Chapter III
jack solomon x fem!reader
Explicit Content/18+ Minors Do Not Interact.
w.c: 9.2k
read part one and two here. read on ao3 here.
Summary: With the creation of the Behavioral Sciences Unit at the FBI, you and Special Agent Solomon are both reassigned to the team investigating sexual deviance. The final days of your first undercover mission push you to your limit.
Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat. Contains Smut; 18+/MDNI. explicit discussions about and depictions of BDSM. stripping. oral fixation. oral sex (m! and f! receiving.) hair pulling. masturbation (m!) cumplay. voyeurism/exhibitionism. audio recording. cnc. choking. slapping. praise kink. dumbification. degredation. grinding. cheating kink sorta?? infidelity for sure. bisexual!reader. discussions of homosexuality. subfrenzy/domfrenzy. subspace/domspace. teeny tiny bit of subdrop but just barely. little bit of aftercare fucking finally.
author's note: thank you to everyone who has been invested in deviant so far! i've gotten many lovely messages about how much you are all enjoying it, and it really does make me so happy. i truly enjoy writing it and it's been fun to see so much positive reaction. PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS; this series is VERY explicit and also contains lots of period-accurate sexism/misogyny and homophobia. not everyone wants to read a fic like that; i get it! skip this one if that is not for you.
special thanks as always to mo phéist abhi @scannainscanrula for his incredible graphic design on the banner and dividers, for editing, and for continuing to goon with me. i like playing in the same sandbox with you.
Reblogs, comments, and likes always appreciated! Please reblog if you like what you read; it helps keep writers engaged in fandom spaces and creating cool shit for you!
Your torturous week drags on like that: learning and coaching with James and April, you and Jack getting hot and bothered, then the sudden, startling end that leaves you breathless and near tears. You end each night the same way, too. You get back to the hotel, Jack’s familiar combination of bourbon and a cigarette does little to settle his frayed nerves, and you touch yourself to get to sleep, replaying the events of the evening to get yourself off.
Finally, you’ve had enough. Six days is enough. You don’t think you can take another night of Jack’s teasing.
“I can go in for a solo tonight, if you want,” you offer, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.
“Huh?” Jack looks up from his notebook and sets his coffee down. You’re doing your usual morning brief. Jack had gone down to the hotel lobby and returned with a cup of black coffee for each of you. You’d ordinarily review your notes and personal accounts of the prior evening, identify an area of exploration for your upcoming night, and make a game plan for how to steer the scene there and get as much information out of James and April as you possibly could.
But just the thought of another night with Jack makes you want to scream.
“A solo,” you repeat. “I can go in by myself tonight. Might give us a better perspective.”
“Uh…sure,” he replies. Jack’s not really sure what to make of your offer. “You’ll, um, you’ll need to wear a wire.”
You weren’t expecting that.
“What?”
“That’s what Ford said,” Jack replies. “If we go in solo we need to keep a mic on it. Data collection and all.”
“How am I supposed to…hide a microphone in there?” you counter hotly.
Jack stands and crosses to his suitcase, pulling out a small hard-sided case. He unbuckles it and removes a tiny recording device. It’s only about as big as a Zippo. He turns back to you.
“In your bra,” he says plainly.
“You cannot be serious,” you huff, rolling your eyes.
“It’s the only…place…to…put it,” Jack stumbles, his eyes nervously darting away from you as he runs a hand through his hair.
“Can’t I just keep it in my purse?” you protest.
“Your purse that you’re going to set down and walk away from?” he retorts.
“I don’t walk away from my purse!”
“Well the…the conversation is happening…away from your purse,” he counters. “Just–” he sighs. “Look, I’ve put some thought into this, okay?”
You feel your cheeks get warm at the idea of Jack imagining you stripping, brainstorming where on your body he could hide a microphone.
“The sensitivity of these mics…they need to be close to their target. Believe it or not, I do sometimes know what I’m talking about,” he finishes with a snark.
“Fine. Give it here,” you finally relent, holding out your hand. Jack passes you the small recorder and coiled up wire.
“Let me just…give me a second,” you tell him. You head for the small bathroom and shut the door behind you. The counter is littered with his things: toothbrush, comb, razor. You eye the dark bottle of cologne sitting on the white tile. You set the mic down and pick up the glass bottle, removing the small gold cap and inhaling deeply. It smells like Jack. You’re tempted to dab it behind your ears, but think better of it and replace the cap and bottle.
Jack sits on the edge of his bed. He imagines you in the club, with another man, while he sits behind and listens to the whole thing. It somehow excites him and enrages him– he can’t stomach the idea of another man touching you, but he thinks about hearing you, directly in his ears, listening as you actually have an orgasm. It’d be even clearer than having to listen through the thin hotel walls.
In the bathroom, you turn your attention back to the microphone…the idea of Jack listening to you in the club with another man makes your heart pound. You try not to think about it as you undo the buttons on your blouse and bury the small device in the bottom of the left cup of your bra, holding down the tiny button on its side until the light next to it flashes green three times. You thread the wire up just enough to be close to the edge of the soft satin cup, but not showing. You quickly button up your shirt again, then turn the handle on the bathroom door.
“Here. You need to test it or something?” you spit out quickly, startling Jack.
“Yeah, let me check the fit,” he says, resting back on his hands and nodding in your direction.
“What?”
“I gotta make sure it’s not visible,” he replies, hoping his tone sounds even enough not to betray his eagerness.
You draw in a deep breath, catching his meaning. You swallow hard, your eyes locked on him, before bringing your hands to the buttons at the collar of your blouse. Your fingers slowly work the tiny plastic buttons, your shirt falling open as you make your way down. Jack’s eyes are locked on your hands as they continue down your body.
