Touch Starved!Dex who never really got affection growing up. Physical touch was always for a reason. Touch usually meant being corrected, restrained, examined, or getting pushed aside. Even after years of therapy, the military, and the FBI, physical contact never became something comforting.
Touch Starved!Dex who instinctively stiffens whenever someone reaches for him. His shoulders lock before he even realizes he’s doing it, muscles bracing for impact out of pure habit. It wasn’t out of fear, more discomfort.
Touch Starved!Dex who didn’t realize he liked being touched until he met and started dating you..
Touch Starved!Dex who never asks for affection because he doesn’t think it’s something he’s allowed to need. Instead, he quietly leans a little closer whenever you’re beside him, sitting on the couch, or standing just close enough that your arms occasionally brush. He tells himself it’s really nothing every single time.
Touch Starved!Dex who practically goes limp the first time you play with his hair. His eyes close before he can stop them, his breathing slows, and every bit of tension he’d been carrying for weeks simply drains away beneath your fingertips. It’s so natural that he doesn’t even realize what happened until you stop, leaving him staring at you with the smallest hint of confusion because he already misses it.
Touch Starved!Dex who slowly becomes addicted to holding your hand. At first it’s awkward, his fingers stiff and uncertain against yours, but before long he finds himself reaching for you without thinking. It isn’t possessiveness. He just likes the reassuring weight of your hand resting in his.
Touch Starved!Dex who sleeps better when you’re touching him somehow. Your hand on his chest. Your leg thrown over his. Even just your foot brushing against his under the blankets. He’ll never admit it, but if you roll too far away in your sleep, he’ll unconsciously move closer.
Touch Starved!Dex who starts finding excuses to touch you every chance he got. He just can’t help it! His arms wrapped around your waist, hand intertwined whenever he could, face buried in your neck. It was addictive.
Touch Starved!Dex who whines and moans so sweetly every time you jerk him off. His hips stutter the second your hand wraps around him, breath catching sharp in his throat. He tries to stay quiet at first, biting down on the sounds, but they spill out anyway, soft, broken little noises that get higher the closer he gets. When he finally cums, it spills all over your fingers while his whole body shudders against you.
Touch Starved!Dex who refuses to look at you whenever you give him head. The second your mouth is on him his head tips back, eyes squeezed shut, one hand fisted in your hair. He can’t risk it. The wet heat of your tongue, the tight squeeze of your hand, it’s already too much for him! Looking at you would make him finish in seconds and he knows it, so he stays turned away, breathing hard through clenched teeth, fighting not to come the second you suck him deeper.
Touch Starved!Dex who eats you out like a pro and grinds against the mattress until he cums in his pants. Once he gets his mouth on you he doesn’t stop, slow, focused, desperate, like he’s starving for the taste. His hips roll against the bed the whole time just from the taste of you. By the time you’re shaking under his tongue he’s already soaked through his boxers, quiet broken sounds muffled against your skin as he finishes just from that.
Touch Starved!Dex who begs to fuck you and never lasts long. He sinks into you with a shaky breath and a whispered “please,” already close. A few deep thrusts later he’s apologizing under his breath, voice tight, warning you he’s not going to make it. He spills inside you with a low, helpless sound, then doesn’t pull away. Instead he stays buried deep catching his breath before using his perfect accuracy to get you off properly, determined to make up for finishing so fast.
Touch Starved!Dex who leaves you desperately begging for his cock to cum inside you. Every thrust is deliberate, angling just right until you’re shaking and clawing at his back. After he knows you’re satisfied, Dex lets go one last time with a broken groan burying himself and filling you completely. Thick, precise, and so deep you feel it for hours after.
Touch Starved!Dex who always cleans you up and takes care of you once you’re done. He’s gentle about it, wiping you down with slow, careful hands knowing you need it. Afterwards, he pulls you straight into his arms and tucks your head under his chin, locking his body around yours. He never skips the cuddling and needs the contact just as much as you do, quiet, warm, and unwilling to let go.
18+. fem!reader. stepcest. stepdad!dex. predatory behavior / grooming. manipulation / power imbalance. p in v sex. virginity loss (implied). daddy kink.
your mom left three hours ago.
"girls' weekend," she'd said, kissing dex goodbye at the door with her overnight bag slung over her shoulder. "wine tasting in napa. you two have fun bonding!"
she'd winked at you. actually winked. like she was doing you some kind of favor, leaving you alone with him for forty-eight hours.
you'd smiled and waved from the couch, your stomach twisting into knots.
now it's 8 pm, and you're sitting on your bed in sleep shorts and an oversized t-shirt, knees pulled to your chest, staring at your closed door like it might protect you.
he hasn't come yet.
you don't know if that makes it better or worse.
part of you—the part that still wants to be good, that still remembers what normal feels like—hopes he won't. hopes that maybe the past few months have been in your head. that you've been imagining the touches, the looks, the way his voice drops when he calls you honey.
but the other part of you—the part that's been aching and empty and desperate for weeks—knows better.
your phone buzzes on the nightstand, and you nearly jump out of your skin.
Dex: Come downstairs, sweetheart. I made dinner.
your hands shake as you type back.
you: not hungry
three dots appear immediately. disappear. appear again.
