimples.
Taking a deep breath and wiping your eyes on your sleeve, you smile down at June.Â
âYour daddy is gonna let us stay,â you say to her, your voice thick with tears and joy as you sniff again.
âOnly âcause your momma has made us such a good home.â
Teasing words covering true, deep emotions, he looks at you and with tears still clinging to your wet lashes, he thinks you might be one of the most beautiful things heâs ever seen. So much love shines through your gaze that the intensity of it is almost overwhelming, but he doesnât look away. He meets it, unwavering.
âJoel,â you start, slipping your hand over his where it still rests on her belly, covering it with a squeeze. âIf you ever want to go, Iâll go. Iâd follow you wherever. Here, Jackson, somewhere else. Anywhere else. I trust you.â
Not trusting himself to speak without his voice breaking, he just lifts the corner of his mouth and nods before bending his head to press a kiss to the back of your hand.Â
A silent devotional action, to the one who has given him everything.Â
Pressing a kiss to the top of his head, you go back to trying to make June laugh and he watches the two of you from his place on the floor, stretched out alongside you.Â
How could he leave?Â
â
Attempting to summon the courage while tugging at the silken fabric to make sure it covers all the parts of yourself that you are unsure of, you stare at your reflection in the mirror; his low singing voice coming from Juneâs room.Â
All day, youâve secretly ached for him.Â
A fire ignited every time you saw him with her: holding her, cradling her, one hand across her chest as she slept next to him on the couch while he read. And without: the short, dark strands of hair at the nape of his tanned neck, the little slice of skin above the waistband of his jeans that peeked out when he crouched. His thick forearms, his firm thighs.Â
An ache that had been present since you woke up this morning, youâve missed the man he is: his body, his skillful touch, his masculine, solid form moving against yours. A while since sheâs gone down this early, you want to take advantage of the gift of time and show him how much youâve missed himâŠbut there is still a slight insecurity about this changed body of yours.Â
Smoothing your hands over the lace that rests over your cleavage as you look some more, the soft scuff of his boots across the floor as he enters the bedroom has you immediately second guessing, quickly turning for your robe.Â
âShe went down okay,â he says tiredly, scrubbing his hand down his face. He tugs his shirt off with a one handed hold behind his back, kicking off his boots while unbuckling his jeans. Shucking them off to drape them over the chair in the corner, he looks up at your silence.Â
Frozen in front of him, your hands clutch the robe together.Â
âYou okay?â he asks, his tired expression knit with concern.
âThat was quicker than I thought.â
He huffs, sitting down on the edge of the bed. âIâm not complainâ.â
âNeither am I, I just ââ your hands fiddle with the thick material, your teeth tugging on your bottom lip. âI just wasnât ready for you.â
Studying your face, he tilts his head up, lifting an eyebrow. âReady for me?â His eyes drop down your body, his posture straightening with interest. âYou got somethinâ under there?â
You hesitate for a moment. âTurn out the light first?â
His eyes darken at your answer and he slowly leans to the side, reaching to turn the lantern down. The room descends into a shadowed version of itself, everything bathed in dim warmth and he settles back into position, waiting.Â
Taking a deep breath and feeling braver in the darkness of the room, you open the robe and let it fall to the floor.Â
âWhatâs all this?â he asks, his husky drawl low and slow.
Stepping between his thighs, you take his larger hand in your smaller one and place it over your side, encouraging him to touch. He splays his fingers, searching for the heat of your skin through the thin material and gliding his hold up until his thumb drags lightly across your nipple, his eyes watch as it pebbles under the silk. Arching slightly into his touch, he takes your lead and tenderly palms the weight of your breast.Â
Hooded, his eyes stay fixed on his hand. âWhere did you get this?â
âI found it months ago,â you reply, your tone breathy and warm from the delicate brush of his fingertips over the fabric.Â
He hums, letting his hand drag down your sternum with weighted exploration, curling firmly around your hip to pull you closer.Â
âDo you like it?â
âDo I like it?â he asks in disbelief, immediately looking up at you. He bunches the silk in his fists, pulling it tight against your body. His throat bobs, his tongue dragging across his bottom lip as his eyes make a circuit down the length of you and back up.
âMy pretty girl, all dressed up for me. How could I not?â
Bending down for a kiss, you place your hands on his shoulders and the hunger in the way he presses his mouth against yours betrays every thought running through his mind. Suddenly more awake than he seemed, he canât stop shifting his hold on you: his mouth taking and taking, while his hands touch everything he can reach.Â
When they get to the hem of the nighty and pull it up over your ass, he groans into your mouth when he finds nothing but bare skin underneath.Â
âNothinâ underneath? Youâre such a good fuckinâ girl,â he breathes against your mouth, right before capturing it again in a devouring kiss. Leaving you breathless, he follows the column of your throat with a whiskery scrape of his beard against your skin, and works his way down, his humid breath ghosting over the tops of your breasts as he gives every inch of skin he finds an open mouthed kiss.Â
Slipping the shoulder strap down, the fabric falls away and he takes your nipple into his mouth immediately. Letting out a low moan with a pinched frown of pleasure, his eyes close and he draws from you: his hand coming up to cradle the underside of your breast, pushing more into his mouth as he swirls his tongue over the sensitive peak. His other hand digs into the curve of your hip, keeping you in place. Holding on, like youâre the anchor.Â
Your fingers bury themselves in his soft curls, and he groans. Pulling back, a glimmer of something white is smeared on his lower lip, and his tongue darts out to taste the drop of liquid.Â
âTakinâ care of my baby, with this perfect fuckinâ body.â
Soaked in worship, his words have you climbing onto his lap as he guides you in place and gathering you into his arms, he tugs your knee up to force you into a straddle over his thighs. Deepening his kiss with an inviting, slick slide of his tongue against yours, a low hum pours out of your throat and you grind against him, seeking the warm heft between his thighs until he shifts and rolls you onto your back, laying you out underneath him.Â
His humid breath consumes you, the scent of his skin filling your senses. The firm rounds of his shoulders bunch under your touch, his biceps flexing in their strain as he moves above you and his solid torso presses against yours, forcing you into the mattress. His mouth never ceases and neither does yours, every part of your bodies seeking the other out to move in a mimic of the act itself and winding your legs around his waist, he grinds himself against you until youâre whiny and restless underneath him, your cunt slick and soaked against his cotton briefs. When you start to shove them down his hips, he helps.Â
Tugging them down and kicking them off, his cock drags along the inside of your thigh when he lowers himself back over you.Â
âI need you inside me,â you moan, reaching for him. âI want it.â
âYea? You want my cock?â
âIâve wanted it all day. All day while Iâve watched you.â
His hand joins yours to guide him to your aching entrance, and when the thick, rounded tip of his cock starts to make room for itself, you let out simultaneous groans of relief when he slides in. A singular smooth, filling and fluid stroke, all the way to the base.Â
âGod yes, just like that,â you plead, and heâs quick to soothe.Â
âShhhh, itâs okay, my girl. I got you. I got you.â
Your mind already lost in a haze of need, the whole-body relief you feel is intoxicating, and yet his fullness inside you is only half of what you want. You want to feel desired, like he wants you just as bad as youâve wanted him and to feel it, you know you need his roughness. The harder edges of his lust, the ones heâs been holding back from you since you gave birth.Â
You want to taste desperation in his kisses, to feel it in his hold, to have him force it into the slick fist of your cunt because he just canât help it - and you get what you want the second he starts moving.Â
âI canât believe you wore this for me,â he breathes above you, his hand catching the edge of the silk to pull it down and expose both your breasts. He watches them bounce for a moment, moving with every thrust of his hips and then he bends to latch his mouth onto one, the hard suction of it making you moan. Cradling the back of his head, you push yourself into the sensation.Â
âYouâre so fuckinâ beautiful, and all mine. All for me. Ainât that right?â
His hips rock against yours, the tip of his cock sliding against that deep spot thatâs been aching for him all day and you push your head back into the pillow, forcing your hips up to meet every one of his downward strokes.  Â
âGod yes,â you pant. âAll yours. Only yours.â
âSâfuckin right. My girl. Lookinâ this pretty just for me.â
He brings his mouth down next to your ear as his hips keep moving. âPussy this wet, just for me.â
You nod, and fitting his face into your neck, he rewards you an open mouthed kiss laced with a groan. He sucks at your skin, his teeth dragging over your pulse and then his mouth finds yours, forcing it open just like heâs forcing you open to take everything heâs giving. Every weighted stroke, every full push inside.Â
You like his words, but you like this just as much: when heâs so focused on how you feel around him and underneath him that he canât speak, and you get to swallow his harsh pants and low grunts instead.Â
Your thighs hitch higher around his torso, your ankles resting on his back and you can feel his muscles shift and flex under your heels, working, working, working. The intensity of your release builds, a fire thatâs been banked all day finally being stoked brighter and hotter and he picks up his pace, his arm pushing underneath your back to hook his hand around your shoulder, keeping you in place beneath him. Buried under the weight of his body, you relish being used.Â
Still just as sensitive as when you were pregnant, fast - so fast - you feel the first ripple of your oncoming release wash over your skin.Â
âYouâre gonna make me come,â you plead, trying to keep quiet.Â
âCome on, honey,â he encourages it, pressing a thick kiss just under your ear. âLemme feel it.â
Everything tightening between your hips, a syrupy warmth fills the bowl of your pelvis until itâs too intense and overwhelming and filling â and then it bursts bright and wet, your thighs squeezing his torso as he grunts through every rough stroke that sees you through it.
âThatâs my fuckinâ girl,â he groans before kissing you. He pushes in harder, faster, pounding into the slick fist of your sated cunt.
âYou want another one?â he asks, breathless and panting, the curl of a smug smile at the edge of his mouth. âThink you can do it again?â
You canât speak, your mouth parted in a fixed shape as you focus on how he feels inside you right now and when he slips a hand underneath your tailbone to angle you just right, he focuses his strokes downward, causing you to cry out.Â
âShhhh, honey. Sâokay. You can take it. Gimme another one.â
His voice is lost in the fuzzy edges of your mind, the only thing coming through the soothing tone as he makes you take what heâs giving and when you start to lock up underneath him again, the smile on his face this time is more apparent than the first one. When you start to come, he looks almost proud.
Your nails dig into the meat of his ass, forcing him deeper and he bends and bites the underside of your breast as he picks up his pace. His hands bunching in the sheets, he fucks you harder, faster, and when his hips begin to stutter in their rhythm, you know heâs close.Â
âGoddamnit,â he groans when you come around him, never stilling in his movement above you.Â
Frantically needing him to feel as good as he just made you feel, you dig your hold into the meat along his ribs and hold him in place above you, your hips pushing up to work against his. Matching his every stroke down with your own, his eyes shut tight against the sensation he tries not to give into.Â
âIâm gonna come inside you if you donât stop,â he warns, the words a tortured groan.
