“Old dog’s can’t learn new tricks, price” Soap would grin across the table. Ghost’s low chuckle followed like smoke. “Bet the missus is bored stiff, Captain.”
Price never rose to the clear ragebait in front of the boys, but the words..stuck. You were younger, gorgeous, and God— always eager for him… yet a small, ugly part of him wondered if they were right. He’d never exactly been the adventurous type in bed—solid, thorough, but not… inventive.
So he cornered Gaz one night after drills.
“Need a favor, Sergeant.”
Gaz raised an eyebrow. “Sir?”
Price rubbed the back of his neck, face already red with what he could only pin as embarrassment. “You’re good with the ladies. I want lessons. Real ones.”
Gaz blinked, then a slow, wicked grin spread. “You want a demonstration, Captain?”
Price’s jaw flexed. “Please..”
That’s how you ended up here—naked on the bed, thighs spread over Price’s lap while Gaz knelt between your legs like he’d been invited to dinner.
Price’s big hands were firm on your waist, keeping you pinned back against his chest. “She’s sensitive.” he muttered, almost clinical, but you could feel how hard he was against your lower back. “On with it, sergeant.”
Gaz’s eyes flicked up to yours, dark and hungry. “You ready for this, love?”
You nodded, already wet and aching just from the sheer thrill of the situation.
Gaz didn’t waste time. Two thick fingers slid through your folds, spreading you open. “First thing—don’t rush. Get her nice and wet.” He rubbed slow circles over your clit until your hips jerked, then pushed two fingers inside, curling just right.
Price watched every movement like it was a briefing.
“There’s a spongy spot here…” Gaz pressed upward deliberately causing your whole body to jolt. “Right there. That’s your target.”
He started pumping—steady, focused strokes that dragged over that spot again and again while his thumb kept pressure on your clit.
Price’s voice was rough in your ear. “Breathe, sweetheart. Let him work.”
Your orgasm built fast—embarrassingly so.
“That’s it..” Gaz praised, voice low. “She’s swelling up. See how she’s pulsing?” He added a third finger and the pressure inside became unbearable. “When she starts trying to close her legs, don’t let her. Keep going.”
Price’s hands moved to your thighs, holding them open. You came with a broken cry, but Gaz didn’t stop. He kept fingering you through it, rough and relentless, and suddenly everything felt tighter, hotter, like something was about to—
“There..” Gaz growled. “Let it go, lovely...”
With a whine, a gush of wetness flooded out around his fingers, soaking the sheets and his wrist. Price made a low, filthy sound behind you as he watched you squirt for the first time in your life.
Gaz eased his fingers out slowly, letting you ride the aftershocks, then lifted his soaked hand to show Price. “That’s the spot. Consistent pressure, curved fingers, and you don’t stop when she comes.. you keep going until she gives it to you.”
Price’s breathing was ragged. His cock was nearly throbbing against your back.
Gaz wiped his fingers on your inner thigh, then met Price’s eyes. “Your turn, Captain.”
Price shifted you forward, laying you down properly. He kissed the inside of your knee, voice low with promise.
hellooo, for your tf141 imagines i saw this tiktok today of a woman recording her husband's reaction of her walking out of the house wearing a sundress with no underwear on and it's honestly pretty funny! i would love to see you write this xD
here's the video for reference: https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSh2EQxrR/
All you had to say was wearing a sundress with no underwear on and you had me. My brain went smut because I can't imagine these men being anything but feral over it. Mad? Just a tad. But they're mostly hungry.
For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE
ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist
John Price
The air reeks of car engine oil, thick with humidity, and clinging to your skin like honey the moment you step into the garage. John is crouched next to his car removing the lug nuts, his gaze flicking in your direction when you enter. As you pass by him, a small breeze from outside kicks up, sweeping into the garage and ruffling the hem of your dress.
John’s head wipes around. “Hold on, love.” He reaches for you. “What’s this?”
You swat his hand away. “Your hands are filthy, John.” For most of the day, John has been in the garage working on his car. He’s shirtless and sweaty, hands greasy. “You’ll ruin my dress.”