Jack can feel something in his brain shift. He gently releases his breath. He’s suddenly laser focused on you, in awe at your obedience to his simple command.
When you’ve opened your shirt entirely, you look up at Jack. You catch him drawing in a sharp breath as his eyes snap up to meet yours. Not trusting your voice, you quietly throw your hands up in a silent gesture: this good?
He wishes you were at the club instead of in this tiny, too-hot hotel room. At the club, he could at least take out some of this frustration on you. Here, any moves he makes are real; and yet, he can’t stop himself from pushing it. Jack chuckles.
“What, you’re gonna let him just open your shirt?” he challenges. “Keep it on while he fucks you?”
You tear your gaze away from him, your cheeks burning. Jack relishes in your embarrassment. He makes a sharp, quick click sound with his tongue, drawing your attention once more.
“C’mere,” he says in a low voice, holding his hand out in your direction. You cross the room toward the edge of the bed, reaching out for his hand. He withdraws before you can reach him, grinning slyly as your attention follows his hand back towards his body. You stand between his legs, your cleavage tauntingly close to his face. He gently takes the fabric of your blouse between two fingers and tugs.
“Off,” he whispers.
You shrug off your shirt, letting it fall off of your body and onto the floor. You’re breathing deeply and fast, desperate to get some air now that you’re standing just inches from him. His eyes fall to your feet, then slowly drag up your body. He stares at your chest.
“Turn,” he says plainly. You obey, gently stepping in a small circle while he looks you up and down. Jack feels lightheaded, seeing you so readily submit to him, even in this way. It makes him want to put his hands on you, make you squirm and beg him to let go of you.
He eyes you up and down. No wires are exposed, and he can’t see the mic as he stares at your tits.
“Good,” he praises you, sounding gentle and breathless.
“What,” you stammer, trying to steady your voice. “What if…you know…what if I have to take my bra off?”
Jack can feel his face getting hot at the idea of another man unhooking your bra, touching you. Getting you to make all the cute little noises he’s heard all week through the wall.
“Well, then,” he counters, his voice tense. “I guess you’d be fucked.”
The double meaning of his words makes you swallow, your eyes on his. He leans back again and pulls his cigarette case from his pocket. He pops it open, taking one out and putting it between his teeth, never breaking eye contact. Your eyes are drawn to the way the orange filter looks between his soft lips.
Without thinking, you hum softly and hold out a hand. His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but he considers you for a second. He didn’t know you smoked. He gently takes out another cigarette. Instead of putting it in your outstretched hand, he flips it around in his fingers, then lifts it to your mouth. You take it between your lips and he digs back into his pocket for his lighter.
He lights his first, taking a long drag to steady the slight shake in his hand he hopes you don’t catch. He plucks the lit cigarette from his mouth and exhales a long stream of smoke. He stares at you, unlit cigarette between your lips, standing in front of him in just your bra. He imagines another man pulling the straps from your shoulders, finding the recorder nestled against your soft skin. His thumb rolls over the spark wheel on his Zippo and he lifts it to the end of your cigarette. He watches the way your chest expands as you inhale. You exhale the smoke, trying to settle the rapid beating of your heart.
“You’ll be fine,” Jack says around his cigarette. “Just don’t let him see your tits.”
That evening, Jack is set up with a tape recorder and his headphones in the hotel across the street from the club. He’d called that morning, shortly after your little fashion show, to book a room for the evening. That was the challenge with New York City; it was nearly impossible to stake out in a van or find a vacant storefront nearby that the Bureau could commandeer. He managed to book a room on the 5th floor– low enough that he wasn’t worried about losing your feed, but high up enough that street noise wouldn’t be as big of an obstacle.
He has his headphones on, facing the window that overlooks the entrance to Club Midnight. It’s a discreet red door, just a few steps down from the street, occupying the basement of another business. The tape recorder in front of him is set up; he’s going to be live monitoring your investigation and simultaneously recording. The device that’s nestled in your bra is small; it’s not even big enough to carry a microtape. All it can do is broadcast. Jack intercepts the broadcast with his receiver, and the recorder copies the transmission onto the tape. The spools lazily turn in front of him as he gently readjusts the receiver to get a better angle toward the club.
Your voice pumps into his headphones, static-y and crackly at first.
“Hi, J--s!”
“Gw– how ar– ou?”
Jack fiddles with some of the dials on the receiver, tweaking slightly to combat the static.
“–ood, thanks. How about you?”
Jack flips the switch on his recorder that begins the recording, the spools of tape whirring to life in front of him.
“I’m well, thank you. No Peter today?”
“No, we, um…” Jack grins at the way you trail off. “We talked about it and we each wanted a little time…just…on our own. Here.”
James laughs.
“I get it. We get couples all the time who want to do something similar. Sometimes it’s nice to take a break from your usual partner.”
Jack can feel his face getting hot.
“That’s why it can be complicated introducing BDSM to an already existing romantic or sexual relationship. But you guys have been doing so well, and it’s great to see that you even have an understanding of how necessary that distance is sometimes.”
Jack brings his fingers to his brow and gently massages his forehead. He wishes there was a way to fast forward the conversation.
“What were you looking for tonight, then?” James asks.
“Well, I…”
Jack bites his lip.
“I wanted to…submit…to…someone else,” you manage to get out.
James smiles softly at you.
“Of course,” he says. “Man, woman?”
“Man,” you reply. You actually hadn’t talked about that with Jack. You’re guessing he just assumed you’d be with a man. But with the way you could still feel Jack’s hands on your body from every night this week, you needed someone else, someone you could replace with Jack in your mind, to finally satisfy you.
“Did you have anyone in mind?” James asks gently. “Someone who’s caught your eye?”