Knowing you canât do that, you move quickly underneath him, pushing your hands against his chest until he lifts just enough for you to frantically slide down the bed. His slick, stiff cock drags up your belly and along the plane of your chest, brushing against your chin right before you take it into your mouth and when you wrap your lips around it with a firm suck, the groan he lets out is loud and involuntary, his hips bucking forward.Â
His hand buries itself into your hair, his fist pulling painfully at the roots when he pushes himself in down to the base and you feel his belly jerk with a tremble right before he pours hot and sticky along the back of your tongue. His release is endless, filling your mouth as he stretches out rigid next to you and you swallow every single drop, your throat working as you hold him close.Â
Working the dregs of it out with a slow roll of his hips into your face, you finally pull off when he relaxes into the mattress with a soft groan. Peppering kisses along the tops of his thighs, you slowly ascend the body youâve been aching for all day and his hands run lazily over your skin, making room for you to crawl into bed beside him.Â
âThat wasâŠsomethinâ,â he sighs, a slow spreading smile gracing his face when he turns his head to look at you and you prop yourself up on your elbow, running your fingers through the hair just under his navel.Â
Catching your hand, he brings it to his mouth with a kiss.Â
Laying in silence together, the sounds of the night filter in through the open window on the soft breeze that tickles your sweat damp skin. You nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent youâd been dreaming about all day straight from the source and your bodies slowly relax together, entwined.Â
When you feel his breathing even out into a slow rise and fall, you peek up at his face. Taking a moment to admire the profile of his nose, his long dark lashes, the gray gathered at his temples, you run the pad of your thumb across his bottom lip in a feather light touch. In his sleep, his lips purse as they chase the sensation and you smile, the movement so like June when you do the same thing to her.Â
Leaning forward to give him one last kiss, you reach over him and turn out the light.
Marcus Pike x female reader
Co-written with @absurdthirst
Rating: E for Explicit! 18+
Word Count:Â 17.5k
Warnings: Food/alcohol, meddling mama, cursing, reader is an unapologetic nerd, flirting with books, BDSM mention (but no portrayal), vagina sex, protected sex (wrap it before you tap it), praise and a little dirty talk.
Summary: Marcus Pike's mother has a tendency to overstep a little. While she means well, any time she has ever tried to set him up it has always turned out terribly. This time, though, she's pretty sure she has it right when she arranges for Marcus to go on a blind date with the youngest member of her book club.
Notes: This all kind of sprang out of a TikTok I found about a bookshop date idea. And I'm not sorry about it in the least. Also, subtle shout out to my brother-in-law's band is buried in conversation đ¶
"Marcus sweetie, what are you doing on Saturday?" Donna Pike is pulling weeds in her garden with her younger son in a lounge chair nearby, and she tries to make the question as nonchalant as possible. It's Sunday now and she might as well be asking what he wants for dinner. Although her idea of what he might be doing for dinner on the night in question is almost definitely different than whatever Marcus might have in mind. He has been back in Washington D.C. for almost four months and has spent the whole time sulking â something that no mother likes to see.
Marcus is probably more relaxed than he's been in a few months. Finally deciding that he is better off without Teresa since she would rather be with someone else more than him. His eyes half closed as he holds his beer, he answers without even thinking about it. Or why giving his mother an empty day without plans wasn't a good idea. "Nothing." He hums, smiling slightly at the thought of not having any work or responsibilities.
"Oh?" Donna smirks, glancing over her shoulder to see Marcus has his eyes shut as he sits in the sun. "No dinner plans? Drinks with coworkers?" She asks carefully, keeping her tone breezy as she weeds the tomato bed.
"Not a damn thing." He admits again, not seeing the smirk on his mother's face, otherwise alarm bells would be sounding in his head. Instead, he's plotting what he will do with his day off. Hopefully sleeping until ten is the first thing on the list. Then he might take a book out to the Mall lawn and read in the sun. Pick up one of those touristy drinks to sip on as he does.
"So..." Training one eye on him as she pulls another weed up from the root, Donna's lip curls into a smile. "You would be free for dinner, then?"
"You want me to take you to dinner?" Marcus's father passed nearly eight years ago and when he could, he would take his mother out to a nice dinner. Making sure that she felt special. "Sure."
"Not exactly what I had in mind, sweetie." Donna is all-out grinning at this point, and maybe even a little evilly. "Do you remember my telling you about a new girl joining our book club? She works with Marjorie Klein at the Library of Congress?" Every time Marjorie talked about her new colleague it seemed like the younger woman would be a perfect fit for their group, so six months ago they had offered up the empty spot at their table. Now, every time Donna Pike sees or hears from you, she seems to become more and more convinced that you would be perfect for her youngest child.
"Mom...no." Marcus shakes his head and immediately drowns the rest of his beer bottle and desperately wishes another would appear. "No, no, you aren't setting me up, again."
"But Marcus she's such a good match!" She won't say 'perfect' because that will make Marcus revolt and probably run away screaming. But she has such a good feeling about this one. "And I might have already scheduled the date with her..." Might is such an innocent lie. She definitely already scheduled the blind date with you after giving you a few background details on her baby boy.
âMooooooooooom.â The sigh Marcus gives is one of extreme frustration. âI appreciate your thoughtfulness, but no. I can get my own dates.â The truth was, his mother had horrible taste in choosing women that she thought Marcus would be interested in.
"Oh yeah?" Donna tucks her proverbial tongue securely in her cheek. "Is that why you've been hanging around your old Ma's house so much the last few months? Because you're so good at getting your own dates?" She tilts her head at him and waves one hand, dismissing the tease immediately. "She's sweet, Marcus. And so smart. You don't have to marry the girl, but it's hard to get back out there sometimes. Just...give it a try?"
âItâsâ I just got out of that thing with Teresa, Ma.â He reminds her and notices the expectant look on his motherâs face. Sheâs well meaning, really she is, but god does she meddle. âYou already told her I would go out with her, didnât you?â
âThe thing with Teresa was months ago.â Donnaâs grin spreads like wildfire. âSheâs a nice girl and I called in a favor to get you a table at Founding Farmerâs because I know you like to keep the first date kind of casual.â Something she considers a mistake, but she knew that if she had gone and made a reservation somewhere more upscale then Marcus would squawk.
âJesus Christ.â Marcus groans, slapping his hand over his face and imagining how boring and completely incompatible this woman is for his mother to talk about how nice and sweet she is. All the other girls she has tried to hook Marcus up with since he was a teenager have been a train wreck. âWhat time?â He sighs, resigned to his Saturday being ruined.
âSeven-thirty.â Crows his mother, who definitely made sure that the reservation was early enough in the night that they could do something else afterward. âI really think youâre going to like her, sweetie.â
He thinks heâll be wasting an hour of his life but he grunts in response, already dreading Saturday.
******
Youâre probably taking this far too seriously, all things considered. The book club of mostly middle-aged and older ladies that you had been offered a place in by one of your coworkers has been really nice. Everybody sits around and drinks and gossips about the book characters like theyâre real people, and there is always good food. You like the ladies in the book club, you really do. But this whole idea of a blind date with Donna Pikeâs son has you nervous for some reason.
Blind dates donât typically go well for you but youâre honestly kind of desperate. Itâs been nearly a year since your last date that even qualifies as mediocre and at this point you would say yes to just about anyone halfway decent. And with that in mind, you kiss your cat goodbye and smooth one hand down your floral sundress before slinging on your leather jacket to keep out the autumnal chill. If nothing else, maybe youâll have a nice meal tonight.
Marcus sighs as he checks his reflection in the mirror one more time. He had opted to leave the suit at home, but couldnât dress down completely casual. The restaurant that his mom had chosen would be nice enough that slacks, a polo and a sports coat wouldnât look too out of place. Despite his reservations, he is wanting to make an effort. He sniffs his cologne to make sure he didnât douse himself and picks up his keys. Off to see what a nightmare this would be, although he hopes that this girl wonât throw a glass of wine in his face when he reveals heâs a federal agent.
Founding Farmerâs is bustling when you arrive, packed to the gills and you wonder if the younger Pike brother thought to make reservations. For now you adjust the (admittedly cheesy) flower in your jacket lapel and slide over to the bar to order a cocktail. If he stands you up, you at least want to have a drink in hand to soothe the embarrassment.
There had been a fierce internal debate on if he should stop outside the little flower stand that was just a block down from the restaurant to buy some flowers. Romantic Marcus would do it, and even though he had not asked this girl out, she deserves the niceties that had been bred into him after watching his father continuously court his mother through their marriage. When he enters the door of the Founding Farmer's, he can see why he had to park two blocks away and is grateful that his mother had made reservations. "Iâ I have a reservation. Marcus Pike." He tells the frazzled hostess. "But I'm waiting for someone...." He cranes his neck to look around, not sure exactly who he is looking for. His mother had been very vague with the physical description, which doesn't help on a blind date.
You hear him before you see him â sitting just a few feet behind the hostess stand is strategic, and you hear him give his name. The most careful sneak of a peak nearly has your jaw on the ground and you sit straight up again immediately. Heâs gorgeous. Absolutely drop-dead movie star level gorgeous. And heâs carrying flowers identical to the one tucked into your jacket, making you smile unexpectedly. âMarcus?â You turn slowly on your stool, hoping youâre not about to make an idiot of yourself.
He hears his name and looks around again, his eyes searching until they fall on a lovely looking woman wearing a pretty sundress and jacket. A flower in her lapel in a move that immediately makes him grin at the old-style charm of the gesture. He nods and says the name his mother gave him, finding himself hoping that you are that person.
âThatâs me.â Sliding off of your stool with your glass in hand, you put out your other hand to him and smile. His mother absolutely failed to mention that her son is an absolute dreamboat. âItâs nice to finally meet you. I feel like Iâve heard a hundred stories about you and your brother already.â
You're pretty. Maybe it's shallow, or vain even, but Marcus had been worried when his mother had focused so hard on how nice and sweet you are. He's not the type of man who insults someone because of their looks, but physical attraction is a basic for any romantic relationship and some of the women who would be just âperfectâ for him in his mother's eyes didn't fit in any of the categories. Not even intellectually. He shakes your hand firmly and smiles. "It's all lies, I swear." He jokes, offering you the flowers. "I'm afraid that you have me at a disadvantage because I know your name and that you are sweet."
"The ladies in the book club sort of adopted me." The flowers are beautiful, and fresh, and you inhale the scent happily as the hostess leads you to a small, secluded table in the corner. "And I..." You laugh self-consciously, shrugging a little. "I just want you to know that I had nothing to do with this. It was all Donna's idea. So if we don't get along or something, it's no hard feelings."
"I have to apologize." Marcus shakes his head, enjoying the sounds of your light, nervous laugh. "My mother likes to meddle, so if you weren't actually interested, I will understand." He moves to pull out your chair for you when the hostess indicates the table and looks at you expectantly. It's your choice if you wish to sit down or not.
Maybe it's shallow â to take one look at him and know for sure that you're at least going to ride out this dinner to see what he's like. But then, isn't that what blind dates are, at least a little? Judging a book by its cover and then taking a peek to see what's inside? "I think it would be a shame to miss out on making a new friend, even if that's all this amounts to," you tell him as you sit down.
He can agree with that, admire it even. Smiling again and he wonders if that's all this will amount to. "What are you drinking?" He asks, nodding towards your glass that you had brought from the bar.
"It's called a Farmer's Daughter," you tell him, holding up the half-drunk glass of delicious fruity-boozy goodness. "Vodka, lime, passion fruit, raspberry...something else that I didn't know what it was so I can't remember what it's called. Domaine de something?" Shrugging shelf-consciously, you offer him the glass to try a sip. "It's fantastic."
It's charming the way you offer him a drink. He takes it and tries a small sip. "That's good." He agrees. "I was going to suggest a bottle of wine, but perhaps another of these?" He asks you.