Dex: Wasn't a question.
you stare at the screen, heart hammering against your ribs.
this is it. this is the moment you say no. this is where you draw the line and tell him you're not doing this, that it's wrong, that he needs to stop.
but your feet are already moving.
you're already opening your door.
you're already walking down the staircase, each step feeling like you're walking toward the edge of a cliff.
the house is too quiet. your mom's absence is a physical thing—a vacuum where her laughter and chatter used to be. without her, the house feels different. smaller. like the walls are closing in.
you find dex in the kitchen.
he's standing at the stove in jeans and a black t-shirt, sleeves tight around his biceps, and he doesn't turn around when you enter. just keeps stirring whatever's in the pot with slow, methodical movements.
"sit," he says.
you sit at the kitchen table, hands folded in your lap, and watch him. he moves with that same eerie precision he always does—every gesture controlled, deliberate. nothing wasted. he plates the food—pasta with vodka sauce, your favorite—and brings it to the table, setting it in front of you before taking the seat directly across.
not at the head of the table where he usually sits.
directly. across.
close enough that his knees bracket yours under the table.
"eat," he says.
"i told you i'm not—"
"eat."
his voice doesn't rise. doesn't change. but something in his eyes makes the protest die in your throat.
you pick up your fork with trembling hands and take a bite. it's good—of course it's good, he's always good at everything—but it tastes like ash in your mouth.
he doesn't eat. just watches you. studies you. like you're a problem he's solving.
the silence stretches between you, heavy and suffocating. you can feel his gaze tracking every movement—the way you lift the fork, the way your throat works when you swallow, the way you can't quite meet his eyes. your leg bounces under the table, nervous energy with nowhere to go, and his knee presses against yours. firm. deliberate. a reminder that he's right there.
"you've been avoiding me," he says finally.
"no, i haven't."
"don't lie to me, honey." he leans back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. the fabric of his shirt pulls tight across his shoulders. "you've barely looked at me in three days. you leave the room when i enter. you stopped sitting next to me on the couch."
your face burns. "i just—i needed space."
"space." he repeats the word like it's foreign. like he's testing the shape of it in his mouth. "from what?"
from you. from this. from whatever is happening between us that feels like it's going to swallow me whole.
but you can't say that. can't admit that you've been terrified of being alone with him because you know—know—that the second you are, everything will change.
"i don't know," you whisper instead.
"yes, you do."
he stands, and your breath catches. he's so big—six feet of lean muscle and controlled violence—and when he moves around the table toward you, you feel like prey.
he stops behind your chair. you can feel the heat of him at your back, can smell his cologne mixed with something else underneath. something darker.
his hands land on your shoulders.
you flinch.
"easy," he murmurs, and his thumbs start working into the knots at the base of your neck. "i'm not going to hurt you, honey. i would never hurt you."
liar.
but his hands feel so good. strong and sure and exactly what you've been craving without knowing how to ask for it. the pressure is perfect—firm enough to work through the tension, gentle enough to make you melt. you feel your shoulders drop, your head tipping forward slightly, a small sound escaping your throat before you can stop it.
"you're always so tense," he continues, voice soft and almost concerned. his fingers dig deeper, finding every knot, every tight spot. "you've been carrying all this stress around, haven't you? all this fear."
"i'm not scared," you lie.
his hands still. then his grip tightens—just slightly, just enough to make you gasp—and he leans down until his mouth is right next to your ear.
"don't. lie. to me."
your heart is trying to break out of your chest.
"i'm sorry," you breathe.
"i know you are." his hands resume their massage, gentler now. soothing. his fingers slide up into your hair, tangling at the base of your skull. "you're such a good girl. so sweet. so eager to please. that's what i love about you, you know. you just want to make everyone happy."
his fingers tighten in your hair—not pulling, just holding—and he turns your head to the side so you're forced to look up at him. his face is inches from yours, pale eyes boring into you with an intensity that makes you want to look away.
but you can't.
you're trapped.
"but you can't make everyone happy, sweetheart," he says, and there's something raw in his voice now. something hungry. "sometimes you have to choose."
"choose what?" your voice is barely a whisper.
"who you belong to."
the words hang in the air between you, heavy and inevitable.
his hand slides from your hair down to your throat—not squeezing, just resting there, feeling your pulse hammer against his palm. his thumb traces the hollow of your throat, back and forth, a whisper of touch that makes you shiver.
"i've been patient," he says, and there's that edge underneath now. that barely leashed violence. "so fucking patient. waiting for you to come to me. waiting for you to realize what this is. what we are."
"we're not—"
"yes, we are." his thumb presses against your pulse point, and his smile widens. "we have been since the day i met you. since i saw you standing in that kitchen in your little yellow sundress, looking at me like i was something safe. something good."
he laughs—a short, bitter sound.
"i'm not good, honey. i'm not safe. but i'm yours. and you're mine. and we both know it."
"this is wrong," you manage, but even as you say it, you're leaning into his touch. your body betraying you. "you're married to my mom. you're my—"
"i'm your what?" his grip tightens. "your stepdad? is that what you think i am?"
you nod frantically, and he releases your throat only to grip your chin instead, forcing you to maintain eye contact.