“Could I um…could I do it with you?” you ask.
Jack feels a wave of heat run through his body at the thought of you and James together. He understands why you’re doing it, of course; this man who has already been teaching you and taking care of you all week feels safe, familiar.
But because he’s your trainer, you figure he’ll be knowledgeable, too. The more information you can get out of him, the better you can justify doing this without Jack’s presence.
“Of course,” James smiles gently. “If you want to.”
You nod, then remember what Jack had told you before you left the hotel room: you need to verbalize everything to recreate the circumstances accurately on the tape.
“Yes,” you correct.
Jack tries to imagine James taking you down the long hallway that split off into the private rooms of the club. He pictures you walking into one, and tries to guess where you’re sitting– the chairs, the bed…
“How are you feeling?” James asks.
“Good,” you reply from your spot on the bed. “Nervous,” you add, because it’s the truth.
“That’s okay. Just relax.”
Jack listens to James take you through a discussion about your boundaries, where he can touch you, what you want him to do.
“Here?”
“Mhm.”
“What about here?”
“Puh-please, yes, there, please.”
Jack wants to take the headphones off, but he can’t. Something about not being able to see you, having to imagine you in his mind, where James’s hands are, what’s making your breath hitch…it sends his head spinning. His heart races in his chest.
“I-I…I want it.”
“What do you say?”
“Please?”
“Good girl…God, you sound so pretty…I wish your husband could hear you.”
It makes your heart flutter; he can, you think. He is.
James’s hands dance over your waist underneath your shirt.
“I just…can I keep my bra on?” you ask in a tiny voice.
“Of course,” James coos. “Whatever you want.”
You fumble with the buttons on your blouse, ripping it open as quickly as you can.
“I need you to touch me, please, I can’t–aghh–”
Jack tears the headphones down around his neck. The faint sound of your moans still rises to his ears in the quiet of the hotel room, so he knows the feed is still recording. But he can’t stand having your soft, breathy voice directly in his ears anymore. Jack takes the headphones off his neck, setting them down on the desk, and stands. He can feel himself getting hard and tries to take a few deep breaths to relax. He reaches into his pocket for his cigarette case and gently grazes his erection through his pants, whining softly.
When Jack’s shaky hands finally light the cigarette between his lips, he sighs out a long stream of smoke. He sits back at the desk, pulling the black ashtray up underneath him before putting his headphones back on.
Jack listens to your moans and desperate pleading. The noises you’re making…it sounds even better through the recording than it does through the wall at night. Jack’s hand dips below his belt as he listens to your panting breath. He stokes himself lazily, his touch soft and teasing. As he listens to you and James, he pictures you, sweaty, pinned down…bra still on. Jack moves his hand faster, desperate to finish.
“Ja-James, fuck, please, please, God, make me…make me– ahh!”
Jack listens to you choke on your words. He listens to you sob.
You beg James through tears to make you cum. It feels so good– this entire week has brought you so close to the edge, without the satisfaction of falling. You squeeze your eyes closed, more hot tears snaking down your face, and picture Jack’s face over you.
As Jack listens to you cum, he squeezes himself especially rough and runs his fist up and down a few more times, until he can feel his own mess on the back of his hand.
“Shit, shit,” Jack hisses, unable to stop his hand just yet. “Fuck.”
When he can finally take his hand off his cock, Jack shudders out a breath.
“Thank you,” Jack can hear your breathy voice. “Thank you, thank you…”
The next night, Jack insists on going with you to the club again. He claims it’s to get as many perspectives as possible on your last night in New York, but that’s only part of the reason. The other part of the reason is that he feels he might lose his mind if he has to listen to someone else fuck you again.
James and April are there to get you set up for your last night with them. It’s Saturday; as the final part of your training with them, they’re going to supervise the start of your scene to make sure you’re following the club’s rules around safety and communication. But then they’ll leave the room.
There’s been a weird, unspoken feeling between the two of you since last night. You don’t want to think about Jack with his headphones on, listening to you actually have an orgasm. James leads you to a room, as usual, and you waste no time in sitting on the bed.
“How do you feel?” April asks you.
“Fine,” you lie. Jack unbuttons his shirt, leaving it open over his undershirt.
“And you?” April turns to him.
“Good,” he replies in a voice that tells you his answer might be truthful. “Ready.”
“Good,” April smiles. “Then let’s get started. We’ll leave you two as soon as things get going.”
“Get on top of her,” James instructs Jack. Jack awkwardly climbs over you, resting one knee on either side of your waist. He doesn’t lower his hips, so you can only feel his weight in the way the mattress sinks underneath you.
“Look at her,” James says in a gentle voice. Jack looks down at you and you stare up into his eyes. You can see his chest rising and falling quickly as he takes you in. Your own breath feels too shallow, too light, in your body.
“Relax,” James tells Jack. Jack slowly lowers himself, a breath shuddering out of him as he settles his weight on top of you. You feel so close to him. More than the feeling of his body on yours, the feeling of his gaze makes your head feel fuzzy. Jack swallows hard, eyes quickly scanning over your body before meeting your eye again.
“Alright, Peter,” James continues. “What do you want to do to her?”
“Make her scream.”
His reply comes too quickly; he knows that. Jack swallows thickly, eyes still glued to you.
“Make her scream…” James muses. “In pleasure? In pain?”
“Pleasure,” Jack exhales. It sounds like he’s choking on the amount of oxygen in his lungs. “Pain. Both.”
You draw in a deep breath as your eyes follow a vein running from his collarbone down into his undershirt.
“What do you want him to do to you?” James asks you softly.
You don’t know what you want. You want his hands on you. Everywhere. You want him to kiss you. You want him to make you cry. You want him to make you lose your voice. Hit you. Bite you. Mark you up and make you walk into the office tomorrow with his name written all over your body in bruises.