“I’ll ruin more than that if you keep walking away from me,” he scolds, grabbing a nearby towel and scrubbing at the grease on his hands. “Lift your dress.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” you ask. “The neighbors are right there.” You gesture with one arm toward the open garage door.
John, with a knowing smirk, stands as he cleans in his hands. With a jerk of his head, he indicates the front of the car. “Stand there and they won’t.”
You place a hand on your hip and stare at him, pretending like you’re annoyed when really, you’re buzzing beneath your skin. Mimicking the gesture, John discards the dirty towel. The man never takes your shit. He always knows when you’re up to something.
Sighing loudly, you stomp over to the front of the vehicle. When you make no move to do anything else, John saunters over, flicking the hem of your dress. “Lift it.”
“Why?”
He takes a step forward. Then another. Another and the backs of your legs are pressing into the front bumper. “Because,” he says, “a little breeze went by, and you had nothing on underneath.”
You keep a straight face. “Not true.”
John holds your gaze in challenge. “Then show me.” Your mouth forms into a thin line but you’re not backing down. “Thought so,” he chuckles.
One moment you’re facing your husband, and the next you’re facing the windshield, your front pressed into the hood of the car, the skirt of your dress flipped up. There is no hiding what’s underneath—which is absolutely nothing.
“Thought you could leave like this?” John tuts and gives your ass a quick spank.
You push up with your palms, twisting to look at your husband. “The neighbors, John.”
“Fuck the neighbors,” he growls, undoing the front of his belt.
Your core clenches, and a slickness blooms. This is what you were after, and he knows it. A little pressure, and you’re moaning, fingers curled and desperately clinging to the hood as John thrusts. Possessive to the bone.
The dust and dirt on the hood will ruin the dress, but you hardly care. John is stroking deep, keeping you pinned in place as he deals out his punishment. You eagerly push your hips back, meeting him, begging to be filled.
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
“That new?”
“Yes. Do you like it?”
Kyle gives you an exaggerated once-over. “Give us a spin, yeah?”
Giggling, you twirl. The dress you wear is linen and stops just above the knee. The skirt portion of the dress has a slight flare to it, giving it a flowy quality, allowing plenty of movement. The only difference to this look is that you’re not wearing anything underneath.
Sometimes, you need to keep Kyle on his toes.
The breeze from your spin teases your bare thighs and buttocks, and when you come to a full stop, Kyle’s eyebrows are arched toward his hairline in clear shock.
“What?” you laugh, pretending like you’re oblivious to the fact that you’re not wearing underwear. “Something wrong?”
Kyle’s initial shock ebbs, becoming curious interest. “Were you expecting me to find out now, or later?” He shifts closer. “How many people would see what’s mine before I noticed?”
You keep your head held high, and the only emboldens him. “Why do you do this to me?” but he says it with a smile, as if the whole situation amuses him.
As he nears, Kyle seizes the backs of your thighs, squeezing tightly. You’re unable to step back, but this is exactly where you want to be. Your hands go up to his shoulders, holding you steady as his hands massage the backs of your thighs, slowly creeping upward to the curve of your backside.
Kyle’s head dips in intimate connection, lips slightly parted like a kiss is imminent. A swirling tingle blooms under your skin, roaming outward until you’re warm everywhere. As Kyle’s lips graze against yours, a finger parts your pussy, revealing your slickness.
“Tried to leave like this, and you think I’m going to reward you?” Kyle’s hands suddenly disappear. He backs away, shaking his head. On his pointer finger he twirls your car keys. “Think again.”
You lunge for him, aiming for the keys. “Kyle!”
He sidesteps you easily, pocketing the keys. “Think I deserve an apology. Making my heart race like that,” he coos.
“I don’t have to wear anything under here if I don’t want to,” you retort.
Kyle shrugs, unperturbed. “Course you can. Didn’t say you couldn’t.”
“We’re playing semantics now?”
Kyle plops himself onto the sofa, spreading out, lazily tapping his thigh in an invitation to sit. “We are. But we can play while you’re on my lap.”
Damn him.
You stomp over to the sofa, but you’re not actually angry. If anything, you want to do exactly what he’s telling you to do: to ride him as you argue.