"no." his voice is flat. matter-of-fact. "i married your mother because it was the easiest way to get close to you. because i knew—knew—the second i saw you that i had to have you. that you were mine."
the words should horrify you.
they do horrify you.
but they also make something hot and shameful coil in your stomach.
"that's not—" you're shaking your head, trying to process what he's saying. trying to reconcile the man who makes pancakes and fixes leaky faucets with the man who's telling you he orchestrated an entire marriage just to possess you. "that's not true. you love her. you—"
"i tolerate her." his hand slides from your chin down to your shoulder, then lower, slipping beneath the hem of your shirt. his palm is warm against your bare skin. "she's a means to an end. a cover. a way to be close to what i actually want."
his fingers splay across your ribs, thumb brushing the underside of your breast, and you gasp.
"and what i want," he continues, his other hand joining the first, both palms sliding around to your stomach, "is sitting right in front of me. trembling. scared. desperate for me to touch her even though she knows she shouldn't want it."
"i don't—"
"yes, you do." his hands slide lower, fingers tracing the waistband of your shorts. "you've been wet for me for weeks, haven't you? lying in your bed at night, thinking about me."
your face is on fire. "no i—"
"i told you. i've been watching." one hand slips beneath your waistband, beneath your panties, and his fingers find you wet and aching. his breath hitches. "i know everything about you, sweetheart. i know you bite your lip when you're trying not to cry. i know you hum when you're content. i know you touch yourself at 1 am on tuesdays and thursdays after your late classes because you're too wound up to sleep."
oh god.
oh god.
"i know," he continues, voice dropping lower, fingers circling your clit with maddening precision, "that you think about me when you come. that you whisper my name into your pillow when you think no one can hear."
"stop," you choke out, but you're not pushing him away. you're not moving at all. your hips are rolling against his hand, chasing the friction, and you hate yourself for it.
"why?" his fingers slip inside you—two at once—and you cry out. "when we both know this is what you want?"
you sob—actually sob—when he curls his fingers, finding that spot that makes you see stars, and his free hand comes up to cover your mouth.
"shh," he soothes, thumb brushing away the tears leaking from the corners of your eyes. "it's okay, honey. it's okay to want this. it's okay to want me."
"it's not," you gasp against his palm, but your body is betraying you, clenching around his fingers, desperate for more. "it's wrong. it's so wrong."
"says who?" he works you with ruthless efficiency, every movement calculated to break you down. "your mother? some arbitrary moral code that doesn't actually matter?"
"it matters," you insist weakly.
"no." he removes his hand from your mouth and wraps it around your throat instead—not squeezing, just holding. just reminding you who's in control. "what matters is this. what matters is how you feel when i touch you. how you've been aching for me. how you've been waiting for me to stop pretending and just take what's mine."
his fingers curl inside you again, and you're so close, teetering on the edge, and he knows it. he can feel it in the way you're trembling, in the way your breath comes in short, desperate gasps.
"that's it," he murmurs. "let go for me, honey. let me feel you come on my fingers."
"dex—"
"no." his hand tightens around your throat. "that's not what you call me. not anymore."
you know what he wants. what he's been prodding you toward.
"daddy," you whisper, and the word breaks something open inside you.
"good girl." his fingers move faster, harder, and you're falling apart. "such a good fucking girl for daddy."
you come with a broken sob, clenching around his fingers, and he works you through it with that same precision he brings to everything. drawing it out. making it last. making sure you feel every second of it.
when you finally come down, trembling and gasping, he withdraws his fingers slowly. brings them to his mouth. maintains eye contact as he licks them clean.
"upstairs," he says. "now."
you should say no. should run. should do anything except obey.
but you're already standing on shaky legs.
already moving toward the stairs with him right behind you, his hand on your lower back, guiding you.
he steers you past your room—past the bed where you've spent so many nights thinking about this exact moment—and toward the master bedroom.
their bedroom.
her bedroom.
"dex, we can't—"
"yes, we can." he opens the door and pushes you inside gently but firmly. "and we will. i want you in my bed, honey. want you to know exactly where you belong."
the room smells like your mother's perfume—floral and sweet and familiar—and the guilt crashes over you in waves.
but then his hands are on you again, pulling your shirt over your head, and the guilt gets buried under want.
he strips you methodically—shorts, panties, bra—until you're standing naked in front of him, and he's still fully clothed. the imbalance makes you feel vulnerable. exposed. small.
"look at you," he murmurs, circling you slowly. his gaze tracks every inch of you, cataloging, memorizing. "so fucking perfect. so small. i could break you in half without even trying."
the words should terrify you.
but they don't.
they make you feel good.
"on the bed," he orders. "on your back. spread your legs."
you obey, climbing onto the mattress—their mattress—and positioning yourself exactly how he wants. the sheets are cool against your heated skin. you can smell your mother's perfume on the pillows, and it makes your stomach flutter.
he stands at the foot of the bed, just watching. studying. his eyes track every inch of you, and you feel exposed. vulnerable. like he's peeling back layers you didn't know you had.