“I want…I want you to use me,” you whisper to Jack.
You’re both breathing hard, barely disguising your desire. Jack brings one hand to your knee and does that thing, that annoying thing he does where he rubs gentle circles into your flesh with his thumb. You tug on his shirt, pulling it off of his shoulders. Jack helps you the rest of the way and discards the button up on the floor.
“Please,” you whisper. “I can’t–”
You cut yourself off. The plea of I can’t take it anymore! dies in your throat at the realization that James and April are still in the room.
“You can’t what, baby?” Jack purrs.
“I can’t– I just– I need you,” you whine, pawing at his chest. You wish it was a lie.
“Any limits that are different from your baseline?” Jack asks, his tone now less taunting and more professional. This was the procedure James and April had instilled in you. Rather than reiterating your boundaries each time you entered a scene, you both were supposed to check and see if anything had newly become off-limits.
You shake your head.
“No,” you reply, breathless, “you?”
“No,” Jack continues.
“Good,” April coaches you. “Let’s get a little more specific with what we want. Peter?”
“I want you to resist again,” Jack mutters, the pink color returning to his cheeks. He leans over you. “And I want to be rough with you. Is that okay?”
“Yes, yes, God,” you breathe. “I want you to be rough with me. Please.”
Jack takes your wrists and holds them over you in one hand.
“You still want me to say nice things to you?” he asks, somewhere in between sweet and taunting.
“Y-yes, yes please,” you breathe unsteadily.
James and April make you repeat your safewords before they leave the room.
Well. This is it.
This is the moment it’ll come crashing down.
The moment Jack will pull away, make some excuse about documenting everything, taking photos, scribbling notes. You want to strangle him.
You wish your body wasn’t on fire under his fingers, that your mind wasn’t saturated with him.
He’s so close to you it’s making you dizzy. You’re breathing heavily, your chest fighting to expand underneath his weight. Jack holds your wrists firmly above your head. His blue eyes bore into yours, and you can’t stand it. Jack watches as your eyes dart down to his lips, then back up to catch his gaze again. He can feel your breath gently landing on his skin in soft puffs.
Jack can’t think straight. His head is swirling at the sight of you pinned beneath him. The wiggling of your hips under his, the feeling of you fighting against him…he hates that it turns him on. He wants to possess you. Own you. Destroy you.
He kisses you instead.
It’s surprisingly soft; given the circumstances, you expected fervor or a franticness that you’re shocked to find totally absent in his demeanor. When he pulls away from you, you gently open your eyes, finding his again.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” Jack whispers.
You don’t. He brings his hand to the fabric over your center and presses down roughly, drawing his hand in a circle over you as you squeak.
“You want me to stop?” he asks you gently.
“N-no,” you reply in a hushed whisper. “No, please.”
Jack snakes his way down your body, leaving gentle, chaste little kisses along your skin as he goes. When he places one at your navel, just above the lace edge of your panties, his eyes flick up to look at your face. He grips your hips firmly in his hands as you try to twist away from him.
“Ah-ah,” he chastises you. “Be good.”
He dips his thumbs and hooks them around your waistband, then slowly draws your panties down your legs. The cool air in the room against your already sticky center sends a shiver up your spine, but Jack presses a hand against your midsection to settle you back against the bed.
“Stop,” he hisses. “Just let me take care of you, sweetheart…promise I’m gonna make it all better.”
He settles back between your legs, his hands on your thighs, gently holding you open.
“God, I’ve been fucking waiting for this,” he groans, his breath hot against your core.
“Jack,” you gasp, again pointlessly struggling in his grip.
“Shhh, baby, it’s okay,” he shushes you. “I’m gonna take care of you.”
“Jack, wait, no,” you beg, your false protests only fueling his desire.
“Shh, shh,” he quiets you again. Jack presses his thumb against your clit, making you inhale sharply. “Just let me make you cum, please. I’ve been so patient, baby, please…I’m done waiting.”
Jack can feel the saliva pooling in his mouth. He kneads the soft flesh around your hips in his hands, using his thumbs to dig into the pressure points in your hip sockets and make you squirm. He stares at your cunt, already smeared and glistening with your wetness.
When he presses his tongue against you, you choke on a yelp that dies halfway out of your throat. Jack licks one stripe through your folds, collecting your juices on his tongue, then swallows reverently.
“God, you taste so good,” Jack moans, his voice nearly cracking. The heat of your thighs around his face, the sounds you’re making echoing in his ears, the taste of you on his tongue…it’s almost completely overwhelming. Jack plunges his tongue back into you, making you whine and fight against his hands on your hips.
“Jack,” you pant. You want to beg him not to stop, whine about how good he’s making you feel. It’s hard to remember that he wants you to fight back. You put the energy of your desire into your resistance. “Jack, stop it, please, please.”
“Shh, just let me do it baby, please,” he shushes you. He sits up and leans back over you, bringing one finger up to your temple, tapping gently. “Isn’t it just easier to turn it off, sweetheart? Let me take care of everything?”
You nod; it is easier. You want him to just hold you down and eat you until you can’t even remember your name. Jack sits back.
“So just relax,” he coos. “And take it.”
He returns to his place between your thighs and licks you again, making you moan so loud you’re hit with a wave of embarrassment. Your whole body feels hot. Jack leans back and spits on your clit, the lewd sound of it making you whine. Jack smears his saliva across your clit with his thumb and you wriggle under his hands, overstimulated by the pressure on your nerve endings and the way your head is twirling.
Jack digs his nails into your flesh and sits up, dragging your hips down until you’re straddling his thigh. He leans down over you. You take the cue to start playing it up again.