The hostess nods and disappears after leaving your menus, and you sit back in your seat a little bit more comfortably than before. "This place has their own spirits. It seemed too good to pass up, and turns out that was the right choice." A small smile plays on your lips and you really don't know where it's coming from but you feel strangely confident tonight. "So you're usually a wine guy?"
âI am.â He nods, knowing that he would happily split a bottle with good conversation and laughs. âAre you more of a cocktail girl?â
"Usually." Again, you shrug, but offer him a smile. "But only because I know nothing about wine. I'd like to learn, if I found that I knew somebody who wouldn't mind teaching me."
âWell, if you like, we can have one more of those delicious cocktails and Iâll order a bottle of my favorite wine for you to try?â He offers. âOr perhaps just a glass to share, and if you donât like it, we can explore what you do like?â
"That sounds like fun, actually." Normally when a guy offered to 'teach' you something it was just him insisting that he knew all the best of something or had every fact memorized. Marcus isn't like that and you relax just a little bit more with this discovery. A little bit of sharing and get to know you is perfect for a first date.
âYeah?â He grins and nods, admiring your sense of adventure and that smile that you are giving him. âOkay, so the wine I like is kinda of dry, a red. That sound okay?â
"Sure." You agree brightly, basically up for trying whatever he suggests. "Like I said, I know nothing about wine. You could be ordering the stuff that comes in a box and I would just trust you that it's good."
Oblivious to the fact that that could have been an entendre, the waiter just nods and walks away, leaving the two of you alone at your cozy table again. "So..." you can't help the way your cheeks have gotten a little warmer in the last few seconds. "Is there anything you would like to know about me up front? You said your mother didn't tell you much."
âShe did tell me that you work at the Library of Congress.â Marcus nudges the new drink towards you and takes the half finished one. Heâs already drank after you, so itâs nothing to him. âSo what do you do there?â
"I am a preservationist in the Children's Literature Center." Your work is delicate, and it is important, but some people find it unbelievable that your entire career is dedicated specifically to kids' books. "I'm part of the team that is digitizing rare children's books so that their contents will never be lost."
âWow.â Heâs impressed, knowing that is important work. Literature sound be preserved for the future generations to enjoy, much like art. âThatâsâ thatâs gotta be pretty interesting day in and day out.â
âItâs no game of cops and robbers.â His mother had bragged about his promotions more than once, and you canât help but smirk slightly when his ears turn red. âBut I keep busy.â
âSo you know that Iâm a federal agent?â He asks, not sure what all his mother had rambled on about. Knowing her, she had told you about every girlfriend he had.
âYes. Donna is extremely proud of you, so we all heard all about the last promotion.â Taking a sip of your drink, you feel just a touch of warmth is your cheeks that is all attraction and not from the cocktail at all. âCongratulations, by the way.â
âThank you.â He bites his lip, caught between being embarrassed his mom was talking him up and enjoying the congratulations. The joy of his success has been sucked away by the Teresa thing, but heâs been trying to get back on track. âSheâs just happy Iâm close.â
âSheâs very glad youâre home.â You can absolutely attest to that. Itâs sweet, actually. They clearly get along well. âIt sounds like if she could get your older brother to move back, sheâd be in heaven having you both here.â
âDonât think heâll be moving to D.C. anytime soon.â Marcus admits. âBut sheâs happy to get out of the cold to go visit him during Christmas.â
âLouisiana always sounded like fun to be. Like a completely different world from anywhere else.â Probably that thought comes from having grown up in the thick of the Canadian border, but still. It seemed romantic to think about. âShe said heâs in New Orleans?â
âYeah.â He nods and grins. âHe keeps telling me to come down for Mardi Gras.â
âSounds like fun.â He has just one perfect dimple and you swear this is the first time youâve understood why anyone would swoon. âAre you liking being back in DC, at least?â
âWhatâs not to love?â He asks, looking up again when the waiter returns with the glass of wine. âThe museum, the Mall, the historic sites. I love walking through the Smithsonian.â
âI will absolutely drink to that,â you agree without hesitation. âThis city is pretty much perfect as far as Iâm concerned.â
He hums as he hands you the glass. âTry a sip of this, itâs dry but floral. I love this with a good cheese board.â
âA charcuterie guy, too? Nothing I love more than Adult Lunchables.â The grin on your face grows as you take the glass, giving it a sniff like you have any idea whatsoever what to look for, and take an adventurous sip. âOoh thatâsâŠI donât know what I was expecting but thatâs great. Itâs likeâŠitâs rich but itâs not heavy, if that makes sense?â
He nods and grins at you. âNow, imagine it with a funky cheese and a tart grape. Or a salty cracker.â He tells you, proud that you enjoy it. âMaybe a glass with dinner?â
âAbsolutely.â Itâs like a wake up for your senses, and even though you enjoy the sweet cocktail that you had ordered initially, the wine sounds like a decadent and very mature option for dinner. âDo you have any idea what youâll order for food yet?â
âI figured I was going to order the braised short ribs with wilted summer greens and braised carrots.â He tells you, having looked at the menu before he ever arrived.
âSounds pretty perfect.â When the waiter comes back you fill out your order, getting a basket of the kettle corn that the waiter gushes over to start with and ordering your dinners with another glass of wine so you can both indulge a little as you get to know each other.
âSo, were you as nervous about tonight as I was?â The wine is being passed back and forth between you as your cocktail has been abandoned. He takes a sip and raises a brow at you in challenge.
"Terrified," you admit with a small laugh, but there is no point in trying to act smooth or more charming than you are. You're a slightly awkward person in general, and sometimes that can be charming all on its own. Or so you've been told. "I'm not...great at dating. Then the book club ladies took it upon themselves to figure out whose son was closest to my age and, well...here we are."
He laughs at the image you paint, all the ladies tossing out their eligible sonsâ birthdays like trading cards. âWell, hopefully, you are enjoying yourself.â He offers with a grin, setting his elbows on the table and leaning in. The liquor and wine are loosening him up slightly, but itâs more that heâs enjoying conversing with you. Something heâs really missed about dating or being in a relationship with someone.
"I really am." His laugh is deep and rings in his chest, making his smile a little broader every time and making you wish that you had thought of something compelling or deeply interesting to tell him about yourself before setting foot in this restaurant tonight. But you had feared the worst, and expected the mediocre, so maybe that was the entire reason you found yourself enjoying this night? Simply by being handsome, intelligent, charming, and interesting, he was already blowing every single expectation you had out of the water. "Hopefully you are, too?"
âI am.â He gives you a small, self-conscious shrug. âMy mother doesnât have the best record when it comes to setting me up.â He admits. âThe last one was a part of some antigovernment group and threw a glass of wine in my face when she found out I was, quote, a âfed pigâ.â He tells you with the air quotes.
âThatâŠâ It takes a beat of extreme self-control not to laugh at how ridiculous that is, but you manage to keep yourself together. âPlease say she didnât know that this girl was anti-government when she set you up?â
âShe had met her in her favorite bookstore.â He shakes his head and laughs. âDidnât have a clue but she had to find another bookstore because it was the girl behind the counter.â
âBut she tries to find you girls that read, huh?â That encourages you a bit. That Donna considers her son that intelligent. After all, he canât be a slouch â not in art crimes. He has to at least have a little history and culture under his belt.
âI donât want to always talk work, or politics.â He admits. âShe had raised me to love reading and Iâm forever grateful for that.â
âWhat do you like to read?â The question is automatic for you â something that you always ask new acquaintances and especially dates. Itâs an important part of getting to know someone. âPersonal curiosity as well as professional. I promise.â
âI can read anything.â Marcus tells you. âBut, I spend so much time reading reports that I really enjoy fiction. Thrillers, intrigue. Even the odd romance novel.â He blushes when he admits that but heâs not going to lie.
âA good romance novel is entirely underrated. Theyâre great character studies. Plus?â You grin and pick up a piece of popcorn. There are only a few left in the basket and youâre enjoying the salty-sweetness with his dry wine. âAnyone who claims they donât enjoy love stories is either lying or a bummer.â
âItâs like not liking classic movies.â He agrees with a grin. âI feel like some of the emotion has been lost. You give me Casablanca any day and Iâll show you a movie that is about loss as much as it is love.â
âI dumped a guy once for not liking classic movies,â you admit, albeit a little sheepishly. âHe said that black and white was dumb because life is in color so âwhy werenât all movies?â And that all the stories were too trope-y. Can you believe that? Where did he think the tropes came from in the first place?â
âThey are the model for the tropes.â He chuckles. âWe had a class when I was in high school where you read classic literature and watched classic movies. I think it should be standard around the country. It helped shape my love of black and white movies.â
âI used to watch them with my mom whenever I was home sick.â Those memories are still so vivid for you, and precious. It had felt like a personal insult and not just a preference when the previous guy had talked down about classic cinema. âShe got to see Katharine Hepburn in Coco in New York City when she was little and just worshipped her ever since. So, of course, I did too. And we would just watch everything we could get our hands on.â
âOh wow.â Marcus is impressed and he shows it. âIt would have been something, Iâm sure.â He agrees. âIâm not all classical though. I like a good mix of modern as well. My old band used to play in Texas and I would go see them.â
âThatâs right.â Donna had told you all about his band, of course, but it had slipped your mind while you got distracted over how attractive Marcus is. âBass player, right?â
âYeah.â He huffs out a small laugh, wondering if his mother had complained that he hadnât wanted to cut his hair when he was playing, or if she was bragging. âAnd some vocals. Mainly backup.â
âDonât downplay it.â You grin, watching his cheeks turn pink yet again. âI canât carry a tune in a bucket. And getting on stage? I think Iâd panic. Thatâs something you can be really proud of.â
âItâs not that bad.â Marcus tells you. âJust pick the prettiest girl and imagine them â uh ââ he falters for a second. âKissing you.â He supplies.
âIs that how you get past stage fright?â You have definitely never heard of that particular tactic before and you nearly giggle with how embarrassed Marcus looks admitting it. âSeems like we ought to get you back on stage then, shouldnât we? Thatâs a very nice fantasy to let yourself play out.â
âNahhh itâs been a long time since Iâve been on a stage.â He admits. âI like to just drink a beer and dance with the pretty girl.â
âOh yeah?â The impulse to insinuate yourself into that situation is deep but you just smile, knowing very well that your cheeks and ears are burning with the thought. âSoundsâŠpretty perfect.â
âYeah?â He grins and thereâs a partial idea forming for later tonight if the rest of dinner goes like it is now. âDoes it sound good to you?â He asks. âWhatâs your ideal date?â
âIââ Clearing your throat slightly, your skin burns even more. âDinner and dancing, probably? Or going to see a screening of an old movie together.â Taking a sip of the wine before you hand it back to him, you brace yourself for the tingle youâve been getting whenever your fingers brush. âI saw a TikTok the other day of a bookstore date, too. That looked fun.â
âA bookstore date?â Heâs intrigued on that what that would entail. He leans in and snags the wine glass to take another sip. He should really order another glass so you each have your own, but there is something oddly fun about sharing. âTell me about that.â
âItâs silly.â But somehow, you think he might like silly. âThereâs this list of prompts. And you roll a die to see which prompt you get and youâre supposed to go all over the bookstore looking for a book to read that fits the prompts. ItâsâŠto a librarian it sounds fantasticâŠchoosing books for each other and having an automatic something to talk about on the next date, ya know?â
âThat sounds like a great date.â Marcus agrees, liking the adventurousness of it. âA really good date. Maybe even you have to call the other person to read them a portion of the book that appeals to you.â
âI havenât had anybody read to me in agesâŠâ You can feel how soft you get in response to the idea but you just canât seem to care. Every few minutes Marcus Pike seems to get more and more perfect. âThat sounds absolutely dreamy.â
âYou havenât?â Heâs surprised at that, and then thereâs a little fantasy that plays out in his head. Calling you every night that he could and reading a few paragraphs to you while you are snuggled in your bed. âMaybe that will change.â He hums.