Kyle’s pants are down the moment you sit down, guiding his cock into you. You both groan, and then you’re bouncing on his dick.
From the softness in his brow, you know Kyle’s arguing comes from a place of teasing. “I’m mad at you, love.”
“No, you’re not,” you gasp, grinding your hips.
“Furious,” he says, bunching your dress at your hips to give himself a clear view.
“Liar.”
John "Soap" MacTavish
“Johnny!”
“Been hiding this, lassie?”
You’re bent over the nearest surface which just happens to be the arm of the sofa. You nearly made it outside without Johnny noticing that you aren’t wearing anything under your dress. Testing Johnny’s awareness is always a gamble. This time, your shenanigans did not pay off.
Placing your palms flat on the cushion, you attempt to push yourself up. A stinging retort is on your lips, and you want to hurl it at Johnny. You make it a few inches before he’s shoving you back into position, your bare ass in the air, toes hardly touching the hardwood, cheek pressed into the sofa cushion beneath you.
“We’re going to be late,” you snap, but that hardly appears to faze him.
Johnny glides his hands up and down the backs of your thighs. “Aye. That’s a pretty sight.”
Your pussy clenches, the lust in his words sending a shiver through you. Johnny chuckles, his large, calloused hands sliding between your legs to guide them apart.
“Did this on purpose. Didn’t you, lassie?”
There’s no use denying. Whatever you say won’t really matter. And it’s not like you don’t want this. Going without was a tactical move, a teasing one because you love Johnny riled up.
You suck on your bottom lip, teeth slightly pressing into the flesh as you refuse to confirm or deny the accusation. Keeping his hands firmly on your ass, Johnny uses his thumbs to open your pussy, revealing how turned on you are.
Johnny licks a line up your cunt, dipping the tip inside briefly before retreating. “Won’t talk? That’s fine.”
A hand falls away, and then Johnny spits onto your cunt, following the saliva with a sharp slap to your pussy. It fucking stings but it’s as good as it hurts. Your muscles clench and Johnny repeats the movement. The contact of his palm against your pussy creates a wet sound that fills the room. You’re turned on and whimpering, shifting your legs wider, your big toes the only part of you touching the floor.
“I know you, lassie. Could have asked if you wanted a fuck,” chuckles Johnny, shifting into a new torture.
Johnny slides two fingers into your pussy, moving them back and forth, fucking you while his other hand lightly spanks your clit.
“Johnny. Baby,” you gasp. “I’m gonna come.”
Just as your body tenses, Johnny replaces his hand with his mouth, sucking on your clit until you bear down around his fingers, crying into the sofa cushion as the orgasm hits you. The wave is bright and loud, flooding your senses, making you numb to everything, reality only flashing back when Johnny shoves his dick inside you, bottoming out.
It’s rough, forcing your pelvis into the sofa arm, but you smile through it, moaning happily until Johnny’s end comes. He holds just the tip inside as he fists the base. Warm cum fills your pussy. You gently squeeze your muscles around the head, milking every drop.
Simon "Ghost" Riley
Playful to punishing.
One moment you’re twirling for Simon, showing off the cute dress you just bought, and the next, his hands are under your dress, his mouth slightly parted, the middle of his brow creased as he realizes you’re not wearing anything underneath.
Simon kicks the stairwell door shut with his booted foot. You hear the lock engage, and then he’s on you. Turning you around to face away from him, Simon brings you down onto your knees. Your hands go out, steadying your descent, shifting to your forearms for support. He hardly says a word. It’s all grunts behind you as you’re forced onto your hands and knees, spread out over the stairs in submission.
Simon has his dick out and inside you in seconds. It’s startling, actually. The man is thick, and you choke on an exhale as he bottoms out.
This isn’t your home. It’s a goddamn parking garage attached to the building you and Simon live in. Any resident could scan themselves in, open the door and find Simon crouched behind you, dicking you down in a weird, reverse mating press that’s more doggy in nature. And if someone doesn’t come through the door, they could come from above with a much clearer view.
This is what happens when you think you’re being funny.