“Jack, please, stop, I don’t wanna do this,” you whine.
“Did I fucking ask if you wanted to do this?” he growls.
“Pl-please, I won’t tell anyone!” you beg. Jack laughs. You’re nearing tears, feeling so strung out and wound up that you can’t help but grind down on Jack’s leg. Jack grips your neck with his right hand.
“Ohhh, thank you sweetheart, that’s so nice of you,” Jack sneers. “But even if you wanted to tell everyone…” You squeak as he squeezes your throat. Your heart feels like it’s rattling in your chest, shaking through your body. “You’d have to tell them how much you liked it.”
“I-I don’t–”
He cuts you off by roughly sticking a hand between your legs, gathering your wetness on his fingers, then shoving them into your mouth.
“If you didn’t want this, you wouldn’t be this wet, sweetheart,” he teases you. “Taste how fucking sweet you are.”
He presses down on your tongue, then slowly drags his hand in and out of your mouth, fucking your face with his fingers. He pulls his hand away, then swiftly lands it on your cheek, shocking you as the slap turns your head abruptly to the side. Your mouth hangs open until Jack grabs your jaw and jerks your gaze back to him.
“So stop. Your fucking crying. Be a good girl…” You whine at that. “And let me have what I want. Got it?”
You nod, your chin still in his grip. He releases you, then once again settles between your legs. He uses one arm across your hips to keep you down as he returns to your sticky folds. Jack licks and sucks at you. He massages your clit with quick, soft strokes of his tongue, and it takes everything in you to resist squirming and twitching your hips, chasing the high. You want to ride Jack’s face, help him bring you over the edge. But you also want to obey him. You want him to praise you, want to hear him call you sweet names and tell you how good you are. So you take a shaky breath, settle back against the bed, and let Jack take you apart.
“Good job, baby,” he mumbles, running his hand over your skin. He knows he needs to praise you for being obedient in the moment. “Good, baby, relax.”
He kisses your cunt, then returns to dragging his tongue over you. You whimper, sensitive from his teasing so far. Jack returns to your clit, sucking hard, and you land a hand in his hair, tugging roughly.
“N-no, no, please, stop,” you babble senselessly. “Don’t make m-me cum, pleaseee.”
Jack fights against your grip. The feeling of you fighting against him, hearing you beg him to stop…he replays his interactions with Linette again in his mind, her refusals and gentle shoves when Jack became too fixated on her. He lets himself pretend that your begging is her begging, and he firmly grips your hips, tugging you closer to his face. It feels good to overpower you, to take what he wants.
Your breath is erratic and ragged in your throat, heat spreading through your body. You can’t believe how good Jack is making you feel. You’ve never had a guy so eager to go down on you, and Jack is attached to your center like he’s sucking water from a bottle after running a marathon. Your fingers are tangled in his hair, and you pull it again, trying to bring him back up to your clit. Jack growls but complies, sucking hard on your sensitive button. He tortures you for a few more seconds before prodding your entrance again with his tongue.
You unravel. Your hands in his hair ball into fists as you scream– truly, scream. You’d be embarrassed if you had even a scrap of dignity left. The heat that blooms through your body makes you writhe and squirm underneath Jack’s grip while he holds you down and savagely slurps up your release.
Your juices on his tongue drive him crazy. He ruts his hips against the mattress.
“Jack, Jack, oh my God, please,” you pant. You don’t actually know what you’re begging for. For him to stop? To keep going?
“Gimme, baby, come on,” he mutters. He drags his tongue against your sensitive cunt again, making you squirm. Jack swallows your cum like it’s the only thing that might save him. You can feel his hips hit the mattress a few more times before he sits up, frantically undoing his fly.
He grabs his cock and you can see he’s practically seconds from bursting. He’s hard, the tip flushed and leaking, and he strokes himself fervently.
“Take your bra off,” he commands you, his voice firm. “Let me see you.”
All you can do is obey. You bring your fingers to the hooks in the back and slip your bra off your shoulders. Jack jerks himself quickly, taking in your naked body underneath him. You reach up and grab one of his hands, bringing it to your chest. Jack makes a strangled, choked noise as you help him play with you.
“God, you’re so fucking perfect,” he pants. The praise makes your cheeks warm. “I’m gonna cum all over these perfect tits, yeah?”
You nod, open your mouth, then feel the hot spurts of his cum start to shoot out over your skin as Jack moans. He collapses over you, one hand pressed to the mattress near your head, his hot breath hitting your face. You try not to think about how cute his noises are as he whines and heaves, struggling for air. You stay like that for a bit, pinned beneath him, as you attempt to ward off your rational mind that’s trying to sneak back in.
Jack–your partner–just made you orgasm. He just painted your body with cum. You feel sticky and disgusting and bad. Like you weren’t supposed to do this. You weren’t supposed to want this.
“Good girl,” Jack breathes in your ear. “Good job. Holy fuck.”
There are no words to describe the excruciating remainder of your “business trip.”
Your cab ride back to the hotel is awkward, as it always is, but this time amplified by the shared weight between you. Your final night in the hotel is restless, and you roll over at 5am to throw your things in your bag. You barely catch Jack’s eye in the hotel lobby as you grab a cup of coffee to take with you in the cab. The cab ride to the airport, the plane ride home, the cab ride back to headquarters. You spend so much time with Jack that is filled with nothing but silence and the burden of this unspeakable thing.
The elevator ride down to the basement is the first time you’re truly alone with him since leaving the club. You’re thankful it’s just 45 seconds. You both quickly head to your desks, arranging a few things, dropping off your notes and anything else you’d gathered as research. You tuck some Polaroids of yourself into an envelope with a sharp inhale, then drop the envelope into a drawer and swiftly shut it.