"do you know how long i've been planning this?" he asks, finally pulling his shirt over his head. his body is lean and muscled, pale skin marked with old scars. "how many nights i've laid here next to your mother, thinking about you in the next room? imagining what you'd look like spread out for me like this?"
he unbuttons his jeans, pushing them down along with his boxers, and your breath catches.
he's big. bigger than you expected. thick and hard and intimidating.
"don't worry," he says, catching your expression. his smile is sharp. predatory. "i'll make it fit."
he climbs onto the bed, settling between your thighs, and his body covers yours completely. you feel so small beneath him. so delicate. his weight presses you into the mattress, and you can feel every inch of him—the heat of his skin, the hardness of his muscles, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
"i've been preparing for this," he continues, reaching over to the nightstand. he pulls out a condom, tears it open with his teeth. "bought these three months ago. hid them in my nightstand. your mother never looks there."
the casual admission makes your stomach twist.
"i knew," he says, rolling the condom on with steady hands, "from the beginning that this is where we'd end up. that you'd give yourself to me. that you wouldn't be able to help yourself."
he positions himself at your entrance, and you feel the blunt pressure of him, and panic floods your system.
"wait—"
"shh." he leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. gentle. tender. completely at odds with what he's about to do. "it's okay, honey. daddy's got you. i’m going to take such good care of you."
he gives you no time to argue before he suddenly invades you.
the stretch is immediate and overwhelming. you cry out, hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin hard enough to leave marks.
"breathe," he instructs, voice strained. he's holding himself still, giving you time to adjust, and you can see the effort it takes. the way his jaw clenches. the way his arms shake. "breathe through it, baby. let me in."
you try. god, you try. but he's so big, and you're so full, and it hurts in a way that's both terrible and perfect.
"that's it," he groans, sinking deeper. inch by inch. "that's my good girl. taking me so well. letting daddy have what's his."
when he finally bottoms out, you're both panting. he stays still, letting you adjust, and his hand comes up to cradle your face. his thumb brushes across your cheekbone, catching a tear you didn't realize had fallen.
"you okay?" he asks, and there's genuine concern in his voice. genuine care.
it makes everything worse.
"yes," you whisper.
"yes, what?"
"yes, daddy."
"good girl." he starts to move—slow, deep thrusts that make you gasp. "gonna fuck you so good, honey. gonna make you forget anyone else exists. gonna make you mine."
and he does.
he fucks you with the same meticulousness he does everything else—calculated and controlled and devastatingly effective. every thrust hits a tender spot inside of you. every touch, every word, every deliberate move is designed to break you down and build you back up as something that belongs to him.
the bed creaks beneath you. the headboard ruts against the wall. you can smell the candle sitting on your mother's bedside table,—her favorite scent—and it should make you stop, should make you push him away, but it doesn't.
it just makes you hold him tighter.
"say it," he demands, hand wrapping around your throat. not squeezing. just holding. just reminding you. "say you're mine."
"i'm yours," you gasp.
"say you belong to me."
"i belong to you."
"say you'll never leave me."
"i'll never—" you're crying now, overwhelmed by sensation and emotion and the sheer wrongness of how right this feels. "i'll never leave you, daddy. i promise."
the groan that leaves him is borderline animalistic. "that's my girl." he fucks you harder, faster, and you're falling apart beneath him. "gonna come for me, honey? gonna come on daddy's cock like a good girl?"
"yes—yes, please—"
"then come," he orders. "come for daddy. now."
you shatter. break apart. come so hard you see stars, and he fucks you through it, prolonging it, until you're sobbing and shaking and completely undone.
he follows seconds later, burying himself deep and groaning your name—your name, not your mother's—and you feel him pulse inside you even through the condom.
for a long moment, neither of you move. you just lie there, tangled together, breathing hard.
then he pulls out slowly, and you whimper at the loss.
he disappears into the bathroom, and you hear water running. when he returns, he's got a warm washcloth, and he cleans you with surprising gentleness. his touch is tender now. careful.
"you did so good," he murmurs as he works, pressing kisses to your thighs, your stomach, your chest. "so perfect for me, sweetheart."
the praise makes you glow despite everything.
he climbs back into bed, pulling you against his chest, and you curl into him instinctively. his arms wrap around you—possessive and protective—and you feel so small in his embrace.
"this is where you belong," he says, and there's something dark in his voice now. something final. "right here. in my bed. in my arms. mine."
you don't answer. can't answer. you just lie there, listening to his heartbeat, and feel the weight of what you've done settle over you like a shroud.
"you sleep here from now on," he continues, fingers tracing idle patterns on your spine. "when she's not home. okay?"