Simon’s hands slide up, grasping your throat without squeezing. Your pussy flutters, tightening with arousal as he continues to rut into you. Leaving the apartment with no underwear on was only going to result in Simon fucking you.
“Giving me an open invitation,” he growls, the first words he’s said since sticking his dick in you.
Around you, the wet slap of your bodies meeting, your breathy gasps, and Simon’s feral grunts echo off the walls.
“After,” huffs Simon. “In the car. You’re gonna finger yourself. Push all my cum back into this perfect fucking cunt.” Your response is a little whimper as Simon thrusts harder. “And then I’ll fuck you again. Fill you up. We’ll go to lunch with your family. They won’t even know.”
Simon’s grunting becomes a groan, heady and wanton. You recognize the sound, and your body responds to it. He’s going to come, and you’re about to take all of it.
Simon’s hips snap forward, grinding into you. Warmth floods your pussy.
“That’s it. Good girl,” he chuckles, promptly removing himself from you.
Your limbs melt, but Simon has you up on your feet. He tucks himself back into his pants, and then you’re out the door, the two of you hurtling toward the black SUV parked nearby.
“In the back,” he instructs, opening the rear door.
You slide in, turning onto your back immediately, spreading your legs wide so Simon can see your cum-filled pussy. He follows in after you, his gaze trained on that spot.
Direction from him is unwarranted. Holding his stare, your hand falls between your legs, fingers circling your opening, and gathering up the escaping cum to guide it back in.
nobody talk to me i'm having gross step-dad Price thoughts. (cw noncon, spanking, fauxcest)
you're away at university when your mom remarries and you didn't even know she was dating anyone, so you don't meet the guy until the wedding. you bitch and moan about it to your friends but you try to be supportive in front of your mom. it's not her fault the guy is deployed every time you're on break, you just really would have loved to feel him out, because that might have prevented him from feeling you up while you sit beside him at the rehersal dinner.
no matter how many times you pinch his hand or bat it away somehow it always finds its way back to your thigh, more aggressive each time it comes back until he's bunching up your skirt and grabbing your cunt in a motion that makes you jerk violently against your chair. your whole body shakes as your mom asks what's wrong and before you can answer that her fiance is a fucking pervert, Price cuts in offering to take you out for some fresh air. your mum is so grateful she must not see the shock on your face, or the way Price hauls you out of your chair and drags you to the door.
honestly, you're almost grateful she didn't follow after you, the way Price rips your dress up and bends you over, hooking an arm around you to keep you tight against his side. his grip on you is like iron as you struggle to get away, and burning shame hits you the same time his hand does. the first spank draws yelp from you that sweats against the cool brick exterior of the building, absolutely unnoticed in the late summer evening. then the second comes, and the third, until you're sobbing in his arms and barely giving a kick when he spanks your stinging skin.
"it's ok, sweet'eart," he soothes, his hand smooths over your ass, fingers tugging at your underwear to slip between the wet folds of your cunt, "just don't know how to act around a man, tha's all, never been told." two fingers force their way into your tight cunt, hooking against the unprepared entrance to stretch it with a steady tug. "man's children are his responsibility-" you whimper, heat seeping and tingling over your clit, "-that means i got every right breakin' in a bratty little cunt like you."
you whimper. the handle rattles and you feel relief start to rush you, the prospect of being saved taking front focus in your mind. until the massive man that steps from the shadows of the doorway smiles down at you with crooked teeth.
"unless you'd rather i have one of your new brothers do it for me."
𝓙ohn 𝓟rice returning home to see you after an unforgiving year of no contact—entirely from his end. You’ve tried to move on, to make sense of his sudden abandonment and the colossal hole he’d left so carelessly in your life. Your calls went unanswered, messages left on delivered.
But one fateful night, John finally returns, picking the lock on your front door with ease, catching your startled self from nearly tripping over in the dark, attempting to scuttle away from the suspected burglar. You’re frantic, flailing in his arms like a prey animal fighting for life. Perhaps it’d be cute if John had more time, but as of right now, he doesn’t care for your melodramatic nonsense—he’s here for one reason only. And so, he forces you up against the wall, his hips pressing forward into yours. His touch is rougher than ever, but you know it’s him. The thick scent of cigar smoke, the feel of his muscular torso, his laboured breathing.