"I think I'd like that." The way he says it makes you feel so hopeful, like maybe this night is going as well for him as it is for you, and you bite your lip to hold back a full-force grin. "I think I'd like that a whole lot."
Marcus actually hates when the waiter comes back to order the meals, allowing you to order first and he puts in his order for his own meal and asks for another glass of wine. âDo you want one, or do you want to keep sharing?â
"I'm not going to lie, I kind of like the sharing," you admit with an embarrassed grin. This waiter just smiles politely and steps away, having seen plenty of good and bad dates over his career and not really thinking anything of the request.
âI like it too.â He admits with a matching grin. âAlthough if we order dessert, weâll need to change to different wine.â He tells you.
"Ah, so my education continues?" He wouldn't have brought it up if he wasn't thinking about it in the back of his mind, and that makes your smile grow. "I know I've seen Dessert wines listed on menus before but other than knowing they exist, I don't think I could name anything else about them."
âThey are sweeter, crisper.â He tells you. âMeant to enhance the flavor of the desserts. We will have to see if we have room.â He grins. âMy sides are meant to be shared.â
âMaybe weâll have to come back?â You venture, hopeful at the idea that tonight is going well enough to lead to a second date.
âIt is a very good wine list.â He tells you with a grin. âAlthough thereâs this little place down near the Potomac that is a wine bar paired with your â what did you call it? Adult Lunchables?â He tilts his head. âI think you might like that.â
The fact that he picks up on the thread immediately makes you flush warm again and grin so broadly that your cheeks ache. âIt sounds perfect,â you admit. âAlthough I think Donna might float just a little if she finds out weâre planning date number two before the entree is even served on date number one.â
âWe donât have to tell her.â His own grin turns slightly mischievous. âLet her dangle for a bit before we let her know about that. Itâll drive her crazy.â
"You know I'm going to get just as many voicemails as you, right?" The devilish smile highlights his dimple far too perfectly and just about has you swooning, but you manage to keep it down to just a girlish giggle. "Are you going to be a bad influence on me, Marcus?"
âDepends on what you think is bad.â Marcus quips, winking at you as he leans back. You are charming, funny, sweet. All things that his mother had noted but heâs also attracted to you. And thoroughly enjoying this date.
Confidence looks very fucking sexy on him, and you end up leaning forward instinctively when he leans back, like he's pulling a string somewhere inside your ribcage when he goes. "Maybe I like bad. And I'm just making sure I'm going to enjoy myself?"
Thereâs a split second where Marcus has a choice on if heâs going to make a dirty innuendo, just like you have. âOh, I guarantee youâll enjoy yourself.â He promises, that grin turning slightly salacious. âMultiple times.â
He knows full fucking well what heâs doing, and the poorly timed sip of wine you have just taken nearly comes out your nose when you quickly cover your mouth with one hand to keep from spitting it everywhere or even choking on it. âGuarantee, huh?â When you can breathe again and donât have wine in your mouth anymore, you manage to raise one steady eyebrow at him. âYouâre a very confident man, Agent Pike.â
âItâs a money back kind of thing.â He teases, enjoying the easy banter and the fact that you are leaning into the atmosphere rather than getting offended by it.
âOh, I see.â You tease right back, loving the freedom in the atmosphere between you. âSo Iâm investing in my future enjoyment?â
âExactly.â He hums, nodding in an exaggerated manner. âYou understand perfectly.â
******
âI donât think I can do it,â you groan playfully, looking over the empty plates of the amazing dinner you just shared and knowing that dessert would have disastrous consequences. âI think I might pop like a balloon.â
âIt was a lot of food.â Marcus admits, his own stomach edging just on the cusp of being overly full. âPlus the wine. So I donât think I can make room either.â He sighs and leans back to rub his belly just to tease.
âItâs a good thing itâs a beautiful night for a walk.â The thought had been brewing for a while, and you offer Marcus a hopeful smile. âOnly if youâre up for it, of course.â
âAbsolutely.â The check is discreetly placed by his elbow and he shakes his head when you move to your purse. âThis is my treat.â He insists, pulling out his wallet and putting his credit card down without glancing at the bill.
âThen next time will be mine,â you insist, having a feeling that Marcus is not at all the kind of guy to let that fly, but at the same time you have to wonder when the last time was that he allowed anyone to take care of him.
He hums, not agreeing or disagreeing. âSo, where would you like to walk?â He asks. âThereâs a lot of little shops and bars nearby.â
Pennsylvania Avenue is certainly lively, and since you had taken the Metro you donât particularly care what direction you head in. âWe could always head toward the Mall and let ourselves get distracted along the way?â You suggest, wanting to leave the night wide open for anything or everything.
âThat sounds good to me.â Marcus brought his car, but the neighborhood is relatively safe and the parking isnât by the hours. âDo you have comfortable enough shoes on?â He hadnât noticed your footwear, but he wants to check.
âIâm not really a heels kind of girl,â you admit, hoping that that wonât break some kind of weird unconscious rule he has in his head. Youâve been told before that you should dress more femininely but the idea that high heels are the only feminine footwear seems utterly ridiculous. âAnd Iâm always up for a walk.â
âThatâs good.â He chuckles and when both of you stand from the table he kicks out a foot and shows his comfortable loafers. âI have to wear dress shoes at work, but Iâm never going to bash comfortable footwear.â
âI learned a long time ago that knee-high boots go with almost any dress or skirt.â You take his arm when he offers it â very gentlemanly â and before you know it youâre out in the crisp night air. The moon is high and the streetlamps are bright, and you sigh a little contentment. Tonight is so, so much better than you thought it was going to be.
âThat sigh is either a very good sign or a bad one.â He teases, looking over at you with a playful grin. âCan I ask which?â
âItâs good, I promise.â And as if to prove you, you send him a beaming smile. âI was just thinking how nice the night is, thatâs all.â
âIt is a nice night.â Marcus agrees. The air has just a bite to it without being bitter and yet it is still cozy. The dark night is illuminated by the streetlamps and the noise from bars and shops spills out onto the sidewalk in muted tones. âIt seems magical, doesnât it?â
âIt does.â You agree with a grin, but for you, that magic is pouring off him â not the street around you.
******
âHey look.â Itâs a building that he hasnât really noticed before but maybe itâs because he hadnât been looking for it before. âDo you want to stop?â
âSure.â Youâd agree to almost anything right now and you shrug. âWhat is it?â
âWell, the name is Tomes and Tannins, so Iâm thinking it might be one of those trendy wine shop slash bookstores?â He grins at you. âWhy donât we find out?â
âThat is a level of fancy I never thought I would reach,â you admit with a grin and let him lead you inside. Itâs deceptively mood-lit inside but with enough supplemental lights that you can read everything you need to, and there are cafe tables with chairs smattered around some mismatched armchairs and ever sofas with drink tables at either end. Itâs cozy and welcoming, and obviously meant for you to stay a while.
âHmmm this looks promising, right?â He asks, looking to see if you approve. âInteresting place.â
âBooks and wine? Sounds amazing and looks even better.â A beaming smile of affirmation is all for him and you nudge him toward the stacks. âWhere do you want to start?â
âWellâŠâ he smirks slightly. âShow me that date idea that you liked? Picking out books for the other to read?â
âOh!â Somehow you had already forgotten, and grin guiltily as you pull up the list of twenty prompts on your phone. âYouâre supposed to roll a die to find out what numbers you get. Roll a die, find a book for each of us that fits the prompt, and just keep going until we decide we have our arms full.â Digging into your purse, you come out with a d20 from when you play Dungeons and Dragons with your friends and hold it up. âDo you want to go first?â
âLadies first.â Marcus grins and motions towards a bookshelf. âRoll there and we will see what we come up with.â
Normally a high roll would be a great thing to get, but as you stare at the 17 that pops up on the die, you skim down the list on your phone and feel yourself smirk. âNumber seventeen. A book that inspired a tv show or movie.â
âNow is this for me to find for you?â Marcus asks seriously. âOr is this your criteria for my book?â
âI think weâre both supposed to pick a book for each other that fits the category.â The video hadnât exactly been clear, but that is how you interpreted it. And it sounded like the most fun way to do it anyway.
âOkay. So we each find the other a book that inspired a tv show or movie.â He agrees. âI say I roll and then we separate. We donât show the other the book until we are done picking them out.â
âAlright.â You hold up the d20 to offer it to him. âRoll away, G-man.â
Marcus plucks the die from your fingers and puts it in his palm to close his fist around him. Grinning as he blows on it playfully like heâs rolling dice in a casino. âHere we go.â He tells you before tossing it down.
It's playful and sweet, and you giggle softly when the die hits the shelf and comes up with the number 5. You consult your list, tilting your head with a grin when you read what category he ended up with. "Number five. A book with an overly long title."
He hums and nods. âWhy donât we add a little bit of a challenge?â He asks. You tilt your head curiously, obviously interested. âWe have ten minutes per book, so twenty minutes total. When the twenty minutes is up, we meet at the tables to have a glass of wine and exchange books.â
"Deal." The element of a game makes you smile even more broadly, and you hold up your finger before he can jet away from you. "One more thing?" You ask and wait until he nods. "I want to know your least favourite book of all time. Just so I don't grab it by accident."
âHonestly?â He gives you a guilty grin. âI hate the Lord of the Flies.â He admits with a small shrug. âHated when it was required reading.â
"You are in no way the first person I've ever met who hated that book," you promise him, smothering a little laugh in the process. "I did not like Gone With the Wind. Couldn't even force myself to be empathetic with any of the characters, which is a shame. The plot is interesting."
âThe movie is better, at least itâs watchable.â Marcus admits. âI always hated the scene after the little girl died.â
"Alright." Pulling out your phone, you set a timer for twenty minutes and watch him follow suit with that mischievous smile painted back in place. "Ten minutes for each book, and then we meet right back here for wine and to trade titles."
âGood luck.â With a wink, Marcus whirls around and rushes off, already having a title or three in mind.
It becomes a sort of secondary game â any time you run into each other in the maze of shelves you immediately guard the books you are carrying with your entire bodies and back away or even sprint away from each other so that the surprises won't be spoiled. It has the two of you giggling like idiots and has definitely attracted the attention of some of the other patrons, but no one seems to really mind. Who could possibly mind people having fun in a bookstore?
When he finds what he wants, Marcus barely resists hiding it under his jacket as he rushes up to the counter to make his purchase. Wondering if you will call him out or be disappointed. So he has a backup plan in case. Taking his bag and looking around the bookstore as he walks towards the table you agreed to meet him at.
You use an entire eighteen minutes debating whether or not it's cheating to just grab two of your favourite books to see if he'll like them before you finally just do it. They do fit the categories and he did say that he likes romances so one of them is only sort of a stretch. Grabbing the two novels, you head to the register and then back to the table, only to see him already sitting there. "You were speedy," you observe, raising one eyebrow as you sit down across from him at the table.