You mumble a halfhearted good night to Jack before bolting for the elevator again.
When Jack finally gets home, he brings his things straight to his office, dropping his briefcase and suitcase on the floor near his desk. He collapses into his desk chair, resting his elbows on the hard wooden surface in front of him and dropping his face into his hands.
Jack rubs at his face, trying to shake off the overwhelming feeling pounding through his veins. He can’t quite tell what it is; it’s not entirely exhaustion, not anxiety, not anger or frustration or even fear. Whatever it is, he can feel it dialed up to a thousand. His head is pounding, his body feels hot, his stomach feels like a hollow pit in the center of his body.
He sighs, leaning over to flip open his suitcase and begin sorting through his things. He’s made it a habit to always bring anything from work into the house through his office first. Anything, a jacket, a bag, leftover food from the office Christmas party, that had been in that building always came from his car directly into the office. His first few weeks in Surveillance had instilled in him a certain level of paranoia about accidentally disclosing classified information through some scrap of paper left in a pants pocket and discovered in the laundry.
As he pulls out his dirty clothes, methodically turning every pocket inside out, the feeling gnaws away at him, weighing his chest down. Jack sets down a pair of pants, adding it to the growing pile of laundry, and reaches back into the suitcase, finding his tape box. He’d forgotten he still had it buried in his bag, his compulsive habit saving him– not for the first time in his career. He unbuckles the case, and takes out a cassette. Shit.
It’s your tape. He gently removes it, staring at the spool of tape wound all the way through. His heart pounds in his chest; Jack almost thinks he can feel it hitting his ribs each time. He shouldn’t have this at his house; this is official evidence. But he can’t stop his hands as he opens the bottom drawer of his desk, pulling out his cassette player. Jack sits back at his desk, the tape and the player in front of him. He reaches back into the bottom drawer and removes his headphones. He used to frequently transcribe tapes after stings and interviews– every young agent in Surveillance had done his fair share of pencil pushing work on his way up to field missions.
Jack plugs the headphones into the small player, then opens the lid and snaps the cassette into place. He draws in a deep breath and exhales slowly as he contemplates what he’s actually doing. But it’s like he’s still on autopilot; he presses the rewind button on the player and listens to the cassette whirring in his ears as it wraps around the spool on the other side of the tape.
When he hears the soft click that tells him the tape is entirely rewound, he hits the stop button. He takes a final deep breath before he presses play.
Your voice lands in his ears through the headphones, and he listens to the familiar conversation you had with James about your boundaries. He holds down the button to run the tape forward a bit, then quickly hits stop and play once more. Your desperate whines hit his ear now.
“I-I…I want it,” you beg.
“What do you say?” James smirks.
“Please?” you whimper.
“Good girl,” James praises you.
The satisfied sigh that escapes your mouth floods Jack’s brain as he gently closes his eyes. He takes his lower lip between his teeth as he listens to the little gasps and whines James coaxes out of you.
You inhale sharply on the tape as James does…something to you. The gaps, the parts where Jack can only imagine the things that are eliciting your reactions, are some of his favorite parts.
“You sound so pretty,” James muses. “I wish your husband could hear you.”
A knock at the door sends Jack’s already racing heart into orbit. He quickly hits the stop button on the tape player and yanks his headphones down around his neck as he whips around in his chair. Linette’s standing in the now open door.
“Sorry– you must not have heard me–” she starts.
“What, what is it?” Jack asks, hoping he sounds more distracted than irritated at the interruption.
“Um,” she falters, unsure of how to read Jack’s tone. “Peg and Daniel just called, they asked if we wanted to go out with them. What should I say?”
Jack sighs.
“Yeah…sorry,” he says as he brings his hand up to the bridge of his nose. Jack massages his face for a second, trying to clear you from his mind, before he finally addresses his wife again. “Sorry, just…back from the trip…my brain is still playing catch up…I didn’t mean to snap at you, sorry.”
“It’s alright,” Linette replies. It had been awhile since Jack had to travel for work, let alone for such a long time. She didn’t doubt that he wasn’t entirely himself. “You want me to give them a rain check?”
“No, no,” he tells her. “No, that’s…it sounds great. What time?”
“They were talking about meeting at Calo’s at seven?”
“Sounds perfect,” Jack concedes. He needs to get out of the house. He needs to be with Linette. She smiles.
“Okay. I’ll let them know. Leave around…six-thirty?” she asks, checking her watch. The watch he got her for her birthday two years ago. Jack nods.
“Yeah, works for me,” he sighs, running his hands along his thighs. “I’ll get ready.”
“Sounds good,” Linette says, then steps back out in the hallway, gently shutting the door behind her.
Jack turns forward at his desk again and looks back down at the tape player. He stands abruptly, yanking his headphones off and dropping them on the tabletop. Jack reaches for the black box on the top of the bookshelf along the right side of his desk. He takes it down and quickly pulls the top off. It’s an unassuming box, meant to hold vinyls. Instead, it’s filled with Jack’s old copies of Playboy. Linette had once blown up at him for “reading” something that was so degrading to women. Jack picks up the most recent issue he added to his collection, the one from last month, and lazily flips through it. The slick, glossy paper is printed with images of girls posing naked, smiling at the camera.
Jack remembers the magazines at work, filled with blurry images, pictures taken in haste of girls crying, tied up, written on in marker, covered in cum. Maybe they knew their picture was being taken to be put into a magazine, mailed across the country, used as fantasy material for sick freaks like him. Maybe they knew. Or maybe they didn’t.
Jack swallows hard.