"dex—"
"please."
the word sounded foreign on his tongue. you nod against his chest, because what choice do you have?
his arms tighten around you. "good girl."
you lie there for what feels like hours, wrapped in his arms, in your mother's bed, and try to process what just happened. try to reconcile the guilt and the satisfaction and the desperate, aching need for more.
eventually, his breathing evens out. deepens. he's asleep.
you carefully extract yourself from his embrace and slip out of bed. your legs shake as you gather your clothes, as you tiptoe out of the room and down the hallway to your own.
you close your door and slide down to sit on the floor with your back against it.
what did i just do?
what the hell did i just do?
you should feel disgusted. should feel horrified. should feel something other than this confusing mix of guilt and satisfaction and desperate, aching need for more.
but you don't.
you just sit there, naked and trembling, and know with absolute certainty that you're going to go back to him.
that you're going to let him do it again.
that you're going to keep letting him do it until there's nothing left of the girl you used to be.
matt murdock loves to let you turn your brain off.
he’ll run his hands through your hair, holding you while humming softly, occasionally talking about his day. most of the time you’re nonverbal, just taking him in and letting him hold you close. the thing about matt is that he just knows. he knows things without you needing to say it, “don’t need to say anything, princess, i know. i’m here, baby. don’t gotta be strong with me.”
when you get tired it’s painfully obvious, you’re pawing at his shirt and making small noises to try and keep the conversation going because you don’t want to sleep just yet. “is my girl tired? yeah? it’s okay, baby. let’s sleep.” he coos at you, kissing you on the forehead as you hum out a small “mhm”. he loves to give you affection, telling you how sweet you are just for him or how much he adores the way you let him take care of you.
he knows you can do it all on your own, but why should you? sometimes you need to clear your brain and be spoiled with affection. you’re his special girl and he’ll do everything in his power to let you know that.
Warning: Smut! MDNI 18+. Unprotected sex, fingering, dirty talk, some spanking, swearing, slightly sub moments, Not proofread!!
A.N: Okay we had two sweet ones and now it’s time for a SPICY ONE 🔥 Enjoy! (I’d also highly recommend listening to Circus while reading 😉)
Please let me know what else you guys would like! I do have a few other fics on the back-burner (for now!) that I'll start to post soon and just let me know if you'd liked to be tagged in further works too
——💀——💀——💀——💀——💀——
Matt handed Frank an address and he drove them both there. “I have an associate. They are helping me out with a case.” He explained to him and Frank grunted, half paying attention to him but most of it on the road.
His features started to crease seeing a side of a city he didn’t often. “This looks seedy as shit, Red.” Matt just smiled at Frank’s concern.
Frank pulled up to what look like an abandoned building. “This is it!” Matt jumped out the van and Frank hurried to catch up with him. He watched as Matt tapped on the door and it opened, a pinky, red light seeping out and music blaring. Frank raised a brow but kept his mouth shut. “Well, come on. They’ll be okay with you tagging along with me.” Matt disappeared and Frank followed him into the building that was full of life.
The pulsating music matched Frank’s heart rhythm as his eyes adjusted to the neon lights that didn’t quite reach the end of the room where velvet drapes were hung with a bar on the far corner. A stage in the centre with mirrors around it and a disco ball shimmering from the ceiling. “What the fuck is this place?!”
“Sit down and enjoy the show, we have twenty minutes to kill,” Matt pushed Frank into a seat by the front and asked a scantily clad waitress for drinks.
“What the hell, Red?! A fuckin’ strip club!” Frank quietly snapped under his breath. “Is your guy an associate or an ass-ociate.” He suggestively implied and Matt let out an amused snort. “Or did you want me to bring you here so you can somehow be a perv.”
The lights went down just as the drinks were placed in front of them both, hoots and hollers from the crowd filled the room and Frank’s lip sneered at all the creeps. He looked up just as he brought his whisky to his hips and hesitated seeing the shadow of a figure before music started playing.
He was finding himself transfixed on the stage as a leg appeared from behind the curtain. Then a little more of a body. Then he inhaled the amber liquid, choking on it when the curtain fell and the person behind it was revealed. The lingerie set left nothing to the imagination and from the sounds Frank heard from around him, he wasn’t the only one that thought that while the person on the stage put on a show.
Frank watched the limbs dance around on stage as the grip of his glass got tighter with every bend, stretch and wink.
He barely felt Matt tapping on his arm. “Booth one, the one in the corner.”
Frank let out a breath. “You been here before?” Matt shrugged a shoulder with a smirk and made his way over. Matt pulled back the curtain and motioned Frank in, he took in the small, intimate space, every inch of it including a small sofa covered in red velvet. “Jesus, where is this guy? And why are we meeting them in here? Of all fuckin’ places?!”
“Gimme a second,” Matt vanished from the small room and left Frank there alone. The music was still blaring through the walls and he completely felt out of his depths.
Frank’s brow almost hit the ceiling at the sight that appeared before him. “Uh Matt…there’s a half naked chick that’s just walked in!” He called out to wherever Matt was but before he could reach the two of you, you had already grabbed a knife from the garter you had on and swiftly pressed it against the throat of the stranger sitting in your booth, his thighs between yours as he caught his breath sharply at the cool metal pressed against his neck and a half naked person pressed against him. “He told me you were cool with this!” He defensively held his hands up. “He told me you were cool with this!!”
“Who?!” You snapped.
“Um. Me.”
You turned around and groaned from the spot you were in. You stood up, Frank suddenly missing the loss of you on him. “I shoulda known it would have been you!” You pointed the knife at Matt before putting it away, Frank was still glued to the sofa in shock.
“Sorry, I should have messaged you earlier but I just didn’t want to risk it.” He explained and you nodded in understanding before looking over to the man. “That’s Frank. Frank, this is Y/N. She’s working undercover.”
“More like workin’ underwear…” he muttered under his breath before clearing it when you shot him a pointed glare.