âI know what I want.â Marcus tells you, biting back the grin that he wants to display and feeling giddy for his reveal. He motions towards the board that displays what wines they have available. âDo you want to get a glass before we exchange?â
"Sure." He's being cheeky and it's sexy as hell, so you nod and bite back a grin. "You're the wine guru, so I'll try whatever you say is good."
âI think something sweet.â He decides. âA nice Shiraz for us to share?â He asks, wanting to know if you want your own glass or to share again.
"A shiraz to share sounds perfect." Not that you know what the hell shiraz is besides the obvious conclusion that it's wine, but the sharing part is what sounds best to you.
âOkay.â He nods and shoots you a wary look. âNo peeking while I order.â He orders playfully, pointing at you. âIâll be watching.â
He steps up to the counter and you dutifully put your hands on top of the brown paper bag stamped with the shop's logo that you paid for, not peaking in the bag he bought despite desperately wanting to. He comes back in less than three minutes but you're already near squirming in your seat because the suspense is killing you.
âOkay. This is a glass of Layer Cake.â He tells you. âSounds good, but itâs honestly a first for me too.â He was feeling adventurous and wanted a new experience with you. Heâs had shiraz, but he wanted to try this at the same time you did.
"So it's a new adventure for both of us, then." That somehow makes it feel romantic and not just sweet, but it would be silly to say so. "You take the first sip, I insist."
He chuckles. âSo I can make sure itâs not poisoned?â He teases. âAs you wish, my princess.â
The 'princess' bit makes your cheeks burn, but you don't want to admit that you want to know whether or not he likes it first. There's something about trying wines that makes you nervous and you don't want to accidentally end up loving something that he thinks is subpar. Maybe that's trying wines that is intimidating you, or maybe it's just that you like him. You can't tell, honestly.
Picking up the glass, he sniffs and hums before taking a sip. âOh this is good.â He groans. âThat would be good anytime you wanted wine.â
"Well now I'm excited." He hands the glass over to you and you take a sip, immediately sighing. "Oh, that's fantastic. That would have made me a wine person ages ago."
âIâm selfishly glad that you are exploring it with me.â He admits, admiring how you savor the wine and take another small sip.
"Feel free to be selfish, then, because this is fantastic." Handing the glass back to him, you waggle your bag in his direction with excitement. "Number seventeen or number five first?"
âYou want to go first?â He asks, not caring at all. âSure. Why donât you surprise me?â
"Your librarian date is excited about books. This should be no surprise." Laughing as you reach into the bag, the book on top is what you decide to go with and you pull out an old faithful favourite. "Number five. A book with an overly long title." You tell him, presenting him with a copy of Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe by Fannie Flagg.
Marcus bites his lip and takes the book. âOkay.â He nods. âThat is a long title.â Heâs a little worried that you wonât like what he had chosen now.
"You look nervous." He does take the book, though, not reject it. "Have you read it before? It's okay if you have...or if you didn't like it." You're not one of those people who believes that a couple has to like all the same things, after all.
âNo, no, I havenât read this one.â He promises. âI canât wait to see what itâs about. Especially since you seem to love it.â
"I do." It would be kind of useless to claim otherwise, and you sit back in your chair to accept the glass of wine from him. "What did you find for number five?"
âSoâŠâ he flashes you a small grin. âI kind ofâŠcheated.â He admits. âI chose a book that is both five and seventeen.â He admits. âBut now, so have you so Iâm completely thinking that I fucked up. But Iâve got a corny ass back up.â He rushes out to assure you.
"You say cheating, I say creativity." You do bite your lip though, before admitting, "I actually have two of my favourite books that worked for what we rolled...so this is kind of just my excuse to show them to you. Which is also cheating. Just a little."
At least you arenât mad. He reaches into his bag and pulls out a beautiful hardback book. âMy book for you is this. The Princess Bride: S. Morgenstern's Classic Tale of True Love and High Adventure.â He slides the book in front of you.
It probably isn't the reaction he expects to have you almost tear up at the table, but you gently place your hands on the book and draw it closer to you like it is something delicate and precious â which, to you, it is. "This wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that I mentioned wanting to be read to, does it?" You ask him with a grin. "Marcus it's perfect. And believe it or not...despite this being one of my favourite movies? I've never read the book."
âYou havenât?â His jaw drops and he shakes his head. âI donât know which I like better, the movie or the book.â He admits. âI have my own copy at home.â
"I've read Cary Elwes' book, but somehow not the novel." The way he lights up at having made a good choice for you might be the most adorable thing you've ever seen. "I guess that's finally about to change."
âI did get another book but I decided it was a bit much after.â He admits, slightly flustered that he bought that book. But it has been made into a movie.
âWhat was the other one?â His ears have turned red and now you have to know, even nudging the wine glass back toward him in case he needs a little courage.
He blows out a breath and pulls out the other book from the bag. âOkay, but donât judge me.â He begs, revealing the front of Fifty Shades of Grey.
âWhy Marcus, is this a hint?â He has turned an even deeper shade of red and you canât resist another giggle before batting your eyelashes at him.
âIâ no, I donât meanâ itâs just thatââ he sputters and chokes on his words before he heaves a sigh and drops his chin to his chest. âFuck. I knew I should have just found something else.â
âYou only should have grabbed something else if you didnât mean to flirt with me,â you tell him honestly and pull your own book that inspired a tv show or movie out of your paper bag to hand him. The Duke & I by Julia Quinn now has images from the Bridgerton tv show splashed all over the cover, making it unmistakable. âYou said you like romance novels sometimes,â you defend, shrugging your shoulders.
âIâve not read this.â He admits, reaching for the book to read the inside cover. âIt sounds interesting. This is a show right?â
âBridgerton.â You nod, wondering what - if anything - heâs heard about it. âMost people call it something like⊠âhorny Jane Austenâ.â
He snorts and chuckles to himself as he continues to read it. âThen I see why it appeals.â He jokes. âNothing like love and sex.â
âTechnically isnât that what this is, too?â You ask, waggling the copy of 50 Shades at him. âJust⊠kinkier.â Itâs an honest question, really. Since youâve never read it.
âItâs â not bad but you can tell that whoever wrote this is just guessing at what they think BDSM is about.â Marcus tells you.
"So...do that mean you do know what BDSM is about?" It's an intriguing thought, to imagine this otherwise very clean-cut looking guy being into anything kinky, and you can't say you hate it. Not at all.
"Iâ" He never should have opened his mouth. He never should have opened his goddamn mouth. If it was possible to get any hotter, Marcus swears his face would just burst into flames. This isn't something that his mother would know because there is zero chance in hell he would ever tell her. "I was undercover." He explains. "The people I wasâ associating with, they were into that kind of scene." He bites his lip. "I had to do a lot of research on it, but I've never actually, you know, uh, practiced it." He assures you.
"Please don't think I'm judging," you reach over the table quickly to give his hand a squeeze and shake your head vehemently. "Honestly, if anything? I find it very...interesting. But have never practiced any of it, either."
"I just don't want you thinking that I'mâ" He shrugs slightly. "I don't know what I'm trying to say. Normally I'm more confident than this, but not this time." He chuckles quietly.
"You don't want me to think you're kinky?" You ask, tilting your head slightly. "It's not a bad thing to be. But...I'm sorry if I did anything to shake that confidence." With a half-smirk, you shrug one shoulder in admission. "I promise you'd be extremely confident if you could hear the monologue in my head tonight."
"You didn't do anything, I promise." Marcus reaches out after you had pulled back and takes your hand again. "My last...relationship. She's the one that kind of screwed with my head." He confesses quietly. "But I want to know about this internal monologue of yours."
"It's done." There's nothing he can do to change it, and he's not sure that he would want to now that he's looking back on the situation. "But I'm hoping that I can get that confidence back."
"Well, if you hadn't said anything, I never would have known that this is the less confident version of you." His hand dwarfs yours, the warmth of it completely welcoming and overtaking all your senses. And it's so, so welcome.
"Is the book, alright?" He asks. "You can just read the first one if you want."
"Oh, no." The grin you aim his way is mischievous. "I'm definitely going to read both. Who knows? I might learn something."
"Have you seen the movies?" He asks curiously.
"No..." You can feel your cheeks heat up all over again. "It always seemed...I don't know, maybe I'm just really vanilla, but they always seemed so close to porn to me?" Not that that is a bad thing. And not that you don't watch your share of porn. Just usually not of the BDSM variety.
"It was actually pretty tastefully done." Marcus admits. "I've seen them. My ex wanted to see them, so..." He shrugs. "You go see them."
"See? You're already a font of information compared to me." His hand is still covering yours and you shiver a little at the innuendo of it all. Of how warm and tempting he is. "I guess I'll have to catch up. Educate myself."
Itâs on the tip of his tongue to tell you that you can watch the movies together, but that might be too forward. Instead, he grins. âSounds like you have a research plan.â
"Apparently so." Under the table, the toe of your shoe finds the back of his leg completely by accident as you shift in your seat, and you grin guiltily. "I was about to apologize for that," you admit, knowing that it must have seemed like you were trying to play footsies or something under the table. "But honestly? I'm not sorry."
âReally?â His brow lifts and he shoots you a grin. âYou like playing footsie?â He asks, his own foot reaching out and tapping yours gently.
"I think it's kind of cute, honestly." The innocent shrug is accompanied by a bright, smitten smile, and you nudge Marcus's foot back playfully.
âBest part of cuddling is sliding your foot along the leg of your cuddle buddy.â He tells you. âOr letting your hands wander.â
"Mmm...it's hands." And he has such huge hands...the possibilities are endless. "It's definitely hands."
âYouâre a touch kind of girl?â He asks, intrigued by the idea and he wonders if your love language is physical touch. Heâs noticed that youâve reached out several times when reassuring him.
"Touch is a powerful thing." You reason, not making a single move to take your hand out of his. "It can be intense or gentle, reassuring or electrifying. It can be almost anything."
âElectrifyingly reassuring.â Marcus quips, squeezing your hand gently. He picks up the wine with his free hand and takes a sip.
"Like it's exciting but at the same time...feels kind of...right?" Which is exactly how you feel about him, and you're kind of going out on a limb admitting it but you don't think he's gearing up to reject you.
It does, he looks down at your joined hands and smiles. "I think so." He hands you the wine and hums. "Now, we have a couple of options for the rest of the night, if you're up for it." He grins. "We can continue to walk and talk. Or...." He shrugs. "I have my car back at the restaurant and I can drive you back to my place and we can have a cheese board and read to each other?"
He knows what heâs offering â not even in a salacious way â and that a night of reading books is like catnip to a librarian. You canât help but get excited for it. Even the most boring night in the world would be improved by this, but tonight? With how itâs going? It sounds practically like foreplay. âWhat are we waiting for?â You ask, grinning, and take the last sip of wine from the glass. âWe both have brand new books to read and my guess is that you definitetly have a couch big enough for two. Iâd say that decision is easy.â
"Yeah?" He had expected you to say no. It's the first date after all. Beaming at you, he motions towards the wine. "Do you want to get a bottle of this to take with us?" He asks. "It would go good with any of the adult Lunchable things we can get."
âYouâre going to keep teasing me about it, but I stand by that description.â You do nod though, having thoroughly enjoyed this particular glass of wine even more than what he had ordered at dinner.
He chuckles. "It's a good one." He admits. "I've never looked at it that way, but now I can see why you say that. I used to beg my mom to buy Lunchables."
âAnd now you love charcuterie. Which is the very same thing in a much neater package.â Itâs silly, but youâve always liked silly. It can really open a person up.