He tosses the magazine back into the box, and follows it quickly with the tape player, still holding your tape. He replaces the lid on the box and returns it to his bookshelf. He re-packs his tape box and tucks its case into his briefcase so he can return it to work tomorrow morning. Jack stands in his office for a second, looking around at the clutter in the room. He sees the shirt that you pulled off of him peeking out from his suitcase.
Jack hurriedly gathers the dirty laundry in his arms and drops it into the large hamper in the laundry room down the hall before he joins Linette in the bathroom to get ready for the evening.
Your next trip is to San Francisco. You’re due out on Wednesday of next week. It’s a quick turnaround; just enough time to unpack, do some laundry, and re-pack. In the intervening days, however, you and Jack are supposed to carry on as normal in your claustrophobic conference room, analyzing the “discoveries” you’ve made over the last week.
What a joke.
You have no idea how to act around him now. It wasn’t so horrible in the morning, when you could each sit quietly at your desks, ignoring each other and busying yourselves with cataloguing evidence. You had honestly hoped that you could analyze most of your research solo, with little reason to talk to Jack, but Ford had insisted on your total collaboration. Now, you’re in the conference room, silently staring at photographs of yourself at Club Midnight and trying not to remember the shocking first feeling of Jack’s hand around your throat– or his tongue on your–
“I think now that we’ve got a solid foundation on it, we could benefit from a wider range of locations and experiences,” Jack interjects on your thoughts.
“Huh? Oh– yeah,” you agree halfheartedly.
“I think San Francisco especially would be a great opportunity to start some research on the intersection of deviance and homosexuality,” he continues. He sounds like a textbook. You have no idea how he can be so technical and objective at a time like this.
“Yeah…”
“You okay?”
You sigh. God, he’s so stupid.
“Yeah, no it’s…you know, no, actually,” you finally relent with an irritated sigh.
“What’s the matter?”
You laugh. Really, truly, like-a-lunatic, laugh.
“Oh, I don’t know, Jack,” you finally manage through your fit. “We had sex two days ago…freaky, kinky, BDSM sex,” you continue, punctuating each word by tossing a Polaroid across the table at him. In each one, Jack sees you– tears streaking down your face, his hand around your throat.
“And all week, doing everything but fucking, and we took pictures…as evidence. You know, for our jobs?”
Jack stares in silence at the images in front of him.
“Should we talk about that?” you snip.
“We’ll just get rid of these ones,” Jack mumbles, quickly collecting the photographs.
“Get rid of those ones?” you echo in shock. “Jack–”
“What?” he retorts, trying not to betray his panic at the physical evidence of your encounter.
“It’s not about the pictures, Jack!” you shout, wincing and catching yourself on your volume only when it’s too late. The conference room is off a small hallway, tucked further away from the large main room that houses everyone’s makeshift cubicles. Still, you know the thin walls are far from soundproof.
“Watch your tone,” Jack hisses. The venom in his voice sends a wave of heat through your body. He sighs. “What do you want me to say?” he asks finally.
You stare at him. The only sound is the faint buzzing of the fluorescent lights above you.
“I asked you if you wanted me to stop…” Jack says quietly. “Did you want me to stop?”
“No,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. Jack studies your face. He can see something in your expression, that same unnameable look that would wash over you when he had you pinned down at the club. That look flips the switch in Jack’s brain. Suddenly, he doesn’t care that you’re partners. He doesn’t care that you’re at work. He’s consumed by that too-familiar fire in his chest and hunger in his heart.
Jack presses his palms to the wood in front of him, slowly standing. He glances down at you, then walks around to your side of the table, gently leaning against the tabletop in front of you. He folds his arms over his chest. He can feel his own heart pounding beneath his ribs.
“Did you like it?” Jack asks, his voice low in his throat. You nod slowly, avoiding his gaze. He clicks his tongue quickly, which forces you to involuntarily bring your eyes back to his. “Use your words,” he purrs. “Did you like it?”
You nod again.
“Yes,” you whisper.
“What did you like about it?” Jack asks plainly. He watches as your cheeks flush. “Come on,” he taunts you. His words feel heavy in the silence. He leans back and grabs the Polaroids you threw at him and returns the favor, tossing them down on the table in front of you. “You wanted to talk about it, so talk.”
Though he doesn’t raise his voice, his tone reminds you of the enormous feeling of his presence in the room.
“What did you like about it?” he repeats.
“I liked…” you start sheepishly. “I liked…”
“Just say it,” he encourages you softly. “Just tell me.” He gently brings one hand to your chin, making you look at him. “Tell me and maybe I’ll do it again.”
“I liked letting you take care of me,” you admit finally. It’s the truth– shutting your brain off and surrendering yourself to him completely, letting yourself focus on nothing but the physical sensations of his hands and his tongue on you– it felt like you were floating outside of your body.
“And I liked…saying no to you,” you add quietly. Jack cocks his head to the side.
“Why?”
“It feels…good,” you say finally.
“What feels good about it, baby?” Jack hums, bringing his right thumb to trace over your cupid’s bow.
“It feels like…it doesn’t feel like I’m having sex with you,” you explain breathlessly. “It feels like you’re having sex with me.”
Your cheeks feel hot and your eyelids flutter closed. You’re certain that you’re not making any sense. Jack brings his hand up to your cheek, softly stroking your skin with his thumb. He can feel his heart hammering in his chest again.
“You wanna fool around?” he asks, his tone soft and hushed. All you can do is nod. “Then let’s fool around.”
You part your lips and turn your head to take his thumb in your mouth. Jack lets out a soft breath and presses down on your tongue as you suck on his finger. When he pulls his hand from your mouth, a clear string of saliva briefly connects his thumb to your lips.
“What do you want me to do?” he prompts you, his voice cloaked in gentleness.