It’s him.
You’d condemn him for leaving you, but you’re stopped before a single word leaves your lips. John doesn’t ask if you want the kiss he forces onto your mouth, and he doesn’t care that he’s bruising you while he drags you into your bedroom with desperate hands, tracing over your body as if they still hold any claim over it. He doesn’t worry about your protests or how deeply your nails claw at his skin, trying to pry him off with angry discombobulated words.
He’s exasperated—can’t you just be happy to see him? He backs you up against your bedroom door, holding you still with a horrifying amount of strength. You’re unable to fight him off. His lips brush against your ear, and he mutters without an ounce of hesitation, “You’re gonna let me have this, lovie, alright? Stop fighting me. I’m trying to be nice.”
Even despite your dread, you don’t concede at his words, continuing to sputter out pleas that pass right through his head without a second thought. He’s got only one thing on his mind—the feel of you wrapped around him—and he doesn’t plan on leaving until he’s satiated. You’ve been on repeat in his brain since Laswell deemed coming home safe enough, and not indulging in you is simply not an option.
John finally throws you down onto your bedsheets with a grunt, his big sinewy body clambering over you, caging you beneath him indefinitely, his face hovering above yours. His lips curl, and unceremoniously, he warns you, “I’ll strap you to the fuckin’ headboard and fuck whatever hole I want if you keep fighting me, love. I came back for you, didn’t I? Just be a good girl. Don’t make me hurt you.”
Dadbf! john price making you his doll.
tw: dark content, dad kink, age gap, piv.
dadbf! Price is a degenerate of a man when it comes to you— his personal doll. He always makes sure you are cared for. Providing you everything you need, i mean he needs something pretty to keep his lap warm. He wants you all to himself. you need a friend to talk to? he's there to listen his baby, need a father figure? he's there to hold his lil girl, need someone to fuck your brains out? oh he's definitely there for it.
He keeps you so domesticated and dependent on him. Always ensures you are there to greet him at home like a perfect lil wifey whenever he gets back from work. Rarely allows you to go out alone, the reason being— "What if someone takes you away from me, sweetheart. y'know your old man can't take that" :(( continuously gaslighting and soft-manipulating your brain into being his perfect doll.
He doesn't allow you to wear panties or a bra at home just so he can slip his fat tip in your lil pussy whenever he feels like— whether you are baking in the kitchen, doing laundry etc. Buys you the shortest frilly clothes, makes it easy for him to run his rough fingers on your skin. Whenever you guys are together, he invariably has his fingers kneading your ass leaving his light bruises on them, or simply tugging at your lower belly.
He buys you all kinds of sex toys— butt plugs, vibrators, dildos etc. He does this just so you can use them to make yourself feel good when he's on a mission or deployed. He would make you use them on video calls, teaching you how to use them while he strokes his own leaking cock, making lewd mean comments— "such a needy fuckin' little girl". He Keeps track of all the videos and pics you send him of you using those toys which he further brags to his teammates, showing them how pretty his dolly sounds.
he fucks you on every flat surface in the house, it doesn't matter as long as he gets to pound into your lil cunt. Sometimes he'd fuck your lil pussy— all puffy and bruised, makes you so numb and brain-dead that you just feel like a ragdoll. Hot air fills the room as he cuts off your breathing by absolutely eating your mouth while continuously thrusting in your gummy walls from behind. He cums so fast when he sees you all limp and barely conscious underneath him— "bloody hell, you there, dolly? have i fucked my little girl too much?". He'd murmur in your ear with mock sympathy.