He squeezes your hand. "You finish that glass and I will see about getting us a bottle to take home." He tells you, letting go to stand up and quickly walk back to the counter. Feeling incredible about this date and almost hating that he had ever been dreading it.
Two sips and a purchased bottle later, the two of you are out the door of the little shop and heading back in the direction of the restaurant to retrieve Marcusâs car. The night is clear and crisp now and even though the city lights glow brighter than the stars you can sweat you feel the distinct light of the moon before anything else.
âHow did you come to dinner?â He asks as he guides you towards his car. âIf you feel more comfortable following me, I can give you the address.â He huffs. âAlthough I should probably do that anyway so you can send it to a girlfriend.â
âI have to admit, itâs comforting to have a guy even acknowledge that kind of thing.â Especially that heâs a federal agent, and doesnât seem to feel entitled to your obedience or safety based purely on that fact. Instead he dutifully gives you his address after you tell him that you took public transportation to get here, and you send it off to your best friend.
âI understand.â He admits. âThe number of people who disregard others safety or their own drives me insane sometimes. At the end of the day if someone gets offended for wanting to feel secure, they donât have good intentions.â Marcus tells you. âPlus, my mother would kick my ass.â
âShe definitely would.â You can agree to that, and thank him quietly when Marcus opens the passenger door for you to get into his car. The address he had given you was in Georgetown so you had a short but nice drive ahead.
âSo what kind of music do you like?â He asks as he starts the car and looks behind him to back out of the spot. âFeel free to change it to whatever you like.â
âI would never change Pearl Jam.â Is the very serious reply he gets from you, as the alternative rock station he has programmed on his satellite radio is currently playing âEven Flowâ. âThere was a band that played in my college town that did all 90s rock covers and they were the absolute best shows to go to.â
âThat had to be awesome.â Marcus hums. âI was too busy playing to really see a lot of shows and I regret it. But I loved being in the band.â
âWell then I guess weâll have to find some live music to go see.â There seems like plenty of common ground that you can pick up on together and that is a very good sign if nothing else. âIf the sound of a 90s influenced jam band doesnât make you want to run for the hills, The Southern Ocean is playing at The Runaway this weekend.â
âIâve never heard of them.â Marcus admits sheepishly. Heâs been focused on work and not really out on the social scene the past few months. âAre they good?â
âI mean, I think so.â Itâs not exactly surprising that the name is unknown to him and you glance over at him while he drives. âTheir bassist is a friend, so I try to support whenever I can.â
âThen thatâs definitely something I would want to check out.â Marcus nods. âItâs always good when you see friends play.â
âWould you want to come with me?â Itâs only slightly presumptuous to plan out a second date when youâre still in the middle of the first one, but you like Marcus. You like him. Heâs smart and handsome as hell and sweet, and even balances flirtation and respect on the perfect level. Honestly, you canât imagine what kind of an idiot his exes were to let him get away.
âIf youâre offering.â He smiles. âWho the hell ever resists an invitation from a pretty girl to go see a band?â He shakes his head. âI might be dumb, but Iâm no fool.â
âYouâre not dumb. Or a fool.â Thatâs exactly the kind of thing you donât put up with from guys you date and you were glad to be able to rule it out very early with Marcus. You exchange a small smile at the next light when he pulls up to it and for the rest of the ride you sing along with the music and just enjoy yourselves.
When he pulls up to his house, Marcus is sort of panicking. Wondering if he had picked up this morning after he had dropped his clothes on the floor from his run. The last thing he wanted was for you to think that he was a slob.
âHome sweet home?â You guess, looking up at the picturesque blue house with its literal white picket fence. It even has a gate out front that someone lovingly painted flowers on in lieu of adding a name.
âYeah.â He chuckles and gives a small shrug. âIt was a hell of a deal when I stumbled on it and I jumped.â
âItâs beautiful.â The lawn is dotted with wildflowers from what you can see in the dark, and suddenly the mental image of stargazing with him on a blanket is impossible to shake.
âThank you. Luckily, I pay a wonderful company to keep the yard looking nice because I donât have time to do it.â He admits with a small laugh.
âThey do a much better job than the landlord at my duplex,â you offer him a smile before he slides out of the car and goes around to your door to let you out. The front door is a mere six steps away and Marcusâs house is even sweeter and more inviting once that door is open. Itâs like somebody built the set of a Hallmark movie in real life just for this handsome FBI agent.
âSo, this is home.â He knows that itâs decorated more than the standard bachelor pad and heâs okay with that. Heâs not the type of man to just have a chair and a tv in the living room. âMake yourself comfortable, I can put your coat in the closet if you want?â
âThanks.â Itâs the most intimate contact youâve had tonight besides holding hands, and you swear you can feel your skin tingle when he slides your jacket off your shoulders for you before hanging it beside his in the closet. The little shiver that runs through you is a private thrill and you know you probably look dreamy as hell as you follow him past the living room to the kitchen.
âHow about you arrange the cheese board while I open and pour the wine?â He asks as he opens the refrigerator to pull out the sliced cheeses and meats he keeps there because he likes them.
It sounds wonderfully domestic, and you agree to it easily as he pulls out a small board and sets it down on the counter. Packages of GruyĂšre, havarti, and something marked Seriously Sharp cheddar all fill out the board and you do your valiant best at attempting to fold and rolls the slices of cured meats into petite little roses for the two of you to enjoy demolishing together. Some fresh grapes and cherry preserves join the tray, and Marcus produces a half of a baguette seemingly out of nowhere once the wine is poured. Itâs all deceptively easy, the way you seem to work with and around each other, and by the time you make it back out to the living room you know youâre just completely gone for this man. His little smiles, deep laugh, and soft demeanor have you utterly relaxed and so, so smitten.
âDo you want to put on some music?â Marcus asks. âMaybe we can just relax. Lean back and read to each other?â Heâs leaning into the idea that you would like this and he wants to make sure that you enjoy yourself.
âWhat do you want to read first?â It sounds like possibly the most romantic idea in the world â just sitting and reading to each other in comfort with an indulgent (and savory) dessert. If the thought of curling up with him and finding out what it feels like to be close to him is anything, it is fairly close to perfection.
âLadies choice.â He hums quietly, moving over to the record player he has sitting next to the collection of vinylâs. Itâs not to look snooty, heâs been obsessed with them since his mother played them while cleaning, claiming it sounded better. For classical music, it does. It brings back a sense of nostalgia, sets a mood.
âRachmaninov?â The melody sounds familiar, like something out of a dream, when it starts up and the name seems to drudge itself out of the depths of your memory. âThatâs got fantasy and romance written all over it.â
He hadnât chosen the music with that in mind, but he smiles. âToo much?â He asks, even though he doesnât feel like you will think that.
âNot at all.â In fact, just the opposite. It feels just right. âBut it feels like The Duke & I or Princess Bride for sure.â
âOkay.â He smiles as he moves over to the couch and toes off his loafers to reveal the dress socks he had been wearing underneath. âYou can get comfortable.â He promises, taking off his sports jacket and removing his tie.
Getting Comfortable on a date for you would usually lead to sexier things than snacks and reading â but then, is there anything sexier than reading in the first place? For a librarian that seems impossible. So instead, you follow suit and toe off your boots to curl up in the couch beside him.
It seems almost natural to have you curl into the crook of his body and Marcus opens his arms slightly. âHow about I read to you to start?â He asks softly.
For most people this might be a recipe for falling asleep, but tonight the sound of his voice is vibrating through the thin fabric of your dress as you lean against him. The lingering scene of his cologne mixed with the wine and new book smell in a way more intoxicating than alcohol ever could be. âYouâre dangerously comfortable,â you warn him, drawn right against him like a magnet.
"I don't mind being called that." He laughs quietly, trying not to jostle you too badly as you snuggle against him and he settles into opening the new book. Hearing the spine creak open slightly and he wonders if you are like him and prefer hardback over paperback books. At least for gifts.
âAll we need is a fire in the fireplace and weâre just about as picturesque as I can imagine.â Itâs dangerous to turn your head to smile at him from this angle because it brings you within about two inches of his perfectly tantalizing lips, but you remind yourself to behave. This is just the first date. No need to rush.
âNot quite cold enough yet.â He canât help but look down at your lips, imagining kissing you in front of a cozy fire after a night in. Or maybe coming home to relax after a night out.
âSoon.â The moment is so soft, and you watch his eyes drift down to your lips the same way yours did to his a second ago with a warm buzzing in your chest. Whether you mean the fire or the kiss should be soon is entirely up to him to decide.
âShould I start to read?â He asks quietly. Feeling the moment start to grow into something warmer, sweeter.
âYeahâIâumâŠâ Any hesitation on your part is strictly attraction based, and you move your head a safe distance from his lips so as not to get distracted. âPlease.â
Marcus turns his eyes to focus on the book and not on you. âThe birth of Simon Authur Henry Clyvedon Fitzranulph Basset, Earl Clyvedon was met with great celebration.â He keeps his voice low, intimate between the two of you as he was reading you a story before bed.
Itâs simultaneously the most relaxing thing in the world and causing you to be completely on edge, the way Marcusâs rich voice seems to roll right through you as he begins to read. Every place that the two of you are touching seems to be on fire and you cannot decide if you want to jump him or take the worldâs most luxurious ride on his narration alone.
He feels you stiffen in his arms and he wonders if youâve change your mind. âEverything okay?â He asks, wanting to check in with you. He had anticipated you melting against him, but you seem on edge and if itâs something heâs doing, he wants to fix it.
âOf course.â Thereâs nothing wrong with how relaxed you feel right now, but you know youâve been a little tensed against him. You had just been hoping that he wouldnât notice. The fact that he looks at you incredulously says he definitely did. âIâmââ Flustering, you clear your throat as gently as you can manage and bite back a smile. âIâm a little distracted,â you admit, wondering how well complete honesty will go over with him.
âCold?â Marcus asks. âThereâs a blanket right over your other shoulder.â He hums. âSnuggle against me and curl under it. I meant it, make yourself comfortable.â Heâs not sure if itâs the change from having your jacket and boots on thatâs distracting you, but he doesnât mind the idea of being under a blanket together.
Not entirely sure that snuggling more would distract you less,â you pull the blanket down anyway and do as he suggests. It brings the two of you even closer and you have to tamp down the coil tightening even further in your gut. Keep your shit together. Youâre a grown ass woman! âThere.â You smile, but looking up at him brings your eyes to his lips again and you donât even realize as your tongue darts out to wet your own lips at the sight. âAll better.â
His eyes drop down to your lips and he all but groans at the sight of them wet. âGood.â He croaks out, clearing his throat. âThatâs good.â Itâs hard to tear his gaze away from you, but he needs to so he doesnât overstep.
âMmhmm.â Nodding is like a reflex, and for all your determination you just canât look away. âVery goodâŠâ
Thereâs a moment where Marcus wants to put the book down and give into the desire to kiss you. But that wouldnât be what you had planned when you came over here and if something happens, heâs determined to let you lead. âSo, uh, where was I?â
âI thinkââ But the thought isnât there. You have no idea what the last thing he read was, despite how much you love the sound of his voice. Every sense has been taken over by the buzzing hum running through your body and the spark of his skin touching yours. âI donâtââ You could bluster. Or try to skim the page and guess. But your impulses are a hell of a lot stronger than your good sense tonight. ââI really want to kiss youââ
Marcus groans quietly and the book snaps shut with a definitive thump. âI really want you to kiss me too.â He admits. âYou should go with your instincts.â
âInstincts are important,â you nod as wisely and seriously as possible even as youâre turning into his side. Those warm puffs of breath that have been ghosting over your skin make you shiver, and you just have an unshakable feeling that this is that start of something completely wonderful. âOh yeah?â You hum, close enough to nudge his nose with yours.