“You shoulda told me you were bringing a friend, Matty…” you walked over to Frank. “I would have worn less clothes…” he gulped unsure of you were joking as Matt laughed. “Well I got you this.” Frank watched you remove a USB from the side of your bra and placed it in Matt’s hand, using your own to fold his fingers over it. “I should have more dirt on the son of a bitch next week.”
“I appreciate this,” Matt told you with a voice full of sincerity. “We should head. I’ll be in touch.”
You faced Frank again and wickedly smirked, licking your lips that were kissed with red lipstick. “Leaving so soon? I coulda gave your friend here a show…” you placed your hands either side of his knees, the valley of your breasts in perfect eyeshot for him.
“You could if you were actually a stripper and not an undercover agent…” Matt added.
“That’s true, but you do pick up a few things…” your breath fanned over Frank’s face causing him to slowly rub his clammy hands over his thighs. “See you boys later…” you stood back up and sauntered off, giving your hips an extra shimmy just for Matt’s friend.
“Holy shit.” Frank finally let out the breath he didn’t realise he was holding. “What the fuck, Red?! I thought your associate was a dude not a dame who dances!”
Matt smirked “I didn’t say it was a guy.”
—•—
It was the slowest week of Frank’s life, he waited for the confirmation from Matt on when they’d be going back to get more information from you.
“Hey, Red, I’m outside,” Frank told him through his cell.
“Frank, I can’t go tonight,” Matt’s voice crackled from the other side. Frank looked up at the building he knew Matt was currently in and silently cursed him. “But you know where it is and where you have to go, I’ll text Y/N and let her know it’ll just be you.”
Frank went wide-eyed. “Wait-”
“I appreciate it!”
“No-”
“Thanks, Frank!”
“RED!” The line went dead. “I-I fuckin’ can’t…” he panted out to himself trying to compose his thudding heart that somehow was starting to match the beat from the club despite not being anywhere near it.
However later that night he found himself outside the club and took the plunge. He slowly wandered through to where the stage was and ordered what he had last week before sitting down right on the edge of the stage, the perfect centre view.
The lights dimmed and Frank stiffened, shooting a warning to his crotch not to do the same.
He recognised the first few lines of music and watched as four other performers crawled out onto the stage, two in animal print lingerie and the other two dressed in a frilly set like clowns- Frank could help the overwhelming sense of disappointment when he saw that you weren’t one of them.
“There's only two types of people in the world,” Frank almost collapsed back in his seat and fell to the ground seeing you emerge in an outfit resembling a ring leader but with a lot more skin. “The ones that entertain,” you sang and motioned to yourself before catching a familiar set of eyes in the crowd “And the ones that observe…” you pointed at him and he swallowed the tension building in his throat. “Well, baby, I'm a put-on-a-show kind of girl,” you bent over and the crowd went wild, Frank’s knuckles turned white as he gripped onto his thighs. “Don't like the back seat, gotta be first…I'm like the ring leader, I call the shots,” you clicked and the girls beside you all bent over in perfect sync. You snapped your fingers again and they stood back up slowly, going to the crowd and dancing for them as you sauntered forward to Frank who was seated at the very end.
“Oh shit…” he grumbled under his breath already feeling his composure slipping.
You sung with each step, “I'm like a firecracker, I make it hot,” you removed a little corset that was covering your stomach, exposing more of your body and making the crowd erupt. “When I put on a show…” you squatted and ran your hands slowly over your thighs, Frank was impressed you managed to do it in five inch heels…and impressed at himself that he didn’t cream his pants with your clothed pussy in perfect view of his face. “I feel the adrenaline moving through my veins…spotlight on me and I'm ready to break…” the lights hit you perfectly as you dropped to your knees in front of Frank and roamed your hands over your body. “I'm like a performer, the dance floor is my stage…better be ready, hope that you feel the same…” you shot him a wink as you fell onto your back, head dropping down passed the lip of the stage and almost into his lap.
“Fuck…” he grunted and then tried to look around to see if any one else was seeing what he was. Most of the men were distracted by the other dancers however.
You stood back up “All eyes on me in the center of the ring just like a circus!” You unwound the braided leather that was tucked into your underwear. “When I crack that whip,” you did just that on the stage and Frank levitated from his seat at the sound and the sight. “Everybody gon' trip just like a circus,” the girls beside you gathered around and lifted you up as you sang the next lines while your eyes bore into Frank’s. “Don't stand there watching me, follow me, show me what you can do…” your hands trailed down your body and stopped at your underwear, Frank let out a shaky breath. “Everybody let go, we can make a dance floor just like a circus.” The girls placed you down and you removed your bra, tossing it mindlessly into the crowd, the girls shielding you so you could scamper off and change while they performed the rest of the song.
Frank remained seated for a couple of bars of music before walking to booth one. His arms and legs were trembling so he sat down. “Get it together…get the USB and you’re outta here…” he chanted to himself before flinching when the door opened.
“Well, well, well…” you smirked seeing him on the sofa, locking the door behind you. “Isn’t this a pleasant surprise.” He had to place a hand over his mouth and feign a scratch of his jaw in order to keep it in place and not have it falling to the floor at the sight of you in a black lacy, satin robe with underwear that matched.