“I wanna…I wanna take care of you,” you reply, bringing your fingers to his belt buckle. “Can I?”
Jack feels like he could faint. A wave of overwhelming feeling washes over him watching you so willingly paw at him, want him. He nods and you quickly start to tug at his belt. Jack brings his hand back to your jaw, rubbing firmly before pushing his hand back further to grip your hair at the root. You gently lean your head back, into his touch.
“Can I pull your hair?” Jack asks breathlessly.
“Yes, pl-ease.” You can’t even finish your sentence before Jack tugs your head back. He stares at the skin of your neck, now pulled taught against your flesh. He imagines covering that skin with bruises– from his fingers, his teeth. Jack can hear your breath as it shakes through your throat.
“Good,” he muses. You don’t know if the praise is intended for you, or just an expression of his approval at your consent to his request. But it makes you squirm in your chair, desperate to get closer to him. “Can I…push your head down?”
“Yes, God, yes,” you pant, struggling a bit now to get breath at this awkward angle. He releases your hair and you quickly return to his belt. Your fingers fumble with the buckle.
“Can you be quick?” Jack pants. You nod, unbuttoning and unzipping his trousers. You need him; you can’t make your hands move fast enough. When you free his cock, you immediately lean forward and press your tongue to the base of his shaft, licking all the way up his length. Jack chokes on a moan, trying to be quiet. “Fuck,” he hisses.
You waste no time in taking him in your mouth, pressing a soft kiss against his tip before taking him as far as you can. Jack shudders out a breath, bringing his hand back to your hair. He leans his head back, eyebrows crinkled together as he pants. You bob your head, trying to keep your noises soft as you struggle to take him in your throat.
“Relax, baby, relax your jaw,” Jack coos, fisting your hair. Not pulling, just tightening. You exhale through your nose and draw in a slow breath, trying to relax. Feeling your jaw settle, Jack uses his grip in your hair to push you down further on his cock.
“Goooood, good girl,” Jack breathes. He rocks his hips up against your face and you sputter, feeling him poke at the back of your throat. “Come on, take it, take it,” Jack mutters.
You want nothing more than to be good for him. You swallow and the constriction of your throat around his tip draws a whine out of Jack. You settle back over him, resting your hands gently on his thighs, and let him fuck your mouth.
Jack pulls back on your hair, and you let him guide you up, flattening your tongue against him. When he pushes you back down, you exhale through your nose and do your best to relax your jaw and throat to let him in all the way. You continue like that for a bit, Jack slowly jerking himself off by pulling your hair, before he starts to pick up speed.
“God,” he breathes. “You feel so good.”
You hum in satisfaction and swallow again, making him keen once more.
“Anyone could come in right now,” Jack continues. You moan. The idea of one of your colleagues, your male colleagues, barging into the room, seeing your face buried in Jack’s crotch, should terrify you. But instead it makes you press your thighs together. Jack notices.
“You’d like that, huh?” he teases you, a grin creeping across his face. “You want someone to see you taking my cock like this? You want everyone to watch?”
He fucks his hips up into your face faster, prodding at the back of your throat with each swift thrust.
“You a little exhibitionist, baby?” he sneers. You can feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, one quickly running down your cheek. You moan around Jack still in your mouth. Seeing the dark streak of mascara running down your face, Jack hisses and heaves out a breath to avoid making too much noise.
I am. I think I actually am.
It’s what you would say if you didn’t have your mouth stuffed with his cock.
Suddenly, Jack shoves you down as far as he can, his palm spread wide across the back of your head as you choke on him.
“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum, shit,” Jack babbles. You feel his release hit the back of your mouth, hot and salty as it slips down your throat. “Swallow it, swallow it, come on,” Jack says, his tone somewhere between commanding and begging. “Don’t let anyone see what a slut you are, clean it all up, come on,” he continues.
You’re still lost in your haze. You have to be good for him. You swallow every drop he pumps into your throat. He hasn’t touched you, but you feel so good. Like you’ve fulfilled your purpose.
When Jack pulls you off of him, you gulp one final time, then struggle to catch your breath. Jack watches as you lean back in your chair. Your lipgloss is a mess, mingled with spit and smeared all down your chin. Your mascara is smudged around your eyes and streaked down your cheeks from your tears. Jack resists the urge to grab you and use you again.
Instead, he reaches for the box of tissues that lives on the table of the conference room. Jack can feel his heart slowing down, and with it, his feelings of domination softening from control into care. He quickly cleans himself off and tucks himself back into his trousers. Then he takes another tissue and gently reaches out to hold your face, wiping some of the mess from your face.
“Thank you,” he whispers. “You did a good job.” He grabs a fresh tissue. “Close your eyes,” he commands softly. You obey, fluttering your eyelids closed. Jack gently dabs at the mascara around your lashes. “Good, good…thank you…” Jack mumbles.
When he’s done, Jack withdraws from you. You open your eyes to see him peeking down at you, still leaning cooly against the table.
“All done,” he says sweetly. He takes your chin again in his hand, swiping at your cupid’s bow again with his thumb. “Thank you, sweetheart.”
You sigh and lean into his touch. His praise feels so good as it sinks into your bones and runs through your blood. Jack pushes himself to his feet and starts to gather your papers and the photographs from the table.
“Come on,” he says, sighing gently. “Let’s get out of here. It’s been a long day.”
You watch as he swiftly moves around the table, stacking up papers and folders, tucking some into his briefcase. His eyes dart back over to you, still in the chair.
“You okay?” he asks softly.
You nod. You think you’re okay.
It’s getting harder and harder to tell.
thank you for reading! please reblog if you like what you read; it keeps writers engaged in fandom spaces and creating cool shit for you! check out my masterlist here. read part one and two here.