âYeah.â Marcus exhales roughly, feeling like he is about to vibrate out of his skin. Despite his complaint to his mom that it was too soon since Teresa, he feels that this is nearly perfect. Youâre perfect and heâs painfully attracted to you.
It only takes the smallest movement to fit your lips against his, but the response that floods your body is monumental. It really should only have been a quick, light, gentle kind of first kiss â but he did say to go with your instincts. So instead your hand comes up to graze the line of his jaw when the blissful feeling of having him kiss you back makes you feel like you might vibrate out of place right there on the couch.
Itâs innocent, really. The kiss doesnât go much deeper than the exploration of each other in that first pressing of lips and yet he feels like his heart is about to explode out of his chest. The only reason you pull back is to check in with him. It really is. Because that simple little first kiss might be the best first kiss youâve ever had. His smile is a little dreamy, almost goofy as his eyes flutter opened after closing on their own. Looking at you as if you had hung the moon after that kiss.
"You look how I feel," you tell him, grin splitting your face clean across as you tuck tightly into his side. That pure joy radiating from his smile is the same feeling filling up your chest right now.
âLike you could tap dance on air?â He asks with an answering grin of his own. Wanting to pull you close and kiss you again, but resisting.
"Maybe." Neither of you were expecting the giggle you share, but it makes you both smile that much harder and you shift slightly against him. "And...like I didn't want to stop..."
âThat too.â The book falls to the floor as he shifts slightly. His eyes are darker now, the lust and desire making his amber eyes turn to onyx. âYou donât have to.â
The momentum sweeps both of you up in a way you didnât expect at all. As soon as he agrees to wanting even a little more you feel like the whole world tilts on its axis. You shift in his arms to surge toward him, lips pressing against his in earnest and barely managing to swallow a moan when he pulls you in tighter. It has you throwing caution to the wind and taking advantage of the open-mouthed kiss to taste him with your tongue â and letting a second moan out when he tastes just as sweet as you thought.
His arms wrap around you, not wanting you to shift too far away as he drowns in the kiss. Letting the feeling of your tongue caressing his completely overrule any semblance of thought beyond you and making sure you are aware of how much he is enjoying kissing you.
Trying to get as close to each other as you possibly can, you turn one more time in his arms and shift forward without ever breaking the kiss. His arms hold you steady, following wherever youâre going next, and in a moment of impulsivity and bravery you swing one leg over his lap to straddle Marcus completely on the couch.
Groaning, he absorbs your weight easily and his hands slide down your sides to squeeze your hips. Heâs not upset youâre in his lap, quite the opposite. It makes his kiss just a little more frantic, trying to devour you a bit more.
Marcus has big hands. You know that already. But feeling them on you is totally different. His grip is firm but gentle, sweeping up and down your sides, and youâre suddenly hyper aware that you chose a dress and leggings and that those things provide no barrier between his body and yours. You can feel damn near everything underneath you and that is a blessing as well making you hyper aware of the warmth radiating off of him in waves.
He pants against your lips and feels like heâs underwater. Knowing that he is starting to harden underneath you at the warmth of your body, your core pressed against him.
The only thing that could possibly reel you back in at this point is him â the very same thing that is driving you crazy. But before you start grinding against him or even so much unconsciously moving your hips, you need to make sure heâs okay with it. Youâre both panting heavily when you press your forehead against his, and your hands grip his shoulders tightly for balance. âI can stopâŠâ you promise him, knowing that reeling yourself in now will be easier than later. âIf you donât wantâmoreââ
âNo.â The word is more whimper and plea than command and he wouldnât do that anyway. âIâ Iâm good. I wantââ He shakes his head and leans in to press his lips to yours again.
He wants just like you do, if the growing bulge beneath you is any indication, and you are not the slightest bit upset about that in anyway. It isn't what you came here for â or why you went on this date in the first place â but fuck if it isn't feeling like the perfect way to cap off the night.
The subtle circling of your hips has his fingers digging into your thighs as the most delicious groan rips out of his throat. Unsure if he wants you to stop or to just grind on him until youâre panting his name, he slides his tongue down your jaw and to your neck to follow it up with tiny kisses.
"Fuckâ Marcus." The iron grip you had on his shoulders has slacked only so you can run your hands down his chest, feeling his heartbeat hammer under your fingertips just as fast as your own as he dusts kisses along your neck and raises goosebumps in his wake.
âSo sexy.â He murmurs into your skin. Scraping his teeth over your pulse and sucking lightly. Enjoying the tremor that runs through you and the way you press down against his cock as you moan. Heâs hard and starting to ache now, twitching every time you move.
âUnbelievably hot.â The first time you deliberately tilt your hips and rock your core over him, you both moan and you melt against him with your fingers fumbling for his buttons. âCâcan I?â You manage, even though you feel like your voice is shaking. âWant to touch you, baby. Please?â
Exhaling on a shudder, Marcus gulps in air greedily. "Whatever you want." He croaks out. "Iâ fuck," His eyes close and his head tilts back slightly, exposing his Adam's apple. "I want you, but this stops wherever you want it to." He's not the type of man to push beyond your comfort, but if you said you wanted him inside you, he'd already be asking about protection. Not feeling like this is some sort of rebound, it feels like the beginning of something wonderful.
âI donât want it to stop,â you admit, pausing with your fingers already in the first button of his shirt to find his eyes. This is not your usual first date M.O. but there is something here. Something very real and new between you that has wrapped itself around both of you together.
âWe donât have to stop.â Marcus promises you breathlessly, biting back a groan of pleasure when your hand splays across his chest, touching his hot skin.
"Thank god." Your own moan is a soft and breathy thing as you lean back to watch the broad expanse of his chest come into view with every button you manage to wrench open.
He manages to chuckle, even though he wants to just pull you closer and rip your clothes open to touch you, but he just pulls you close.
It's so damn easy to sink into him. For both of you to let your hands wander and your kisses migrate across each other's skin. He's stronger even than he looks at first glance and that is very strong â to the point where you really wonder if he might be able to just lift you up and carry you off. And that is just about the sexiest thing you can think of.
Keeping his hands on top of your clothes is going to be a real fucking challenge. Especially now that you have stripped him of his dress shirt and his undershirt. Squeezing and caressing every inch of skin you are baring, even the back of your tender neck while he scatters kisses along your lips.
The way he grabs and bunches your dress in his hands but doesn't reach further makes you groan, wondering if he's hesitant or if he's just waiting for permission. It really only takes a few seconds to realize there is something hesitant about the way he is kissing you or palming your hips and breasts over your dress, so you take one of his hands and guide it under the hem of your dress in invitation.
Marcus moans when you guide his hand under your dress, giving him permission to touch you and it becomes his mission to touch every inch of your body. Both hands slide up and down your thighs in sweeping passes, over your panties and to your stomach.
"Fuck." His hands are burning hot, making you shiver counterintuitively and lean into every touch. At this rate you may leave a damp patch from grinding down on him, but you don't even care. The friction is too good to ease up on. The only way you're moving off is so Marcus can get his pants off.
"That's right, baby." He agrees, unable to stop twitching every time you grind against the hard bulge in his slacks. "Fuck is right." His thumb sweeps under your breast right before he slides up to cover it with his hand, right over the bra and squeeze possessively. "You want to take off your dress for me, sweetheart?"
It's not even worth wasting breath on a reply, you just tear your hands away from his chest to pull your dress up over your head. It gets tossed somewhere on the floor and instantly forgotten about as you pant for your breath back and watch Marcus's eyes drink you in.
He didn't know that he could look so many places at once. Your tits, mouthwatering and begging for his attention. Down to your pretty panties that he wants to rip off and bury his tongue inside you to hear you squeal his name. Back up to your face and he nearly growls as he rushes in to kiss you again.
The momentum nearly knocks you backward but Marcus's arms are there to hold you steady. If he has his way you'll be staying skin-to-skin for a whole lot longer tonight and you have absolutely no problem with that. Every time his cock twitches under you, you can't help but moan, and soon it's going to be just a litany of that sound over and over.
Deft, sure hands reach back to undo your bra, making the first move to strip clothing off of you. Pulling the straps down your arms and immediately reaching up to cup your breasts and fill his hands with them. As simple as it might be to get a simple piece of clothing off of you, your high-pitched whine says everything about how eager you are to be rid of every stitch. "You have the best hands," you moan when he pinches your nipples and rolls the tight buds between his fingers for the first time.
"You have the best tits." Marcus hums, almost chuckling as he watches your head drop down to your chest and then roll back. "Fuck, that's it," he groans when you circle your hips on his cock again.
"Sâswear this isn't what I was expectingâ" You manage to breathe out, trying to assure him that you never expected sex tonight. "But fuck, baby."
"Me either." He agrees, kissing your jaw and then down your chest. His hot mouth moving towards your breast until he's pulling your nipple into his mouth.
âMarâMarcus.â The heat of his mouth makes you keen even as your head drops back and the fingers of one hand tangle in his short hair. At this point every time you grind your hips down itâs like youâre trying to reach his cock inside his pants, and you know heâs as hard as you are wet.
He huffs and blows his breath against your nipple as he lets go of it, smirking up at you before sucking it back into his mouth. Knowing that tonight is nowhere near what he had imagined it being like and yet he can't be mad at it. He's eager to feel more of you.
âFeels so damn good.â The contrast of hot and cool on your skin makes your eyelids flutter and you rock in his lap.
He moans in agreement, his tongue flicking over the stiff peak and he loves how it puffs up even more in his mouth. Pulling off only to attack your other breast with equal enthusiasm.
Every flick of his tongue sends another shiver down your spine and as much as you just want to ride it out and see if you can cum only from having your tits sucked on, you want him more. One hand stays threaded in his hair but the other reaches down between you, finding the thick bulge of his cock in his pants and squeezing experimentally to see what makes him moan.
Marcusâs breath is ragged, shuddered against your skin and he pulls away because he might bite down too hard if you do that too well. âFuck, baby.â He groans when you squeeze him again.
"Iâ" You breathe, panting when he twitches in your hand and you can feel how thick he is. "I have a condom in my wallet." It had been just a nothing idea, to throw one in while you were getting ready. More of a joke to yourself about how you always seem to be so overprepared. But now? Thank god you did.
"Yeah?" He kisses up your neck again and his tongue slides against the sensitive skin behind your earlobe. "I have one too." He admits. He's always carried one, but not because he expected sex, but because it was surprisingly handy to have at times. "Do you want to use yours or mine?"
"Yours first, mine second." It might sound a little overconfident, but something in you tells you for certain that this isn't just a one-time thing. Besides that, Marcus's hazy, lust-filled grin at your comment is worthwhile.
"Good girl." He groans out, twitching against your core at the thought of multiple rounds after you've both caught your breath and recovered.
That makes you moan reflexively, and you don't even pretend to demure over the reaction. It's honest and it's real. Who doesn't want to be praised during sex?
"Oh you like that." He chuckles and leans in to kiss your lips again softly. "I'll keep that in mind." He will, he will take note of every damn think you like.