“Yeah. Real shame Matt couldn’t be here. You got what he needs?” He said in practically one word, standing up but his feet stuck firmly in place.
“Why so fast?” You walked over to him and pushed him back down, easier than you anticipated. He knew he was in your domain. “Did you like me putting on a show?” He nodded. “Did you like me as a ring leader?” He nodded again. “Do you speak?” He nodded once more. You laughed at his lack of response.
“T-the USB.” He finally bit out as you sauntered around the room. He felt a sense of unease by your pensive expression.
“Let’s play a game,” you said stopping in the centre of the room.
“Let’s not…”
You ignored him.
“You try and guess where I have the USB hidden.” You chirped and Frank narrowed his eyes. “You win- you get it. Easy!” You wickedly grinned and Frank knew there was going to be a twist. “But…” there it was. “You guess wrong, you take off a piece of clothing.”
He let out a single dry laugh “W-what?! Are you outta your mind?!”
“I might even throw in a private dance if you’re lucky…” you shrugged and walked back over to him. “Put on a show for you…”
“N-no, no way…”
“Funny…” you gripped his jaw with your fingers and flickered your eyes over his face. “Your mouth says no, but your eyes say yes…”
Frank swallowed hard. “Fuckin’ shit. In that.” He pointed to your robe.
You smirked and shimmied it off, letting it drop to the floor. “Nope.” You motioned to him. “You know the rules.” He rolled his eyes and begrudgingly removed his jacket. “Guess again.”
Frank let out an exasperated huff. “There’s not many other options!” His eyes roamed over your lace and silk adorned figure. “Same place as last week- side of your bra.” You reached in and made sure he could see you weren’t cheating him with showing him both sides of your bra.
“Wrong again, Frank…” you watched him take off his t-shirt and toss it to the side. You tried not to salivate at the sight of his bulging, scar-kissed, muscles as he let his arms drop to between his legs that he spread out a little wider. “Another guess.” His eyes almost did the answering, the valley of your breasts. He pointed to his own and then to yours. “Why don’t you have a rummage around and see for yourself…” you stepped forward and pressed your hands over your bra to accentuate them even more.
Frank inhaled and tentatively brought his hand to your chest and let his fingers sink in between your breasts. He held them there for a moment, his breath getting more and more sporadic. You cleared your throat as if to remind him to check. He pulled back his hand without the USB between his fingers, just the residual warmth of your skin. “Wrong again…” he sighed as he unbuckled his belt.
You stood back a little but remained close enough to him that you call fall into his lap at any moment and watched as he pulled off his trousers and kicked off his shoes, leaving him in nothing but his boxers. “Someone’s having a good time…” you motioned to the growing tent in his underwear.
“I’ve had worse Thursday’s…” he casually remarked.
“Another guess.”
You gasped as his fingers thread under your panties and pulled you towards him, almost causing you to stumble and fall in your heels.
“Here.” He cupped his hand over your core that was virtually dripping onto his palm already as he softly rubbed it over the silky, lace material. “I think I need to have a rummage here…” he gritted out.
“Maybe this time you’ll find it…” you stood up straight before your knees almost buckled feeling his fingers pull your underwear to the side and slip his fingers between your folds. You pressed your hands to his shoulders to steady yourself as your head fell back.
“Hmm not here,” he mused and slipped his finger deep inside you, causing you to let out a sharp gasp at the sensation. He added another finger as your nails dug into his shoulders, he felt the gentle pain spread through his skin. “I think I might have found something else though.”
“Oh?” You asked your curiosity coming through your moans. “What’s that?” You breathlessly asked and looked down to him, seeing beads of sweat form by his hairline.
“The garden of fuckin’ Eden.” He pulled out his fingers and you let out a disappointed groan. Your eyes were locked on his as he stuck his two fingers in his mouth and licked what was left of you on him off. “That-” he smirked and ran his tongue up the length of his finger making sure he got all off you. “That’s one delicious pussy.”
“Flattery won’t get you the USB and you didn’t find it…how…unlucky.” Your eyes fell to the last piece of clothing on him.
He stood up, the gap between you both nonexistent. “Honey I’m feeling the furthest thing away from being unlucky right now.” He scrambled to take them off and your eyebrows raised seeing him completely naked in front of you.
“You and me both…” you murmured. “I believe I offered a private dance.” You pushed him back down again and put on some music, watching his hand surround his cock, gently stroking it as you started swaying your hips. You sat on your knees between his thighs, your own spread open enough that Frank roamed his other hand over your bare skin and down between your legs. You reached for the clasp of your bra and unhooked it, slowly removing it from your body and letting it fall from your body and onto his lap as you moved your limbs slowly.
“Holy shit…” his hand left your thigh to grope your tits with his callused hands, years of holding a gun roughening them up and causing the upmost pleasure for you. “Fuckin’ gorgeous.” He brought his mouth to your chest and ran his tongue over your nipple.
You sat back slightly and extended your leg out and placed it on his shoulder, about to take your heels off but he stopped you shaking his head and a hand over yours before kissing up the inside of your leg. You giggled “I’ll keep those on but I think these should come off.” You snapped your panties and Frank frantically nodded. You stood back up and turned around, your ass facing him as you kept up with your little performance as you shook your hips and dragged down your underwear down your thighs.