He adores whenever you look up at him with those big, doe eyes with tears trickling down your cheeks and mouth filled with his thick, veiny cock. drool leaking down from your chin. He makes you choke and gag on his dick, slapping your tongue down with his cock— "c'mon, lovie. you can take it. you make your old man so happy." After cumming down your throat, painting your walls white with his thick, sticky cum, He forces you to smile even though your mouth is all fucked up and used because— "good dolls always look pretty for their daddies, bun." :((
At first when he introduces you to his teammates, they all thought you were his adopted daughter or maybe a niece whom he brought just to show around the base. And worst of it all, Price doesn't even bothers to correct them— that is, until he shows them the videos of him doing all kinds of filth to you. The sweet, innocent face they saw earlier is all red, mascara smeared around the teary eyes, cum dripping from the bruised lips, and Price's handprints on your cheeks as an evidence. Price's gripping your chin between his war-calloused fingers before asking you to take your tongue out. He spits a good amount of his drool on it and you swallow it up like a good girl. The video ends here, but it still leaves all of them to adjusting themselves through their pants the whole day.
a/n: please reblog, comment and like. follow for more filth !
saw the mw4 trailer and it got me thinking about being the partner John Price left behind…
content: angst, rogue Price, military inaccuracies oops
“I told you, Simon,” you repeat for what feels like the hundredth time today, your voice weary, “I don’t know where John is.”
Simon watches you from across the table. The interrogation table. You can hardly believe you’re here, being treated like some war criminal all because your husband abandoned you for revenge. They keep telling you you’re not in trouble and that you’ll only be here for a few hours, but you’re losing hope. Especially when Simon looks at you like that.
“I don’t believe you,” he states flatly, his fingers drumming against the table. He’s desperate. “Price must have told you something. Anything. We just need a lead, love.” A lead, like it’s that simple.
You shake your head, looking up at the ceiling. “He’d never put me in danger like that,” you whisper, feeling the emotion build up inside you. “You know he wouldn’t. I know he’s fucked up, but you and I both know he’s doing this for the right reasons.” You level your gaze with Simon, your eyes raw and honest. “Let me go home. Please. This hasn’t been easy for me, or the family.”
You see a tiny flicker in his eyes, sympathy maybe. Perhaps guilt, even. He leans back with a sigh, slowly nodding before getting to his feet. “I’ll drive you back,” he says, resting his hand on your lower back as he guides you out of the room.
You say goodbye on your doorstep, with a hug and a promise to phone him if you hear anything from your husband. Then you’re alone in the house you that, up until a few days ago, you shared with John.
It feels too quiet, too empty without him. The smell of him - the combination of bourbon, cigars and gun smoke - is already fading away. You do everything you would do on a normal day, but the absence of John feels like a physical in your chest. Nothing about this is normal.
By the time evening rolls around, you double check that the front door is locked before closing all the curtains in the house. You make sure that the whole house is secure and safe, even though you can see the unmarked car parked across the street. Watching you and your house for any sign of John.
With a sigh, you retreat to your bedroom. The bed feels too big without John sharing it, his clothes still hanging in the wardrobe. You perch on the edge of the bed, watching as the clock on the sideboard ticks towards 9pm. Your fingers play with the necklace you’re wearing as you wait, a gift from John on your first wedding anniversary.
Then, as soon as the hour ticks over, the phone rings. Right on time.
Not the landline. Not your mobile.
You drag the suitcase from under the bed, digging under the clothes to pull out the black brick of a phone. Untraceable and unidentifiable. Your hand is steady as you press it to your ear, a slight smile tugging at your lips as the familiar voice of your husband fills your ear.
“Hello, darling,” John murmurs into the phone, his voice crackling thanks to wherever he currently is. “Miss me?”
a/n: thinking about expanding this into a full fic?? maybe??
The days you spent working from home had a way of blurring into one long stretch of screen light and half-finished coffee cups. You’d been locked away in your office since morning, stubbornly wrestling the same project for hours until time stopped feeling real. By the late afternoon glow creeping through the windows, you were finally close to done.
Your hair was a disaster, your oversized pajama shirt wrinkled beyond saving, and exhaustion sat heavy behind your eyes. Still, you dragged yourself toward the kitchen for what had to be your fourth cup of coffee today. The machine hummed softly while you stood there rubbing your eyes with the heels of your palms, letting out a tired sigh as the smell of fresh coffee slowly filled the room.
That was when John wandered in.
He headed straight for the fridge, already dressed for a lazy evening and whatever football match he planned to whisper-yell at for the next two hours. One glance at you, though, and he was already half hard.