"Not even going to pretend I don't." You lean forward to nip at his neck in turn before stepping back from him with a groan. With two feet on the rug, you already hate the distance between you. But you'll take care of that as soon as you strip his pants away.
Marcus pouts slightly but he quickly unbuckles his belt and unzips his pants so he can lift his hips up so you can pull his pants down. Black boxer-briefs under black trousers is very adult of him, and you're far too focused on the thick length trapped under that last layer of fabric to tease him about boring underwear. Instead you toss him his wallet from the back pocket of his pants and slip off your tights while he fishes for the condom packet.
Catching his wallet, Marcus opens it and pulls the condom out and tosses it on the coffee table before he bites his lip. Looking at you before he lifts his hips again and pushes down his boxer briefs.
Broad shoulders and a thin waist give way to long legs, but your attention is focused on his dark eyes until you let your gaze drop to his lap. The head of his cock is bordering purple, dripping precum, and it gives a distinct twitch against his belly when he watches you watch him. The perfect moment of quiet before the storm that is about to take over, you crack a grin at Marcus and take a step forward. That cock is going to feel so fucking good inside you.
"I take it you approve?" He asks, smirking himself as he holds out his hand to you. "Now, I want you to take off your panties for me, sweetheart."
âOh, these things?â With your thumbs hooked into either side of your panties, you grin a little wider before slipping them straight down your legs to pool at your feet. âGone.â
"Fuck." He groans, cock jerking again at the sight of you completely bare in front of him. "You're so beautiful. I'm lucky to be able to touch you."
You hum, shaking your head and making a show of walking the three steps you need to need to be ready to crawl back into his lap. âI could say the same thing.â
He chuckles and rips open the condom to roll down his length. Biting his lip while he studiously applies the prophylactic, he looks back up at you with his hand wrapped around his covered cock. "Then touch me again and make me believe it." He teases.
Never having known a single man who didnât like having his cock ridden, you fit one knee on the outside of each of his hips and sit yourself down directly over his core, replacing his hand with yours and wishing you had had the opportunity to suck his cock just a little before he applied the condom. Next time, you tell yourself, rocking over the tip of his length and watching his Adamâs Apple bob dramatically until you start to slide that length inside you an inch at a time.
His hands find your hips again. Not to rush you, but to hold you as you slowly start to engulf his cock. Moaning out your name when you get the first two inches inside your hot body and your walls squeeze him tight. "Thatâ fuck, baby, you feel so good." He praises breathlessly. "Howâ is it good?" He can barely think straight, but he wants to make sure you are comfortable.
âPerfect.â Barely holding onto your last shred of control, you are determined to make sure you both latch on to the bliss of this moment before anything else. âFucking perfect.â
Your fingers dig into his shoulders but the slight pain just adds to how good the way you sink down onto him feels. Groaning again as you keep taking him, wrapping him up in the heat of your body. "Good."
âGoddamn.â When heâs fully seated inside you, you pause long enough for both of you to catch your breath. âTell me when I can move, baby.â
"Anytime you want to move." He moans, wanting you to move now, but he's not the one who is on top. "You set the pace, baby."
That in itself is enough encouragement, and you raise up on your knees right away to the musical harmony of a moan ripping out of each of you. âFuck you feel so good,â you moan, barely keeping your eyes open as you set an even but energetic pace. It feels that good, but you want to be able to watch him.
Breathing out shakily, Marcus can't even speak. Too overcome by the pure pleasure that comes when you start to move. Rolling your hips and clenching down around him, you fit like you are perfectly molded around him. Eyes fluttering when you start to lift off his length, but then take him even deeper when you sink back down.
The sounds of sex are distinct â sloppy and wet and loud â as the two of you find a rhythm together. If you believed in Fate youâd say he felt like he was made for you, but as it is you really can barely form any thoughts at all. He fills you in a way you donât think youâve ever felt before and every perfect man goes straight to your clit as you ride him.
His fingers are still grazing your hip as his thumb presses against that little button that drives women crazy. Humming when he starts to work quick, small circles on top of it as you move. Wanting to match the rhythm for your pleasure. Your hands are everywhere, pulling in his hair and bracing on his shoulders, grazing down his chest and even reaching behind you to lean backward and get a slightly different angle and groaning loudly when it strikes you just right.
Letting you lead doesnât mean that Marcus does nothing. His hips rock up every other thrust to make sure that you are impaled on his cock. Toes curling every time, he groans out your name again and again.
Curses and praises fall from your lips, punctuating the litany of moans with colorful encouragement and pleas. Every time he thrusts upward you feel like youâre going to have all of your insides rearranged, and itâs so fucking good you never want it to stop.
âFuck. Baby.â Marcus leans forward and presses his forehead to your clavicle. âYouâre taking me so well. Love it.â His mouth sometimes gets filthy when heâs lost in a moment and itâs no different today. âPretty little pussy clamped down over my dick.â
Fucking hell. He even talks dirty. You keen in response, a moan so animated and turned the fuck on that youâre picking up the pace and pawing at your own tits in Marcusâs face. Itâs beautiful to watch your tits bounce and your hands pluck at them, but heâs a hands on kind of guy and he lets go of your waist so he can lavish attention on them.
Itâs an automatic switch. When his hands move to knead your tits and pluck at your nipples, you replace one of your own on his shoulder and let the other drift to your clit to run the same circles that he was just a second ago. Youâre hurtling desperately close to cumming and you canât wait to hear what dirty little praises heâs going to come out with when you clamp down on his cock even harder.
Marcus moans and groans with his nipple in your mouth. His eyes watching your fingers dance over your clit and heâs memorizing the fact that you enjoyed the way he had been touching you. His hips rocking up fast to punch up into you. Feeling you getting closer to your peak with ever gasped squeal you give him.
âSoâfuckâ so fucking close,â you manage between pants and moans as your body starts to lock down all at once and that coil in the base of your spine tightens beautifully like you were warning it and not just him. âOh fuck, Iâm cumââ
The second he feels you tense up, Marcus pops off your tit and his arms wind around you like steel bands. Holding you in place so he can take over. Thrusting up into you while you start to cum. âThatâs it.â He hisses. âCum for me. Soak me baby. Show me how good my cock feels.â He groans, the hard, sharp thrusts knocking his breath out but he fucks you through it, still babbling. âLike a vice, like a fucking vice. Come on baby, give me all of it.â
The filthy babbling almost breaks you, with the way that it shakes through you and makes you gasp at breaths even with how much youâre panting. Sparks flash white behind your eyes as Marcusâs hips start to stutter, and youâre vaguely aware of a stream of your own encouragements â or maybe just begging him to cum so you can see how gorgeously unwound he looks when he hits his peak. You canât be sure which it is, or if itâs both, but either way his arms tighten around you that much more and he groans in your ear like sin incarnate.
"Fuck you're so good." Marcus breathes. "I'm gonna cum. I'm gonna fill your little pussy up." That's not going to happen because of the condom, but logistics don't exactly matter right this second. All that matters is that he's going to be buried inside you as he cums. "Fuck baby, fuck." He chokes out, giving one more thrust and grinding up into you as he whines your name into your ear. Spilling into the condom in hot waves of pleasure.
âHoly shit.â Youâre the first to break into giggles, when you finally have your breath back. His arms were so tight around you at the end that you might feel a little bruised tomorrow but you canât find it in yourself to care at all. Thatâs the best ride youâve had in ages and it was only the first time.
Humming, Marcus leans in and nuzzles his nose against your neck. Panting to catch his breath. "Holy shit is right." He gives his own little giggle because he's feeling so loose and good.
âLet me know when Iâm getting too heavy.â With your forehead pressed to his shoulder and the feeling very slowly returning to your extremities, youâre still not sure about moving immediately. âMy legs arenât working yet. You turned them into jelly.â
"You can stay right here as long as you want." He promises with a grin, his spent cock twitching inside you. He will have to hold to condom when he pulls out, but it's worth it. "Want me to read to you now while you recover?"
The awe and adoration in your expression when you pull back from him is unmistakable. Heâs going to read to you post-coitus?! âYouâre actually perfect,â you sputter out in disbelief, though youâre absolutely not saying no.
He chuckles and sends you a warm smile. "It's the least I can do," he teases, "since you did all the work." His hands slowly caress your spine and heâs enjoying the way you feel against him.
âAnd Iâll gladly do all the work again for round two if thatâs the response I get.â Not even teasing, you nudge your nose against his and steal a kiss, savoring the taste of perspiration mixed with Marcusâs kiss.
He hums against your lips and slides his hand up to hold you in place to deepen the kiss. "Thank you." He murmurs when he pulls away. "For this. For making it easy to enjoy the best damn date I've had in a long time."
âNo need to thank me.â There is so much softness in it that you melt a little bit more, nuzzling into him right there in his lap. âIâm gonna have a hell of a time trying to make sure our second date beats it.â
It makes him laugh, a giddy, carefree sound and he sigh happily. "We should just keep it going then." He decides. "That way we don't have to think of ideas to top this."
You could float away on the sound of his laugh, just reveling in this joyful energy. All the same, you pull back again and find his eyes carefully. âYou asking me to stay the night, handsome?â
"What kind of date would I be if I sent you home when your legs are Jello?" He asks playfully, leaning in and nudging your nose with his. "Especially since it's my fault."
âFault. Generous gift. Same thing.â You both grin, indulging in more kisses until youâre sighing into him all over again. âIn that case, I think we should go upstairs,â you murmur. âRead in bed until we either want to go again or fall asleep.â
"Do you want some water?" He asks softly, knowing you might be thirsty after all that work. "I can get you some before we go up?"
âPerfect gentleman.â You hum softly, knowing you need to climb out of his lap but wanting one more kiss first. âWater would be amazing.â
He gives you another lingering kiss, smiling against your lips when you start to pout as you lift off of him. He slides his hand between you to hold the base of his cock, keeping the condom from moving. "Good. My room is the last door on the left." He tells you. "I'll be up in just a second, as soon as I get rid of the condom and get some water."
"Okay." Even though you pause to gather up your stuff, you don't bother getting dressed. Sauntering upstairs naked has an air of comfort and unexpected sexiness to it that you can't deny, but you do stop off in the bathroom to do the extremely unsexy task of cleaning up and having a quick pee. By the time you get out, you barely have a second to slip under the covers before Marcus appears in the doorway.
"Bottle of water, like the lady ordered." Marcus put away the cheeseboard and wine, gathering up his own clothes before coming upstairs. He wants to make sure you are comfortable. Grinning, he walks over in his boxers to hand you the water. "Need anything else, sweetheart?"
"A little company, that's all." Did he manage to get more attractive in the less than five minutes you were apart? That's wholly unfair.
"Company I can definitely provide." He smirks slightly as he walks around the bed to climb in beside you. "Comfortable? Need another pillow?"
"Not gonna lie." As he slides in next to you, you move toward him like a magnet. "I was kind of hoping for a human pillow."
"That's my favorite type of pillow to be." His arms open up to let you settle against him. "Especially when I'm going to read to you."
"Absolutely perfect," you murmur happily, laying your head down on his chest as he picks up the book. Tonight really was, without a doubt, the best date you've ever had. You're going to have to do a hell of a job hosting the next book club meeting as a thank you.
He picks up reading again, basically just starting over. Keeping his voice low and the only light is from the lamp on his bedside table. Letting the atmosphere stay intimate. It might be the first date, but it was going to hopefully the last first date he has.