Frank bit into a closed first seeing the back of your naked frame, you looked over your shoulder to him and playfully slapped your ass. He groaned seeing it jiggle in the neon lights. “C’mere baby and I’ll do that all night long…” he growled.
“Wouldn’t you rather do this all night long?” You turned and watched his eyes blow in size under the hazy lights as your hands roamed down your stomach and landed either side of your pussy. Frank nodded like a bobble head dog on a dash going over a thousand speed bumps. You jumped his bones and the two of you locked your lips in a frantic, messy kiss as your hands roamed over each others bodies.
The music in the room battled with the wet sounds and moans leaving your mouths. “Wanna fuck you,” he spanked your ass and you gasped. “Wanna thank you for dancing for me just there and for earlier.” He spanked you again and you let out a delighted cry, sinking your teeth into his bottom lip and making him wince.
Frank’s mouth then found your neck, pressing touch kisses and bites over your supple skin, making you groan and hiss in delight. “Let’s not wait any longer.” You raised your hips and sunk yourself down on his cock, the two of you watching the others face contort with sheer pleasure. “S-shit!” You gasped feeling him stretch out every inch of you with every inch of him.
“You needed this since seeing me last week huh,” Frank looked down and hollered, letting out a low, strained whistle. “Look at that desperate pussy, swallowin’ my entire cock, huh?” Frank jolted his hips and you moaned. “You’re so fuckin’ tight! Wet! Fuck!” He groaned and placed his hand on the back of your head, bringing you forward and having his mouth collide with yours.
He moved his hips in rhythm to the music, sending you both into a sensory overload. “Yes! Oh fuck!” You cried into his mouth before pressing your forehead to his and cupping his cheek. “So good, Frank. So. Fucking. Good!” You moaned as your hips continued to grind against his.
“Oh baby, Y/N,” he smirked “I’m good? This fuckin’ pussy is taking me to heaven and back!” He yelped as his hands gripped onto your hips and moved you with him in sync to the music. “Gonna be the god damn death of me.” He roared and suddenly changed position flipping your back onto the sofa and thrusting himself back into you with as much force as he could muster. He gripped a hand onto the back of the sofa, the other taking yours and threading his fingers between your own.
“Harder Frank! Fucking more!” Your words scraped along your throat and caused it to ache as your back arched and your chest met his. “MORE!”
“Ah…” he laughed “Fuck- any harder and I’ll break the fuckin’ sofa!” His voice was strained as he tried to gulp down air.
“I don’t give a shit about the sofa!” You cried and he picked up the pace, buckling his hips even harder. “Please! God! Please don’t stop!” You begged and wrapped your legs around his lower back. “I wanna cum on your cock,” your words spilled from your mouth. “I wanna cum!”
“G-good cause I wanna feel that perfect little pussy of yours squeeze me so tight that I cum in it.” He panted out. “Beg for it, Y/N. Beg for me baby. Tell me how much you wanna cum on my cock.”
Your eyes squeezed shut, “Please, Frank, please, please,” you chanted like a prayer over and over. “I wanna cum on your cock so bad, baby, want you dripping down my thighs all week.” You managed to crack you’re eyes back open again, your lips moving but nothing was coming out, just whimpers and moans until you found the strength when his eyes looked into yours and you erupted. “I-I’m gonna- shit, shit! Fuck! FRANK!”
“Fuck yes baby! I feel you! So fucking- ah- FUCK!” You screamed as your orgasm hit you, limbs shaking as he continued to fuck you through his own.
His pace slowed as both your lungs raced to breathe normally again. You looked at him and smiled, he leaned down and placed a soft kiss to your lips. “Frank…wow…” you ran a hand through his tousled hair.
“You enjoy that baby?” He asked and kissed you again, slowly lowering himself down onto you and tracing his finger down your cheek and then the entire length his your body.
You bit down on your growing grin. “I’ve had worse Thursdays…” you playfully retorted, making reference to him earlier.
“Hey!” He whined and slapped your ass again before taking a handful of it.
“I’m kidding! I’ve never had a Thursday like that in my entire life!” You smirked and kissed him again, slowly rolling your hips and causing him to moan in your mouth, his cock still being enveloped by your pussy.
Frank brushed his noise against yours “Yeah well I can give you that on any day that ends with a ‘y’, how about that?” He winked and you wiggled your eyebrows in anticipation. Then realisation hit him. “Shit, that USB?” He pulled himself from you, the two of you groaning in disappointment at the loss of one another. He sat back and you propped yourself up on your elbows.
“Oh, I’ve not got it here,” Frank raised a confused brow before letting out a chortle. Because of course you didn’t have it on you tonight. “It’s at my apartment.”
“Oh that’s a dilemma hmm?” He hummed and grabbed your heel-clad ankle before bringing his lips to your calf and peppering kisses over it. “Now I gotta go to your apartment…” he didn’t have an ounce of disappointment in his voice.
“Maybe you can help me with some of my undercover work…” you mused.
“Undercover?” He questioned before a grin appeared “Or under-covers?”
The fact that I have to be at work instead of spending my day reading smutty frank fics while giggling and kicking my feet pisses me off at least once a day