“How’s it going?” he asked casually, crouching to grab a beer bottle while subtly adjusting the waistband of his sweats behind the fridge door.
You barely looked at him, too tired to notice the effect you were having. “Nearly done,” you muttered with a huff.
Reaching up toward the cabinet, you stretched slightly to grab the sugar container, and John’s eyes tracked the movement instantly. He leaned against the counter as he twisted open his beer, taking a slow sip while watching you with dangerous focus. Like a hawk circling prey. Every sleepy little movement you made only made things worse for him. The kitchen settled into a warm, quiet silence broken only by the soft clink of your spoon against the mug. You looked exhausted. Barely functional, honestly. Somehow that only seemed to make his dick strain even more against the fabric of his sweats.
“You’re such a tease,” he said finally.
The comment sliced through the stillness. You turned toward him with a confused frown, mug cradled between your hands. “Me?”
That earned a low, breathy chuckle from him. He dropped his head for a second, grinning to himself before looking back up at you. “Love,” he murmured, voice rough around the edges,“It take a hell lot of willpower not to bent you over right now.”
Your eyes widened slightly, thighs rubbing each other instinctively. You looked awful, felt awful, and were one caffeine crash away from falling asleep at your desk. The fact that he was looking at you like that right now felt almost absurd.
“I still have work to do,” you reminded him, stirring sugar into your coffee.
By the time the sentence left your lips, John was already behind you.
His hands slid around your waist, warm and heavy, pulling you back against him as he rested his chin on your shoulder. His breath brushed lazily against your neck, enough to send a shiver crawling down your spine.
Young!Reader having Dinner with Old Man!Price's Family Pt. 1🦋
Moans erupt, breaking free from the hoarseness of your throat.
Tonight was an lustfully exhausting one and it seemed as if John was not going to give up anytime soon.
Putting on your favourite mini dress with the prettiest heels to accentuate your legs already had John rolling on the floor panting like his was a doggy in heat. Doesn't help a single bit when you put on put on your shimmery body oil and makeup, all while having your hair down as Price shamelessly thinks about the one million ways he can ruin your makeup and rip that outfit off your body.
The entire drive there, John had a half-hard boner while you look at him with a raised eyebrow. "Must be the wind, huh?" You snort at your sweet boyfriend's predicament.
John's brows furrow in confusion, taking it too literally. "Honey, the windows are up, there's no wind."
You roll your eyes chuckling softly, "It means- nevermind."
"Tell me."
"No."
"Why?"
"Cause I know not knowing will make your head bust."
"Wait, do you mean my cock or my actual head-"
Sighing exasperatedly, you turn slightly in your seat to face John. "How do you equate what I just said to you cumming in your pants when you didn't even understand the 'Must've been the wind' phase? That's been around for aaaaaages!"
A raspy chuckle leaves John, "Selective humour?"
You huff in annoyance, "Oh, now you're just teasing."
"Maybe, Lovie."
John turns to face you, wanting to see what contorted facial expressions that you tried to conjure up this time only to have you push his face in the direction of the road earning yourself a rather humorous pout.
"Anyways, how the hell are you going to cover up your cock now?" You say, pointing at his now completely hardened cock.
John shakes his head, "One look at Paul's wife will make it go away."
You gasp at his retort slapping his chest. "You cannot say that about your sister-in-law, John!"
"Yes, I can. Fucking slag that one is. Making Paul all miserable."
As John's car parks into the crowded driveway of his parent's home, the smell of home cooked meals and boisterous laughter emit from inside the house.
Waking to your side of the car, John opens it holding your hand as he helps you get out making sure that you don't trip.
Clammy hands intertwine with John as he begins to feel the anxiety seep out of you. Giving your hand a squeeze, he guides you to the front door.
"Nothing's gonna happy, Birdie."
You nod nervously as John knocks on the door waiting for it to open.
A few seconds later, the door opens revealing none other than Paul's wife, Sarah.
A grimy little smirks makes it's way to her over-filled puckered lips, her words construed by the amount of filler in them.
"Look everybody! It's John and his... little lady friend."
